Trail of Tears

All Marines come home from war ? some to their parents, wives, and friends. Some go all the way home. Thank you, PFC Chance Phelps for your service to our country. Semper Fi.

23 Apr 04 ? The enclosed article was written by LtCol M.R. Strobl USMC who is assigned to MCCDC Quantico, VA and served as the officer who escorted the remains of PFC C. Phelps USMC from Dover AFB, DE to his home. PFC Phelps was assigned to 3d Bn, 11th Marines ? an artillery unit functioning as a provisional infantry battalion during Operation IRAQI FREEDOM 2. PFC Phelps was killed in action from a gunshot wound received on 9 Apr 04 during combat operations west of Baghdad. He was buried in Dubois, WY on 17 Apr 04.

Taking Chance Home

Chance Phelps was wearing his Saint Christopher medal when he was killed on Good Friday. Eight days later, I handed the medallion to his mother. I didn?t know Chance before he died. Today, I miss him.

Over a year ago, I volunteered to escort the remains of Marines killed in Iraq should the need arise. The military provides a uniformed escort for all casualties to ensure they are delivered safely to the next of kin and are treated with dignity and respect along the way.

Thankfully, I hadn?t been called on to be an escort since Operation Iraqi Freedom began. The first few weeks of April, however, had been a tough month for the Marines. On the Monday after Easter I was reviewing Department of Defense press releases when I saw that a Private First Class Chance Phelps was killed in action outside of Baghdad. The press release listed his hometown?the same town I?m from. I notified our Battalion adjutant and told him that, should the duty to escort PFC Phelps fall to our Battalion, I would take him.

I didn?t hear back the rest of Monday and all day Tuesday until 1800. The Battalion duty NCO called my cell phone and said I needed to be ready to leave for Dover Air Force Base at 1900 in order to escort the remains of PFC Phelps.
Before leaving for Dover I called the major who had the task of informing Phelps?s parents of his death. The major said the funeral was going to be in Dubois, Wyoming. (It turned out that PFC Phelps only lived in my hometown for his senior year of high school.) I had never been to Wyoming and had never heard of Dubois.

With two other escorts from Quantico, I got to Dover AFB at 2330 on Tuesday night. First thing on Wednesday we reported to the mortuary at the base. In the escort lounge there were about half a dozen Army soldiers and about an equal number of Marines waiting to meet up with ?their? remains for departure. PFC Phelps was not ready, however, and I was told to come back on Thursday. Now, at Dover with nothing to do and a solemn mission ahead, I began to get depressed.

I was wondering about Chance Phelps. I didn?t know anything about him; not even what he looked like. I wondered about his family and what it would be like to meet them. I did pushups in my room until I couldn?t do any more.
On Thursday morning I reported back to the mortuary. This time there was a new group of Army escorts and a couple of the Marines who had been there Wednesday. There was also an Air Force captain there to escort his brother home to San Diego.

We received a brief covering our duties, the proper handling of the remains, the procedures for draping a flag over a casket, and of course, the paperwork attendant to our task. We were shown pictures of the shipping container and told that each one contained, in addition to the casket, a flag. I was given an extra flag since Phelps?s parents were divorced. This way they would each get one. I didn?t like the idea of stuffing the flag into my luggage but I couldn?t see carrying a large flag, folded for presentation to the next of kin, through an airport while in my Alpha uniform. It barely fit into my suitcase.
It turned out that I was the last escort to leave on Thursday. This meant that I repeatedly got to participate in the small ceremonies that mark all departures from the Dover AFB mortuary.

Most of the remains are taken from Dover AFB by hearse to the airport in Philadelphia for air transport to their final destination. When the remains of a service member are loaded onto a hearse and ready to leave the Dover mortuary, there is an announcement made over the building?s intercom system. With the announcement, all service members working at the mortuary, regardless of service branch, stop work and form up along the driveway to render a slow ceremonial salute as the hearse departs. Escorts also participated in each formation until it was their time to leave.

On this day there were some civilian workers doing construction on the mortuary grounds. As each hearse passed, they would stop working and place their hard hats over their hearts. This was my first sign that my mission with PFC Phelps was larger than the Marine Corps and that his family and friends were not grieving alone.

Eventually I was the last escort remaining in the lounge. The Marine Master Gunnery Sergeant in charge of the Marine liaison there came to see me. He had Chance Phelps?s personal effects. He removed each item; a large watch, a wooden cross with a lanyard, two loose dog tags, two dog tags on a chain, and a Saint Christopher medal on a silver chain. Although we had been briefed that we might be carrying some personal effects of the deceased, this set me aback. Holding his personal effects, I was starting to get to know Chance Phelps.

Finally we were ready. I grabbed my bags and went outside. I was somewhat startled when I saw the shipping container, loaded three-quarters of the way in to the back of a black Chevy Suburban that had been modified to carry such cargo. This was the first time I saw my ?cargo? and I was surprised at how large the shipping container was. The Master Gunnery Sergeant and I verified that the name on the container was Phelps?s then they pushed him the rest of the way in and we left. Now it was PFC Chance Phelps?s turn to receive the military?and construction workers??honors. He was finally moving towards home.

As I chatted with the driver on the hour-long trip to Philadelphia, it became clear that he considered it an honor to be able to contribute in getting Chance home. He offered his sympathy to the family. I was glad to finally be moving yet apprehensive about what things would be like at the airport. I didn?t want this package to be treated like ordinary cargo yet I knew that the simple logistics of moving around a box this large would have to overrule my preferences.

When we got to the Northwest Airlines cargo terminal at the Philadelphia airport, the cargo handler and hearse driver pulled the shipping container onto a loading bay while I stood to the side and executed a slow salute. Once Chance was safely in the cargo area, and I was satisfied that he would be treated with due care and respect, the hearse driver drove me over to the passenger terminal and dropped me off.

As I walked up to the ticketing counter in my uniform, a Northwest employee started to ask me if I knew how to use the automated boarding pass dispenser. Before she could finish another ticketing agent interrupted her. He told me to go straight to the counter then explained to the woman that I was a military escort. She seemed embarrassed. The woman behind the counter already had tears in her eyes as I was pulling out my government travel voucher. She struggled to find words but managed to express her sympathy for the family and thank me for my service. She upgraded my ticket to first class.

After clearing security, I was met by another Northwest Airline employee at the gate. She told me a representative from cargo would be up to take me down to the tarmac to observe the movement and loading of PFC Phelps. I hadn?t really told any of them what my mission was but they all knew.

When the man from the cargo crew met me, he, too, struggled for words. On the tarmac, he told me stories of his childhood as a military brat and repeatedly told me that he was sorry for my loss. I was starting to understand that, even here in Philadelphia, far away from Chance?s hometown, people were mourning with his family.

On the tarmac, the cargo crew was silent except for occasional instructions to each other. I stood to the side and saluted as the conveyor moved Chance to the aircraft. I was relieved when he was finally settled into place. The rest of the bags were loaded and I watched them shut the cargo bay door before heading back up to board the aircraft.

One of the pilots had taken my carry-on bag himself and had it stored next to the cockpit door so he could watch it while I was on the tarmac. As I boarded the plane, I could tell immediately that the flight attendants had already been informed of my mission. They seemed a little choked up as they led me to my seat.

About 45 minutes into our flight I still hadn?t spoken to anyone except to tell the first class flight attendant that I would prefer water. I was surprised when the flight attendant from the back of the plane suddenly appeared and leaned down to grab my hands. She said, ?I want you to have this? as she pushed a small gold crucifix, with a relief of Jesus, into my hand. It was her lapel pin and it looked somewhat worn. I suspected it had been hers for quite some time. That was the only thing she said to me the entire flight.

When we landed in Minneapolis, I was the first one off the plane. The pilot himself escorted me straight down the side stairs of the exit tunnel to the tarmac. The cargo crew there already knew what was on this plane. They were unloading some of the luggage when an Army sergeant, a fellow escort who had left Dover earlier that day, appeared next to me. His ?cargo? was going to be loaded onto my plane for its continuing leg. We stood side-by-side in the dark and executed a slow salute as Chance was removed from the plane. The cargo crew at Minneapolis kept Phelps?s shipping case separate from all the other luggage as they waited to take us to the cargo area. I waited with the soldier and we saluted together as his fallen comrade was loaded onto the plane.

My trip with Chance was going to be somewhat unusual in that we were going to have an overnight stopover. We had a late start out of Dover and there was just too much traveling ahead of us to continue on that day. (We still had a flight from Minneapolis to Billings, Montana, then a five-hour drive to the funeral home. That was to be followed by a 90-minute drive to Chance?s hometown.)
I was concerned about leaving him overnight in the Minneapolis cargo area. My ten-minute ride from the tarmac to the cargo holding area eased my apprehension. Just as in Philadelphia, the cargo guys in Minneapolis were extremely respectful and seemed honored to do their part. While talking with them, I learned that the cargo supervisor for Northwest Airlines at the Minneapolis airport is a Lieutenant Colonel in the Marine Corps Reserves. They called him for me and let me talk to him.

