The 159th In Iraq

At the risk of sounding like the grandfathers we are, how very proud we are as Americans and 159ers to know that the heritage of Dedicated Unhesitating Service To Our Fighting Forces is alive and thriving in our "little brothers & sisters." As a vital part of the emergency medical care to our wounded in Operation Enduring Freedom and Operation Iraqi Freedom, the 159th is well represented by dedicated professionals operating both individually, and collectively as crews.

Based in Darmstadt, Germany as a unit of the 421st Evacuation Battalion, the 159th Medical Company (Air Ambulance) Medevac has seen action around the world. Whenever and wherever the U. S. Military operates or disaster strikes, the 159th is among the first to be called. It was only natural that they were among the first units mobilized for operations in the Middle East. Their mission is to evacuate and stabilize wounded, ill, and injured-be they Coalition Forces, Civilian, or Opposing Forces.

Flying the large, noisy UH-60 Black Hawk Helicopters, stealth is not an option available to them, so they rely on training, skill, dedication, and raw courage to tirelessly accomplish this mission. Their missions come in the daytime or middle of night, rain or shine, heat or cold, accompanied by the ever-present sand, blown by the desert winds or the rotor blades. And just as in Viet Nam, the red cross on the white background provides an inviting target to some opportunistic enemy holdout.

We, of all people, understand the mission they undertake and the risk they face on each and every mission. The members of the 159th DUSTOFF Alumni Association commit to encourage, support, and pray for them as they serve our great nation. We ask that all who view this page do the same. May God Continue To Bless Our Troops and America!

Note: Deployment locations or logistical information will not be given in this web page unless it is from an accredited, US Army approved source with prior public release authorization- i.e.: published periodicals, news agencies, etc. No malicious intent or unflattering representation of the men and women serving this vital mission is intended. We of the 159th Dustoff Alumni Association salute these courageous professionals and their contributions to the DUSTOFF! legacy, and the 159th's continuing history. RM

Some Of The 500 Pounds Of "CARE" Packages of Comfort
Sent By The 159th Dustoff Alumni Association

Private Zach Talraas was wounded by fire from a van bearing a red cross. Within minutes, he was winging his way to hospital BY BRIAN BENNETT/TALLIL AIRBASE, SOUTHEASTERN IRAQ

Saturday, Apr. 05, 2003 When Zach Talraas saw a white van with flashing red lights barreling toward his Humvee, he held fire. A gentle press of his thumb on the red rubber trigger of his Mark 19 automatic grenade launcher could have incinerated the incoming vehicle. But the 20 year-old army private held off. "Emergency vehicles," he says, "are supposed to be exempt."

Then his convoy started taking fire from the direction of the van, and Talraas was hit in the leg. "It felt like something had snapped my bone in half," says the young soldier from his hospital bed at Tallil Air Base in south eastern Iraq.

Talraas, a new gunner in the Army's 82nd Airborne, had fired his first shot in combat a day earlier. After what felt like endless weeks waiting in a secure area at the Kuwait City International Airport, Talraas's company flew into Iraq on an HC-130 and landed at the newly captured airbase near Nasiriyah, before heading northwest on the road to Baghdad When a Toyota truck heading toward the convoy didn't stop for Talraas' raised hand, he put a few 40mm high explosive rounds from his Mark 19 across the vehicle's path. "It was just a warning shot," says the DesMoines, Iowa native. "But with all the reports of Iraqi suicide bombers and Fedayeen fighters dressing in farmer's clothes, we were being careful."

The company spent that first night camped on the southeastern outskirts of Samawah, an ancient mud-brick city built over an elbow of the Euphrates River. At 3am on Monday, they got the order to move through the town and secure two bridges. The first thing Talraas noticed as dawn broke were the palm trees and lush green fields. "It almost reminded me of an old Vietnam movie," he says. "We came into the desert, but this was very, very green."

Before reaching the first bridge, the convoy was taking small arms fire from across the river when a "technical" vehicle, a civilian truck with a machine gun mounted on the back came careening toward them. They "lit it up" and secured the bridge.

Things had seemed to be going well that morning, but Samawah put Talraas on edge. A sniper could easily hide in its narrow alleyways and tall, closely spaced mud-brick buildings. "My nerves were up," says Talraas. "We don't train for that environment, with buildings so close together and that high."

