In January 2003, he was on his way to Iraq. Three months later, he was in the fight of his life, one he had trained for and which was, he says, strangely exciting. It was a nice day, sunny, late morning.
I asked Bachmann if it's not a little odd to be engaged in battle on a beautiful, sunny day. "I didn't think about it," he reports.
The Iraqis turned on the heat as soon as the Marines reached the southern bridge, unprotected by the tanks that had been diverted to rescue the 507th Maintenance Company to which Lynch belonged. The fire didn't stop until well after they reached the northern bridge, Charlie Company's destination.
Their track had been burning the whole journey through the city and the men were ordered to bail as soon as they reached the northern bridge. Because the rear ramp wouldn't drop down, they had only one small opening on the top of the track to exit.
Bachmann remembers jumping into the guts of the vehicle to help lift out the wounded. He was the last man out before the track burst into flames. "It was like a house burning, it was so big."
The March 23 battle of Nasiriyah no doubt will be a blockbuster movie someday, the names of those who fought and died transferred to celebrity faces. In the meantime, Bachmann is like so many other nameless, faceless Marines who do their jobs without expectation of reward or envy of those who win acclaim.
Asked about Lynch's extraordinary homecoming as a hero, Bachmann demurs.
"I don't think much about it," he says. "I know what I did."