Once I was satisfied that all would be okay for the night, I asked one of the cargo crew if he would take me back to the terminal so that I could catch my hotel?s shuttle. Instead, he drove me straight to the hotel himself. At the hotel, the Lieutenant Colonel called me and said he would personally pick me up in the morning and bring me back to the cargo area.

Before leaving the airport, I had told the cargo crew that I wanted to come back to the cargo area in the morning rather than go straight to the passenger terminal. I felt bad for leaving Chance overnight and wanted to see the shipping container where I had left it for the night. It was fine.
The Lieutenant Colonel made a few phone calls then drove me around to the passenger terminal. I was met again by a man from the cargo crew and escorted down to the tarmac. The pilot of the plane joined me as I waited for them to bring Chance from the cargo area. The pilot and I talked of his service in the Air Force and how he missed it.

I saluted as Chance was moved up the conveyor and onto the plane. It was to be a while before the luggage was to be loaded so the pilot took me up to the board the plane where I could watch the tarmac from a window. With no other passengers yet on board, I talked with the flight attendants and one of the cargo guys. He had been in the Navy and one of the attendants had been in the Air Force. Everywhere I went, people were continuing to tell me their relationship to the military. After all the baggage was aboard, I went back down to the tarmac, inspected the cargo bay, and watched them secure the door.

When we arrived at Billings, I was again the first off the plane. This time Chance?s shipping container was the first item out of the cargo hold. The funeral director had driven five hours up from Riverton, Wyoming to meet us. He shook my hand as if I had personally lost a brother.

We moved Chance to a secluded cargo area. Now it was time for me to remove the shipping container and drape the flag over the casket. I had predicted that this would choke me up but I found I was more concerned with proper flag etiquette than the solemnity of the moment. Once the flag was in place, I stood by and saluted as Chance was loaded onto the van from the funeral home. I was thankful that we were in a small airport and the event seemed to go mostly unnoticed. I picked up my rental car and followed Chance for five hours until we reached Riverton. During the long trip I imagined how my meeting with Chance?s parents would go. I was very nervous about that.
When we finally arrived at the funeral home, I had my first face-to-face meeting with the Casualty Assistance Call Officer. It had been his duty to inform the family of Chance?s death. He was on the Inspector/Instructor staff of an infantry company in Salt Lake City, Utah and I knew he had had a difficult week.

Inside I gave the funeral director some of the paperwork from Dover and discussed the plan for the next day. The service was to be at 1400 in the high school gymnasium up in Dubois, population about 900, some 90 miles away. Eventually, we had covered everything. The CACO had some items that the family wanted to be inserted into the casket and I felt I needed to inspect Chance?s uniform to ensure everything was proper. Although it was going to be a closed casket funeral, I still wanted to ensure his uniform was squared away.
Earlier in the day I wasn?t sure how I?d handle this moment. Suddenly, the casket was open and I got my first look at Chance Phelps. His uniform was immaculate?a tribute to the professionalism of the Marines at Dover. I noticed that he wore six ribbons over his marksmanship badge; the senior one was his Purple Heart. I had been in the Corps for over 17 years, including a combat tour, and was wearing eight ribbons. This Private First Class, with less than a year in the Corps, had already earned six.

The next morning, I wore my dress blues and followed the hearse for the trip up to Dubois. This was the most difficult leg of our trip for me. I was bracing for the moment when I would meet his parents and hoping I would find the right words as I presented them with Chance?s personal effects.

We got to the high school gym about four hours before the service was to begin. The gym floor was covered with folding chairs neatly lined in rows. There were a few townspeople making final preparations when I stood next to the hearse and saluted as Chance was moved out of the hearse. The sight of a flag-draped coffin was overwhelming to some of the ladies.

We moved Chance into the gym to the place of honor. A Marine sergeant, the command representative from Chance?s battalion, met me at the gym. His eyes were watery as he relieved me of watching Chance so that I could go eat lunch and find my hotel.

At the restaurant, the table had a flier announcing Chance?s service. Dubois High School gym; two o? clock. It also said that the family would be accepting donations so that they could buy flak vests to send to troops in Iraq.
I drove back to the gym at a quarter after one. I could?ve walked?you could walk to just about anywhere in Dubois in ten minutes. I had planned to find a quiet room where I could take his things out of their pouch and untangle the chain of the Saint Christopher medal from the dog tag chains and arrange everything before his parents came in. I had twice before removed the items from the pouch to ensure they were all there?even though there was no chance anything could?ve fallen out. Each time, the two chains had been quite tangled. I didn?t want to be fumbling around trying to untangle them in front of his parents. Our meeting, however, didn?t go as expected.

I practically bumped into Chance?s step-mom accidentally and our introductions began in the noisy hallway outside the gym. In short order I had met Chance?s step-mom and father followed by his step-dad and, at last, his mom. I didn?t know how to express to these people my sympathy for their loss and my gratitude for their sacrifice. Now, however, they were repeatedly thanking me for bringing their son home and for my service. I was humbled beyond words.
I told them that I had some of Chance?s things and asked if we could try to find a quiet place. The five of us ended up in what appeared to be a computer lab?not what I had envisioned for this occasion.

After we had arranged five chairs around a small table, I told them about our trip. I told them how, at every step, Chance was treated with respect, dignity, and honor. I told them about the staff at Dover and all the folks at Northwest Airlines. I tried to convey how the entire Nation, from Dover to Philadelphia, to Minneapolis, to Billings, and Riverton expressed grief and sympathy over their loss.

Finally, it was time to open the pouch. The first item I happened to pull out was Chance?s large watch. It was still set to Baghdad time. Next were the lanyard and the wooden cross. Then the dog tags and the Saint Christopher medal. This time the chains were not tangled. Once all of his items were laid out on the table, I told his mom that I had one other item to give them. I retrieved the flight attendant?s crucifix from my pocket and told its story. I set that on the table and excused myself. When I next saw Chance?s mom, she was wearing the crucifix on her lapel.

By 1400 most of the seats on the gym floor were filled and people were finding seats in the fixed bleachers high above the gym floor. There were a surprising number of people in military uniform. Many Marines had come up from Salt Lake City. Men from various VFW posts and the Marine Corps League occupied multiple rows of folding chairs. We all stood as Chance?s family took their seats in the front.

It turned out that Chance?s sister, a Petty Officer in the Navy, worked for a Rear Admiral?the Chief of Naval Intelligence?at the Pentagon. The Admiral had brought many of the sailors on his staff with him to Dubois pay respects to Chance and support his sister. After a few songs and some words from a Navy Chaplain, the Admiral took the microphone and told us how Chance had died.
Chance was an artillery cannoneer and his unit was acting as provisional military police outside of Baghdad. Chance had volunteered to man a .50 caliber machine gun in the turret of the leading vehicle in a convoy. The convoy came under intense fire but Chance stayed true to his post and returned fire with the big gun, covering the rest of the convoy, until he was fatally wounded.

Then the commander of the local VFW post read some of the letters Chance had written home. In letters to his mom he talked of the mosquitoes and the heat. In letters to his stepfather he told of the dangers of convoy operations and of receiving fire.

The service was a fitting tribute to this hero. When it was over, we stood as the casket was wheeled out with the family following. The casket was placed onto a horse-drawn carriage for the mile-long trip from the gym, down the main street, then up the steep hill to the cemetery. I stood alone and saluted as the carriage departed the high school. I found my car and joined Chance?s convoy.
The town seemingly went from the gym to the street. All along the route, the people had lined the street and were waving small American flags. The flags that were otherwise posted were all at half-staff. For the last quarter mile up the hill, local boy scouts, spaced about 20 feet apart, all in uniform, held large flags. At the foot of the hill, I could look up and back and see the enormity of our procession. I wondered how many people would be at this funeral if it were in, say, Detroit or Los Angeles?probably not as many as were here in little Dubois, Wyoming.

The carriage stopped about 15 yards from the grave and the military pall bearers and the family waited until the men of the VFW and Marine Corps league were formed up and school busses had arrived carrying many of the people from the procession route. Once the entire crowd was in place, the pallbearers came to attention and began to remove the casket from the caisson. As I had done all week, I came to attention and executed a slow ceremonial salute as Chance was being transferred from one mode of transport to another.

From Dover to Philadelphia; Philadelphia to Minneapolis; Minneapolis to Billings; Billings to Riverton; and Riverton to Dubois we had been together. Now, as I watched them carry him the final 15 yards, I was choking up. I felt that, as long as he was still moving, he was somehow still alive.

Then they put him down above his grave. He had stopped moving.
Although my mission had been officially complete once I turned him over to the funeral director at the Billings airport, it was his placement at his grave that really concluded it in my mind. Now, he was home to stay and I suddenly felt at once sad, relieved, and useless.

The chaplain said some words that I couldn?t hear and two Marines removed the flag from the casket and slowly folded it for presentation to his mother. When the ceremony was over, Chance?s father placed a ribbon from his service in Vietnam on Chance?s casket. His mother approached the casket and took something from her blouse and put it on the casket. I later saw that it was the flight attendant?s crucifix. Eventually friends of Chance?s moved closer to the grave. A young man put a can of Coppenhagen on the casket and many others left flowers.

