This graphic article from Newsweek chronicles the loss of SPC Alexander Jordan.
Sept. 14, 2006 - This week, NEWSWEEK begins “War Stories,” the first in its series of Web reports about the daily lives of the soldiers and families of the 4-23 infantry battalion of the 172nd Stryker Brigade. Informed in late July that their yearlong deployment in Iraq would be extended for another four months, the soldiers are now fighting on the front lines of the Battle of Baghdad. The impact of this move on the troops and their loved ones was the subject of the report, "Straight to the Heart,” in NEWSWEEK's Sept. 18 issue. During the unit's extended tour, which is expected to last until December, our reporters will continue to tell the story of the 4-23 through the individual tales of a small group of soldiers and the families who anxiously await their return back at Fort Richardson, Alaska, and in hometowns across America. But as the close-knit 4-23 community learned this week, not everyone will be coming home now.
The call came over Capt. Brad Velotta's radio with the audible clarity that only shocking news can bring. Shots fired, the voice said, with one soldier down, "shot in the head by a sniper." Velotta and his men jumped up from the chai-and-chat session in the home of a local sheik in Baghdad's Shaab neighborhood, just north of Sadr City. They had been discussing the role of Coalition forces, the purpose of the Stryker mission and even such concepts as war and peace. Now reality came crashing back in. "This is the kind of peace we were talking about," Velotta remarked ironically as he hurried out of the house.
This account of that afternoon, and what followed at the hospital, is based on the recollections of NEWSWEEK photographer Lucian Read, who was embedded with the 4-23's Blackhawk Company. It was the 33rd day in what's been dubbed the Battle of Baghdad. It was the day when the battalion lost its first soldier, after having an almost unheard-of year with no deaths. It was also the day when Velotta's worst fear—the nightmare all leaders prepare for—came true. " This is the best opportunity to be killed," he had said the week before, noting the risk tended to be worst while a unit is new to an area. "The learning curve is steep."
Now it had happened. When they heard the news, Velotta and his men sprinted down the street, keeping an eye out for the sniper. They piled into their Stryker armored vehicles and headed off in a convoy to the military hospital in the Green Zone. The men in Velotta's vehicle didn't know who had been hit. Names aren't said over the radio, only the soldier's battle number. "Who is it, who is it?" asked the unit's translator, an Iraqi man who had been with the 4-23 for over a year.
Driving fast though the streets, they heard another, final, chilling call on the radio. It came from Capt. Patrick (Doc) Williams, a physician's assistant and the battalion's medic. A year earlier, on one of his first patrols in Iraq, Williams had saved the life of soldier who was mortally wounded. His efforts won him the Silver Star for Valor. "Based on the condition of the patient, we don’t need to drive in a way that puts more people at risk," he said. Translation: the soldier didn’t make it.