Sergeant First Class Rocky Herrera, Sergeant Cory Clark, and Sergeant Bryce Howard died in Jaji Province, Afghanistan on the morning of August 28, 2007, beside a bridge that they were constructing over a dry streambed.
I was sitting in my humvee, one hundred meters away from them, when it happened.
Moments later, I saw Sergeant First Class Herrera on the ground. Our medic, Specialist Gary Olund, knelt beside him and felt for a pulse. “He’s dead,” the medic announced. Then I helped heave Sergeant Clark from a ditch. There was a huge hole in Clark’s head and his body was still warm. And then I watched Corporal Howard gasp for breath and bleed out in the arms of Specialist Olund.
I felt nothing.
I woke up the next morning, expecting to feel something, but again I felt nothing. I felt nothing at the memorial service, either. I kept on waiting to feel something, some validation that I was not psychopathic or sociopathic. It’s been five years, and I still haven’t felt anything.
***
They died in Jaji Province, Afghanistan, a farming district on the Pakistani border.
In May 1987, Jaji Province was a place where Osama Bin Laden came to prominence by leading Afghani forces against the Soviet Army. Twenty years later, in August 2007, it was a place with no borders, a place where people trafficked opium and passed across the Pakistani border unimpeded.
I was Third Platoon Leader for 585th Engineer Company, 555th Engineer Brigade from Joint Base Lewis-McChord. In the summer of 2007, my company’s mission was to build a Forward Operating Base (FOB) on high ground near the Pakistani border. The Army believed that the soldiers who lived at that FOB could assert control and bring stability to Jaji District.
In July 2007, we convoyed to the area from Logar Province where we had begun construction of FOB Shank in April. We drove over miles of rutted roads. The landscape of undulating woods and farmland was strangely idyllic. Our convoy passed streams, fields of flowers, mud buildings, and plots of wheat and corn. We observed forlorn goats tied to trees and wild dogs panting in the summer heat.
A few kilometers from the area where we would establish the base, we came over a hill and entered a field of marijuana. The field was larger than a football stadium and the plants were six feet tall. The musky smell of cannabis seeped into my vehicle through the gunner’s hatch. After the marijuana plot, we crossed a barren field, a dry streambed, and a local village. Then we crested another hill and arrived at the place we’d call home for the next four months.
The area was on the edge of a cliff, and Pakistan was the landmass on the other side of it. The topography changed at that cliff, going from undulating woods and farmland to miles of mountains, desert, and desolation.
After we parked our vehicles, I stood in the dirt and stared out at Pakistan. One of my soldiers operated a grader, leveling the place where we’d live while constructing the outpost. The Army had attached an infantry platoon to 585th Engineer Company and the infantry had come just ahead of us and erected a perimeter. They were still living out of their vehicles.
I saw their platoon leader talking to First Sergeant Meyer. I walked over to introduce myself. I can’t recall this lieutenant’s name but I’ll never forget the look of anguish on his face later, when the helicopters were landing to pick up the injured and the dead. His job was to provide security, but three soldiers had died under his watch.
After the lieutenant and I exchanged hellos, I continued to look at Pakistan.
This is the edge of the world, I thought. This is the furthest I can get from home. It was a feeling both profoundly thrilling and profoundly sad. Now that I’ve traveled more, I’m aware of how little I’ve seen. But I still wonder if I’ll ever stand at the edge of the world and feel that far from home again.
***
On the morning of August 28, 2007, I woke at around six a.m. and coaxed myself out of my sleeping bag. That morning, I was running a logistical convoy to FOB Shank to drop off soldiers and supplies. Including myself, there would be nineteen soldiers in the convoy.
First I changed into a tan T-shirt and the top and bottom of an Army Combat Uniform. Then I sat on my cot and put on wool socks and combat boots. I wound the laces around the backside of the boot and tucked the ends inside the shoe as my squad leader had taught me to do six years ago, during Basic Training.
Then I put on a patrol cap. Afterwards, I gathered my Kevlar helmet, gloves, sunglasses, and flak vest. I stopped to ensure that my neck, groin, and shoulder protectors were attached to the vest. I also gathered my M16 rifle and an assault pack with a toothbrush and change of clothing. Then I walked outside.
A line of vehicles was staged in front of my tent in marching order: senior squad leader’s vehicle, platoon sergeant’s vehicle, my vehicle, heavy vehicles interspersed with humvees. The sun was starting to rise and I could see pink smears across the sky. I put my gear into the passenger seat of my humvee, then walked to the mess hall for a cup of coffee. On the way inside, Sergeant Howard intercepted me. “Ma’am, this is for Staff Sergeant Jimenez,” he said, handing me a white, three-ring binder. Sergeant Howard was a surveyor in Support Platoon and the binder was full of measurements he’d taken of the hill on which we were going to build the FOB.
“Thanks,” I said and took the binder. I gave Sergeant Howard a passing glance. He was young and there was a rugged attractiveness to his face. There were bags beneath his eyes. He looks tired, I thought. And four hours later, he was dead.
***
Sometime between 9 a.m. and 10 a.m. on August 28, 2007, our convoy drove out of the COP, past two soldiers with M240Bs manning the entry control point.
We wound around barriers that were arranged in a serpentine to slow incoming traffic. Then we headed downhill, the roads rutted and edged with weeds. We wound through the village, the streets lined with mud buildings. Barefoot men wearing salwar kameezes sat cross-legged outside storefronts behind boxes of produce, bottles of soda, and trinkets. A few children frolicked in the streets.
