I was born in Kingsport, TN where I lived my entire life until I joined the U.S. Army in 1997 at age 17. Like many other young recruits, I was graduating from high school and had no desire to go to college at that point. I thought the Army was the best option for me--an opportunity to get out on my own and earn college money for later without burdening my working class family. My father supported me and took pride in me, but he didn't like my decision to enlist.
My father, Carl C. Hurd, was a marine in World War II. Carl participated in the Pacific campaign and saw both the battles of Tarawa and Guadalcanal--two of the bloodiest occurences of the war. He rarely spoke about these battles; but when he did, he always collapsed into tears before the end of his stories. Carl told me once about the most frightening moment of his life. He stood atop a machine gun turret on his ship as it came under Japanese air attack. Carl remembered firing sporadically at approaching enemy planes and yelling, "Die you sons of bitches!" Obviously, my father knew the negative psychological consequences of war because he still bore the scars of his experience decades later. Carl begged me not to enlist.
Against Carl's wishes, I enlisted as a medic and left for basic training on August 21, 1997; I was 17 and had graduated from high school just 3 months prior. Like every other new Private in the military, I was gung-ho at first. But I slowly became disillusioned with the Army's prevailing leadership style: threaten and intimidate soldiers to keep them submissive. I completed my four-year enlistment on August 20, 2001--less than a month before 9/11. Originally, I intended to get out of the Army altogether and go to college in Tennessee, but a National Guard recruiter approached me with enough college money to sway my vote. With no break in service, I agreed to another 6 years in the Tennessee Army National Guard. In November 2004, I deployed to central Baghdad with Bristol, Tennessee's Troop F 2/278th Regimental Combat Team after a 5-month long train-up. My unit's radio call sign was "Force"; and being the anti-war person in my unit, I quickly earned the nickname "Force Hippie"; Over the next year of my life, I saw numerous car-bombings, body parts, dead civilians, dead soldiers and witnessed the general suffering that followed the U.S. military across Iraq. By the end of my tour, I had reached a deep depression with suicidal ideations. I didn't tell anyone about my problems though, because I was the medic and medics need the absolute trust of the soldiers they serve.
Since my return from Iraq in November 2005, I have spoken out against the Iraq War in multiple cities across our nation. I continue to serve my country as a proud member of Iraq Veterans Against the War.
