War Journal

SSG Nathan Welles is a squad leader assigned to the 504th Battlefield Surveillance Brigade from Ft. Hood, Texas. He is currently deployed to Asadabad, Afghanistan in support of Operation Enduring Freedom. This is his third combat deployment.

Here is his story:

SSG Nathan Welles
In November of 2006, my unit conducted a mission in a few villages approximately two hours from our Forward Operating Base, FOB Warrior, in Kirkuk, Iraq. Around 2:30 p.m., after setting a cordon around one of these villages, my squad and I entered to meet with the local leaders and assess the needs of the community. While we were speaking to one of the men from the town, our Iraqi Army counterparts radioed that they were under attack in a nearby neighborhood. We quickly returned to our Humvees and raced to the aid of the Iraqi Army unit. Upon arrival, we established a base of fire and began suppressing the enemy position. Our medic leapt from his truck and aided an Iraqi Soldier who had been shot in the bicep. As the medic treated the wounded Iraqi Soldier, our truck’s gunner laid down suppressive fire and I ran to secure my sector, stopping close to a soldier from another unit. This soldier knew I was gay and had made it clear to me that he didn’t like it. As I thought about that awkward conversation, a sniper round pierced his right elbow and lodged in his hip. There was a lot of blood.

Without a moment’s hesitation, I dragged him to cover and rendered first aid in an attempt to at least slow the bleeding. My Kevlar kept sliding down the front of my face as I tried to determine how close the nearest soldier was. His blood covered my hands, my eye protection was fogged up, and sweat dripped from the tip of my nose. I tried desperately to keep pressure on his hip to stop the bleeding. He was screaming in pain, and he was begging me not to let him die. I knew how badly he disliked me. I knew the hatred and homophobia in his heart. I also knew that it didn’t matter one bit. I had a duty to keep that soldier alive and I wasn’t going to let anything get in the way of that.

As the MEDEVAC helicopter disappeared over the horizon and I looked around at the other soldiers who were still on the battlefield with me, I knew that they had changed their minds about my capabilities as a soldier. For the few who knew I was gay, they knew that regardless of my sexuality, I knew how to fight and I was still willing to risk my life for my fellow soldiers.

I grew up like most kids in small, middle-class America. My family didn’t have much money, and neither did my friends’ families. Gossip ruled the social circles, so every family pried and every family kept secrets. I learned early in life to bottle up my feelings or risk sharing them with the whole town, thus exposing myself to criticism and teasing.

My mother was diagnosed with liver cancer when I was ten and was fortunate enough to undergo a successful transplant and recovery. She divorced my adoptive father two years later, and at age 12, we left our quiet town for a fast-paced city where people no longer had time to pay attention to everyone else’s problems. The anonymity was wonderful and changed my whole outlook on life. As good as life was, my secret still weighed on my heart, just below the surface of whatever emotion I was feeling at the time. Like many gay teens, I wrestled with what God thought of marriage and sex. I decided at some point that God most likely didn’t care about skin color, gender or sexual orientation. Despite that conclusion, I didn’t want to admit to myself that I was gay, because admitting it meant validating it. It wasn’t that I didn’t want to be gay as much as I wanted to be normal. I saw the two as mutually exclusive.

I joined the Army in 2004 after graduating from high school. I wanted to be the model soldier, and with “Don’t Ask, Don’t Tell” (DADT) in place, this naturally meant being heterosexual. Throughout my training, I fought rumors about my sexuality. I met my first gay soldier at intelligence school in Ft. Huachuca, Ariz. We bonded over our shared adversity and quickly became friends. It felt good to be honest and open with someone. Our friendship naturally led to more rumors and awkward looks from the other soldiers. Twenty-two weeks of rumors and gossip later, I graduated and was sent to Ft. Hood, Texas.

Finally at my first permanent duty station, I tried to recreate myself as the model heterosexual soldier. I wanted to be like everyone else… I just wanted to serve my country. What I actually created was the soldier everyone else wanted me to be, not the soldier I was. Rumors began to spread again, and I became scared. I began to suspect I was being followed when I went to the gay bars. I lived in constant fear of being outed. I remember sitting through an equal opportunity brief one day when the topic of same-sex marriage came up. I sat and listened to some of the homophobic comments made by my fellow soldiers and thought to myself, “What happened to the Band of Brothers/Sisters?” I was grateful for a chance to deploy and leave some of that behind in Ft. Hood.

That day near Kirkuk, with the MEDEVAC chopper taking off while the blood and sweat pooled at my feet, was a pivotal moment in my life as a closeted gay soldier. It became just a little bit easier to be open and honest with others and myself, despite DADT. It was still a rough 15-month deployment. Although I had earned the trust of some in my unit, the fear of being outed was ever-present. I returned home and changed units, where I went on to deploy a second time to Iraq, and later, Afghanistan, where I still serve today as a squad leader. While I don’t flaunt my sexuality, I don’t hide it either. My soldiers and my leaders all know I’m gay.

In a positive sign of change, one of my soldiers approached me prior to this deployment, looked me in the eye and said, “It doesn’t matter that you’re gay, just be the leader we all strive to be.” That’s progress. In 2005, Steve Jobs gave the commencement address at Stanford University. His words then are my mantra now: “Your time is limited, so don’t waste it living someone else’s life. Don’t be trapped by dogma–which is living with the results of other people’s thinking. Don’t let the noise of other’s opinions drown out your own inner voice. And most important, have the courage to follow your heart and intuition. They somehow already know what you truly want to become. Everything else is secondary.”

I redeployed after my tour was complete and returned to Ft. Hood. During the re-deployment ceremony, the wounded soldier I had helped approached me in his wheelchair and asked if he could talk to me for a second. I agreed and we moved away from the group. He thanked me for saving his life so he could come back to his family. As he was talking, I could hear him starting to choke up and his eyes glistened. I told him that he didn’t have to say anything—I already knew what he was going to say. I told him not to worry about it and as I started to turn and walk away, he grabbed my wrist and told me to stop. I turned and saw him crying. Then he grabbed my shoulder and pulled me in for a hug that only two warriors can share. As he sobbed into my shoulder, I assured him that everything would be alright and that this wasn’t the end of the road for him. I promised to be there to help him through the things that he didn’t want his family to see. He thanked me for everything that I’d done for him. I’ll never forget the words he said to me that day. “I should’ve never doubted you because of who you are. I let my prejudices get in the way and should’ve known better.” As I then turned and walked away, I looked back to see him hugging his little girl and kissing his wife. We still check up on each other today.

This experience taught me to be proud of myself. I learned that people will surprise you with their willingness to accept you if you give them the chance. More importantly, I learned that each of us could change the life of another person with a single action. Sometimes that single action can be as simple as having the courage to be the real you.