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tasked with loading the bodies into bags and securing them on litters .
As we unfolded the black rubber bags , I once again found myself thrown back to the Pentagon . Rows and rows of body bags on the ground , FEMA and FBI agents weaving through the rows , cataloging , numbering each black bag . Bright halogen floodlights illuminating the entire area . IT ’ S ONE A . M .
I remember recovery teams continually carrying victims out as I stared at the neatly aligned rows . I felt so heavy , both physically and emotionally . My uniform was sweatsoaked and stank like sour garbage in midsummer . The platoon ' s shift had ended at midnight ; only a few guys had departed , returning to their families for a few precious hours . Most agreed to continue working until we finished clearing the small section we were assigned to .
While we waited for transportation back to Ft . Myer , I was struck by the juxtaposition of the rows of black bags bathed in light with the rows of white marble headstones cloaked in darkness just a few hundred yards away inside Arlington Cemetery .
Now , as I stood in the ravine in Afghanistan , my mind felt as if it were fracturing , trying to reprocess my trauma at the Pentagon while simultaneously struggling with the scene before me : the Afghan bodies in the late stages of decomposition , grotesquely bloated . The job we now had to do .
Each corpse was difficult to slide into its bag . I reached out to hold onto the legs of one Afghan , only to feel the rotted muscles rip apart while my hands and fingers tore through the skin . As I lifted , the calf muscles detached completely from the knees and slid down near the ankles with my fingers inside it all somewhere . I thought : This is the second time I ' ve had a part of me inside a dead person . SEPTEMBER 2001 , WASHINGTON , D . C ,
We had been working for about an hour clearing rubble and debris when I noticed a piece of burned plywood about half of the size of a door . It was partially buried under a chunk of reinforced concrete . Thinking of using the plywood as a lever to dislodge the concrete , I positioned myself where my legs could push against the debris pile while I lifted the free edge .
I strained to heave the concrete off and down onto the floor where the engineers driving Bobcats could scoop it up . Under the small plywood sheet were pieces of
“ On Sept . 12 , 2001 , President Bush , along with Secretary of Defense Donald Rumsfeld and other members of his Cabinet , arrived to survey the damage [ at the Pentagon ] in person . As he made his way to the building , he stopped to thank and shake hands with soldiers and first responders . He shakes my hand and thanks me . I reply , ‘' We ' re good , Mr . President , how are you doing ?’ Bush ’ s expression turns hard . ‘‘ Pretty damn pissed ,’’ he says .”.
~ Dave Glover
plane wreckage , burnt computers , and unrecognizable debris . We consolidated the plane wreckage into a designated spot . The rest of the debris pile was moved into a clearing area where it was taken to a holding and secondary inspection area in the parking lot .
Black puddles were creating a toxic slurry as the building around us was still catching fire in places , smoldering in others . Engineers were busy constructing the cribbing to support the still-settling structure . As I moved , my boots kept slipping on the wet spongy surfaces mixed among debris and twisted , tangled steel .
I stepped forward and heard a snap as my foot broke through a strip of drywall and sank into a pile of black ash mixed with the sludgy slurry . I looked down thinking to find better footing and stopped cold . It wasn ' t a pile of sludge that my foot had slipped into … and the piece of drywall wasn ’ t a piece of drywall . I was standing inside the partially cremated body of someone .
I closed my eyes pausing for just a moment to try and get a grip . Then I slipped my mask down and – as loud as I could – yelled , " FEMA !" Then gingerly pulled my foot away and climbed out of the pile . After pointing out the remains , I excused myself . I needed to walk out and get some air , to process , and then to bury this horror deep inside me – forever .
Exhausted troops drop to snatch whatever sleep they can ... whenever they can drop to snatch it ! Dave Glover is front and center , sacked out .
AHERO MAGAZINE SUMMER 2021 11