The Bravest Soldier

Mosul, Iraq. Summer 2017

“Your brother was shot.”

My face went numb.

“He’s okay. It was just in the leg.”

I looked at Dlo. His face was tired but alert. He was the lead interpreter and translator for the group. He was strong. Brilliant. Always well dressed and ready to go at a moment’s notice. He never complained, not even once. I wondered why he wasn’t up at the frontline with Dave of Free Burma Rangers.

And why hadn’t he just called me on the radio? He couldn’t get through to me he said while jumping into the back of the ambulance.

I put the vehicle into drive and sped off down the road towards the battle. I had done this at least a dozen times. My brother was on the other side of Mosul. I knew the way. But the Iraqi army had recently bulldozed several streets open again and Dlo had to show me the way.

We came upon a bombed out mosque that had been converted into a Casualty Collection Point (CCP).

I ran inside and there was my brother on his back. He had a big bandage on his leg and no one was attending to him. I knew he would be okay.

His fight would be over and he would be heading back to Erbil with several nurses who had finished their commitment.

A couple of weeks later we would reunite in Erbil and I would see him off at the airport.

He recounts his story in his book: City of Death: Humanitarian Warriors in the Battle of Mosul.

My brother is my hero. He is a brave man with a kind heart and a strong sense of justice. A true warrior. He’s just a good dude.

BTG. NBD.