Women were absent, as they usually were, in every village and encounter.
Through the village, we drove into the barren field and across the dry streambed that was prone to flooding in the winter. That was where we saw Support Platoon building the bridge. They’d erected a perimeter of up-armored vehicles around their jobsite and soldiers with automatic weapons were standing in turrets and pulling security. Other soldiers were building the bridge. Everyone was wearing a flak vest.
Sergeant First Class Herrera, Support Platoon Sergeant, was standing near the road, supervising soldiers. He was a stocky fellow with white hair and a rosy complexion. In the final moments of his life, Herrera turned to watch our convoy and raised his arm to wave. Some of us waved back. But we kept driving.
I was looking straight ahead at the rutted road when I heard the explosion. It rocked the ground. The lead vehicle in our convoy came to a halt and the other vehicles followed suite. And then it was silent.
***
In the moment after the explosion, I thought, I don’t know what the hell that was. And then, I don’t want to deal with this right now. But I knew I had to deal with it, whatever it was, and I had to deal with it now. Seconds after this realization, my driver, Sergeant Adriel Moreno — who was on the bridge side of our vehicle — swiveled toward me. Wide-eyed, he picked up the hand microphone and said into the radio, “I see casualties.”
A moment later, we saw the medic running out of his vehicle and toward the bridge.
I took the hand microphone from Sergeant Moreno. “Gunners, stay with your vehicles,” I said. Then Sergeant Moreno and I got out of our vehicle and started running, too.
***
The first thing I saw when I stepped out of my humvee was a foot.
It was not one of my soldiers’. This foot was brown, dusty, calloused and wedged inside a gray sandal.
The style of sandal was familiar. I’d seen other Afghani men wear it. The foot was severed at the ankle. As I ran toward the bridge, I noticed hundreds of shards of skin scattered across the ground like confetti. The entire jobsite was permeated with the smell of blood. It reminded me of tampons, but different. This smell was more than blood. It was damp, fishy, fecal.
The next thing I saw was Sergeant First Class Herrera. When I’d seen him a few seconds earlier from inside my humvee he’d been supervising soldiers. The blast had thrown him twenty feet away, and he was lying on his back in the dirt.
Herrera, forty-three, was a gentle, soft-spoken leader from Salt Lake City. After he died, a soldier from Support Platoon characterized him as “that rare individual you meet and trust five minutes later.” Herrera had a wife named Traci, four children, and two grandchildren. Traci’s name was tattooed across his chest.
The medic was kneeling beside Herrera. First, he checked for responsiveness. “Can you hear me?” he yelled, shaking Herrera’s shoulder. Herrera was unresponsive. Next, the medic pushed on the back of Herrera’s neck, raising his chin and opening his airway. He checked for airflow by placing his ear close to Herrera’s nose and mouth. He couldn’t detect any breathing. Next, he traced the contours of Herrera’s body, sliding his fingers beneath the man’s back and legs. There was no pulse and he felt dampness. He discovered that shrapnel had penetrated Herrera’s legs and the back of his skull below his Kevlar helmet. Brain matter was dripping into the dirt. The medic got to his feet and faced me. There were more pressing matters to attend to. “He’s dead,” he said. And he took off running, again.
Instinctively, I headed to the hub of activity: a ditch near the bridge. That’s when I encountered Staff Sergeant Jimenez. Jimenez was staring into the ditch and moaning. Another soldier, Sergeant Bubba Pickren, was doing the same. I stood next to them and peered down. The ditch was five feet deep, and Sergeant Clark was lying at the bottom of it.
***
For weeks before the incident, Sergeant Clark told members of Support Platoon about a recurring nightmare: he would be blown up by the enemy and die from a head wound. Sadly, on August 28, 2007, sometime after 9 a.m., this is exactly what would happen.
Twenty-five year-old Clark had a wife named Monica and four children younger than six. He came from Plant City, Florida, where he joined the Army a few months before September 11 to escape his job in the freezer warehouse of Food Lion. After his death, Clark’s mother, Wrenita Codrington, told the Military Times that Clark had told her he’d “rather get a little dirty than a lot cold all the time.” Clark’s dream was to go to culinary school and open a restaurant with Monica. He had last tried to contact her on August 26, 2007, but she had not been at home, and he had left a voicemail telling her that he loved her.
After I saw Clark’s body, I lowered myself into the ditch and knelt beside him. There was no need for me to run through the steps of evaluating a casualty as the medic had done with Sergeant First Class Herrera. There was a large hole in Clark’s temple and his brain was visible. It was clear he’d died on impact. “We need to get him out here,” I yelled to Jimenez and Pickren. “Help me lift him.”
Jimenez slid into the ditch. I grabbed Clark’s legs and Jimenez grabbed his torso. Pickren reached down and took hold of Clark’s head and shoulders. “Lift,” I commanded. We lifted. Because of their strength, Jimenez and Pickren did the majority of the work. I may have lifted thirty pounds of Clark’s weight. I’d never touched a dead body before, and Clark’s legs were still soft and limp and warm.
We got him out of the ditch. Then I scrambled out of it, heard yelling, and turned to my left. The medic was kneeling next to Sergeant Howard.
