My Dogs, My God, and My Family

130 – May, 2013

By Bob G. Smith

This is the first of two parts of a story of bravery and valor and the relationship established between a young Marine and his Canine partner during the Iraq war.  The first part of this series contains graphic descriptions of the war in the Battle of Fallujah, Iraq, in December of 2004.  Please read with the knowledge that there are descriptions of injury, death, and destruction.  In June, the second part of this human/canine story brings the reader into the present and meets ex-Marine Joe Tullier, his wife Cami (a former soldier), and his best friend, also ex-Marine,  Josh Delancey, as they are continuing their love for canines through the Acadiana Canine Training Facility/Program in Livingston, LA.

Huddling in the corner of my barracks away from the eyes of my peers and my commanders, driven there by the thundering sounds of the Blue Angels as they flew over the base in a training formation, confiding in no one how traumatized my mind and body was, I was comforted with the presence of my best buddy, Adja, pressing her canine body against my leg. She didn’t condemn my actions, my perceived weaknesses, my confusion, my fear, or my loss of memory. She just lay by my side protecting, consoling, and loving me. No words were uttered and the only motions were my shaking body and her long canine breaths as she shifted her weight against my body as I desperately tried to cope.”

Three years before, Sergeant Joseph Tullier had been injured while his Marine Corps Working Dog Unit was sweeping through the city of Fallujah clearing out the insurgents that continued to resist the forces of the US military.  As Joe and his Adja exited from the Humvee to begin a sweep, bullets continually whizzed past and over them. Suddenly, Joe saw a hand grenade being launched toward him and another Marine as they had just put their dogs into a Humvee. He and the other soldier dove alongside an adobe building where the impact of the explosion changed his life forever.

Before being deployed from a base in Hawaii­­­­, Joe had not been told where he was headed. He and others heard later they were going to Fallujah, Iraq. Their flight was uneventful until they neared their destination where they had to fly many circles and maneuvers to avoid the ground fire directed at their incoming plane. Once deplaned, they dropped gear off at a US military base about a mile outside of the city of Fallujah. They could hear “drumbeats” (gun shots) 24/7 as they were briefed by their leaders. Joe related that, “the people of the city of Fallujah had been told that ‘if you stay, you will die….leave the city’.” The residents were given a week to leave in order for children and non-combat citizens could flee the city without danger.

Once the week was over, the troops lined up and began their “flushing” of the city. Over and over again, they swept the city sector by sector. The troops had been briefed on the new danger of IEDs (Improvised Explosive Devices) that they had heard exploding throughout the days and nights of the exit week. IEDs were relatively new to the war front and most of Joe’s colleagues had not ever encountered one.

On that fateful day in December, Joe’s squad had been told to get their rifles, pistols, and dogs. Since Joe was a handler in a Working Dog Unit, he and his German Shepherd, Adja, were at the forefront of the sweeps. “The dogs were with us at all times,”  he says. They were to send their dogs out to sweep the area for explosives as they had been trained to do.

As they did not have a hospital in the city, the US troops used an abandoned school house for their Medevac. They dropped their gear there at the beginning of their sweep waiting for their orders to proceed.  Because there was no hospital, Joe and his unit witnessed everything coming into the school:  soldiers wounded, some dying, some with unattached body parts; they heard unspeakable sounds emanating from soon-to-be corpses and those sounds often visit Joe now in the early hours of his mornings. “This wasn’t going to be a vacation,” he realized as they began their sweep of the city.

He and the other Working Dog Unit handlers were responsible for sending the dogs out ahead looking for IEDS wherever they were hidden–in barrels, on the ground, under debris–wherever. At that time, detection dogs were sent out on 6 foot leads to sniff out explosives. Today, dogs are trained to go out greater distances on their own to search directed by hand signals and sounds from the handlers. Their work was tedious and certainly dangerous as the handlers were 6 feet or less away if a dog detected an IED. Often the explosives were detonated by the insurgents using remote control, sometimes by cell phones, and walkie talkies. Sometimes the enemy had “trackers” they fixed on the communication devices used by the Marines through which they could direct mortar and missiles at Marine locations located by the tracker. According to Joe, the US military quickly switched to a “no-name” brand of communication device that was much simpler and could not be “tracked”. Rusted, discarded barrels housed mortar rounds with glass, shrapnel, shards of metal, and anything else that could injure or kill a US soldier. They were popular explosives that could easily be detonated by remote control. IEDs were frequently situated under metal plates that were triggered to explode when someone stepped on or drove across it.

The first couple of weeks Joe saw lots of mayhem and death. The canine partners and handlers were favorite targets of the insurgents as a “dog was useless if the handler got killed but invaluable in a sweep.” Their squad was used as a Working Unit sniffing out explosives…a friendly sniper was often included with the 7 or 8 team members with a max of 12 Marines. Sometimes they added a “shotgun guy”–a guy wanting to go on a sweep mission.

After a week or two, the bodies of the insurgents lining the street began to decompose. The odor of the decaying bodies was “so bad you could taste it.” Feral and displaced animals were often seen devouring bodies or body parts. Joe recalled sweeping through the city again, again, and again making sure that the city was cleared of any pockets of insurgents hell bent on eradicating the American military.

Joe recalls that all the animals in the city were killed non-discriminately because so many were used by the enemy as carriers of explosives. Dogs were used extensively as they were friendly and sought out any military personnel that might have food to share. However, the insurgents used the dogs to get their deadly IEDS closer to the unsuspecting troops and remotely detonate them when close enough to maim or cause fatalities.

