News Item: War Reflection: Origianlly 4-21-2003
(Category: World News)
Posted by The Big Bastard
Monday 15 January 2007 - 00:13:56
UPI.com
April 21, 2003
War Reflection: With The Marines In Iraq
By Richard Tomkins, United Press International
WASHINGTON -- What's the face of the Iraq war? Is it
a scene of physical
destruction people see on their televisions and in
their newspapers? Is it a
glimpse of sullen -- more often relieved -- Iraqi
prisoners or celebrating
civilians? Or is it the wave of camouflaged U.S.
troops routing an enemy,
and in typical American fashion, then embracing the
children of a foe
vanquished?
It's all that and more.
For journalists embedded with U.S. forces, the
dominant feature of Operation
Iraqi Freedom is, and always will be, the faces of
individual Marines,
soldiers, airmen or sailors with whom they lived,
sweated and feared during
the long slog to Baghdad.
There is, for example, the unidentified Marine with
his mouth set in a
grimace from the bullet that passed through his
knee. He tried to wave off
comrades who eventually carried him to cover during
the heaviest fighting
for al-Azimiyah Palace in east Baghdad. While being
carried he continued to
fire his weapon at the enemy until his ammunition
ran out.
There is Marine Pvt. Aaron Davis, a jovial and
slightly pudgy kid from
California, who moved nearby with unbelievable speed
and abandon, braving
explosions and flying fragments from
rocket-propelled grenades to help carry
wounded to an evacuation.
There is Capt. Shawn Basco, a forward air
controller, who handed out candy
from Meals Ready to Eat packs to village children
and food to their parents
with the same personal sense of mission that earlier
had saved scores
American lives and snuffed out many an Iraqi one
when calling in air
strikes.
"You hear about the World War II generation being
'the Greatest
Generation,'" Lt. Col. Fred Padilla, commander of
the 1st Battalion, 5th
Marines, told this correspondent. "In a sense that's
true -- we're certainly
living off the equity they earned.
"But this generation -- call it Generation X or
whatever -- is also every
bit as extraordinary. They measure up."
For 36 days this correspondent was in a unique
position to gauge that
sentiment. As part of Pentagon policy for media
coverage of the war, I was
embedded with Bravo Company, 1st Battalion, 5th
Marines, or simply Bravo
1/5.
Bravo 1/5 was one of the first two units to cross
into Iraq from Kuwait at
the start of the land war (we would have been first,
but Alpha Company broke
the line of march and moved ahead of us). Bravo 1/5
captured a gas and oil
separation plant in the al Ramallah oil fields in
southern Iraq, routed
Iraqi defenders while capturing a key bridge over
the Saddam Hussein Canal
in central Iraq, liberated village after village and
a children's prison,
fought its way into Baghdad through a gauntlet of
RPG fire, and seized and
held Saddam's 17-acre complex on the Tigris River
despite a five-hour
onslaught from Baath Party gunmen and foreign
extremists. It was one of the
heaviest battles of the Iraq conflict, with the
besieged Marines nearly
running out of ammunition.
Thirty-five Marines were wounded that morning and
one killed. Luckily for
Bravo, only three of the wounded came from its
ranks.
In battle, the men of Bravo 1/5 fought with
tenacious courage. In liberating
a people long cowed by the repression of
dictatorship, they acted with great
compassion, and in many cases a great tenderness.
"Operation Iraqi Freedom,"
a name they initially greeted with scorn and
expletive, gained poignant
currency as the Marines viewed the plight of the
Iraqi people -- lives in
unbelievable squalor -- and their explosions of joy
at being set free from
the grip of fear.
Earlier mutterings that the war to topple Saddam
Hussein should be called
Operation Sandstorm because of weather, or Operation
Stand Still for the
delays in march to allow logistics vehicles to catch
up with advancing front
line units, were quickly forgotten.
"I feel pretty good today," 1st Sgt. Bill Leuthe of
California said after
liberating a town near Baghdad and a prison for
children, where charges were
reportedly beaten every morning simply for being
there. "I think we all do."