Finally, we all went back to the gym for a reception. There was enough food to feed the entire population for a few days. In one corner of the gym there was a table set up with lots of pictures of Chance and some of his sports awards. People were continually approaching me and the other Marines to thank us for our service. Almost all of them had some story to tell about their connection to the military. About an hour into the reception, I had the impression that every man in Wyoming had, at one time or another, been in the service.

. It seemed like every time I saw Chance?s mom she was hugging a different well wisher. As time passed, I began to hear people laughing. We were starting to heal.

After a few hours at the gym, I went back to the hotel to change out of my dress blues. The local VFW post had invited everyone over to ?celebrate Chance?s life.? The Post was on the other end of town from my hotel and the drive took less than two minutes. The crowd was somewhat smaller than what had been at the gym but the Post was packed.

Marines were playing pool at the two tables near the entrance and most of the VFW members were at the bar or around the tables in the bar area. The largest room in the Post was a banquet/dinning/dancing area and it was now called ?The Chance Phelps Room.? Above the entry were two items: a large portrait of Chance in his dress blues and the Eagle, Globe, & Anchor. In one corner of the room there was another memorial to Chance. There were candles burning around another picture of him in his blues. On the table surrounding his photo were his Purple Heart citation and his Purple Heart medal. There was also a framed copy of an excerpt from the Congressional Record. This was an elegant tribute to Chance Phelps delivered on the floor of the United States House of Representatives by Congressman Scott McInnis of Colorado. Above it all was a television that was playing a photo montage of Chance?s life from small boy to proud Marine.

I did not buy a drink that night. As had been happening all day, indeed all week, people were thanking me for my service and for bringing Chance home. Now, in addition to words and handshakes, they were thanking me with beer. I fell in with the men who had handled the horses and horse-drawn carriage. I learned that they had worked through the night to groom and prepare the horses for Chance?s last ride. They were all very grateful that they were able to contribute.

After a while we all gathered in the Chance Phelps room for the formal dedication. The Post commander told us of how Chance had been so looking forward to becoming a Life Member of the VFW. Now, in the Chance Phelps Room of the Dubois, Wyoming post, he would be an eternal member. We all raised our beers and the Chance Phelps room was christened.

Later, as I was walking toward the pool tables, a Staff Sergeant from the Reserve unit in Salt Lake grabbed me and said, ?Sir, you gotta hear this.? There were two other Marines with him and he told the younger one, a Lance Corporal, to tell me his story. The Staff Sergeant said the Lance Corporal was normally too shy and modest to tell it but now he?d had enough beer to overcome his usual tendencies.

As the Lance Corporal started to talk, an older man joined our circle. He wore a baseball cap that indicated he had been with the 1st Marine Division in Korea. Earlier in the evening he had told me about one of his former commanding officers; a Colonel Puller.

So, there I was, standing in a circle with three Marines recently returned from fighting with the 1st Marine Division in Iraq and one not so recently returned from fighting with the 1st Marine Division in Korea. I, who had fought with the 1st Marine Division in Kuwait, was about to gain a new insight into our Corps.
The young Lance Corporal began to tell us his story. At that moment, in this circle of current and former Marines, the differences in our ages and ranks dissipated?we were all simply Marines.

His squad had been on a patrol through a city street. They had taken small arms fire and had literally dodged an RPG round that sailed between two Marines. At one point they received fire from behind a wall and had neutralized the sniper with a SMAW round. The back blast of the SMAW, however, kicked up a substantial rock that hammered the Lance Corporal in the thigh; only missing his groin because he had reflexively turned his body sideways at the shot.

Their squad had suffered some wounded and was receiving more sniper fire when suddenly he was hit in the head by an AK-47 round. I was stunned as he told us how he felt like a baseball bat had been slammed into his head. He had spun around and fell unconscious. When he came to, he had a severe scalp wound but his Kevlar helmet had saved his life. He continued with his unit for a few days before realizing he was suffering the effects of a severe concussion.
As I stood there in the circle with the old man and the other Marines, the Staff Sergeant finished the story. He told of how this Lance Corporal had begged and pleaded with the Battalion surgeon to let him stay with his unit. In the end, the doctor said there was just no way?he had suffered a severe and traumatic head wound and would have to be med?evaced.

The Marine Corps is a special fraternity. There are moments when we are reminded of this. Interestingly, those moments don?t always happen at awards ceremonies or in dress blues at Birthday Balls. I have found, rather, that they occur at unexpected times and places: next to a loaded moving van at Camp Lejeune?s base housing, in a dirty CP tent in northern Saudi Arabia, and in a smoky VFW post in western Wyoming.

After the story was done, the Lance Corporal stepped over to the old man, put his arm over the man?s shoulder and told him that he, the Korean War vet, was his hero. The two of them stood there with their arms over each other?s shoulders and we were all silent for a moment. When they let go, I told the Lance Corporal that there were recruits down on the yellow footprints tonight that would soon be learning his story.

I was finished drinking beer and telling stories. I found Chance?s father and shook his hand one more time. Chance?s mom had already left and I deeply regretted not being able to tell her goodbye.

I left Dubois in the morning before sunrise for my long drive back to Billings. It had been my honor to take Chance Phelps to his final post. Now he was on the high ground overlooking his town.

I miss him.

Regards,
LtCol Strobl

Over 1,000 people attended his funeral. Those who were in attendance remembered PFC Phelps:

I want you to know that he died a hero. He never let himself or his other fellow Marines down. He showed great valor under intense weapons fire at him and his fellow Marines. ~Rear Admiral Richard Porterfield

That just changed everything. He just told me, says, "I got to go." I couldn't stop him. I didn't want to stop him, but my heart was just ... you know, I think I always knew really that he probably wouldn't come back. Gretchen Mack - proud mother of USMC PFC Chance Phelps

He was going to go over there to protect us, to fight on their soil instead of our soil. If we don't go over there and fight, we'll be doing it here. It was just as plain and simple as that. John Phelps - proud father of USMC PFC Chance Phelps

He died for his country and died like a warrior, and he doesn't want anybody crying for him because he died doing what he wanted to do forever. It was just in our heart to go, and that's all we talked about was going over there. The reason it's important is because we're liberating a country that never ... doesn't even know what freedom is, and they've never seen it before. And the reason why they are resisting it so much is because they don't know what freedom is and how good it can be. PFC John Hakes- friend and brother Marine of USMC PFC Chance Phelps

Thank you LtCol Strobl for providing this glimpse of the respect and honor accorded our fallen heroes. And, thanks to Blackfive for originally posting this moving account of a young Marine?s last journey.

Update: LtCol Strobl provided an edited version of this post and the original entry has been replaced with the updated version. Thank you.

Posted by Deb at 08:33 AM | Comments (1)

A Mother's View

Here is an e-mail from Becky, future Mom of LCPL Travis of the 3/7 Marine:

Dear friends,

I hope you don?t mind affording me the opportunity to share what?s been on my heart all morning. I have had the privilege of getting a glimpse into the lives of our young Marines serving in Iraq and elsewhere throughout the world through their letters, emails and calls to their loved ones. The average age of these young men is 19; some are as young as 17. Many will celebrate their birthdays for the second time in Iraq.

They have seen more death than most of us will see in a lifetime. They have watched many ?brothers? die, but have had little time to grieve. They must remain focused and are expected to perform their job amidst hatred, taunts, and jeers on a daily basis. Many have left home for the first time ever. Some have left young wives, some pregnant with their first child Many have received the news of a birth or news of a pregnancy while in Iraq. At times, they may go close to 2 weeks or sometimes even longer before they are able to get a shower. Their patrols can last anywhere from 36 to 40 hours without sleep, and then, when they finally do get to sleep, it is only for a few hours and sometimes in foxholes made of sand.

When they do get mail, they all sit around and watch each other open their packages to see what each one has received and they share freely. They compare it to opening birthday or Christmas presents. When I was mailing my packages this morning, the postal worker struck up a conversation with me regarding the troops overseas. He had formerly been in the Army and was telling me just how special these packages are to the guys over there and went on to say ?you would not believe how many guys receive no mail at all!? That just breaks my heart to think about it!

There are many, many mothers at home missing their babies. I hear these mothers talk of calling their son?s cell phone just to hear his voice on his voice mail? wearing their son?s shirt around the house because it smells like him? not being able to reach through the phone line to wrap them in their arms when they tell their mothers they have just lost their best friend? and then having to hear this country berate them for being there, doing their job. It makes me weep! I know that these Marines often feel that they have been forgotten and are unappreciated by us, with the exception of their proud family and a few friends. They believe in what they are doing. They have chosen to serve this country, to fight for our freedom and many will never come home again alive. I have such high respect and regard for each and every one of them. My heart breaks when each one falls.

I know my eyes have been opened. Why have I written this? I?m not really sure except to say, please remember? in some way, each day? remember them for their great sacrifice. They are all, every one of them, TRUE HEROS

Posted by Deb at 07:04 AM

Spirit of America Challenge Update

Afternoon Update: We're within $5 of reaching $30,000 to support Operation: No Better Friend - the total as of 1:00 PST is $29,995.93. Who will push this up to an even number?