Howard, twenty-four, was a snowboard and motorcycle enthusiast from Washington State. He’d joined the Army in 2002 and had served another tour in Iraq. He had a wife named Amber and two sons named Caleb and Ryan. He was mathematically gifted and hoped to become a mechanical engineer after the Army.
Later, I was informed that Howard died of a sucking chest wound. Jimenez told me that after he exited the ditch, he knelt next to Howard and the medic and tried to ask Howard a question. Howard tried to respond to Jimenez, but no words came out of his mouth, only blood.
The medic managed to open Howard’s flak vest and unzip the blouse of his Army Combat Uniform. The only thing standing between the medic and Howard’s skin was a tan T-shirt. “I need a scissors. I need a scissors. I need a scissors,” the medic said. I was acting, still, a player in a video game. “Who has a scissors?” I yelled to everyone in earshot. Specialist Tanya Vitacolonna, our only female gunner, was standing in the turret of her humvee. She swiveled to face me. “I have scissors, ma’am,” she said, reaching down to unclip them from her flak vest. She threw them to the medic and he started cutting off Howard’s T-shirt.
That’s when I thought, What the fuck are you doing? You’re the fucking convoy commander. Your job is to be on the radio. I ran back to my vehicle. Along the way, I surveyed the perimeter. I noted that there were holes in it. I ran up to one of my convoy’s humvees. The gunner was still inside as ordered. “Move your vehicle over there and man the area between those two trees,” I said, pointing. I ran up to a second vehicle and a third vehicle and told the gunners inside where to move and what their field of fire should be.
Again, I’m not sure how much time had elapsed since the explosion. Looking back, I’m sure that it was no more than five to ten minutes, but at the time that was difficult to gauge. I thought that maybe someone had remotely detonated an improvised explosive device or a soldier from Support Platoon had stepped on a pressure-triggered mine. I still hadn’t figured out that the foot I’d encountered was the foot of a suicide bomber.
***
After ensuring that the perimeter was secure, I threw open the door of my humvee and grabbed the hand microphone. “Roughneck TOC, Roughneck TOC, this is Roughneck 3-6, over.” The Company Communications guy, Specialist James Bartron, responded.
“Roughneck 3-6, Roughneck 3-6, this is Roughneck TOC, over.”
“Roughneck TOC, we have two casualties at the bridge site.”
I could hear rustling in the background. I expected to hear the commander’s voice, but it was the voice of Lieutenant Grayson Pranin. I told Pranin the names of the two dead soldiers, one of whom was his platoon sergeant. I told him that Howard was possibly dead, too.
“What is the status of the rest of the platoon?” Pranin wanted to know.
I couldn’t tell him. I’d only encountered the bodies of Herrera, Clark and Howard. I hadn’t seen anyone else. “I’ll find out,” I said.
I grabbed a notebook from my assault pack and ran back to the bridge. Staff Sergeant Jimenez was establishing a casualty collection point in an open field near the bridge. Soldiers from my convoy were transporting injured members of Support Platoon to the casualty collection point on stretchers or by fireman’s carry. Some of the injured were able to walk on their own. “Sergeant Howard just died,” someone informed me.
Every time I encountered an injured soldier, I wrote his name in my notebook and jotted notes next to it. After collecting data, I returned to the radio. “There are twelve injured,” I told Pranin. I told him their names and type of injury. I told him everything I knew.
“We’ve called in a helicopter,” said Pranin. He told me that the estimated time of arrival was fifteen minutes. Then he asked me to switch to the helicopter’s radio frequency and give the soldiers onboard a better description of what I was seeing.
***
After I spoke to the soldiers on the helicopter, I stepped away from the radio. One of my soldiers approached and handed me a purple smoke grenade. I carried it to Staff Sergeant Jimenez at the casualty collection point.
On the way to Jimenez, I passed the lieutenant from Arkansas. He was sitting cross-legged in the dirt, talking with someone on a radio. I’m not sure when he’d arrived. I also noticed that First Sergeant Meyer had shown up. First Sergeant Meyer stood solemnly over Sergeant First Class Herrera’s body, mouthing the words to a prayer and rendering a salute. The men had grown up together in the Army and had met one another as young privates.
Someone in the Tactical Operations Center told me that after I radioed in about the two casualties, the commander had dropped to his knees and began moaning. First Sergeant Meyer had run past the Commander and outside, grabbed the nearest soldier and told him, “Take me to the bridge.”
The soldier and First Sergeant Meyer threw on their flak vests, jumped into the nearest humvee, and raced downhill without the commander. They wound their way through the village, sped across the barren field, roared over the dry streambed, and reached the bridge site. Again, this makes me believe that only a few minutes elapsed between the explosion and the time the helicopter arrived. However, it still felt like hours.
I reached Staff Sergeant Jimenez. He was standing at the casualty collection point surrounded by the injured. The bodies of Herrera, Clark, and Howard were nearby. Jimenez’s combat boots were covered in blood. I handed him the purple smoke grenade. “The helicopter will be here in seven or eight minutes,” I told him. “They told me there are going to be two: one for the injured and one for the dead.”
“OK,” said Jimenez. He took the smoke grenade from my hands. I watched him pull the pin. Purple smoke swirled up and over the tree line, alerting the helicopter of our location.
