This is from a chaplin that was at the hospital as the KIA/WIA were coming in from Mosul after the homicide bombing in the mess tent.

Mascal - December 21, 2004

By the time I got back to our compound it was all over the news. It
seemed like the thing had just happened when in reality I had been neck
deep in it for several hours. And there it was on TV. Frankly, it's kind
of a blur.

The day began early as I didn't sleep very well last night. Once I was
awake I decided not to just lay there and stare at the darkness so I got
up, got dressed, shaved and headed into the TOC, the heart of what goes
on. In the TOC (Tactical Operations Center) they monitor several
different radio nets to keep abreast of what is happening in the area.
It's the place to be if you want up to the minute information. When I
arrived it was fairly calm. I made small talk with the guys there and
sipped that first cup of morning coffee. The day was clear and there was
very little going on, or so it seemed. A very short while later we
received the initial reports. In this area there are several "camps" or
"posts" that house the various combat and support units that do the day
to day fighting and working around here. The first report said that a
mortar had just hit one of the nearby chow halls during the middle of
lunch (I'm on GMT so my morning is actually the middle of the day). It's
called a MASCAL or Mass Casualty event and it's where the rubber meets
the road in military ministry. They said there were approximately 10
casualties. That was the extent of it so I kind of filed it away in the
back of my mind and continued to sip my coffee. The next report wasn't
so good. 10 dead and approximately 50 wounded. They were being
transported to the Combat Surgical Hospital down the street. The
Chaplain at the CSH is a good guy and I knew he'd be in need of help so
I woke my assistant and we rushed to the hospital. I didn't expect what
I saw.

The scene was little more than controlled chaos. Helicopters landing,
people shouting, wounded screaming, bodies everywhere. As the staff
began to triage the dead and wounded I found the chaplain and offered my
assistance. He directed me to where he needed me and I dove in. I would
be hard pressed to write about every person I had the opportunity to
pray with today but I will try to relate a few.

I found "Betty" on a stretcher being tended by nurses. I introduced
myself and held her hand. She looked up at me and said, "Chaplain, am I
going to be alright?" I said that she was despite the fact that I could
see she had a long road to recovery ahead of her. Most of her hair had
been singed off. Her face was burnt fairly badly, although it didn't
look like the kind of burns that will scar. What I do know is that it
was painful enough to hurt just by being in the sun. I prayed with Betty
and moved on.

"Ilena" (a made up name. She spoke very softly and had a thick accent so
I couldn't really hear her) had been hit by a piece of shrapnel just
above her left breast causing a classic sucking chest wound. The doctors
said she had a hemothorax (I think that's what they called it) which
basically meant her left lung was filling with blood and she was having
a very hard time breathing. For the next 20 minutes I held her hand
while a doctor made an incision in her left side, inserted most of his
hand and some kind of medical instrument and then a tube to alleviate
the pressure caused by the pooling blood. It was probably the most
medieval procedure I have ever been privy to. In the end she was taken
to ICU and will be OK.

"Mark" was put on a stretcher and laid along a wall. A small monitor on
his hand would tell the nurses when he was dead. Even a cursory glance
said it was inevitable. Mark had a head wound that left brain matter
caked in his ear and all over the stretcher he was lying on. I knelt
next to Mark and placed a hand on his chest. His heart was barely
beating but it was beating so I put my face close to his ear to pray
with him. If you've never smelled human brain matter it is something
unforgettable. I had something of an internal struggle. He's practically
dead so why stay? He probably can't hear anything! A prayer at that
point seemed of little value. But I couldn't risk it. I prayed for Mark
and led him in the sinners prayer as best I could. There are few things
in this life that will make you feel more helpless. After that, I needed
some fresh air.

I stepped outside and found the situation to be only slightly less
chaotic. The number of body bags had grown considerably since I first
went inside. I saw a fellow chaplain who was obviously in need of care
himself. I stopped him and put my arm around him and asked how he was
doing. A rhetorical question if ever I asked one. He just shook his head
so I pulled him in close and prayed for his strength, endurance, a thick
skin, and a soft heart. Then I just stood and breathed for a few minutes.

Regardless of what some may say, these are not stupid people. Any attack
with casualties will naturally mean that eventually a very large number
of care givers will be concentrated in one location. They took full
advantage of that. In the middle of the mayhem the first mortar round
hit about 100 to 200 meters away. Everyone started shouting to get the
wounded into the hospital which is solid concrete and much safer than
being in the open. Soon, the next mortar hit quite a bit closer than the
first as they "walked" their rounds toward their intended target...us.
Everyone began to rush toward the building. I stood at the door shoving
as many people inside as I could. Just before heading in myself, the
last one hit directly on top of the hospital. I was standing next to the
building so was shielded from any flying shrapnel. In fact, the
building, being built as a bunker took the hit with little effect.
However, I couldn't have been more than 10 to 15 meters from the point
of impact and brother did I feel the shock. That'll wake you up! I
rushed inside to find doctors and nurses draped over patients, others on
the floor or under something. I ducked low and quickly moved as far
inside as I could.

After a few tense moments people began to move around again and the
business of patching bodies and healing minds continued in earnest. As I
stood talking with some other chaplain, an officer approached and not
seeing us, yelled, "Is there a chaplain around here?" I turned and asked
what I could do. He spoke to us and said that another patient had just
been moved to the "expectant" list and would one of us come pray for
him. I walked in and found him lying on the bed with a tube in his
throat, and no signs of consciousness. There were two nurses tending to
him in his final moments. One had a clipboard so I assumed she'd have
the information I wanted. I turned to her and asked if she knew his
name. Without hesitation the other nurse, with no papers, blurted out
his first, middle, and last name. She had obviously taken this one
personally. I'll call him "Wayne". I placed my hand on his head and
lightly stroked his dark hair. Immediately my mind went to my Grandpa's
funeral when I touched his soft grey hair for the last time. And for the
second time in as many hours I prayed wondering if it would do any good,
but knowing that God is faithful and can do more than I even imagine.
When I finished I looked up at the nurse who had known his name. She
looked composed but struggling to stay so. I asked, "Are you OK?" and
she broke down. I put my arm around her to comfort and encourage her.
She said, "I was fine until you asked!" Then she explained that this was
the third patient to die on her that day.

"Rachel" was sitting in a chair with no injuries. She was worried about
two friends that had been moved to other hospitals in country. So we prayed.

"John", a First Sergeant, asked me, "How does my face look?" knowing he
had been badly burned and would probably have some scaring. He was
covered in blood, pus, and charred skin so I said, "First Sergeant, you
look better than some people I know back home." He laughed and we prayed.

One of the many American civilian workers had been hit in the groin. He
was happy to be alive and even happier to be keeping, "all my
equipment." It was a light moment in a very heavy day.

As my assistnt and I walked away at the end of the day I saw another
chaplain and a soldier standing among the silent rows of black body
bags. The soldier wanted to see his friend one more time. We slowly and
as respectfully as possible unzipped the bag to reveal the face of a
very young Private First Class. His friend stared for a few seconds then
turned away and began to cry.

The last count was 25 dead, and around 45 wounded. Nevertheless, our
cause is just and God is in control even when the crap is a yard deep.
I'm where God wants me and wouldn't change that for anything, even if it
means death. After all, "to die is gain".