Thanks to everyone who has donated - and for those who haven't, you have just over 40 hours to make up your mind which team to support. Hint: there's a handy Donate button below. Here are results as of last night:

Blog / Coalition	Amount Raised
Castle Argghhh! Fighting Fusileers for Freedom!	$14,507.49	Donate
The Victory Coalition	$10,638.44
Liberty Alliance	$4,850

Here, my exchange niece Susanna displays the sample of the biscotti that is up for bid - they are delicious! I'll send a dozen hazelnut brandy biscotti and a dozen cranberry/chocolate/Grand Marnier biscotti to the high bidder, along with a bag of excellent coffee and a USMC travel mug.

Susanna is from Norway and is spending her senior year of high school here in Oregon. She fits seamlessly into our family and we love her very much.

Bidding continues in the comment section of this post.

Other Fighting Fusileer auctions are:

Blog	Auction Item
Knowledge is Power	An (ex) Baath Party notecard - bid here.
Da Goddess	Bid here.on a very interesting support system.
Citizen Smash	Visiting Baghdad? You'll need a tourist map.
e-Claire	If you wish you had your own collection of old family photos, get them here.
Welcome to Castle Argghhh!!!	Fix bayonets! If you don't have your own, get it here.
Right Wingin'-it	Click this link to find out what the Pudgy Pundit is doing for the cause.

Posted by Deb at 06:46 AM

April 24, 2004

Spirit of America Challenge - Days Three and Four

The competition continues with the Fighting Fusileers of Freedom in the lead:

Blog / Coalition	Amount Raised
Castle Argghhh! Fighting Fusileers for Freedom!	$10755.5	Donate
The Victory Coalition	$7718
Liberty Alliance	$3314

Here's the button - you know you want to click it.

So, how can I make this competition more appealing? Here's today's offer. With the help of my two lovely and culinarily talented nieces, I'm baking biscotti today for Sgt. Hook- we'll send them with a couple pounds of Dunkin Donuts coffee. These are not just ordinary biscotti. Several years ago, I took second place at the Oregon State Fair with my secret biscotti formula. And why didn't I take first? Because my son, now a United States Marine, took my recipe and tweaked it. He took first. As Matt at Blackfive noted, ". . . if it ain't nailed down, GI's will steal it". And, he wasn't even a Marine at the time - just practicing. With my recipe.

So, I'll auction off a box of delicious second-place biscotti with a bag of coffee (not Dunkin Donuts, it's all going to Sgt. Hook) and a USMC travel mug to the highest bidder. We'll keep the auction open for a few days via the comments section - bid early, bid often!

Check back later for pictures of the biscotti-baking process.

Posted by Deb at 08:50 AM

April 22, 2004

A Mother's Wait

As a mother of a US Marine serving heroically for our country, waiting is just part of the game. But when the conflict in Iraq changed dramatically last weekend, the waiting game changed as well - it was a constant need to hear my sons voice and to know that he was fine. But, the waiting went from moments to minutes to days, ultimately three days later, Monday evening at 10:00pm actually. I answered the phone and heard his voice, "hi mom" . There was a sudden glorified relief and then the realization of are there words to express both my happiness and my sadness for him. He had lost five fellow Marines and it was evident that the aftermath of Saturday's battle was heartwrenching. His voice was low and he seemed a little disoriented, 'what time is it, and what day is it?' His number one request was to pray for the families of these brave and giving men. Once again, we are reminded that freedom is not free, and all of us as Americans living free should count the many blessings, even a phone call.

As, our conversation continued, it was short and the conversation was limited to making sure his family was doing OK, unselfishly focused on others in his life, both in Iraq and at home. He shared that being in a remote area of Iraq mail is very slow. Many Marines still are not receiving mail. And, communication is limited at a time when our troops need to hear the encouragement from the American people that they are supported and recognized for the job they are doing for people who are having a hard time adjusting to a new found freedom. I asked my son what can we do? He said that Marines are without socks, please send socks. Every package that arrives is like someones birthday. They all stand around and watch to see what is opened up and then they share the goods. Today, I will send a package that I know will be a present to someone, one that will be shared with many and appreciated more than I will ever know. A small token of my appreciation of the freedom I have everyday. God bless our US Marines! God bless my son!

Posted by Deb at 12:17 PM

Spirit of America Challenge - Day Two

As of this morning, this friendly competition has raised almost $11,000 to assist our Marines in Iraq and Afghanistan. Here are the current standings:

Fighting Fusileers for Freedom - $6605
The Victory Coalition - $2977
Liberty Alliance - $ 1285

If you haven't donated yet, this is a significant opportunity for you to help our Marines win the peace in Iraq. Why? It's very personal for us. We are two Marine Corps Moms who each have a huge investment in the future of Iraq. Connie has a son currently deployed with the 3/7 Marines. Deb has a son with the 1/7 Marines who will return later this year. Both our Marines were there last year and brought home stories of how the newly freed Iraqi citizens appreciated the work of our troops. This year, there is much unrest. Humanitarian efforts, like those supported by the Spirit of America foundation will help win the hearts and minds of the Iraqi citizens who suffered under Sadaam's reign. And, it just may keep our Marines safer.

Here's the button. You know what to do.

And, don't forget the added inducement of a hand-knit summer scarf for the first 5 donations of $200 or more through any of the Fusileer links. Here's a picture of a work in progress (dog not included):

Posted by Deb at 12:05 PM

April 21, 2004

Thank you to the Spanish Army

When the 1/7 Marines came home from the An Najaf province last year, the Spanish Army took over. For the past year, they've engaged in humanitarian and peace-keeping operations in one of Iraq's holiest cities. Now, they are returning home - not by their choice but because of politics.

Last year, a couple of my friends - all Marine Corps Moms from Oregon - worked with me to send over 5,000 lbs. of school supplies to Najaf, Iraq to benefit the schoolchildren. We purchased and filled almost 700 backpacks with school supplies, and sent 50 teacher bags with classroom supplies. However, our Marines came home before our supplies arrived. With no one to receive the supplies and distribute them to the schools, we were stymied. But, Army Civil Affairs Sgt. Katie Utecht gave me an e-mail address for Major Pepe Perez Ucha, battalion commander for the Spanish Army in the Najaf province. Despite his responsibilities, he agreed to pick up our shipment in Kuwait City and transport it to Najaf. Without his assistance, the schoolchildren would not have been helped. He has worked very hard to ensure a better life for Iraqi children. Here is an e-mail I received last year that describes some of his activities:

Dear Deborah

My complet name is Mayor (Major) Jose Lis Perez Ucha. The e-mail addres is the best way to reach me. We are working a lot of rebuilding schools, and Social Affaires building. I want to tell you we are inagurated the school of Blinds and Deafs in najaf and the Orphanis. We visited the primary and secondary schools and Kufa and Najaf in order to fix it. We are about to buy two buses for the orphans to resolve the probleme of transportation of the children. Another day we organize a travel of 30 girls, these girls belong to the primary school which located in the city center of Najaf, 9 years old for Granada (Spain). These girls right now at Spain for touring and entertainement, eighteen days, to see amusement parks and Arabics monuments at Spain.

Best regards for all

It wasn't his choice to leave. And while he was there, he accomplished much good. Thank you, Major Ucha.

Update:
Tim Blair posted a link yesterday to a news item on the Spanish Army.

Aside from the military code of honour and their desire to finish the job, some Spanish troops said they were also sad to be leaving some of the Iraqi friends they had made in Diwaniyah.

Three soldiers manning the checkpoint at the entrance of the base were laughing with an Iraqi labourer who spoke to them in broken Spanish.

"I will miss these guys very much, I have gotten used to them," he said.

Posted by Deb at 02:55 PM | Comments (1)

April 20, 2004

Spirit of America Challenge

As part of an overall support effort for Operation: No Better Friend, the Spirit of America foundation is fundraising to provide equipment for at least seven television stations that are being refurbished by coalition troops. This will combat the propaganda spread through Al Jazheera television and showcase the humanitarian efforts that our troops are engaged in to bring a better life to those who were oppressed under Saddam's rule.

From the Spirit of America website:

US Marines seek to equip seven (7) television stations serving local communities within Al Anbar Province, Iraq. The Province includes the cities of Fallujah and Ramadi. These stations will offer information that is more accurate and balanced than existing alternatives. The goal is to improve understanding between Americans and Iraqis, build trust and reduce tensions.
Current TV news in Iraq often carries negative, highly-biased accounts of the U.S. presence. Unanswered, its effect is to stoke resentment and encourage conflict. The Marines seek to ensure the Iraqi people have access to better, more balanced information. By equipping local television stations and providing the ability to generate news and programming, the Marines will create a viable news alternative - one owned and operated by local Iraqi citizens.

The donated equipment will be the property of the Iraqi stations. The stations can create their own news and choose their own programming with the agreement that they will prohibit airing of anti-coalition messages that incite the local population. The stations also agree to sell airtime at a fair market price so that the Marines can communicate their information efficiently and quickly when needed.
For example, images were recently broadcast of a mosque in Fallujah damaged during fighting. With these stations the Marines could have provided the full picture by airing video of combatants firing on them from the mosque grounds. These stations would have enabled Iraqis to understand the complete picture. News of reconstruction projects and humanitarian assistance that balances the news of conflict will also be provided on these stations. The stations will be free to criticize the Coalition.