Approaching the second bridge, the company was hit by mortar fire and rocket propelled grenades. "My eyes were working overtime," said Talraas, "trying to figure out where the fire was coming from." Then a turquoise dump truck with a bright orange Mercedes symbol on it started heading toward them along the river. Talraas could see more "technicals" moving across the bridge about a thousand meters off to the left. That's when the white van appeared, its red lights flashing. After they were shot at, Talraas' driver, Sergeant Michael Maita, hit the gas and sped back to the southeastern corner of the town. Maita had been shot in the hand. "But," said Talraas, "he kept his wits about him and they got out of there," Maita shouting "Medic! Medic!" as they tore back to safety.

At Tallil Air Base 55 miles southeast, Sergeant Henry Barbe was fast asleep. Barbe is an Army "DUSTOFF" medic (an acronym for "Dedicated, Unhesitating Support to Our Fighting Forces"), part of the corps whose medical evacuation helicopters fly in to pick up their injured comrades in danger zones. And because their helicopters are marked with the red cross, the Geneva Convention forbids them from carrying offensive weapons. They are armed with nothing more than four 9mm pistols and one M16 rifle.

Responding to Maita's call, the 29 year-old Barbe jumped from his cot, donned his flight suit, boots, flak vest and chest plate, strapped on his 9mm pistol and survival vest, and stepped into his monkey harness — the safety strap that allows him to move around in the open-air back of a speeding helicopter.

Soon he was airborne in a Black Hawk screaming toward Samawah at 140 knots. Nearing the town, Barbe saw the secured landing area — a circle of Humvees and Bradley tanks, guns pointed out, a smoke grenade billowed up giving the all-clear for the pilot to set the helicopter down.

Barbe had been told to expect one walking wounded, but as soon as the DUSTOFFS hit the ground, the waiting company brought out Maita, Talraas and a paratrooper who had been shot in the right kidney. But that wasn't Barbe's only surprise that morning. He knew these guys; this was his old brigade. The soldier with the gut wound was a friend of his, and was rapidly losing consciousness.

As the Black Hawk tore back to the hospital at Tallil, Maita and Talraas were stable and Barbe focused on squeezing bags of saline into the dying soldier's jugular vein. To keep him from slipping into a coma, Barbe was grabbing handfuls of the patient's eyebrow hair ripping it out, and rubbing his knuckles into his sternum. Anything painful to get a response. Every few minutes the bleeding paratrooper would pick up his head, smile weakly and give a thumbs up. He was still with them.

When the DUSTOFF touched down at the Tallil Army Combat Hospital 20 minutes later, the surgery ward was prepped and ready. The wounded paratrooper was wheeled straight onto the operating table, and the surgeons were in and out in an hour and a half.

Surgeon Major Mark Harris picks up the story: "It's a miracle that the soldier with the gut wound got to the hospital alive. If the medic hadn't arrived when he did, the guy would have perished within minutes."

As of Wednesday, the paratrooper, whose name cannot be released until his family is notified of his injury, was still alive, although still seriously ill. The doctors at the Tallil hospital estimate that his chances of survival are now over 50 percent. Young Private Talraas is happy to be alive, but is anxious to get back to his brothers on the front line.

He proudly shows off the mangled 7.62mm AK-47 shell the surgeons pulled from his right leg. The medic Barbe, however, is troubled by the news that an ambulance might have opened fire on his fellow soldiers. The rules of war don't seem to apply in Iraq. "That red cross is the only protection we got," says Barbe, "and they clearly don't care about that." • TIME MAGAZINE

BAGHDAD (AFP) — The largest ongoing US medevac operation since the Vietnam war is in full swing in Iraq as a company of Blackhawk helicopter pilots, crew chiefs and medics race across Iraqi skies — and against time — to bring aid to friend and foe. Fighting wind-whipped perma-dust, rising attacks on US forces and exhaustion, the 159th Air Ambulance company struggles to transport the growing number of wounded on both sides of a simmering conflict three months after a lightning US-led invasion ousted dictator Saddam Hussein.

The need for the emergency medical evacuation (medevac) services shows no sign of let-up as US forces come under mounting attacks by suspected Saddam loyalists — many of whom are flown to US field hospitals after sustaining injuries in gunbattles with US troops.“We're by far the busiest I've ever experienced,” says Captain James Hannam, the exhausted 30-year-old operations officer who runs the 159th, which averages more than 13 missions per day and has logged 2,200 flight hours in four months. On July 4, US independence day, the team flew a record 19 missions. “Some days we barely make it. This is the busiest US medevac since Vietnam.”

