On May 28, 2005 I encountered my first miracle of combat. At the ripe old age of 34, I was one of the oldest in my Platoon of fellow Texas Army National Guardsmen. Our orders that day were to secure a bridge, and clear an 8 mile stretch of road into Fallujah Iraq. It was early in the morning and we were heading East, directly into the rising sun. The glare of the desert sun cast a foreboding light across the otherwise barren landscape as it poked through the palm trees nourished by the nearby Euphrates River.
As the junior ranking sergeant in the platoon, I was almost always appointed the most glorious duty of walking point. This was a job that no one wanted but someone had to do. My name always seemed to come to the forefront when some difficult or dangerous task was required. I'm just lucky that way I suppose.
There were four Hummers in our Platoon. I was the wingman to the Red 2 truck. Red 2 was commanded by my good friend Sergeant Little. As the wingman and Junior vehicle commander my call sign was Red 3. As the Gun-Truck Commander I had my driver Specialist Tse, maneuver our Armored Humvee down the right hand side of the road. Sgt. Little took up a position on the opposite side of the road as we slow rolled our way, constantly on the lookout for the infamous IED or Improvised Explosive Device.
The sun shone into our eyes making it almost impossible to see the road with any detail. Using my map to cover the blinding glare, I thought I saw what looked like a dark spot on the right side of the road about 50 meters ahead. After hearing the incessant double beep of the radio, telling me it was clear to transmit, I ordered the patrol to halt. After explaining to the platoon leader, that I thought I saw something suspicious ahead I dropped my head and said a short prayer as I awaited his crackled voice to respond. I already knew what he was going to ask me to do next.
With the high pitch double beep of the radio followed his orders. "Red 3 this is Red 1, I want you to dismount your vehicle and investigate. Do you copy ? Over." I responded with an internal sigh and voiced, "Red 1 this is Red 3,Roger,Over".
I looked over to Specialist Tse, cocked my head to one side and with a sarcastic smirk and said, "Well, get your cam-corder out and start recording. This is the part where good old Sergeant Watson Gets Blown the F*%k up!" he looked at me with a blank face and said, "Are you serious?" I stared back with an equally blank face and gave a simple nod. My helmet exaggerated the motion as it slipped loosely on my sweat drenched head. With a half joking smile and a wink, I grabbed my M-14 sniper rifle and dismounted the vehicle.
As I approached the dark spot on the right side of the road I began to make my way to the opposite side of the highway. My buddy Sergeant Little was standing beside me as we tried to make out what it was we were seeing. I kneeled down to one knee and lifted up my 10 power rifle scope to get a better look. What I saw looked like a coffee can placed upside-down and slightly tilted at an angle
Unable to see exactly what it was, myself and Sgt Little decided to call the Marine EOD team to bring up the remote robot to get a closer look. Confident we had made the right decision to bring up the robot, affectionately known to us as Johnny-5, we now needed to move the rest of the platoon out of the potential blast zone. I raised myself to my feet and began to turn towards the rest of the platoon down the road. As I raised my hand to motion the platoon to back up, my miracle was about to unfold.
I felt the warm blast of air as it lifted me into the air. I felt my body go numb from the shock of my bones hitting the hard pavement. I looked up to see blast debris blowing past me and covering the entire area. Every thing was in slow motion. Debris began to rain down everywhere as the blast settled. Struggling to regain my wits and figure out what had just happened, the only sound I could hear was a constant tone in my ringing ears and the fast paced drum of my own heart beating. As I pulled myself up on my hands and knees I frantically tried to force air back into my lungs. Using the butt of my rifle as a support. I lifted myself back to my feet. My head was spinning as I tried to run back to the platoon. I felt like I was going to throw up. I began to make out the sound of my own muffled voice as I was yelling at the platoon some 75 meters away. "Prepare for ambush! Move! GO! GO! GO!"
After making it back to my Gun-truck and realizing there was not going to be a follow on ambush by the enemy, we started to assess the damage. My uniform had holes from shrapnel . Sgt. Little's Hummer had sustained hits from the bomb all across the front of his truck. Blown tires, holes in the grill, slices carved in the hood, and a spider web of cracks on the windshield where stark evidence of the power of the blast. The tremendous amount of energy released by the South African made 155 millimeter artillery shell created a waist deep hole, over 17 feet wide.
The miracle of May 28th is that I am alive at all. Every piece of shrapnel that hit Sgt. Little's Hummer had passed by me, and some of it through my uniform. However, other than the concussion, ringing ears, and having the wind knocked out of me, neither I nor Sgt. Little had a single scratch.
After returning back "inside the wire" on May 28th, I sat and thought about the days events. I smoked several cigarettes in quick succession. My hands were shaking as the adrenaline rush began to subside. I only seemed to notice when I tried to take a drag off of my cigarette. I thought about my future. My thoughts drifted to my children and my wife back home in Texas. I wondered if I would ever see them again. In my mind, I held them all close and hugged them so tightly. This was the first time I had really considered that I might not make it out of Iraq in one piece. There were many other missions that followed, and many more times I would escape almost certain death. Some were even closer than this. However what set this day aside from the rest is it was the first.
I will never hug my wife or children the same again. Every hug and touch from then on has been as though it was in my mind on May 28th. Grateful to be alive and thankful they are in my life. I would never want to live that day again but I hope the memory stays forever. I have experienced the miracle of life and more second chances than anyone rightfully deserves. The simple fact is this. It matters not how one dies. What truly matters is how one lives.
My crew "Charlie 3-1" or call-sign Red 3....
The day I was reborn.... this is the craterhole from the IED that almost got me. waist deep and 16 feet across I was on foot..not in the hummer when it blew
Christopher S. Watson, retired military after 18 years of service and 3 combat tours. However, I have never forgotten my oath. I tip my hat to all those who serve or have served before me and more especially so towards those who gave the last full measure for Freedom. 