The Marines say, "this was started with the idea that information is key to success. It builds greater knowledge, understanding and ultimately, trust." They add, "As Operation Iraqi Freedom carries on, this venture becomes more and more important. The lack of accurate news reports during this rebuilding phase undercuts the good work being performed throughout the majority of Iraq. Instead, news is being passed by word of mouth and becomes more and more distorted as the tales are retold. It is essential to success of the Marine Corps' mission in Iraq that the Iraqi people understand our sincerest desires to help them rebuild their country and lay the foundation for a viable and free democratic society."

Here's how you can help:

Donate any amount of money to the Spirit of America foundation by clicking on this button:

So, who are the Fighting Fusileers of Freedom and why are they pointing at Kevin and Dean? It's a friendly competition between three groups of bloggers with big hearts. After considering each of the groups, Marine Corps Moms decided to go with the guys in Fusileer uniform - they're irresistable. And, they've got bigger guns. Check out the individual Fusileers, led by the fine folks at Castle Argghhh!, here:

The Imperial Armorer
She Who Will Be Obeyed
The Imperial Animatrix
Right Wingin-it!
Loyal Reader Calliope!
Un-named Left-of-Center Blogger Not Appearing in this blogroll*
Triticale
Darthvob
A Soldiers Blog
Practical Penumbra
Road Warrior Rules for Survival
Brain Shavings
The Bejus Pundit!
Blackfive - The Paratrooper of Love!
Technicalities
The Anti-Idotarian Rottweiler
Democrats Give Conservatives Indigestion
Bloodletting
The Politburo Diktat
The Mudville Gazette
Geeklog
The Common Virtue
The Ghost of a Flea
Grim's Hall
Feste, A Foolsblog!
LC Glen, Imperial Longbowman
Dawn L, the Non-Commenting Commenter!
Loyal Reader "Brass"
Loyal Reader "Bill" (Constructive credit for already donating)
Marine Corps Moms!
Colorado Psycho
Wasted Electrons
Citizen Smash!

As an added inducement, this Marine Corps Mom will knit a fashionable summer scarf for the first five people who donate $200 or more through one of the Fusileer links. It's a great cause on its own - but in the spirit of NPR, I'll make you an irresistable offer. After all pledges are posted, I'll e-mail the first five qualifying donors to find out color preference. Watch this site in the next few days for pictures of sample scarves.

Posted by Deb at 08:53 PM | Comments (1)

April 19, 2004

Tough Chicken

A USMC 1st Sgt. e-mails from the front lines:

I have just a few minutes to write before I must go back to my boys in Fallujah. It is going on week 2 of operation "Vigilant Resolve"..Who thinks of these names anyway?...Give this job to a LCPL and he will really name this operation...Anyway, Sad to say **** */* has over 23 wounded and 2 KIA's....This place is really nasty, but as always, my men are motivated and ready to carry on the next order. We hope it's to go into the heart of the city and erase most of the cancer that is left. I'm really over-whelmed to have so many folks email me with good thoughts and prayers...It is fitting that my men will emulate a phrase in the first verse of the Marines' Hymn.....FIRST TO FIGHT FOR RIGHT AND FREEDOM....We will never forget why we are here, and the loved ones back home who are living a free and healthy life..Key word....FREEDOM....Also, I would like to share a funny story that occurred...A 500lb bomb was delivered about 100 meters from our post and it rocked us but what was funny was there was this white chicken that was launched in this explosion...The chicken flew about 100 meters and then landed...The %$# thing got up fluffed his feathers and ran off...Tough Chicken......Love to all...

Posted by Deb at 02:39 PM

Last letters home

Marines are writing letters home. Not to their own parents, wives, sweethearts, but to families of fallen brother Marines.

"Your husband/son/brother was an excellent Marine, admired by his peers, respected by his superiors, and he died doing his duty," many of the letters will say, or versions thereof.

Among the fallen Marines is Lance Cpl. Robert Zurheide, 20, of Tucson, whose wife will soon give birth to their first child. His buddies want to make sure that someday Zurheide's child will know of his sense of humor, strength of character and bravery.

No law requires these letters to be written, only custom. In the Marine Corps, custom is a potent call.

When my son was in Iraq last year, two men in his battalion died of non-combat injuries. Their families received letters, not only from officers but from the enlisted men who lived side-by-side with their sons and husbands.

Letters from officers are being collected here at the Marine encampment on the city's outskirts. They are being typed and corrected for spelling.

But enlisted Marines, some hunkered down in bullet-riddled homes awaiting orders to begin an assault, also are encouraged to write down their memories. Some use scraps of paper, others the sides of cardboard boxes that carry Meals Ready to Eat.

Troops remembered Zurheide's sense of humor, his love of singing and playing guitar, his occasional displays of dancing and his joy at showing the ultrasound picture of his unborn child.

"We want his child to know his dad was a good Marine. He never balked, he always volunteered, he went out of his way to help others," said 2nd Lt. Ben Wagner, commanding officer of Zurheide's platoon.

Last year, my son called me each time there was a Marine casualty to let me know he was all right. Even so, my breath stopped everytime there was a knock at my door. And the same thing will happen later this year when my son returns to Iraq. It happened to a friend earlier this week when news of the battle on the Syrian border came across news wires. We collectively held our breath until we knew her son was safe. And we mourn for the fallen, knowing that they died heroes. Each Marine is like one of our own sons. And the Marines feel the same way about the families of their fallen brothers.

"I hope what I wrote will at least let them know their sons didn't die in vain," (Capt. Zambiec) said. "They died trying to bring peace to a violent and chaotic part of the world."

The letter-writing process helps the surviving Marines as well. They take comfort in the thought that the missives are helping a dead friend's family.

"That's how Marines grieve," said 1st Sgt. James Madden, who has been in the Corps for 22 years. "We take care of our own."

Posted by Deb at 01:39 PM

April 18, 2004

3/7 Marines Battle in Husaybah

Yesterday, I was walking down the waterfront in Newport, Oregon when another Marine Mom called to see if I'd heard anything about a firefight on the Syrian border. Her son serves with the 3/7 Marines and is currently deployed in Iraq. A report from embedded reporter Ron Harris from the Saint Louis Post Dispatch provides a few details on what the 3/7 faced yesterday:

In some of the fiercest fighting in recent weeks, five Marines were killed and dozens of Iraqi insurgents slain in a daylong battle that began early Saturday in Husaybah. Marines beat back the offensive by what was reported to be hundreds of Iraqis from another area who had slipped into this city just 300 yards east of the Syrian border.

According to Marine intelligence, nearly 300 Iraqi mujahedeen fighters from Fallujah and Ramadi launched the offensive in an outpost next to Husaybah, first setting off a roadside bomb to lure Marines out of their base and then firing 24 mortars as the Marines responded to the first attack.

At least nine Marines were wounded and more than 20 Iraqi fighters were captured in the 14-hour battle. The Iraqi prisoners were taken to the Marines' main base, Camp Al Qaim, 22 miles east of here, for questioning.

Reading between the lines, the mujahedeen are being run out of Fallujah and Ramadi and are retreating to Syria. They may stop along the way for a fight, but they will not win, even with cowardly tactics:

At one point, many of the insurgents reportedly had gathered in a local mosque, and Marines were preparing to bomb the building. They decided not to attack, however, when they couldn't positively identify the occupants of the mosque.

According to Marine snipers reporting to their commanders by radio, some of the insurgents fired at Marines and then hid behind children.

"We're trying to get the snipers in position for a shot," Major George Schreffler told the other commanders through tactical radio communications. "They're looking at guys in blue uniforms and others with black clothes and black masks. Some are using children to shield themselves. We will not take shots in which we could possibly hit children."

The battle started at 8:30 a.m. By 6:00 p.m., our Marines "had the insurgents on the run".

No better friend, no worse enemy. It's not a question of "if", it's "when". In this battle, it took less than ten hours. We'll grieve with the families of our fallen heroes, knowing that their sons and husbands made a difference. Semper Fi.

Posted by Deb at 02:43 PM

April 17, 2004

Life in Fallujah

U.S. Marines (2/1, Echo Co, 1st Plt.) provide security in Fallujah as a family gathers food and supplies from their home. Although they were urged to find temporary shelter away from the city until hostilities cease, the family wants to return home.

"They don't care of gun shots, they want to live in their homes because they feel safe Americans here," said Peshi, an Iraqi interpreter who is attached to Company E.

USMC photo by Sgt. Jose E. Guillen)

Posted by Deb at 12:16 AM

April 16, 2004

Marines 100, Enemy 0

The insurgents gave it all they had. The Marines won a decisive victory.

"Last night, they were all around us ? in front of us, in back of us, everywhere," said Lt. Lewis Langella, who commands a squad of snipers and infantry on Falluja's outskirts. "They were throwing a whole lot of lead at us, and we were throwing a whole lot back."

For the past week, marines have been fortifying positions across this dusty city of monochromatic tan brick. Even though urban warfare is compact and fluid, there are still front lines ? here, a row of rooftops occupied by marines looking down on garbage-strewn streets.

