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The Night I Faced an Ambush in Iraq: Tracers, Chaos, and a Medal I’ll Never Forget

Writer's picture: Tony DuranTony Duran

It feels like a lifetime ago, yet I can still picture it as if it happened yesterday. That night, we were in Iraq, patrolling near the Syrian border. Our job was to keep an eye on the smugglers moving weapons and people across the border. We were working with a newly-formed Iraqi border patrol, training them as they joined us on these missions. The border itself was marked by a 10-foot dirt berm—a barrier meant to slow down illegal crossings.

We had six vehicles in our convoy that evening: two small pickups driven by the Iraqi patrol and four Humvees carrying my platoon. I was on the .50 cal machine gun in the rear-most Humvee, a position I’d gotten used to over weeks of similar missions. But something about this night was different.

Out of nowhere, the ambush hit us. Machine guns opened fire from the top of the berm, no more than 25 yards away. The noise was deafening. Chaos erupted as we moved to break contact and get out of the kill zone. From my turret, I laid down suppressive fire with the .50 cal, trying to cover our retreat.

Then I noticed something that made my stomach drop—the Iraqi border patrol had panicked. They had jumped out of their trucks and were pinned behind them, exposed and helpless. I shouted down into the Humvee, telling my team we had to stop. Those guys were sitting ducks, and we couldn’t just leave them there.

My platoon halted and laid down fire to suppress the ambushers, giving the Iraqis enough time to pull themselves together and escape. Through my night vision, I watched the scene unfold. For 30 minutes, we exchanged fire with the enemy. I’d fire a burst from the .50 cal, then quickly check the thermal sight to see where we stood.

That night was probably the most adrenaline-filled moment of our deployment. I’ll never forget the surreal sight of enemy tracer rounds slicing through the darkness, hitting the dirt around the Humvee, or zipping just past me in the turret. It felt like something out of a movie—except it was very real, and very deadly.

The smugglers had a pickup truck with a mounted machine gun on the far side of the border, but by the time the firefight ended, my platoon had neutralized several of them. It was a long, intense night, but it’s etched in my memory like it happened yesterday.

For my actions that night, I received an Army Commendation Medal with a Valor Device. It’s one of the awards I’m most proud of from my time in the Army. That little medal, with its tiny “V,” hangs in my dining room as a quiet reminder of what we went through that night. Most people probably wouldn’t even notice the “V” or know what it means, but for me, it represents so much.

What’s interesting is that the man who signed that award was our brigade commander at the time, Colonel Michael Linnington. Years later, he became the CEO of the Wounded Warrior Project. Every time I’d see him on TV doing a Wounded Warrior commercial or speaking at an event, it brought me right back to that crazy night on the border. It’s a small, unexpected connection to one of the most defining moments of my service.

That medal holds a special place in my heart, second only to my Purple Heart from a separate deployment. These aren’t just pieces of metal—they’re stories, sacrifices, and memories of service that shaped who I am.


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