Campbell Hannah - Never broken : my journey from the horrors of Iraq to the birth of my miracle baby

M y first memory was of deafening silence. I was in a place somewhere between life and death when something primeval kicked in, making me use the last bit of strength I had to let out a guttural scream. Even if I tried my hardest to recreate it today, I dont think Id be able to find that place inside me. I was screaming for my life, buried alive under tonnes of rubble in a sweltering coffin of dust after a mortar attack. If I wanted to get out of this, I just knew I had to scream and scream. The blistering forty-degree sun over the British military base, Camp Charlie, in the Iraq desert near Basra, had been blanked out by pitch-black darkness and there was a deathly quiet. I was entombed by hot earth and debris and every time I tried to open my mouth in an attempt to alert anyone I was still alive, I was choked by more dirt. It was packed so tightly against me that my nose was squashed and I couldnt even open my mouth properly. The pole that had pierced my face made it difficult for me to open my mouth fully. I was so parched as the inside of my mouth, throat and even my eyes was coated with dust from the explosion. Mummified by wreckage so tightly packed, I couldnt even move my little finger. Each breath was a Herculean battle against the crushing debris that engulfed me. I was twenty-three years old, I had a two-year-old daughter Milly, and with every ounce of will I had inside me I knew it wasnt my time to die.

Theres nothing comparable to the sense of abject horror and disbelief you feel when you regain consciousness and realise you are buried and you dont know if anyone will ever find, or even hear, you. When you suffer something so unspeakably terrible, Ive been told your brain becomes incapable of storing the memories and it can even create false memories too. In many respects thats true. I lived my nightmare through a series of flashes like glimpses of action through an old, flickering film reel. The darkness was not only due to me being buried five feet underground but also because my sight had been damaged. Both my eardrums had been perforated, so as sounds started to drift down to me they were muffled, gurgling and distorted, like I was underwater. A brain injury, caused by a piece of flying debris, left me semi-conscious with every one of my senses dulled. Despite that, on some level I knew I was trapped and I knew that my hands were pinned to my sides. That knowledge came not because I could feel them but because I became aware of my fingernails ripping off as I clawed in a futile attempt to free myself from what would otherwise become my dusty grave.

Ever since Id been deployed in Iraq at the end of February 2007 Id been terrified that I would be bombed when I was somewhere alone. Id cried when rockets had whizzed over the top of my tent, night after night, fearing Id fall to pieces if my worst nightmare happened to me. Now my fears had become my reality. Overcome with a strange, almost serene sense of calm, I didnt even feel any pain at first. When my blood began to run down my hands and my face from the pole that had unwittingly grazed my eye and impaled my cheek, I just registered that I was soaked with a sticky substance, with no comprehension that it was my own blood. The strangest part was that I felt like I had no legs at all. That sense of tranquillity, despite the horror I faced, then expanded exponentially until I had what I can only describe as an out-of-body experience. I felt like a ball of floating consciousness. There was no feeling and no pain, just a sense of drifting peacefully like nothing Id ever experienced in my life. I honestly felt as though I was completely outside of my own body. It wasnt what Id think of as a typical out-of-body experience as I didnt look down and see myself. In fact, I didnt see anything at all. It truly was like Id become a bubble of thought. Perhaps it was my brain injury, perhaps I was still dazed or maybe it was my bodys final act of self-preservation; I honestly cant explain what it was.

I later discovered your brain fills in massive blanks during trauma, so even now I cant be 100 per cent sure of what was real and what wasnt, but Im convinced it did happen. Ive also spoken to other soldiers at the military rehabilitation centre Headley Court in Surrey who have faced death. They have told me first-hand how theyve experienced similar sensations.

Then, as if someone had clicked their fingers, I was back in my body and a steam train of reality hit me. Everything instantly became colourful and in focus, as though life itself had been taking place through a blurred camera lens and in slow motion.

I still didnt fully comprehend the horror of what was happening to me but I thought: Oh my God, youre going to die! If you let yourself drift again youll never see your daughter Milly. If you want to hold her and see her grow up, you need to keep screaming.

Pain hit me, like another wave of reality. It took me years to even acknowledge to anybody that I remember feeling such agony for I couldnt talk about it. I was afraid that if I let it in, because it was so terrible, that it might consume me again. It was the most exquisite pain ever: so horrific, so awful it would have been so easy to let it overwhelm me. I had to battle inside my own head to be able to scream over it. If I gave in, I knew I would have passed out and then I would have had no chance. I thought of the photo of Milly, which I carried in a pocket of my uniform next to my heart. Although I couldnt touch it, as my arms were pinned down, knowing it was there gave me comfort. I willed myself to believe that I would see her again. It was like thinking of a long-lost memory that I had a daughter who I couldnt give up. It was a massive mental battle, the biggest of my entire life, but somehow I managed to keep screaming.

The next thing I remember is hearing voices with American accents somewhere beyond the pitch-black darkness, along with a faint sound of digging. Members of the American Special Forces, who were in a neighbouring camp, had heard the explosion and come to help. It took them more than two and a half hours to dig me from the rubble; it felt like an eternity but in the Army you know the lads will do everything possible to get you out. So I had to stay alive and keep calling out to help them find me.

It seems ridiculous now, but hearing American voices triggered an idea of Hollywood action heroes in my mind and that planted a seed of hope. There was a weird little part of my brain that thought: God, its the Americans! Im actually going to be saved. It wasnt to do with not having faith in the British Army, as my loyalties absolutely lay with them, but it was like an alternate reality and Hollywood films are where all the happy endings are, arent they? Thats how my brain was working. It was completely surreal. Then I could hear the clanking of spades getting closer and I think I heard my colleague, Lance Bombardier Karl Croft, shout: Hannah, were coming! You need to hold on.

There are no words that can describe the terror you feel that you might die alone, in the ground, crushed by rubble and dirt. You just cling to the hope that theyll get to you before death does. Hearing Karl say: We know where you are, we can hear you was the most comforting thing Ive ever heard in my life. I told myself: Just hold on, theyre coming, then suddenly there was light and I saw the silhouette of a grey military helmet, which is what the Americans wear. This was quickly followed by a sensation of being pulled. It was Karl, who was terribly injured himself, who pulled me free from the rubble. He was the man who saved my life that day. I must have been holding on for them because as they reached me, I had a massive heart attack and they fought and fought to bring me back. I vaguely remember being put into the back of a vehicle before darkness consumed me again. Exactly when it was Im not sure, but the next flash of reality I have is of waking up in the field hospital in the most excruciating pain. A doctor was holding my hand up, trying to stem the blood loss from it, and I realised it was split in two, with the tendons showing inside, but I was too dazed and drugged to react. The fuzziness Id experienced before had gone. It was replaced with a raw, brutal pain that made it hard for me to absorb anything that was going on around me.