They took fire for a straight 10 days, “pretty much non-stop”. The sound of incoming mortar and sniper fire became second nature. “The fire you hear is not what you worry about; the whistling fire coming from behind you is the danger,” Joe offers. Often the insurgents put mortar launchers in the beds of trucks and moved around the perimeter of the city lobbing missiles into the interior to prevent the US troops from locking in on one launch site.

Although the initial battle of Fallujah had begun on November 10, 2004, the US troops were still picking up bodies throughout the city in mid-December. Joe was part of a convoy assigned to that task on December 13. Joe and his canine partner joined a convoy sweeping the city as a dog was very helpful in clearing the city of IEDs. At first Joe and another Working Dog handler did not know they were on a convoy with the mission of collecting bodies. They rode 45 minutes from their base outside the city deeply into the heart of the city. “We found another convoy going out for “clearing” and they needed a dog, so we jumped on that convoy and left the body collecting to others.”  On the trek for about 45 minutes, they separated into teams to begin their sweep of some homes suspected of housing pockets of enemies.

He and another canine handler, “split from the convoy and formed a team that began clearing a house. After we entered the house, we were on the second floor and sniper fire came through the window on the stairwell. We immediately began to exit to the ground floor.” Pinned down by sniper fire, Joe and his buddy realized that they had to get from the house to their Humvee. Dodging enemy fire ricocheting from the body of the vehicle, they finally got to safety, but quickly realized “they already had us. Our dogs were at a high price because of their skill in detecting IEDs. We could hear bullets whizzing by us.”

Grenades were directed at the Humvees and at the Marines using them for cover. “The location was just too much for us. We engaged the snipers time and time and, finally while waiting on backup, we were able to blow up the house where the snipers were.”

“We could hear another firefight going on with a nearby convoy. We hunkered against a house we were about to rush. We knew we were outmanned…the last thing I remember, we went to go run and I saw a grenade land about four or five feet away. I got hit in my flak (jacket). Diving behind the house saved my life.” Joe was knocked unconscious, burst his ear drum, and caused traumatic brain injury. Since that time, Joe has suffered from what the military describes as “snapshot” memory sometimes known as “flashbacks.”

An airstrike from the US forces was called in to assist in the team’s evacuation immediately after Joe’s injury. “I didn’t know what I was doing. I got to the Humvee only through the help of my team who told me later that they picked me up and threw me into the vehicle while avoiding the sniper fire and explosions from the grenades. Only thing I remember was getting into the Humvee.” A new snapshot:  “Another Humvee pulled up with other wounded soldiers.” Serving as an ambulance, it contained badly injured soldiers hanging on to their last breaths, some missing body parts. “Sights and sounds I will never forget.”

Since there was no hospital or medical facility available, Joe’s hearing was out for more than a month. He related that his injuries were minor compared to other Marines who were gravely injured. “We were helpless because we couldn’t do anything. After I was hurt, I tried to climb out of the Humvee to go help a fallen buddy but was pulled back by a Sergeant.” For a long time, “even now, I have ‘survivor’s guilt’. I wanted to die because I felt that I didn’t give as much as other people did.” Joe re-enlisted for a second tour because at that time he “wanted to die.”

Always a Marine, Joe continued to fight for the next two weeks. “My priority was going out there and doing my mission as I had been trained.”  He finally went to the doctor at the base. He could barely hear the doctor crumpling a sheet of paper next to his ear. He remembers Motrin and water as the prescribed medication. “Due to my Marine training, I had no idea I was acting differently. My dog continued to support, attend to, and protect me. The one thing that has always made sense, especially during my deployment, was my dog. Whenever I would have problems, my dog was there for me. My dog was and is the ‘constant’ in my life.

He didn’t seek help until three years later when he was diagnosed with Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder (PTSD). “I was fast-tracking on my career…still with my dogs when I was sent back to Texas to become a trainer for the military’s Working Dog program. Finally, a counselor at the base took me into his office and said, ‘it is time for you to disconnect from the service.’”

During his deployment in Fallujah, “…my dog and I had 67 finds! We also found two IED factories–one was in a school house which was promptly destroyed by our troops.” Joe was awarded the Navy Marine Achievement Award with Valor for his bravery and actions during his deployment in Iraq. “Nothing more than what anybody else did,” Joe offers. “I wish everybody could have got the same medal I got while there.” After Iraq, Joe was assigned to Lackland Air Force Base in Texas as a Military Working Dog Trainer at the US Government’s Dog Training School where he spent more than two years and was given Combat Meritorious promotions to the honorable discharge rank of Corporal in 2009.

Part 2:   The Canine Chronicle June issue picks up the story in Livingston, La. Surrounded by therapy dogs in training in facilities housing obedience training equipment; beautifully manicured and spacious areas supporting agility runs, dock-diving facilities, show grounds surrounded by beautiful lakes, boarding kennels, and a grooming boutique.

Dr. Bob G. Smith is a retired university professor and a judge of 16 sporting breeds and Junior Showmanship.  He holds an earned Doctorate from The University of Alabama (Home of the Back-to-back 2011/2012 National Champions in Football, Home of the 2012 National Champions in Women’s Softball 2012, National Champions in Women’s Golf and Gymnastics).  He solicits your suggestions, comments, and ideas and can be reached at bobgsmith58@yahoo.com.

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Posted by subschron on May 17 2013. Filed under Current Articles, Uncategorized. You can follow any responses to this entry through the RSS 2.0. Both comments and pings are currently closed.