One of the most important tools for this battle comes from the garden shed: sledgehammers. On Wednesday, marines punched "mouseholes," just big enough for gun barrels, in the brick walls of the homes they occupied. They also smashed windows to scatter shards of glass across the front steps.

"It's an early warning system," Capt. Shannon Johnson explained, as he crunched noisily across the glass, "something the old guys taught us."

Nearby, a squad of young men with crewcuts swung heavy hammers under a punishing sun. They were knocking down the low walls along the rooftops so they could move on catwalks from roof to roof.

"This is classic urban warfare," said Maj. Gen. Jim Mattis, commander of the First Marine Division. "It's all the stuff World War II taught us, along with Korea, Vietnam and Somalia. People will be studying Falluja for years to come."

The weaponry ? mostly low-tech, like machine guns and mortars ? is also reminiscent of earlier wars. There have been a few guided-missile attacks from the air. But Falluja is so densely populated ? 300,000 people in only a few square miles ? that commanders have been reluctant to call in airstrikes.

Two Marines were wounded during the 14-hour battle, although their injuries were not life-threatening. More than 100 enemy combatants were killed.

"It's their Super Bowl," said Maj. T. V. Johnson, a Marine spokesman. "Falluja is the place to go if you want to kill Americans."

If this is their Superbowl, I know which side I'm betting on.

Posted by Deb at 01:24 PM

Support Freedom of Speech

Here's more on the Spirit of America foundation's newest effort.

The First Marine Expeditionary Force and U.S. Army in Iraq want to equip and upgrade seven defunct Iraqi-owned TV stations in Al Anbar province--west of Baghdad--so that average Iraqis have better televised information than the propaganda they get from the notorious Al-Jazeera. If Jim Hake can raise $100,000, his Spirit of America will buy the equipment in the U.S., ship it to the Marines in Iraq and get Iraqi-run TV on the air before the June 30 handover.

This is an excellent way to support freedom of speech and of the press. With your donation, you'll put the power of journalism in the hands of the Iraqis who have most to gain from a democratic Iraq. Let's hear their stories.

Jim Hake has set a target date of May 7 to have this equipment purchased and delivered to Camp Pendleton. Visit the Spirit of America web site to donate to this cause. All donations are tax deductible.

Thanks, Jim!

Posted by Deb at 01:02 PM

April 15, 2004

News from the Front

Grim's Hall has some interesting snippets of news from Iraq:

[T]he Ramadi front is designed to take heat off Falluja.... [A Moblie Assault Platoon] was called to provide relief to ' X.' XXXX says that as they moved up, the rags were performing disciplined, as he calls it, "bounding fire and movement---they knew what they were doing---even when we knocked them back, they were 'bounding.'"

My son called yesterday afternoon to describe his day of training. His company was doing MOUT training in abandoned base housing, practicing urban fighting skills. He said the guys had watched video footage of fighting in Fallujah and Ramadi with great interest - some of the insurgents were actually sighting in and aiming their weapons, indicating that they'd received some training along the line.

Here's another excerpt:

Your husbands were awesome all night they stayed at the job of securing the streets and nobody challenged them as the hours wore on. They did not surrender an inch nor did flinch from the next potential threat. Previous to yesterday the terrorist thought that we were soft enough to challenge. As of tonight the message is loud and clear that the Marines will not be beaten. Today the enemy started all over again, although with far fewer numbers, only now the rest of the battalion joined the fight. Without elaborating too much, weapons company and Golf crushed their attackers with the vengeance of the righteous.

This e-mail, evidently written to the wives of Marines fighting in Ramadi, shows once again that there is no better trained fighting force in the world than the USMC. Oohrah!

Posted by Deb at 04:20 PM

"This is a story about heroes . . ."

This Washington Post article related the heroic actions of a small group of Marines who battled "50 to 100" insurgents in order to rescue 17 brother Marines.