Leuthe, Davis, Shevlin, Washburn, Malley, Lockett,
Jones, Moll, Lyon,
Bishop, Avilos, Nolan, Lockett, Meldoza, Craft,
George -- the list of names
of the men who did themselves proud, the Marines
proud and their nation
proud is too long to recite. There were more than
180 in the company; more
than 200 when you add in attachments, such as
armored vehicle crews and
additional Navy corpsmen.
They were a cross-section of America. There were
whites, blacks, Hispanics,
Asians, American Indians and every hue and mixture
in between. Pvt. Dustin
Pangelinann, 23, was from Saipan in the U.S.
Commonwealth of the Marianas.
Fifteen members of Bravo Company were not U.S.
citizens and represented the
newest wave of immigrants to our country. Some were
from Mexico and one was
from Haiti. There were also several from Russia and
Ukraine.
Some came from poor backgrounds, others were solidly
middle class. One
Marine, who didn't need to work because of a family
fortune, enlisted in his
late 20s in the aftermath of the terrorist attacks
of Sept. 11, 2001.
And yes, some even had had youthful brushes with the
law.
But they all shared two things. They were Marines
and "Devil Dogs." Not
hyphenated Marines, just Marines -- the "Few and the
Proud," carrying on the
tradition of courage their regimental forebears
showed at Bellieu Wood and
the Argonne, at Guadalcanal and Okinawa, at the
Chosen Reservoir and Inchon,
and at Hue.
"None of you had to be here," company commander
Capt. Jason Smith told his
men before crossing the border berm into Iraq from
Kuwait. "You all chose to
be here by becoming Marines, by doing something good
for the world.
"Take a look around you. We are all different ...
what other military force
or country in the world can say that? The fact that
we are all different and
live with each other and focus together under
adverse circumstances tells me
and the world a lot."
This group of men, this collection of Marines, he
said, comes from a nation
that "is going to war to defend an idea" of freedom,
rule of law and human
dignity. "We're going to war to make the world a
better place because we
don't want to happen again what happened on Sept.
11."
It's difficult to convey the rich texture of the men
who make up Bravo 1/5
and the special camaraderie among them. Words just
aren't adequate enough.
But they are truly a band of brothers. Even the
company oddball, the Marine
who somehow never seemed to fit in or pull his own
weight, was looked out
for and protected with the concern like that of a
big brother looking out
for an awkward sibling.
Bravo 1/5, in a sense, proves two truisms this
correspondent has discovered
in 30 years of reporting, much of it in war zones:
Sharing a foxhole is the
ultimate bonding experience, and the word "cliché"
needs a new definition.
According to the American Heritage College
dictionary, "cliché" is "a trite
or overused expression or idea" or stereotype. All
too often it is used with
a negative cast. Yet clichéd characters and
generalizations are based on
truths.
Take the characters in any war move you've ever
seen. There is the jokester,
the screw-up, the smart mouth, the lothario, the
kindhearted sergeant with a
tough-as-nails exterior, the good-natured medic and
the caring-but-firm
commander.
It's no wonder these characters exist on paper and
celluloid. They exist in
real life, just as the scenes of GIs passing out
candy to civilians, sharing
their last smoke or holding up a magazine pin-up to
troops in a passing
convoy.
Clichéd in the context of Bravo 1/5 should be a
label of honor, because it
mirrors America and is replicated throughout our
society and military
services.
The commander of Bravo Company is Capt. Jason Smith,
from Baton Rouge. He
fits the image -- tall, square-jawed, a
good-natured, decent and erudite man
who requires things be done correctly. A graduate of
Louisiana State
University with a B.A. in history, his main goal in
Operation Iraqi Freedom
-- other than accomplishing unit missions -- was
bringing everyone home.
Watching him one night, when troops were out setting
an ambush, was like
watching a parent of a teenager waiting for his or
her child to return home
from a New Year's Eve party to which they had
driven. The silent pacing was
enough to drive one crazy. Any casual mention about
how the company had been
lucky in the casualty department would result in a
quick, sharp look of
reproach -- don't jinx good fortune by talking about
it.
The executive officer is 1st Lt. David Gustafson, a
quiet, shy Swede from
Maynard, Minn., with a wicked sense of humor. The
only graduate of the Naval
Academy among the company's officers, his
educational background is often a
butt of jokes. So too his efforts to conceal the
cigarette smoking he'd
taken up since crossing into Iraq.
