NAME WITHHELD BY REQUEST

I was a 19-year-old private first class with less than a year of active duty. I worked as a legal specialist for a mechanized infantry battalion and had built a pretty good relationship with my command. They respected me for my work ethic and described my experience as “beyond my years.” That would soon change.

Our corps had a policy called family time where Soldiers were released on Thursdays at 1500 for personal time. I lived in the barracks, and my friends were my co-workers and supervisors. It was during one of these family times that my world came crashing down.

I was in my squad leader’s room. He was a corporal who seemed to have it all figured out. We’d been drinking beer for a couple of hours, and all he kept talking about was his new car. My roommate, a specialist, came up to see what we were doing. He really loved his car, too, and believed he couldn’t be beat, so the conversation escalated to a challenge on the road. We immediately headed out without thinking twice.

I rode with my roommate, as I was comfortable with his driving abilities, and the corporal followed us in his car. We drove about a mile to a range road, pulled up side by side and took off. The race was close at the start, but my roommate and I quickly pulled ahead and were soon doing better than 100 mph. As we approached a 70-degree sweeping curve, we slowed and rounded the bend with ease.

The corporal saw us slow down and thought it was his opportunity to pass us and win. He continued accelerating, but the curve was too sharp. He ran off the blacktop, cut his wheel, careened across the median, and hit a tank trail on the other side of the road. His car rolled three times before finally landing on its wheels.

When we turned around to go to his aid, I saw something I’ll never forget and never want to see again. The roof of his new car had caved in. The blood-splattered windshield had collapsed into the driver’s compartment. I saw the corporal’s limp body slumped over in the driver’s seat. At first I thought he was dead, but he came to as we opened his door.

A member of the range safety staff drove up within a minute of the accident and called for an ambulance and the military police. We left the corporal in the car until medical personnel arrived. They pulled him from the car and evacuated him to a hospital. He had broken his neck, but at least he survived. He was later air evacuated to Fort Sam Houston, Texas, to have a brace bolted to his head with long, metal screws. The corporal only lived because he wore his seat belt — no doubt about it. He’d been doing about 115 mph when he attempted to round that curve.

So what happened to the three of us? The MPs arrested me at the scene for underage drinking but released my roommate. The corporal’s blood samples were lost, so, fortunately for him, he was not charged with driving under the influence. But he had to wear that metal brace for months. My roommate and I also received an old-fashioned butt chewing from the battalion executive officer.

All in all we were lucky. But that doesn’t mean there weren’t consequences. The first thing I lost was the confidence of my chain of command. I worked through it, but this incident hung over my head for years.

So where did we, as young Soldiers, fail? We failed to consider the possible consequences of our actions, and we failed to see alcohol as a factor. We also failed to see the corporal’s alcohol problem, which was identified later. Basically, we failed to take care of each other. In the end, there were no rewards, no winners and no bragging rights … only losers.