Marine officials said the three-hour battle that erupted at dusk Tuesday on the streets of Fallujah, and was recounted Wednesday by several of the key officers involved, exemplified the bravery and resourcefulness that Marines are known for, even when surprised and surrounded by a host of enemy fighters on alien urban turf. By the end of the tumultuous encounter, the charred personnel carrier had been towed to safety by a tank and most of its 17 crew members -- several of them wounded -- had been rescued from a house where they had taken shelter

~~~~~~~~~~

Senior Marine officials here, who plan to seek commendations for valor for four men involved the rescue mission, said the most important aspect of the incident was the courage that the Marines displayed in battling their way through heavy fire to reach the disabled carrier and rescue its crew.

"This is a story about heroes. It shows the tenacity of the Marines and their fierce loyalty to each other," said Lt. Col. Brennan Byrne, commander of the 1st Battalion, 5th Marine Regiment. "They were absolutely unwilling to leave their brother Marines behind."

My son chose the Marine Corps over all other branches of armed forces for a number of reasons. Knowing that his brother Marines would never abandon him was one of those reasons. These heroes of 1/5 have proved once again that there is no better friend, no worse enemy than a United States Marine. Semper Fidelis.

Posted by Deb at 03:08 PM

April 14, 2004

How you can help our Marines

During the past few months, I've corresponded with Jim Hake from the Spirit of America Foundation in California, regarding current efforts to support the No Better Friends program. Jim has the blessing of General Jim Mattis who commands the 1st Marine Expeditionary Force and who pioneered the No Better Friends program as a strategy to befriend the people of Iraq. Since one of the side benefits of this program is goodwill that will help keep our troops safer in Iraq, I'm a huge cheerleader (my son is currently preparing to return to Iraq) but there are many other reasons to support the efforts of our Marines to win the hearts and minds of the Iraqi citizens who are now on the doorstep of democracy.

The School Partners Program will match up elementary, middle, and high schools in the United States with partner schools in Iraq. The program goal is to build positive relationships between the people of Iraq and our own country, through dialogue and trust-building. Students would write to students, teachers would correspond with other teachers, and administrators would reach out to administrators.

The goal this spring is to find out what we need to be successful next fall. We need to talk with teachers and administrators to get an idea of how this might play out in practice. For example, my brother is an art teacher at North Bend Middle School on the Oregon coast. He is interested in doing an art exchange. Students in Iraq would send their paintings, drawings, and sculptures to the NBMS, and our students would send theirs to the partner school in Iraq. We will also be working with staff at local art galleries that would like to display the work for a wider audience after the students at NBMS have enjoyed it. I will also be contacting art supply companies to see if they would underwrite the project and/or contribute art supplies to be sent to the schools in Iraq. This is one example; other teachers might just have their students write to a partner classroom once a month or so. A student club might organize a toy or school supply drive. Students might hold a carwash or bake sale to raise funds in order to send a gift of friendship. There are many ways to make this happen.

Are you a teacher or administrator who is interested in finding out more about this project? I have a presentation that I can share with you or others that highlights what we in the U.S. can do to improve education in Iraq and improve our own understanding of world events at the same time. I think it would be a very positive experience for students here, and teachers might also be interested in building collaborative relationships with teachers in Iraq.

The Tools for Iraq program is seeking donations of used or new carpentry and plumbing tools to provide to Iraqi men in the ?Sunni Triangle? area of Iraq. The Marines are based in Ramadi and have responsibility for Al Anbar province which includes the city of Fallujah. One of the enduring problems is high unemployment in this restive area. By providing vocational tools and training, Iraqis can help in the rebuilding of their country. It's an excellent program and will help improve relations between our military and the Iraqis. The Tools for Iraq program is an excellent way to assist our Marines and other forces.

If you are acquainted with managers or executives of large retail stores (Lowes, Home Depot, etc.) or have suggestions on how to provide information on the Tools for Iraq program to builders and contractors who might be interested in participating, please contact the Spirit of America Foundation.

There are other ways to help, including a new effort to equip Iraqi media with cameras and equipment to film positive images to combat the negative broadcasts by Al Jazeera and other networks. Please visit the Spirit of America website and donate toward these worthy causes. The foundation is a 501c3 and all donations are tax deductible.

Posted by Deb at 11:21 AM | Comments (1)

April 10, 2004

Score one for the Marines

Here's a note from "Sgt. Pappy" - a career Marine who will soon return to the sandbox:

Disclaimer: This is by no means "Army-bashing". The author's expressions are not necessarily that of USMC, DOD or any other alphabet-soup agency.

I had a conversation with the folks today, and I was at once appaled by some, and made to rejoice by others. My sister and brother-in-law are friends with a couple named Jay and Melissa. Since they live in an Army town, (Clarksville, TN) it is no surprise that Melissa's father is retired Army. Her husband Jay took a job about 3 months ago drving trucks as a civilian in Iraq. According to Jay, this is what happened a few days ago.

As he was driving in a convoy, escorted by Army vehicles (he's not sure of which unit) they came under attack near Fallujah. The trucks were cut off, and the Army unit took off into the sunset, never bothering to stay with the trucks and maybe provide just a hint of support. Jay says at this time, seeing the escort take off made him a bit nervous. There was a disabled vehicle, so the truckers circled the wagons so they wouldn't leave anyone behind, and shortly thereafter a local showed up. Due to events in the area, the sight of the local really frightened Jay, but the local said not to worry, he'd be back with help. After a while, the local comes back with help - a butt-load of US Marines. Jay said he was never so happy to see a jarhead in his whole life. The Marines stayed with the truckers until they could get them all out, and made sure there wouldn't be a repeat of what we all saw a few days earlier.

After I was told this, I felt a lot better about my fellow Marines. Sometimes, we lifers think the "new breed" has lost sight of the traditions and ethos that makes us special. As I prepare for another trip to the sandbox soon, I feel better knowing that the Marine Corps as a whole, and not just the aggressive, belligerent, sometimes drunk, often dirty, crude, rude and tattooed platoon I'm in charge of still knows their role as America's elite. Semper FI, and good day.

Oohrah! As he heads back, please keep him in your prayers.

Posted by Deb at 07:50 AM

An Iraqi's Retrospective View of Liberation

How has life changed in Iraq for the Iraqi citizens who were liberated by our Marines last April? Here's a retrospective look by Mohammed, an Iraqi blogger:

It?s the day that brought me back to life. It?s the 9th of April and I?m free, and they will not steel my joy again and they will not silence me. A year ago at the same date, the thieves and criminals prevented me from celebrating my freedom in the open air, and today thieves, criminals and fanatics are doing the same, but they will not steal my happiness that is making my soul fly and dance with joy and they can?t stop this.

A year ago, words failed me as I met the 1st American soldier, and I still remember his name, ?corporal, Adam? and all I could utter was ?thank you!? how could I ever put my whole life in few words? How could I have thanked that soldier enough? How could I have told him what it meant to me to see him and his comrades-who brought me back to life- at last? Thank you Adam, Lieutenant Antonio, Captain Brian Curtis and all the coalition soldiers who I can?t remember their names, and those I never met.

It?s the 9th of April and I feel safe! And I don?t care what those ?political experts? on the newspapers and TV channels, say about the ?occupation?, deteriorated security and ?unemployment?. You can?t understand this, because you never experienced real fear this long. Let me tell you about it, as I?m one of those who passed Saddam?s filthy test of life.
The statue fell and with it, horror fell. You don?t know what it means to be scared to death most of your life, brothers and sisters. I knew that and I faced it during the reign of evil and darkness. I was afraid to talk, I wasn't allowed to think and I wasn't allowed to feel?I wasn't allowed to love.

How dare anyone imply to me how should I feel? And who they think they are, those who try to put words in my mouth? I?m alive and I?m free, and I have the right to say whatever I feel and chose the words I like. No one will tell me again what to say and what to feel.
Yes, it?s the 9th of April. I lit the 1st candle today to celebrate my 1st year, as a free man and no one will prevent me from celebrating. I, who the earth is no longer enough to contain my feelings, I who have wings now, and I don?t have to carry an ID?I?m Iraqi. I have the right to wander through my country southwards and northwards, without being stopped by someone to ask me who I am and where I?m going. I?m the son of the 9th of April.

Years ago, when I was a fugitive, a Ba?athist who?s a friend of my father and a relative said to me mockingly ?how long are you going to live like this!? Get out of this ?hole? and turn yourself in to the authorities and do your military service.? I looked at him and I couldn?t say anything, but my soul screamed inside me, ?The day when your tyrant becomes a defeated fugitive will come. He will search for a hole to hide in, and I will own Iraq then?. And here comes the dream true!

I?m the son of the 9th of April, tyrant?s clowns, and you have to fear me, you who betrayed me every minute and every day, and you want to chain me again???
You know why it?s impossible now? I was a slave and I never knew who I am?. and now I?m free! Thanks to all who dared to tell the truth and didn?t fear the consequences. And as for you, who saved me and my people, I can?t thank you enough. My voice goes feeble and my eyes swell with tears as I think of the Iraqis, Americans and all the coalition soldiers who gave their lives to free Iraq and make this world a better place. God bless their souls and all those who decided to fight to the end and never been discouraged, even in the toughest moments. I hope you can call me brother, because I?ll never fail you, as you never failed me.
This time, the 9th of April has come again and in what way! The powers of darkness and evil are trying to stifle my candle with their foul breaths but this time I'm alive and free and I will face them, and I will lit it again and again ?and again.

May that candle continue to burn brightly.

Posted by Deb at 07:35 AM

April 08, 2004

Newsletter from the Front

It's hard to imagine, for those of us who wait at home, what it's like to live and work in a war zone. Here's an e-mail newsletter sent out by a USMC Captain in Fallujah.

I've realized that summing up experiences I have in a given month as a newsletter is a bit like asking a member of The Breakfast Club to write a letter on who they are. Life is too hectic, and the pace of tactical operations is too complex for me to devote adequate time and resources to the details and nuances of deployed life that I would appreciate being able to communicate. Nonetheless, I will attempt to fulfill my pledge of a monthly newsletter, although I forewarn the reader it will be hopelessly incomplete.

For one thing, every Marine, soldier, or civilian in Iraq is viewing things through a completely different lens, and enduring completely different risks. Compared to folks sitting on the Kuwait/Iraq border, soldiers at Camp Victory on the outskirts of Baghdad, or any person who never leaves a secure area, my life with the MEF Headquarters Group as an Operations Officer/Convoy Commander at Camp Fallujah is fraught with risk and danger. We usually receive mortar or rocket fire once or twice a night, which is about average for the major bases in our Area Of Responsibility (AOR). Sometimes it lands inside the Camp, usually it doesn't - typically 2-5 rounds. When it's late at night, we sleep through the attacks and find out the next morning. March 20th, the one-year anniversary of the attack, was a pretty heavy night across the area; we had two soldiers killed and six wounded when a building took a direct hit. But to an infantry Marine deployed in the cities of Fallujah, Ramadi, or further west (many of these Marines are engaged with mortar and small arms fire every six hours) my life is basically a piece of cake. Those men - the infantry battalions of 1st Marine Division - are truly "the tip of the spear". I visit with them when they come through here for various reasons. Without getting into the operational details, I can honestly report these Marines are doing a lot of things that simply weren't happening over the past six months. They are taking the risks necessary to give Iraq a fighting chance at success, and they deserve immense praise.

