Colonel Steven Scott served twenty-six years as a Combat Infantry/ Special Forces Soldier. His final deployment was with the 10th Mountain Division, as part of the Spartans of the 3rd Brigade Combat Team at Fort Drum, New York, now deactivated.
CHAPTER FIFTY-FIVE
“Build me a son, O Lord, who will be strong enough to know when he is weak, and brave enough to face himself when he is afraid, one who will be proud and unbending in honest defeat, and humble and gentle in victory.” ~Douglas MacArthur
PTSD PLUS
COLONEL STEVEN SCOTT wore a black polyester mesh eyepatch to occlude his missing right eye. An unwelcome souvenir from his last deluxe, all expenses paid tour of Afghanistan. A single 7.62 mm AK-47 round from the jihadi terrorist weapon of choice had traveled through the right frontal lobe tip toward his forehead. One of the few places that he didn’t have body armor. “I was pretty sure that I was going to die,” Steven said. It was another counseling session and he wanted to talk about his injuries and experiences as a Soldier. “They said that it hit me in just the right place—angled well above my skull and passed through without causing permanent damage to vital brain tissue or vascular structures.” Not a great consolation prize since his traumatic brain injury (TBI) had developed into PTSD. He continued, “I was honorably retired from the United States Army three years ago, after serving twenty-six years as a Combat Infantry/ Special Forces Soldier. My final deployment was with the 10th Mountain Division, as part of the Spartans of the 3rd Brigade Combat Team at Fort Drum, New York, now deactivated.” The Spartans' motto of "With Your Shield or On It" was the kind of mindset that Steven fully embraced as a warfighter. Values embraced by their ancient namesakes, the most fearsome military force in the Greek world—the Warriors of Sparta. It meant Soldiers who came back from battle had only two ways to do so with their honor intact: either on their feet with their shield in hand or upon their shield, as a casualty. He fell into a different modern category, still honorable, but not dead. His Soldiers lived up to the reputation of their Greek brothers in arms. The Tribe of the Crossed Swords is what the Afghan people dubbed them, for their heroic counter-insurgency operations. For a veteran like Colonel Steven Scott it was sixteen grueling months of fighting the nation’s Global War on Terrorism in support of Operation Enduring Freedom and in what he called, “A bassackwards 3rd Century hellhole—with all due respect!” But little respect was intended. Combat leadership imbued the patriotic fiber of his being; physically, spiritually, and psychologically. He was an intelligent, highly trained, and well-equipped man on the battlefield. It was clear that he knew what he was fighting for—to Win America’s Wars and Protect Freedom. He had witnessed death and dying up-close. It didn’t shake him outwardly, but inside, in his subconscious mind—it left its mark. He had seen life at its inspiring best, and at its bitter, disgusting, and morbid worst. It was strongly imprinted on his mind and unfortunately, the insidious wake of combat stress had caught up to him. After Steven retired, he bought a house in his hometown of Walla Walla, Washington. That was where he grew up in the late 70’s to the mid-90s. Initially, he ran with a pretty rough crowd, had an undisciplined youth—and his communication style reflected it. So, he spoke frankly, bluntly and with the candor of a well-seasoned, cantankerous Soldier. In the heat of battle, he had a warrior-face and an even coarser texture. He commanded and communicated with operatic bravado and bluster. They were the earthy raw emotions of an intense warfighter spewing vulgarities, acronyms, and perverse imaginative recommendations—to get his people motivated. It stemmed from his pure unadulterated passion for freedom. When he was asked about his colorful language, by Christian friends back home, he would merely say “I’m a strategic curser—and fire for effect.” It wasn’t an excuse, just a fact and it was something he still worked on. Colonel Scott fought for America, but when pushed to explain his feelings by family or the media or a counselor—he was punted to: “I fight for the guys next to me—that’s all. The guys who engage death on a daily basis. I fight to keep the other person beside me alive and he fights to keep me alive too.” It wasn’t something that he liked to talk about much. It was common knowledge that most veterans who had witnessed the horrors of war didn’t like to intentionally revisit it. They would just as soon forget about it, but PTSD took care of that. The decorations on his chest told his military story; Distinguished Service Cross, two Silver Stars, three Bronze Stars with Combat V, and the Purple Heart with two oak-leaf clusters—meaning he had been wounded in battle three times. He didn’t want credit. What he saw in those awards was the blood, sweat, and tears of heroes. “One of them is a bit embarrassing to mention—the million-dollar wound,” Steven Scott revealed to Dr. Feinberg. “I didn’t realize it at first, because I was laying down some hellacious ground-fire, just before I dove behind a HESCO MIL for cover.” The HESCO MIL was a military fortification, used as a blast wall against explosions and small arms. It had originally been used to control beach erosion and reinforce levees around New Orleans between Hurricane Katrina and Hurricane Rita, but now it stopped bullets and shrapnel. “I didn’t feel anything at first, but I swiped at the blood seeping from the wound with my left hand—not good, I thought. So, I told my XO, the Executive Officer; I