***
Seven or eight minutes after Staff Sergeant Jimenez pulled the pin on the purple smoke grenade, the first helicopter arrived, picked up the injured soldiers, and took them to a hospital at Kandahar Airfield. Two or three minutes later, the second helicopter picked up Howard, Herrera, and Clark.
The helicopters lifted off with a roar of their blades, creating a cloud of dust. And then it was just members of my convoy, First Sergeant Meyer, the lieutenant from Arkansas, and the soldiers from Support Platoon who weren’t dead or injured.
First Sergeant Meyer gathered the soldiers who were not manning the perimeter around him. He was a grizzled man who harkened from a generation where women were a rarity in the armed forces and non-commissioned officers could physically abuse a private for not complying with orders. Some soldiers in 585th Engineer Company found him intimidating, unflinching, and archaic, but none of that seemed to matter now, in an open field by a bridge in eastern Afghanistan.
“You all did the best you could,” First Sergeant Meyer told us. “Now it’s time to go back to the COP. Everyone get inside your vehicles. I’ll bring up the rear.”
We got back into our vehicles. I got on the radio and told the gunners to stay low in their turrets. We’d barely crossed the dry streambed when someone I didn’t recognize came on the radio. “Roughneck 3-6, Roughneck 3-6, this is Crazyhorse 18, over.”
“Crazyhorse 18, Crazyhorse 18, this is Roughneck 3-6, over.”
“Roughneck 3-6, would you like us to shadow your convoy, over?”
I turned to my driver for help. Sergeant Moreno was in his early thirties and had deployed multiple times.
“Who’s Crazyhorse 18?” I asked him. “And why are they shadowing us?”
“It’s an Apache helicopter,” Sergeant Moreno said. “They want to know if we want them to pull security for us while we convoy up the hill.”
The AH-64 Apache is an attack helicopter with a nose-mounted sensor for target acquisition and night vision systems. It’s armed with an M230 Chain Gun carried beneath the aircraft’s forward fuselage. It has four weapons systems, typically a mixture of AGM-114 Hellfire missiles and Hydra 70 rocket pods. I got back on the radio.
“Crazyhorse 18, this is Roughneck 3-6. That’s an affirmative. Please shadow us until we reach our COP.”
We headed uphill slowly, dismally, while the Apache helicopter hovered overhead, silhouetted against the mid-morning sun.
81 Responses to “The Day a Suicide Bomber Killed Three Soldiers”
SSG (r) Bubba Pickren
Ma’am… Thank you for sharing this.. I deal with it every day of what’s left of my life… My marriage has failed, my children are growing up (son is 18, daughter is 16), my military career is over, and even after all I experienced through combat with losing battle buddies and killing the enemy on deployment prior to this incident… This is what broke me… I am stuck there… In the dust and dirt still trying to find something… I don’t know what it is I lost… Friends? My humanity? My soul? I wish I could move on from this and begin to feel again… To heal…… Thank you for sharing this….
SSG (r) Pickren, Bubba
AKA SAPPER 4/3
Roughneck 4/2
lmimsdahl@gmail.com
Thanks for writing me, Bubba. I am so sorry to hear all of this. We have all been so strongly affected by our time in Afghanistan. Please know that I will keep you in my thoughts and prayers. You are a wonderful soldier and human being. I know there is a way forward for you. Please be confident that there are many out there who care about you.
Tina Pickren
Lori, I remember you from the days of 585th. As the ex wife of SSG Pickren, I will say that I have seen the toll that it has had on his life and how it continues to impact him. Prayers for all of you as you wrestle with the demons that you have. I never fully understood that day until reading your post. I stay in touch with Cory’s Mother and when I visit home, go to his grave. Forever in our hearts and minds. 585th Roughnecks.
Lori Imsdahl
Thanks for your kind words, Tina.
Jeri Herrera
Thank you for documenting this. I am Rocky’s sister. I have always wondered how his he lived his last moments and what happened pursuant to his passing.
You are right. He was a man that you could meet and trust him five minutes later. That is a perfect assesment of his character.
Lori Imsdahl
Thanks Jeri. I hope this piece was helpful to you in some small way. This essay meant a lot to me and I reread it dozens of times to make sure that I recounted the story as factually as possible. I haven’t gone out of my way to share this essay with other people (I wrote it two years ago while in an MFA in Writing program out in Virginia) because it seemed too raw and personal. But I found it therapeutic to write and maybe it will be therapeutic to other soldiers and their families. From what I remember of him, your brother was an amazing man and soldier.
Raftice
Thank you for this amazing story ma’am, that day haunts me every year making me wonder what could’ve been done to prevent this. SFC Herrera is still one of the leaders I try to emulate now that I’m a SSG. That company is still by far the best group of individuals I’ve worked with. From the operations office all te way through the maintenance guys we were all one family.
SSG Raftice, Shawn
Pickren you can always reach out brother and if am glad that I made friends like you along my path. You helped me a few times with issues I’ve ran I too even though we hadn’t talked in years. This just proves that we were the roughneck family.
Lori Imsdahl
Hi Shawn,
It’s great to hear from you. I agree; it’s a day that haunts me, too. I didn’t know SFC Herrera super well, but I never heard a bad thing said about him. Writing this piece was therapeutic for me. I’m grateful that the Army placed me in 585th and I got to meet people like you. I don’t think I could have had a better Army company and platoon. Hope you’ve been well.