Camp Fallujah - formerly known as FOB St Mere - is about 15 miles east of the city itself. The populace consists of 500,000 people who are pissed off that they're town has become a staging ground for everyone all over the world who wants to pick a fight with Americans (the thought that keeps coming to mind for some reason is how the owners of the Woodstock farm must have felt in 1969). Those who try to find employment with us ? most recently, the barber - are often killed for their loyalty. Those who side with "the insurgency" - a vague and misleading term often used in the press - wind up as the hunted. "The insurgency" involves a plethora of individuals from a number of countries who simply hate Americans. While "the insurgency" possesses a degree of tactical skill, most people of higher rank than me have a difficult time visualizing "the insurgency" as any sort of coordinated political effort (i.e. Viet Cong). It's a bunch of guys who, for numerous motives, plan to continue killing Americans. For some, it's a religious or political motive. For others in the shady Islamic soldier-of-fortune world of arms smuggling and mercenary operations, it's simply good business. Supply is undoubtedly streaming across the border from Syria; regardless of false reports from the State Department about Marines being "confused" about the boundary to make nice politically regarding firefights between Marines and Syrian border guards, the bottom line is Syrians are up to no good. Marines simply don't get "confused" about things like the border between Iraq and Syria.

Unfortunately for the townspeople of Fallujah, it's a lose-lose situation - kind of like folks in Northern Ireland or Israel - who are simply trying to mind their own business and wind up stuck in the midst of two violently opposing wills where no short-term resolution appears possible. It?s truly an irony that Iraqis and Israelis have more in common than either country will ever admit. Most Fallujans blame Americans for their problems and think if we don't leave, their lives will never improve. At the same time, most acknowledge the reality that civil war is possible - even likely - if we depart. Regardless, it's our fault and to some extent, they're right. For American forces, the tricky part is always determining friend from foe. Case in point: Gaswan.

Gaswan is a translator hired by Titan Corporation, a company based...somewhere. He is married, and his only child died before the war from illness. Hired after the war, he worked at Camp Fallujah for the Army. During the transfer of authority, the Army lost his time card and he hadn't been paid. No Titan representative was on base. Gaswan happened upon our CP and vented his frustration. A group of Captains and Gunnys deliberated, took up a collection, and covered his pay as "a gift from the Marines"... the thought process being that we wanted to earn his loyalty, and nobody getting stiffed on wages is partial to "Americans" who are screwing them over... even if it was the Army. Gaswan was visibly touched; now he works with us since we took over Titan's contract (and, yes, there is a Titan representative on base now). However, despite the fact that Gaswan puts his life on the line every day by translating for Americans, none of us would say we "trust" him. Gaswan has one of the best paying jobs available in Iraq, and his loyalty is a function of his desire to survive and prosper. If the conditions changed, he would switch sides in a heartbeat. For all we know, Gaswan might be providing persons out in town with information on the Camp when he leaves on Fridays to visit his wife. We can't monitor his every move. We could force him to stay here 24/7, essentially imprisoning him from his family. Or we could refuse to permit him entry. None of those are practical options; at some point we have to trust, but we have to understand the "trust" can only go so far. Betrayal could be right around the corner, but it's kind of like falling in love... at some point you just have to take a chance on somebody.

I've led four convoys, including a 3-day march up from Kuwait that turned into 4 days. Typically, I go out about once a week. None of my convoys have been hit with an IED or ambush yet, but our unit was about a week ago. Both Marines were wounded, and the quick actions of the corpsman combined with some very good equipment saved their lives. I picture convoys in Iraq as creating similar emotions as air sorties or foot patrols in other conflicts. Those who go out on convoys regularly develop a fraternity within the fraternity. We have call signs: "Snake", "Redneck", "Top Gun", "Log Dog". The call signs are partially for operational security, but just as often wind up becoming a nickname. I'm "Mad Max". Typically, the same individuals stick together in a vehicle team: Cpl "Shady" Stevens is my driver and LCpl "Kid" Montcalm is my radio operator. This develops the same type of unit cohesion infantry units strive for, and the same type of pride. The convoys we "roll" are not combat patrols; they are logistics convoys built to move gear or personnel from Point A to Point B. Still, every individual in a convoy has to have the mindset of a combatant, and the Marines in the Motor Transport platoon - the ones who spend the most time on the road - have the spirit of infantrymen.

Planning for the convoys is a formal, professional affair: order, convoy brief, rehearsals, pep talk, comm checks, test fire weapons, then it's go time. We brief again on the way back, or if any major changes are required at a stop in between. The convoys themselves are chaotic as well, for all sorts of reasons. Although things go basically according to plan, there are always changes and delays for various reasons and one has to be prepared for just about anything. On the last convoy I ran, an Iraqi vehicle on the opposite side of the highway had an accident, the driver was thrown from his vehicle, and a shepherd next to the vehicle was frantically waving his staff. We still aren't sure whether or not it was some type of explosive device or a vehicle malfunction - Marines saw "something white" - smoke? - but felt no boom. Was someone planning to hit us? Was the shepherd's staff
a signal? What we think happened was the vehicle hit a sheep (hence the white), wrecked, and the shepherd was reacting to his loss. There have been a good number of jokes since then about maintaining careful observation for any potential Sheep-Borne IEDs... just in case the enemy really decides to change tactics.

Yes, we joke, but humor is essential to warding off any potential debilitating effects of fear. Another highly under-rated placebo is superstition. The only people more superstitious then men in combat are professional gamblers and baseball players on a hitting streak. Marines carry pictures of girlfriends and wives, wear lucky jewelry, tattoo themselves with lucky symbols, and adorn themselves with all sorts of manifestations of potentially good karma. I personally received a small number of "lucky" trinkets as gifts from friends and family, and I keep them with me wherever I go, but by far my favorite is the Boar's Tooth. The Boar's Tooth -- a scimitar-shaped fragment about four inches long ? was taken off a boar in North Carolina in the late 1930s and was passed to me from a friend who had it in his family since World War II. I was told the Boar's Tooth made it through World War II, Korea, and Vietnam. Apparently, everyone who has ever carried the Boar's Tooth has returned from harm's way alive - not necessarily unscathed, but alive - and, most importantly returned with male-specific "equipment" intact. Cpl Stevens and LCpl Montcalm are big fans of the Boar's Tooth. It remains prominently displayed on all of our convoys.

That's a snapshot of life at Camp Fallujah for this month. One final thought: I remember hearing a great deal of comments in the media about the need for us to "internationalize" our efforts. Thus far in my stay in Iraq, I have personally met: Thais, Jordanians, Indians, Australians, Bangladeshis, Turks, Filipinos, Pakistanis, Kuwaitis, Koreans, Romanians, and the list goes on. For the most part, all those noted on this list were laborers, not troops or political/diplomatic officials. I'm not saying this as a political statement one way or another: it's simply an interesting observation. If the United Nations had an AFL-CIO, the Iraq Chapter would be its headquarters.

Godspeed during your tour of duty, Captain D.

Posted by Deb at 09:04 PM | Comments (1)

A note from Fallujah

This e-mail was recently sent by a Marine Corps officer in Fallujah. Please pray for our brave troops who fight to preserve our freedoms.

Things have been busy here. You know I can't say much about it. However, I do know two things. One, POTUS has given us the green light to do whatever we needed to do to win this thing so we have that going for us. Two, and my opinion only, this battle is going to have far reaching effects on not only the war here in Iraq but in the overall war on terrorism. We have to be very precise in our application of combat power. We cannot kill a lot of innocent folks (though they are few and far between in Fallujah). There will be no shock and awe. There will be plenty of bloodshed at the lowest levels. This battle is the Marine Corps' Belleau Wood for this war. 2/1 and 1/5 will be leading the way. We have to find a way to kill the bad guys only. The Fallujahans are fired up and ready for a fight (or so they think). A lot of terrorists and foreign fighters are holed up in Fallujah. It has been a sanctuary for them. If they have not left town they are going to die. I'm hoping they stay and fight.

This way we won't have to track them down one by one.

This battle is going to be talked about for a long time. The Marine Corps will either reaffirm its place in history as one of the greatest fighting organizations in the world or we will die trying. The Marines are fired up. I'm nervous for them though because I know how much is riding on this fight (the war in Iraq, the view of the war at home, the length of the war on terror and the reputation of the Marine Corps to name a few). However, every time I've been nervous during my career about the outcome of events when young Marines were involved they have ALWAYS exceeded my expectations. I'm praying this is one of those times.

A Marine Officer

Our Marines will tell their children and grandchildren about the Battle of Fallujah. Please keep them in your thoughts and prayers.

The reference to Belleau Wood is part of Marine Corps history. Here's the text of an official French citation honouring the U.S. effort at the Battle of Belleau Wood during World War I - one of the many victories that have earned our Marines a reputation as the finest fighting force in the world.

French Government Citation
in Honour of 4th American Brigade
8 December 1918

Issued December 8, 1918, in honour of the 4th American Brigade, fighting at Belleau Wood. This brigade consisted of two regiments of Marines, and a Machine-Gun battalion from the "Regulars" of the U.S.A.

During these operations [of early June], thanks to the brilliant courage, vigour, dash, and tenacity of its men, who refused to be disheartened by fatigue or losses; thanks to the activity and energy of the officers, and thanks to the personal action of Brig. Gen. Harbord, the efforts of the brigade were crowned with success, realizing after twelve days of incessant struggle an important advance over the most difficult of terrain and the capture of two support points of the highest importance, Bouresches village and the fortified wood of Belleau.

Posted by Deb at 07:48 PM

April 01, 2004

Letter from General Mattis to the 1MEF

I am proud that my son serves under the leadership exemplified in this letter to the 1MEF as they return to the Sunni triangle of Iraq. Oohrah!

Letter to All Hands,

We are going back into the brawl. We will be relieving the magnificent Soldiers fighting under the 82nd Airborne Division, whose hard won successes in the Sunni Triangle have opened opportunities for us to exploit. For the last year, the 82nd Airborne has been operating against the heart of the enemy's resistance. It's appropriate that we relieve them: When it's time to move a piano, Marines don't pick up the piano bench - we move the piano. So this is the right place for Marines in this fight, where we can carry on the legacy of Chesty Puller in the Banana Wars in the same sort of complex environment that he knew in his early years. Shoulder to shoulder with our comrades in the Army, Coalition Forces and maturing Iraqi Security Forces, we are going to destroy the
enemy with precise firepower while diminishing the conditions that create adversarial relationships between us and the Iraqi people.

This is going to be hard, dangerous work. It is going to require patient, persistent presence. Using our individual initiative, courage, moral judgment and battle skills, we will build on the 82nd Airborne's victories. Our country is counting on us even as our enemies watch and calculate, hoping that America does not have warriors strong enough to withstand discomfort and danger. You, my fine young men, are going to prove the enemy wrong - dead wrong. You will demonstrate the same uncompromising spirit that has always caused the enemy to fear America's Marines.

The enemy will try to manipulate you into hating all Iraqis. Do not allow the enemy that victory. With strong discipline, solid faith, unwavering alertness, and undiminished chivalry to the innocent, we will carry out this mission. Remember, I have added, "First, do no harm" to our passwords of "No Better Friend, No Worse Enemy." Keep your honor clean as we gain information about the enemy from the Iraqi people. Then, armed with that information and working in conjunction with fledgling Iraqi Security Forces, we will move precisely against the enemy elements and crush them without harming the innocent.

This is our test-our Guadalcanal, our Chosin Reservoir, our Hue City. Fight with a happy heart and keep faith in your comrades and your unit. We must be under no illusions about the nature of the enemy and the dangers that lie ahead. Stay alert, take it all in stride, remain sturdy, and share your courage with each other and the world. You are going to write history, my fine young Sailors and Marines, so write it well.

Semper Fidelis,
J.N. Mattis
Major General, U. S. Marines

Posted by Deb at 07:00 AM | Comments (2) | TrackBack

Welcome to our website

Welcome to our USMC family website. We support our Marines, their families, and those who love them by linking sources of support and information, in collaboration with other public, private, and military groups, and individuals.

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