And then there is Gunnery Sgt. Ron "my first name is
Gunny" Jenks, the
company logistician. Before battle, the Gulf War
veteran would sternly but
lovingly caution his men on mistakes to avoid and
advise on lessons learned
the hard way. His "OK, gents, let's get a move on,"
inevitably followed his
barked orders. But for all the sternness, there was
the old clichéd heart of
gold. Gunny Jenks always had words of encouragement,
always knew who was
married, who expecting a child and made it a point
to inquire about them. He
loaded up on cigarettes, parceling them out to his
"knuckle heads" when they
ran out in the Iraqi desert.
"They're like my own kids," he'd say in quiet
moments -- not in front of
them, of course.
Bravo 1/5 has now left Baghdad. It is heading south
toward Kuwait and an
eventual return home to California. But there will
be no rest for the weary.
After an expected parade in Oceanside and a few
weeks of reunion with
family, the band of brothers will ship out to
Okinawa to complete a
previously scheduled deployment.
Operation Iraqi Freedom will become just a memory,
and another ribbon of
honor for men serving their country.
Post script: This reporter took his leave of Bravo
1/5 on April 15. It was
one of the hardest farewells I've ever had to make.
In the 36 days I spent
with them, I had been welcomed and made part of the
family. The idea of
leaving my band of brothers was wrenching, yet my
family at home was also
calling. In the end, I left quickly, with few
goodbyes. The sight of a
blubbering reporter was something best avoided.
Speaking with other formerly
embedded reporters in Kuwait turned up similar
emotional pulls.
So how to say thank you? How to say how much I love
and respect them? Words
can't do it. So like other reporters, I give them
the smartest, snappiest
salute I, as a civilian, can muster.
[/grren]
> God speed, Bravo 1/5. Semper Fi (Semper Fidelis,
> "Always Faithful," the
> Marine Corps motto).
>
This news item is from SuperBastard.Com V.05
( http://www.superbastard.com/news.php?extend.12 )
(Category: World News)
Posted by The Big Bastard
Monday 15 January 2007 - 00:13:56
UPI.com
April 21, 2003
War Reflection: With The Marines In Iraq
By Richard Tomkins, United Press International
WASHINGTON -- What's the face of the Iraq war? Is it
a scene of physical
destruction people see on their televisions and in
their newspapers? Is it a
glimpse of sullen -- more often relieved -- Iraqi
prisoners or celebrating
civilians? Or is it the wave of camouflaged U.S.
troops routing an enemy,
and in typical American fashion, then embracing the
children of a foe
vanquished?
It's all that and more.
For journalists embedded with U.S. forces, the
dominant feature of Operation
Iraqi Freedom is, and always will be, the faces of
individual Marines,
soldiers, airmen or sailors with whom they lived,
sweated and feared during
the long slog to Baghdad.
There is, for example, the unidentified Marine with
his mouth set in a
grimace from the bullet that passed through his
knee. He tried to wave off
comrades who eventually carried him to cover during
the heaviest fighting
for al-Azimiyah Palace in east Baghdad. While being
carried he continued to
fire his weapon at the enemy until his ammunition
ran out.
There is Marine Pvt. Aaron Davis, a jovial and
slightly pudgy kid from
California, who moved nearby with unbelievable speed
and abandon, braving
explosions and flying fragments from
rocket-propelled grenades to help carry
wounded to an evacuation.
There is Capt. Shawn Basco, a forward air
controller, who handed out candy
from Meals Ready to Eat packs to village children
and food to their parents
with the same personal sense of mission that earlier
had saved scores
American lives and snuffed out many an Iraqi one
when calling in air
strikes.
"You hear about the World War II generation being
'the Greatest
Generation,'" Lt. Col. Fred Padilla, commander of
the 1st Battalion, 5th
Marines, told this correspondent. "In a sense that's
true -- we're certainly
living off the equity they earned.
"But this generation -- call it Generation X or
whatever -- is also every
bit as extraordinary. They measure up."