Former SGT Houts, Michael
Thank you ma’am for writing this. You have immortalized our fallen brothers stories and assured that they will never be forgotten. The night before I left Bagram for my long waited R&R Clark and I sat at a picnic table talking and joking for hours. When I came back in country I will never forget when I was told the news. The last time I talked to him he was telling me all about his newly born twins and that I would never get to talk to him again. SFC Herrera was always a kind man and had a good sense of humor. we had some good laughs and these men will always be forever in my mind. I was not there that day, that is the weight I will have to carry with me for the rest of my life.
SGT (former) Houts, Michael
Roughnecks 2/2
Maintenance PLT
Lori Imsdahl
Thanks for your thoughts, Michael. I hope everything is going well with you.
Sgt Casuse, candice
Ma’Am thanks for writing this, that is a day I’ll remember. A day that changed everyone in 585th EN CO forever. I remember standing on the run way watching them fly my brothers home…
Sgt Casuse
Lori Imsdahl
Thanks Candice. It’s interesting how we all have such different memories from that day. Regardless, the day hasn’t left any of us.
SSG Carrasco (ret)
Thank you ma’am! I miss these guys and everyone else!
Lori Imsdahl
Thank you. I miss the 585th folks, too.
Kathy Vega-Poyer
Through tears a read this and thank you for posting this story. I went to school With Sgt Hererra and the comment “that rare individual you meet and trust five minutes later.” Is so spot on as to who he was as a person. I am sad he is gone but we will never forget him and I hope writing this story has helped you deal with the trauma of it all. God bless..
Lori Imsdahl
Thanks for reading the essay, Kathy. Rocky was a great man. Writing this piece did indeed help me heal.
(Former SGT) Adam Cowburn
Thank you for posting this. I never really knew what happened that day and it rocked me to the core, although I didn’t show it then. I didn’t know Howard or Clark, but I did know SFC Herrera. The fact that someone I knew had been killed had a profound affect on me. Thank you again for posting.
Lori Imsdahl
Thank you, Adam.
Anthony Treml (formerly SGT)
To this day that shirt moment in my life faints me. I constantly ask myself if there was something we could have done better to prevent thus from happening.
I will always miss my fallen comrades in arms.
Lori Imsdahl
Hi Anthony. I agree with you; one of the hardest parts about this incident (and others like it that we encounter in our lives) is never knowing for certain whether we could have done something different to prevent it.
Jon Fallin
Hey treml, hope you’ve been well. I’m planning an EQ reunion next year for our platoon from 05.
Anthony Treml
Fallin,
Good to hear from you. I am doing well in Richland WA. I am going to be graduating in May with my degree in mechanical engineering. let me know about an EQ platoon reunion. Even though i was with maintenance i remember spending countless days with EQ platoon on the job site and would love to see some of that crew again.
Jon Fallin
Lori
Thanks for writing, I always wondered what happened to Howard that day, we worked together quite a bit on our first deployment and I was his XO at the time on incident. I’ll always remember we had to keep the news quiet and tell no one until notification happened, yet people knew something bad had happened. 1sg Russel stepped into my office, closed the door and hugged me while we sobbed. Took a minute then went back to work.
I also find talking about events helps. As you know, our first rotation we lost Davis and walker, Davis slept in my tent the night before, and I spoke to both as we exited the base that morning, some 30 minutes later they hit the IED. I have spoken at several events locally, service organizations and the local university, and I always mention these events and try to tie them into a bigger theme, it seems to help. I also created a platoon page for my platoon where we all can stay in touch, if you haven’t already I urge you to do the same.
Take care
Jon
Lori Imsdahl
Thanks Jon. We all deal with our emotions so differently. I was a writer long before the Army and continue to write. Writing has helped me get through many challenges in my life including this particular incident. Have you heard of the Veteran’s Writing Project? http://veteranswriting.org/ I think this is an incredible organization and I would encourage you to mention this as a possible resource for veterans when you give speeches in the future. I completed an MFA in Writing after the Army and would like to lead a veteran’s writing group in the future; I think writing is an important (and often underestimated) outlet and way of healing.
Jon Fallin
I also encourage any Soldiers struggling with their past deployments to see a therapist with the VA. I’ve been a few times, and have been able to get a few of my old Soldiers to go which helped them tremendously.
Will Kerr
I’m sitting here staring at this article and I can’t think of what to write. It’s just not fair. I was working front gate in sharana when I found out. I remember Frank Barquist and I holding each other and crying. So many lives were ruined because of a coward. I’m terrified because in September I will be heading to Florida and have plans to visit Clark’s gravesite. I dont know what to say to him. I miss him. I’m sorry, thank you for sharing LT. I’m just glad they died among family.
– Former SPC Will Kerr, 2nd PLT
Lori Imsdahl
Hi Will. Don’t worry. You don’t need to know what to say to him this September. Your presence is enough.
Luis Hernández
R.I.P my battle bodies. I will remember that day until the last day of my life .
Lori
Yes. R.I.P.
SSG Lacy (Ret.)