And perhaps the most dangerous. While the olive drab UH-60-Alpha Blackhawks are clearly marked with the red cross believed to be universally recognised, the pilots say many Iraqis appear unfamiliar with the markings. At night the tracers float up, sometimes uncomfortably close to the Blackhawks, says crew chief Specialist Jeffrey Willis, 31. In compliance with the Geneva Convention, the air ships can not be armed; only the personal firearms of crew members are allowed. None of the 14 medevac Blackhawks stationed at Baghdad international airport southwest of the city has been hit by ground fire since the war, Willis points out, but the discomfort he shares with his flight unit is growing, along with the number of missions they are flying. “It's getting worse and worse,” says Willis. Not only the helicopter teams are at risk. A US army medic was killed last month when assailants fired a rocket-propelled grenade (RPG) on a military ambulance near Baghdad.

One of the company's 17 pilots, Warrant Officer William O'Donnell, cites increased RPG attacks and other ambushes on occupying ground forces struggling to keep the peace in Iraq. “We've been busier this past month than before,” O'Donnell says.

When an urgent call comes in, a medevac team is seen scrambling out of their cramped office and running through the “Nineline,” the medevac checklist standard to all US military units. In the most urgent situations they can be “wheels up” in five minutes, O'Donnell says. “Sometimes we go for a 15-minute job and end up staying out 10 hours, answering calls on the fly,” says Willis. A recent flight to transfer injured soldiers to a high-tech field hospital in the desert 25 kilometres southwest of the airport highlighted the precarious nature of the work. Touching down at the 28th Combat Support Hospital in the desert, Willis is given another mission: Transport four treated Iraqi enemy prisoners of war (EPWs) back to Camp Cropper prison at the airport. “We get EPWs on here all the time and we never know how they'll react when they're aboard,” Willis says as he orders a reporter and photographer off the chopper to make room for the handcuffed prisoners.

About 50 per cent of those medevaced are Iraqi prisoners or civilians. The flights often turn into humanitarian efforts, with teams flying injured or sick Iraqi children to US hospitals for medical care. The 159th boasts a 99 per cent survival rate — just four of their 2,200 patients have died after transfer to hospital. But the weight of the work bears down on them daily, with calls from US units under fire.

A somber-looking Chief Warrant Officer Jorge Correa stepped out of his Blackhawk early Tuesday to speak of his latest mission to evacuate a US Marine who lost half his foot to a mine south of Baghdad. Still, the crews say their chaotic stint in Baghdad has been the highlight of their careers. “It's everyone's dream, to do such a job so soon out of flight school,” said pilot Chief Warrant Officer Travis Workman, who has already logged 260 flight hours in four months in Iraq. “I love this job.”

Opinions expressed in various sections are the sole responsibility of their authors and they may not represent Al-Jazeerah's. Reprinted from the internet posting by A-Jazeerah News. RM

I ran across your web site while trying to find a picture of our units patch. I'm a flight medic with the 159th Medical Company and we are currently deployed to Kuwait/Iraq. My FSMT of 22 soldiers first deployed to Kuwait on October 15 2003 in support of Operation Enduring Freedom. We all know that it was pretty much a show of force to Iraq when we left. We were the first medical FSMT to be attached to a attack helicopter company. Well we found out that it doesn't work. Our group of three birds and two from the 1042 (out of Oregon) were the first birds to be used in the beginning of Operation Iraqi Freedom. Since then our FSMT has over 80 combat missions and over 300 patients transported. Not bad for three birds. The rest of the company (from Germany) joined us a month ago , they have been working hard as well. We are scattered from Kuwait all the way to southern Bagdad. Just thought you might be interested.

...In World War II, about 1 in 3 U.S. casualties died. During the next three wars — Korea, Vietnam and the Gulf — about 1 in 4 died. In the current war, about 1 of every 8 wounded soldiers have died.

Half of battlefield deaths occur within 30 minutes of wounding, largely on account of blood loss. But survival rates skyrocket if a casualty can get to a medical facility within the so-called golden hour after an injury. There are four major U.S. military medical outposts in Iraq, and the medical corps' critical mission is to keep wounded soldiers alive until they can be taken to one of them.