For 36 days this correspondent was in a unique
position to gauge that
sentiment. As part of Pentagon policy for media
coverage of the war, I was
embedded with Bravo Company, 1st Battalion, 5th
Marines, or simply Bravo
1/5.
Bravo 1/5 was one of the first two units to cross
into Iraq from Kuwait at
the start of the land war (we would have been first,
but Alpha Company broke
the line of march and moved ahead of us). Bravo 1/5
captured a gas and oil
separation plant in the al Ramallah oil fields in
southern Iraq, routed
Iraqi defenders while capturing a key bridge over
the Saddam Hussein Canal
in central Iraq, liberated village after village and
a children's prison,
fought its way into Baghdad through a gauntlet of
RPG fire, and seized and
held Saddam's 17-acre complex on the Tigris River
despite a five-hour
onslaught from Baath Party gunmen and foreign
extremists. It was one of the
heaviest battles of the Iraq conflict, with the
besieged Marines nearly
running out of ammunition.
Thirty-five Marines were wounded that morning and
one killed. Luckily for
Bravo, only three of the wounded came from its
ranks.
In battle, the men of Bravo 1/5 fought with
tenacious courage. In liberating
a people long cowed by the repression of
dictatorship, they acted with great
compassion, and in many cases a great tenderness.
"Operation Iraqi Freedom,"
a name they initially greeted with scorn and
expletive, gained poignant
currency as the Marines viewed the plight of the
Iraqi people -- lives in
unbelievable squalor -- and their explosions of joy
at being set free from
the grip of fear.
Earlier mutterings that the war to topple Saddam
Hussein should be called
Operation Sandstorm because of weather, or Operation
Stand Still for the
delays in march to allow logistics vehicles to catch
up with advancing front
line units, were quickly forgotten.
"I feel pretty good today," 1st Sgt. Bill Leuthe of
California said after
liberating a town near Baghdad and a prison for
children, where charges were
reportedly beaten every morning simply for being
there. "I think we all do."
Leuthe, Davis, Shevlin, Washburn, Malley, Lockett,
Jones, Moll, Lyon,
Bishop, Avilos, Nolan, Lockett, Meldoza, Craft,
George -- the list of names
of the men who did themselves proud, the Marines
proud and their nation
proud is too long to recite. There were more than
180 in the company; more
than 200 when you add in attachments, such as
armored vehicle crews and
additional Navy corpsmen.
They were a cross-section of America. There were
whites, blacks, Hispanics,
Asians, American Indians and every hue and mixture
in between. Pvt. Dustin
Pangelinann, 23, was from Saipan in the U.S.
Commonwealth of the Marianas.
Fifteen members of Bravo Company were not U.S.
citizens and represented the
newest wave of immigrants to our country. Some were
from Mexico and one was
from Haiti. There were also several from Russia and
Ukraine.
Some came from poor backgrounds, others were solidly
middle class. One
Marine, who didn't need to work because of a family
fortune, enlisted in his
late 20s in the aftermath of the terrorist attacks
of Sept. 11, 2001.
And yes, some even had had youthful brushes with the
law.
But they all shared two things. They were Marines
and "Devil Dogs." Not
hyphenated Marines, just Marines -- the "Few and the
Proud," carrying on the
tradition of courage their regimental forebears
showed at Bellieu Wood and
the Argonne, at Guadalcanal and Okinawa, at the
Chosen Reservoir and Inchon,
and at Hue.
"None of you had to be here," company commander
Capt. Jason Smith told his
men before crossing the border berm into Iraq from
Kuwait. "You all chose to
be here by becoming Marines, by doing something good
for the world.
"Take a look around you. We are all different ...
what other military force
or country in the world can say that? The fact that
we are all different and
live with each other and focus together under
adverse circumstances tells me
and the world a lot."
This group of men, this collection of Marines, he
said, comes from a nation
that "is going to war to defend an idea" of freedom,
rule of law and human
dignity. "We're going to war to make the world a
better place because we
don't want to happen again what happened on Sept.
11."
It's difficult to convey the rich texture of the men
who make up Bravo 1/5
and the special camaraderie among them. Words just
aren't adequate enough.