think I just got shot in the ass. He verified it with an affirmative nod and later we both laughed, until we nearly cried—and laughed even harder after I started tripping on the Morphine-Ketamine cocktail that the field medic gave me.” Later, Steven Scott learned about the hallucinogenic side-effects the hard way—likely the genesis of his current mental health issues. During his deployments, Colonel Scott earned a wide assortment of medals for leading his fellow soldiers. The military distinctions given to him as a mark of honor were for military achievements, meritorious service, and heroism. It was just one of the first. The second incident took out his eye during an overwhelming attack on his unit’s position. He humbly reiterated to Dr. Feinberg that he didn’t believe he had earned the big medals. It seemed to be a code among heroes—none of them ever believed that they had earned it. “The heroes that I was fortunate enough to lead, wrote a blank check and made it payable to the United States of America—for an amount up to and including their life—and it was cashed by some. My boys were the toughest when it came to hand-to-hand combat. It was what we were trained for and we refused to back down from a fight—wouldn’t have it!” he said with a glint of pride in his eye. “The rules of an infantry Soldier are simple, survive to fight another day or minute or second.” During one violent conflict, his fellow Soldier, Sergeant Justin Daily came face-to-face with three brawny insurgents. Not an easy hand-to-hand scenario for anyone. So, he opened fire at close range with his M249 SAW and immediately killed two of them, before his weapon jammed tight—too hot to fire. “The best solution would have been a M240B, but he didn’t have one. So, he grabbed the third Taliban Soldier’s rifle-barrel with both hands and beat him to death with it. It was amazing—he completely stunned the guy, when he snatched it out of his hands and swung it around like a Louisville Slugger.” Those are the stories he told with a smile of pride, on the edge of gritted teeth. Steven Scott told of another member of the 10th Mountain Division, Specialist Velasquez, who took out a house full of insurgent fighters with his M9. “When he ran out of ammo, he took down the last remaining fighter with his combat knife. It was a mighty reverse diagonal strike at a 45 degree angle, slicing the guy’s neck, severing his carotid and jugular, rendering him incapacitated almost immediately, as the blood supply to his brain was cut off—and then he stepped into him with a forceful thrust,” he acted it out. “Right in the lower-stomach with a half-twist.” Steven paid homage to his brave Soldiers, whenever he mentioned the war—you could see the great veneration in his eyes. “It was much better than a Ginsu knife,” he gave a half-laugh, which spoke to his mixed feelings. “It could cut through a nail, a tin can, a radio hose, a tomato and drop an insurgent before he could yell, Allahu ‘Akbar,” Scott said analogizing the story in his mind, as only a soldier who’s been there and done that could. Two of the other special Soldiers he memorialized in his war stories were Master Sergeant Gary Shaw and Lieutenant Charley “Chaz” Anderson. “They were on a night recon and killed four enemy fighters firing on Americans through the window of an abandoned storefront. Shaw returned fire and dropped two immediately—one more with his Sig Sauer P320 after they kicked down the door and began clearing,” he said, to their wide-eyed interest. “Lt. Anderson or LT had an M4, but it was no good when one of the enemy fighters jumped from a rafter and landed on his back. It dislocated his shoulder on impact and broke his brand-new WO-PVS-7D night vision goggles. “The $3,500 goggles could be replaced, but it pissed him off really bad,” he said. “So, LT leaned hard into the stone wall and popped his shoulder back into place. It was a loud crackling-pop, punctuated by an agonizing groan, a slight grin—and a look of utter determination on his face when he turned and confronted the enemy. He surprised his Afghan opponent with a quick, step-in, forehead strike to the nose, and a whip-around that snapped his arm, before dropping his opponent to the floor. To his utter dismay, the guy jumped right up and continued to fight with him. Are you kidding? We thought that he had to be juiced on something. But no matter—LT proceeded to kick the fighter’s broken arm, causing him to shriek in pain, before twisting him around and strangling the no-good piece of—huh—guy to death with his bare hands.” No kidding was the usual response when he told that story. Dr. Feinberg listened and nodded but didn’t reveal her disgust. It’s no wonder he has bad dreams. Steven Scott smiled and nodded back and kept talking. “LT stood there choking him, a little longer than necessary. Frozen. I had to actually unclasp his fingers from the raghead’s limp neck.” Soldiers were trained to execute assaults under any possible circumstance and knew that the forehead and the elbow were the hardest and sharpest points on the human body. When applied with the right momentum and a calculated angle of attack, it was devastating. Steven explained, “The power largely comes from staying centered and rotating the torso with the elbow or ulna centered and stationary. It’s a blade-like bone that runs through the forearm. Sharper and deadlier—if the hand is open and the muscles relaxed as it crushes the throat, temple, or chin. The palm heel strike would be a good secondary go to in hand-to-hand combat, if delivered in a straight-forward thrusting motion with the hand flexed backward and fingers pointing upward.” He demonstrated. “The