I remember talking to Corey Clark before I left Bagram to go on R&R, and he was headed to Jahji to get started on the bridge project. When I returned from R&R, I was waiting in Bagram for a flight to return us to Jahji, but we missed two flights due to mechanical problems. Then, we were notified of the suicide bomber attack at the worksite and that we lost three soldiers and several were injured. All flights headed to Jahji were canceled and all 585th soldiers in Bagram were called together and informed of what was going on. At the time, I didn’t know that it was SGT Clark, SFC Herrera and SGT Howard. We were told that the plane would be coming into Bagram and they requested our assistance in bringing the bodies off the plane. I was the first to raise my hand to help with the bodies and when I entered the plane, there were three caskets. The second casket is the one I helped to unload and it had Sgt. Clark’s name on it. That’s when I found out that he was gone. I was crushed, to say the least. He was a fellow Floridian and had a wife and 4 kids. I didn’t find out who the other 2 casualties were until later that day. This is something that I will never forget and I will always remember that day when we were all informed of what happened in Jahji. Thank you for sharing this ma’am. It really brings back memories of all the brothers in arms of 585th.
Lori
Hi Wayne. Thanks for sharing these details. I had no idea that you helped unload Sergeant Clark’s casket off the plane. I agree that the events of that day were crushing to all of us in our own ways.
Katy Willadson
Beautiful and raw. What a tribute to these three men’s lives. By that I mean you have told their story and it will not be forgotten. I wish all of our fallen heros could have their last courageous moments memorialized and shared with as many people as possible. This also brings home the pain and grief the survivors carry the rest of their lives.
I can never begin to thank the men and women that have kept me and our nation safe and went above and beyond any call of duty just by serving.
God Bless You With Every Step You Take.
Lori
Katy, thanks for your words. To be honest, I was too scared to share this essay since I wrote it in 2012. I thought that people would judge me or think that I was trying to “sensationalize” what happened. All of these comments have made me feel more confident in putting my “raw” writing out into the world. I agree with you — more soldiers deserve to have their stories told. I hope I can write more of their stories as the years go by.
Dennis Paxton
Ma’am,
Thank you for a better understanding of what went down that day. I did not know SGT Howard but, I did live with both SFC Herrera and SGT Clark at different times during our long deployment. They’re two of the nicest people I have ever met. I think of them all the time, and I always feel a void in my heart. May god bless their families and the 585th family.
Thanks again for sharing Ma’am.
Dennis
Lori
Thanks for writing me, Dennis. I hope you’ve been well. I miss the 585th family.
Katrina Lacy
I am SSG Lacy’s wife and I am thankful to you, Lori, for sharing this story. Oftentimes, I ask my husband about traumatic events that happened when he was deployed, but he just can’t talk about it. Reading this helps me as I help him to deal with the after effects of deployment. By sharing this, you have helped way more people than I’m sure you can imagine. Thank you!
Lori
Thanks, Katrina.
David Johnson
Ma’am,
Thank you for your essay. I was PFC Johnson one of the new Tangos, we used to work with you and the rest of the S-3, SGT Howard was my team leader other members of the team were Jose Lugo and Gary Sinischo later Ray Wall joined, he was injured in the attack. We had been attached to the 585th Co in support of the mission at Fob Logar Shank, we had just finished up the mission as my R&R came up, I left in early August and returned to Bagram on the night the bombing took place. I was deeply hurt when I returned to combat and found out that my team leader had been KIA, I remember a sense of hurt and confusion for not knowing what to do now. For a Private something like this happening is pretty scary. SGT Howard gave us so much guidance on how to do our job, I have to say the things he taught me are still with me today. Thank you ma’am for helping to fill in the gaps for me, many nights I have wondered what were the actual events that took place on that day with only a few stories from others to help sooth my need to know. May God bless the families of the fallen, may he comfort them and watch over them throughout life.
David
Lori
Thanks David. I tried to recount the story as best as I could. Memory is a weird thing. You can never be 100 percent sure you’re remembering things exactly the way they really happened. But I tried my best. I can only imagine how confusing and hard that must have been to lose your team leader. Thanks for writing.
SSG CLARK
Thanks for the personal account ma’am Sgt Clark and Howard were good friends I remember this day all to well I was on that psd in bound convoy haunts me as well good to see all of you are doing good and your lives.
Lori
Thank you.
Debra pickren
I also would like to thank you for sharing this story even though it took me hours to read it thru the tears, SSG (R) Bubba Pickren is our only son and we’ve often wondered just what happened that day and now we know how hard it must have been for him as well as all who were there, he has finally started acting a little more like the Bubba we raised but for so long we thought we had lost that person. I spoke to SSG Clark on the phone a few days before he was killed and was looking forward to meeting him when he got leave for he only lived 25 min. from us but never did it cross my mind that when we met it would be a his funeral, It was the most heartbreaking but beautiful service I’ve ever seen and we still visit he grave site every chance we get, I think your story will help people understand a little more of what our soldier’s go thru when they return from war and feel so lost. Thank you again
Lori
Hi Debra. Thanks for sharing these heartbreaking details. I’m rooting for Bubba.
Traci Herrera
Lori,
Thank you for sharing your experience, I’m so glad that you are able to find a source of outlet for your pain. My husband was our world, when we lost him I didn’t think we would ever heal. I’m still not sure we have healed but we go on everyday. The one thing I do know is the world is not a better place without those three men. Rocky was the kindest, funniest, and most loyal person I’ve ever known…he was my soul mate. I’m grateful I read your story and sincerely hope that every person involved in the events of that day find peace. My heart is with you all. Best wishes Lori..
Lori
Hi Traci. I feel like nothing I can say will sound right. Thanks for commenting on my essay and thanks for being supportive of all of us in 585th Engineer Company. You and your family are in my thoughts. I wish you the very best always.