So far, a key rescue unit has a sterling record. The 159th Medical Company (Air Ambulance) has whisked more than 3,600 injured and ill troops to medical help with only a handful dying along the way. "We've given people a lot of tomorrows," says Major Arthur Jackson, chief of the unit's Baghdad squad. But many will face grim times. "People say, 'Well, he didn't die,'" says Captain Todd Farrell, a 159th helicopter pilot. "But a lot of these guys have an arm blown off or their leg blown off below the femur. Their lives are still going to suck."...

AIR AMBULANCE COMPANY FROM V CORPS' 30TH MEDICAL BRIGADE FLYING BUSY 'DUSTOFF' MISSION IN IRAQ

By Dennis Johnson
414th Base Support Battalion Public Affairs Office

BAGHDAD, Iraq -- Ready to fly on five minutes' notice, V Corps’ 159th Medical Company (Air Ambulance) has been flying its lifesaving missions in Iraq for nearly a year.

Back home in Germany the company falls under the 421st Medical Battalion in Wiesbaden and 30th Medical Brigade in Heidelberg. But in Iraq, “we’re a general support asset and not usually attached to a specific unit,” said Capt. Joseph C. Alexander, a forward support medical evacuation team leader and pilot.

“It’s based on your mission and where you’re located. Medevacs are divided into teams, and a team may go to support a particular unit as needed. A team is usually made up of three aircraft, but that also varies as needed.”

The company’s 15 Black Hawk helicopters are outfitted with a carousel that holds up to six litters, and can carry another four seated patients in urgent situations. Each flies with a pilot, a co-pilot, a medic and a crew chief.

“Throughout the war, teams were sent out all over the country to support units, but now we are centrally located on Baghdad International Airport,” said Alexander. “We provide air assistance in medical emergencies, because an air evacuation can be so much faster, and that increases the chances of survival.”

Patients are flown to the 28th Combat Support Hospital in Baghdad or to one of
about eight Forward Surgical Teams located around the city. The crews, who say they have flown more 5,000 patients on 3,200 missions while in Baghdad, like to tag themselves with the unofficial medevac title of "Dustoff." They call it an acronym for “Dedicated, Unhesitating Service To Our Fighting Forces.”

“All these guys believe it,” said Capt. Todd D. Farrell.

“We’re the busiest medevac unit since Vietnam,” claimed 1st Lt. Thomas K.
Powell, a team leader and pilot.

“Up to a month ago we were still flying 15-16 missions a day; 29 was the
most in one day,” said Farrell.

“We got a call one night to pick up a Soldier who’d been shot in downtown
Baghdad,” said Powell, describing one memorable flight. “An Iraqi man had just walked up to him and shot him right in the face. We were off the ground in
five minutes and headed to the site.

“I couldn’t believe how tight the landing zone was; a narrow street with tall
buildings all around and power lines. I asked the ground force by radio if we could land in a vacant lot just a short way off. The Soldier who responded was crying, ‘Dustoff, we need you down here now. My buddy is dying.’ We took off our night goggles because there was too much street light to use them and landed straight down on the street median,” said Powell.

“My medic jumped out and disappeared into the darkness. He came back with the
Soldier, loaded him in and we were off."

Powell said the crew's medic and crew chief performed first aid while the aircraft raced the victim to the hospital. The team dropped him off, but later got word that he had died.

“A couple hours later, about 1 a.m., we got a call to pick up an Iraqi man shot in the chest. It doesn’t matter who it is, we respond just as fast. We ran out, spun up and were off to the scene when the radio called, ‘This is the guy who shot our kid.’ The Soldier’s unit had tracked the man, positively IDed him and tried to take him in.” A fight ensued and the Iraqi was shot.

“We put him on the same litter as our Soldier a few hours earlier, and the medic
performed CPR on him with the same intensity as he did for ours. And we saved
his life. Three or four times we’ve picked up a wounded Soldier and the Iraqi who shot him together,” said Powell.

“Some days the medics come back saying they hate their job, but then they’re
back at work the next day with the same intensity," the pilot added. I’ve looked back there sometimes and I don’t know how they do it. Now I just keep my eyes forward and fly.”

February 23, 2004

The 159th's Iraq mission completed, they returned to Germany, however there is still a detachment very active in Afghanistan. Click below to catch up to them. If you would like to support them by sending goodies, please E-Mail me and I will send you the contact information. milkman159@juno.com