fingers shouldn’t make contact with your target during the strike, only the palm delivers the force.” He could see it all in his mind and it had been useful to Staff Sergeant Austin on that day of battle in January 2010. “I wasn’t there,” Steven said, “but I read the reports. Another one of my Soldiers, Sergeant First Class Karl Feld, was clearing a village and stumbled on an insurgent hiding under a pile of rolled-up Afghan rugs. He severely beat the guy with palm strikes to the nose and throat, before he grabbed his 8-inch Matrix Extreme, trigger-assisted, trench knife and cut the guy’s throat. His Captain described the event that day, saying Sergeant Feld casually cleaned-off the knife on his pants-leg, put it back in the sheath, and walked away like it was all in a day’s work. Sadly, moments later Feld stepped on and detonated a pressure-plated, improvised explosive device (PPIED), which was placed under another rug in the middle of the room. It was a lethal snare that killed him and six other men in his unit—who rushed to his aid.” He paused and blew out a slow, deep breath before he said, “Those are the men that earned medals, not me. No, not me! I’m here because of them. I’m here for them! He remembered all of his troops and had repeated those humble words, when he was honored with his second Silver Star. Many of the words were replaced with silence and tears. His men, the Spartan Soldiers, had broken the insurgent’s undisciplined grip through lethal combat. Colonel Steven Scott and his troops applied immense, continuous pressure on the enemy, advancing farther south than anyone had gone before. That’s when it happened. That’s the moment that would be forever etched on his mind—the day he lost his eye. This is how his Silver Star citation read: “During operations against the Taliban at Combat Outpost Keating, Kamdesh District, Nuristan Province, Afghanistan Colonel Steven Scott was awakened to an attack of more than 350 enemy fighters. The insurgents had the high ground, firing into a fishbowl for all intents and purposes. Scott and his unit were taking concentrated fire from rifles, rocket propelled grenades, anti-aircraft machine guns, mortars, and small arms fire. Scott moved around and through the battlefield uncovered, providing reconnaissance, and seeking reinforcements. He took out a five-man machine gun team and, while engaging another group, was hit by an incoming rocket-propelled grenade. With complete disregard for his own safety, Colonel Steven Scott continued to fight with multiple shrapnel wounds, exposing himself to throngs of fierce Taliban fighters who had breached his outpost. Scott confidently mobilized his five remaining Soldiers and provided cover with a sniper rifle that he secured from Sergeant Carl “Red Feather” Hetzenauer’s dead hands.” Sergeant Hetzenauer had been the first to die that day. It was strategic on the Taliban’s part. Eliminate the sniper first and give your unit greater mobility and flexibility on the battlefield. It freed them from the paralyzing psychology of an efficient killer, at-a-distance. The longest confirmed shot during the War in Afghanistan had been a twofer at 2,707 yards. It hit two Taliban fighters consecutively. It caused the Taliban to have a healthy fear of our Night Vision capabilities and our snipers. It was an edge we needed, because the Taliban had been trained by us as a counter power against the Soviet Union. “We taught them,” Steven would remind people. Steven took one of the dog-tags and the small red feather Carl wore as a necklace. He had learned that it symbolized his courage, good fortune, and vitality. The irony wasn’t at all lost on him, as he crammed Carl’s personal items in his left OCP cargo pants pocket and took cover. Perhaps it would bring him better luck. The Silver Star citation continued: “Colonel Steven Scott attended to three wounded Soldiers and orchestrated his unit through the ferocity of a three-hour battle. He secured and reinforced key points and maintained radio communication with the tactical operations center. He directed air support to destroy more than 45 enemy fighters. His team pushed forward under overwhelming enemy fire to prevent the abduction of fallen comrades to be used for propaganda and demoralization. Colonel Scott’s heroic actions suppressed an enemy that had far greater numbers. While severely wounded from a headshot, his extraordinary efforts gave the Spartans the opportunity to regroup, reorganize, account for personnel, prepare for counterattacks, and secure Combat Post Keating. Colonel Scott’s discipline and extraordinary heroism above and beyond the call of duty reflect great credit upon himself, 3rd Brigade Combat Team, 10th Mountain Division and the United States Army.” It was another interesting counseling session and Dr. Feinberg didn’t have a lot to say. She listened, made notes, and learned gruesome details about Steven Scott’s life. Details gruesome enough to warrant a debriefing session of her own to vent the repulsion. Yes, Colonel Steven Scott was a hero, but he was now fighting a different sort of war with PTSD—and no got a medal for that.
Order your copy today in paperback, Kindle, Nook, Apple, and more. Just type in the word PSYCHONIX or click on these links.
AMAZON: (Paperback and Kindle) https://www.amazon.com/PSYCHONIX-Mind-Matter-Mike-Burnette/dp/B086Y4S4VH/ref=sr_1_1?dchild=1&keywords=PSYCHONIX&qid=1600266824&s=books&sr=1-1
BARNES & NOBLE: (Nook) https://www.barnesandnoble.com/w/psychonix-mike-burnette/1136839263;jsessionid=6421112979446DD1D4C2D525050F525E.prodny_store01-atgap04?ean=2940163806799
APPLE: (eBook) https://books.apple.com/us/book/id1516407948
Comments