SSG Guzman, Moses
Thank you ma’am,
For writing this this story. Reading this story put number of tears reading about our heros. I miss these brothers and may they RIP. Theres not a day that goes by thinking about that day at Jaji Province, Afghanistan. Also god bless there families and Fallen Brothers. If you need anything let me know please.
SSG Guzman
585th EN CO
Lori
Thank you so much for writing me. I hope you’ve been doing well.
David Austin
Ma’am. You did a great job writing this article. I really miss the Soldiers and Leaders of that company and those times as bad as things got those were special times. This was very well written thank you.
Lori
Thank you.
Meryle Walters
Ma’am Thanks for sharing ur story on what had happened that day. SFC Herrera was my platoon seargent a great leader and mentor . SGT Clark was a good friend and always a smile on . SGT Howard was a good friend also we always use to joke saying ” we shouldn’t be here!!!” Because we both were Stop Loss …
Still remember that day like it was yesterday plays over n over n my mind. Every day that goes by I wish I could change what happened. We’ll never forget them .. Prayers to their family and loved ones …
Lori
Thanks for your words. I hope all is well with you.
Wendy
Hi Lori,
My son Daniel Herron was injured in that attack and as many others has never told us details of this. He has healed as best he can from his injuries but I know those moments will never leave his mind. I thank you for sharing that and I pray that all affected by this will continue to heal.
Lori
Thanks Wendy.
Ken Wall
I’ve read this storie more times than I can count. Thanks so much for sharing this, the detail is out standing. My son Ray was there that day, and one of the twelve injured. He remembers very little cause he was knocked out right away. Now I know the solders that helped keep him together till the medivac got there, more gratefully than you know. His injuries have healed and he’s managing them well and still serving. Peace and healing to all involved that day, thanks Lori
Lori
Thanks for writing, Ken. I’m glad that Ray is doing well and still serving. Wishing you both the best.
Sherrie Imsdahl Lamb
I’m Lori’s aunt. All I can do when I read this is cry for myself and for all of you. My husband was an army ranger in Vietnam. He died this year. Reading what happened to you in Afghanistan has made me understand a little bit better what happened to Robert and what he lived with and struggled with all these past 43 years. I feel terrible that I can’t really comprehend what all of you have experienced and I feel guilty that I didn’t give my husband as much support as he needed. I tried but unless you’ve experimced it yourself, you feel totally inadequate. My hope and prayer for you is that Lori’s essay will help you, at least to know that you aren’t alone. I salute all of you brave people who have been physically and emotionally wounded forever in the defense of our country. We can never deserve your sacrifice.
Lori
Thanks Aunt Sherrie.
Sean Harris
I was a team leader with the infantry platoon that was attached to you guys. Our LT’s name was Cormier. I remember playing basketball with some of your soldiers and getting to know them was an honor. Also, there was one of your soldiers I took up to the hill to pull security for the night when the 50 cal backfired on him when returning fire. I was wondering how he turned out? You can email me at smh3517@uncw.edu
Lori
Thanks Sean. I’m not sure what soldier you’re referencing but, besides our three fallen comrades, everyone came back safely to America. Over the years, I’ve been in touch with some of the soldiers, mostly through Facebook. Some are still in and many have gotten out and gone to college. I hope you’re doing well.
Michael Esparza
I work harder everyday knowing that these brave soldiers gave their lives for our country. I was a part of 585th, but was exiled due to conflict with the chain of command. I had the honor to get to see everyone of the fallen prior to their sacrifice. I know in my heart that I was supposed to be at the Jaji bridge the day of the incident.Today is Memorial Day and every year I honor these soldiers. No matter what I do in life I will always give honor to Sgt Clark, Sgt Howard and SFC Herrera.
5/25/2015
Lori
Thanks for writing.
SSG Pickren (R)
Just checking in Maam, hope all is well and that you have made it through some of the dark memories to be able to focus on making brighter happier ones for the future… i still struggle and some days are worse than others but im a soldier and as always will troop through just to prove others wrong….. you know me lol…. i never did go down without a fight and this wont be any different…… miss you all…. RIP Cory , Rocky, and Bryce….
Lori
Hi! I’m so sorry it’s taken me weeks to respond. I haven’t checked this blog as much as I should. How are you doing? Thinking of you.
Elton
My brother was there that day. I personally met Rocky when I was in Seattle. No one understands what these soldiers go through unless they have been through it. Please get help guys. We don’t need to lose anymore hero.
Thanks for your service
Lori
Hi Elton. Re: “Please get help guys. We don’t need to lose anymore heroes.” I agree! Thanks for your comment.
SSG Jerry Nesmith
I remember this day like it was yesterday
I was a member of the JAJI ETT team that was moving into the FOB your Co was building. We rolled up on the scene about 10 minutes after the explosion and could not believe what had happened. We had driven this very route every week for the the previous 3 months and never had any trouble. I had a hard time thinking if we didn’t need a fob than these brave soldiers would not had been here and would still be alive today. In the years since I have come to grips with the guilt I felt. Thank you for writing this it helps having a better understanding of the people that were lost that day.
Lori
Thanks for your words, Jerry.