But they are truly a band of brothers. Even the
company oddball, the Marine
who somehow never seemed to fit in or pull his own
weight, was looked out
for and protected with the concern like that of a
big brother looking out
for an awkward sibling.
Bravo 1/5, in a sense, proves two truisms this
correspondent has discovered
in 30 years of reporting, much of it in war zones:
Sharing a foxhole is the
ultimate bonding experience, and the word "cliché"
needs a new definition.
According to the American Heritage College
dictionary, "cliché" is "a trite
or overused expression or idea" or stereotype. All
too often it is used with
a negative cast. Yet clichéd characters and
generalizations are based on
truths.
Take the characters in any war move you've ever
seen. There is the jokester,
the screw-up, the smart mouth, the lothario, the
kindhearted sergeant with a
tough-as-nails exterior, the good-natured medic and
the caring-but-firm
commander.
It's no wonder these characters exist on paper and
celluloid. They exist in
real life, just as the scenes of GIs passing out
candy to civilians, sharing
their last smoke or holding up a magazine pin-up to
troops in a passing
convoy.
Clichéd in the context of Bravo 1/5 should be a
label of honor, because it
mirrors America and is replicated throughout our
society and military
services.
The commander of Bravo Company is Capt. Jason Smith,
from Baton Rouge. He
fits the image -- tall, square-jawed, a
good-natured, decent and erudite man
who requires things be done correctly. A graduate of
Louisiana State
University with a B.A. in history, his main goal in
Operation Iraqi Freedom
-- other than accomplishing unit missions -- was
bringing everyone home.
Watching him one night, when troops were out setting
an ambush, was like
watching a parent of a teenager waiting for his or
her child to return home
from a New Year's Eve party to which they had
driven. The silent pacing was
enough to drive one crazy. Any casual mention about
how the company had been
lucky in the casualty department would result in a
quick, sharp look of
reproach -- don't jinx good fortune by talking about
it.
The executive officer is 1st Lt. David Gustafson, a
quiet, shy Swede from
Maynard, Minn., with a wicked sense of humor. The
only graduate of the Naval
Academy among the company's officers, his
educational background is often a
butt of jokes. So too his efforts to conceal the
cigarette smoking he'd
taken up since crossing into Iraq.
And then there is Gunnery Sgt. Ron "my first name is
Gunny" Jenks, the
company logistician. Before battle, the Gulf War
veteran would sternly but
lovingly caution his men on mistakes to avoid and
advise on lessons learned
the hard way. His "OK, gents, let's get a move on,"
inevitably followed his
barked orders. But for all the sternness, there was
the old clichéd heart of
gold. Gunny Jenks always had words of encouragement,
always knew who was
married, who expecting a child and made it a point
to inquire about them. He
loaded up on cigarettes, parceling them out to his
"knuckle heads" when they
ran out in the Iraqi desert.
"They're like my own kids," he'd say in quiet
moments -- not in front of
them, of course.
Bravo 1/5 has now left Baghdad. It is heading south
toward Kuwait and an
eventual return home to California. But there will
be no rest for the weary.
After an expected parade in Oceanside and a few
weeks of reunion with
family, the band of brothers will ship out to
Okinawa to complete a
previously scheduled deployment.
Operation Iraqi Freedom will become just a memory,
and another ribbon of
honor for men serving their country.
Post script: This reporter took his leave of Bravo
1/5 on April 15. It was
one of the hardest farewells I've ever had to make.
In the 36 days I spent
with them, I had been welcomed and made part of the
family. The idea of
leaving my band of brothers was wrenching, yet my
family at home was also
calling. In the end, I left quickly, with few
goodbyes. The sight of a
blubbering reporter was something best avoided.
Speaking with other formerly
embedded reporters in Kuwait turned up similar
emotional pulls.
So how to say thank you? How to say how much I love
and respect them? Words
can't do it. So like other reporters, I give them
the smartest, snappiest
salute I, as a civilian, can muster.
[/grren]
> God speed, Bravo 1/5. Semper Fi (Semper Fidelis,
> "Always Faithful," the
> Marine Corps motto).
>
This news item is from SuperBastard.Com V.05
( http://www.superbastard.com/news.php?extend.12 )