A Bridge Too Near

I am a Fool. At least there is always something good in something bad. So let's start with something both good and bad. On 9/11 2001, I worked under this pedestrian bridge in downtown Manhattan. I laid in an Aid Station and selected the bridge for some overhead cover. Infantry officers know how to lay in a unit. Any of us have done it dozens to (easily) hundreds of times. Machines guns here and radios there. Patrol after patrol after patrol. On the night of 9/11, my team didn't have complete information but a grunt's common sense protects his team using any available cover. We 'unassed' (yes that's technical Infantry term of art which either desribes or directs an urgent exit) we unassed the ambulance just past the two green lights and the orange cone you can see in the distance--that is Chambers St. Our ambulance was facing west. I got an arrival briefing and took a quick walk around (performed a Leader's Recon) and picked this site under the bridge. Buildings were "coming down" and "more buildings down without airplanes" and "maybe anthrax" so we didn't know much about the actual situation until later. Fog of war. I went back to the ambulance and got my ad hoc, rag tag mix of Military and Medical people and showed them where to setup. We'd been working together most of the day but the names were somewhat "Zombieland." In my "motivated forgetting" process later, I failed to retain even one of their names. Every minute, every thought, every breath on 9/11 went towards our duties which we also had to figure out on the go. Someone described it to me as doing whatever is 3 feet in front of you. Zero minutes went towards football scores that day. This environment brings us to RULE #1: BUSINESS CARDS -- always stop and document names in a massive disaster zone because you may need them later as much as the wounded need you now.

I laid in my team. We were at the far side of the bridge below just past the white car and silver SUV. We reinstalled the same Aid Station design that our mixed Military-Medical team had created in the Ambulance Bay of St. Vincents garage during the morning as 9/11 was occurring real-time. The one with the IV bags. That skill-mix teamwork of Medical and Military turned out to be highly effective. A Yin-Yang of orderly medical procedures and military ready for chaos mindsets that somehow gelled from the first moment without a single team-building BBQ. (An insightful editor, Michelle DeHavenrecently helped me re-see and surface how that teamwork succeeded while taking me through my recollection and I thank Michelle Dehaven)

I want you to see our little band there that night in the swirling dust and the darkness and the confusion. So much dust it felt like a North Country snowstorm at Fort Drum.  We were: myself, an Infantry Captain several years out of the game, a Vietnam Combat Medic who showed up at St Vincents Hospital and let's safely assume he wasn't assigned there on a daily basis. And a small group of extremely brave Nurses, not trained for this next step into the forward edge of the battle area (FEBA), likely assigned to St Vincents. We didn't have the glamorous work--we were washing off the wounded uniformed First Responders all day in a garage bay. As we entered an ambulance ourselves, the nurses suppressed their clear and present fear. They pulled both themselves and their valuable skills up into the back of the ambulance to ride downtown with us soldiers. I take the last seat on the right in the back of the ambulance so I get out first. Follow Me. There is a reason I can explain precisely so many details of their work on 9/11. Ask me anything. I will take a lie detector and I will interview with NYPD detectives--challenge accepted.