SGT LEE (Wiley), Talana (ret)
Wow ma’am (Lori) this is the first time i have heard the full story i just knew of the injured when i had to assist with getting them medevac back to Madigan. Neither one of them have left my heart or mind and never will. 585th was still a developing company but we took care of each other. And for all the soldiers that were actually there i pray that your days and night be peaceful. I know it may be hard at times just NEVER give up and ALWAYS believe that God and your family and military family is and always will be there for you when you need to talk. I miss each and everyone of ya’ll. ROUGHNECKS
Matthew Colin Colvard
Lori this is the first time I have seen this and one of the Closest Accounts of that horrible day as I remember it besides a few details. I was the 50 cal gunner in the second vehicle and Duff was my Tc I don’t recall who was driving my vic as our normal was on leave and hadn’t made it back yet Kirifi was in my truck and manned the gun after I dismounted to help treat casualties one of the first things I remember seeing as the dust was settling was Payne running back across the road to a lmtv to retrieve an aid bag and back to treat others and I was helping with Herron and Ellis and then looked over and saw that Payne was bleeding profusely from the mouth and I think he helped carry Herron on a litter to the first bird and the flight medic and I had the make him get on the bird as he was still trying to help others. There was so much going on that day it all seems like a fog and I know my rambling probably doesn’t make much sense But my thought process is much the same these days after dealing with this and others before and after this incident. It is ironic that I got on my fb and came across this as we are fast approaching the 9th anniversary of it and I am sure I’m not the only one that still deals with this disaster today. I hope that all of us that were affected directly or indirectly can one day be reunited with our brothers in God’s magnificent kingdom he has prepared for us.
Sam Escobar
Lori,
I have never read this article. The is not a day that goes by without thinking about these three heroes… For the longest i have blame myself for not doing more to ensure the safety of every Soldier in our company…. I missed them and i feel like i failed the family for not bringing them home…. I wished i could go back in time and change what happened…. I am so sorry for the lost of these Rocky, Howy and Clark…. We all miss them and may God protect care and protect their families… They will always be in my heart.
Jones, Josh
This brings me back to remembering what that day truly was. It had a huge impact on my life. I miss the old unit. Great people and leaders. I see SGT Howard picture every year on a banner at TOR in my home town. Not a day goes by that I wish things were different. SGT Clark and I had an issue at one point, and I don’t feel I ever got to resolve it with him but he was great man and father. SFC Herrera was an awesome leader. I glad I was able to be able to meet him and talk with him on occasion. I do miss you all and hope you all are doing well. I’m glad our paths have crossed and that to all you 585 soldiers.
Daryl Klump
Thanks you for sharing this ma’am. Know matter how hard I try to move on; it just doesn’t go away.
Adriel marino
Wow I didn’t know it happened today!i was scrolling through Facebook at work and saw this. You really maintained your composure and did one heck of a job keeping communications up and keeping all elements informed with the status that day!you acted way beyond your rank indicated! Oh by the way it’s Marino lol
Adriel marino
Wow I didn’t realize that happened this month. You acted way beyond what your rank indicated and really kept communication with all elements open and informed. I was proud of you that day for maintaining your composure!
Valerie Curran
Thank you for your moving account of that day. I am the mother of Erin St. Amant, who filmed Corey Clark’s Christmas message home. A year or so ago, by strange twists and turns of fate, I found myself at his grave site. It’s beautiful. Thank you again. I will be one who always remembers.
Akquami jarvis
Wow! This is the first I’ve seen this and it just takes me back. I talked to Clark frequently being given that we who lived in Florida all seemed to get along. We planned to have a BBQ when we got back and meet each other’s family. Needless to say it crushed me when I found out what happened because we both were married with 4 children. I really appreciate that you posted this as I’ve never heard the story from someone else so close to the incident. Thanks so much.
Caleb Howard (Bryce's Oldest Son)
Thank you so much for writing this. I’ve always wondered what exactly happened on that day. I’m so glad I found this article. My family and I are doing great now and everyday we remember my Dad and we all miss him very much. It was really awesome to find out how mathematically smart my dad was because I never knew he was. I loved my dad and I hope he’s in a much better place now drinking beer and watching the Seahawks haha.
Jason Carter
Lori, I remember this day every year. I was in a convoy coming up to Jaji for our missions with the ABP and I remember telling my team chief that I see MEDEVAC and Apache helicopters. When we got to the bridge site, it is exactly as you described it except the first thing that I saw was a leg and hand. It, too, had the sandal still on it. Thank you for writing this piece, Lori. It really helps me a lot.
V/R,
Jason Carter
Sensei 4
SFC GADSDEN, DWAYNE L.
Damn… is all I could say… I heard about this when it had happened, but I had never read or heard of this story until now. Ma’am, I want to say it is a very well written story. I was not present in Afghanistan when this happened, but I was the company medic in the beginning. I still feel a sense of great regret for not being allowed to deploy with the 585th. I had already been deployed twice at this time as a flight medic and had transferred to 5-5 ADA. I knew all three of the fallen very well. Again, great account of what happened, and god bless the 585th.
Nelton Davis (retired)
I appreciate you telling the story that I could not. Those brave men deserve it. The country needs to know that we give a lot, we lose more. Some of the best battles I’ve every worked with.
Jasper Pothoven
Hi Lori. I hope you are well. Thank you for this story. I thought there was more to it before and I was hoping to get a copy of it for me personally if you still have it. Thanks.
Pothoven