thedrifter
10-26-04, 11:21 AM
Wanted to share......Sent to me by jinelson
Thank You Jim.......
Ellie
In Combat, Marine
Put Theory to Test,
Comrades Believe
Cpl. Dunham's Quick Action
In Face of a Grenade
Saved 2 Lives, They Say
'No, No -- Watch His Hand!'
By MICHAEL M. PHILLIPS
Staff Reporter of THE WALL STREET JOURNAL
May 25, 2004; Page A1
AL QA'IM, Iraq -- Early this spring, Cpl. Jason Dunham and two other
Marines sat in an outpost in Iraq and traded theories on surviving a
hand-grenade attack.
Second Lt. Brian "Bull" Robinson suggested that if a Marine lay face
down on the grenade and held it between his forearms, the ceramic
bulletproof plate in his flak vest might be strong enough to protect his vital
organs. His arms would shatter, but he might live.
Cpl. Dunham had another idea: A Marine's Kevlar helmet held over the
grenade might contain the blast. "I'll bet a Kevlar would stop it," he
said, according to Second Lt. Robinson.
"No, it'll still mess you up," Staff Sgt. John Ferguson recalls saying.
It was a conversation the men would remember vividly a few weeks later,
when they saw the shredded remains of Cpl. Dunham's helmet, apparently
blown apart from the inside by a grenade. Fellow Marines believe Cpl.
Dunham's actions saved the lives of two men and have recommended him for
the Medal of Honor, an award that no act of heroism since 1993 has
garnered.
A 6-foot-1 star high-school athlete from Scio, N.Y., Cpl. Dunham was
chosen to become a squad leader shortly after he was assigned to Kilo
Company, Third Battalion, Seventh Marine Regiment in September 2003. Just
22 years old, he showed "the kind of leadership where you're confident
in your abilities and don't have to yell about it," says Staff Sgt.
Ferguson, 30, of Aurora, Colo. Cpl. Dunham's reputation grew when he
extended his enlistment, due to end in July, so he could stay with his squad
throughout its tour in the war zone.
During the invasion of Iraq last year, the Third Battalion didn't
suffer any combat casualties. But since March, 10 of its 900 Marines have
died from hostile fire, and 89 have been wounded.
April 14 was an especially bad day. Cpl. Dunham was in the town of
Karabilah, leading a 14-man foot patrol to scout sites for a new base, when
radio reports came pouring in about a roadside bomb hitting another
group of Marines not far away.
Insurgents, the reports said, had ambushed a convoy that included the
battalion commander, 40-year-old Lt. Col. Matthew Lopez, of Chicago. One
rifle shot penetrated the rear of the commander's Humvee, hitting him
in the back, Lt. Col. Lopez says. His translator and bodyguard, Lance
Cpl. Akram Falah, 23, of Anaheim, Calif., had taken a bullet to the
bicep, severing an artery, according to medical reports filed later.
Cpl. Dunham's patrol jumped aboard some Humvees and raced toward the
convoy. Near the double-arched gateway of the town of Husaybah, they
heard the distinctive whizzing sound of a rocket-propelled grenade
overhead. They left their vehicles and split into two teams to hunt for the
shooters, according to interviews with two men who were there and written
reports from two others.
Around 12:15 p.m., Cpl. Dunham's team came to an intersection and saw a
line of seven Iraqi vehicles along a dirt alleyway, according to Staff
Sgt. Ferguson and others there. At Staff Sgt. Ferguson's instruction,
they started checking the vehicles for weapons.
Cpl. Dunham approached a run-down white Toyota Land Cruiser. The
driver, an Iraqi in a black track suit and loafers, immediately lunged out
and grabbed the corporal by the throat, according to men at the scene.
Cpl. Dunham kneed the man in the chest, and the two tumbled to the
ground.
Two other Marines rushed to the scene. Private First Class Kelly
Miller, 21, of Eureka, Calif., ran from the passenger side of the vehicle and
put a choke hold around the man's neck. But the Iraqi continued to
struggle, according to a military report Pfc. Miller gave later. Lance Cpl.
William B. Hampton, 22, of Woodinville, Wash., also ran to help.
A few yards away, Lance Cpl. Jason Sanders, 21, a radio operator from
McAlester, Okla., says he heard Cpl. Dunham yell a warning: "No, no, no
-- watch his hand!"
What was in the Iraqi's hand appears to have been a British-made "Mills
Bomb" hand grenade. The Marines later found an unexploded Mills Bomb in
the Toyota, along with AK-47 assault rifles and
rocket-propelled-grenade launchers.
A Mills Bomb user pulls a ring pin out and squeezes the external lever
-- called the spoon -- until he's ready to throw it. Then he releases
the spoon, leaving the bomb armed. Typically, three to five seconds
elapse between the time the spoon detaches and the grenade explodes. The
Marines later found what they believe to have been the grenade's pin on
the floor of the Toyota, suggesting that the Iraqi had the grenade in
his hand -- on a hair trigger -- even as he wrestled with Cpl. Dunham.
None of the other Marines saw exactly what Cpl. Dunham did, or even saw
the grenade. But they believe Cpl. Dunham spotted the grenade --
prompting his warning cry -- and, when it rolled loose, placed his helmet and
body on top of it to protect his squadmates.
The scraps of Kevlar found later, scattered across the street,
supported their conclusion. The grenade, they think, must have been inside the
helmet when it exploded. His fellow Marines believe that Cpl. Dunham
made an instantaneous decision to try out his theory that a helmet might
blunt the grenade blast.
"I deeply believe that given the facts and evidence presented he
clearly understood the situation and attempted to block the blast of the
grenade from his squad members," Lt. Col. Lopez wrote in a May 13 letter
recommending Cpl. Dunham for the Medal of Honor, the nation's highest
award for military valor. "His personal action was far beyond the call of
duty and saved the lives of his fellow Marines."
Recommendations for the Medal of Honor are rare. The Marines say they
have no other candidates awaiting approval. Unlike other awards, the
Medal of Honor must be approved by the president. The most recent act of
heroism to earn the medal came 11 years ago, when two Army Delta Force
soldiers gave their lives protecting a downed Blackhawk helicopter pilot
in Somalia.
Staff Sgt. Ferguson was crossing the street to help when the grenade
exploded. He recalls feeling a hollow punch in his chest that reminded
him of being close to the starting line when dragsters gun their engines.
Lance Cpl. Sanders, approaching the scene, was temporarily deafened, he
says. He assumed all three Marines and the Iraqi must surely be dead.
In fact, the explosion left Cpl. Dunham unconscious and face down in
his own blood, according to Lance Cpl. Sanders. He says the Iraqi lay on
his back, bleeding from his midsection.
The fight wasn't over, however. To Lance Cpl. Sanders's surprise, the
Iraqi got up and ran. Lance Cpl. Sanders says he raised his rifle and
fired 25 shots at the man's back, killing him.
The other two Marines were injured, but alive. Lance Cpl. Hampton was
spitting up blood and had shrapnel embedded in his left leg, knee, arm
and face, according to a military transcript. Pfc. Miller's arms had
been perforated by shrapnel. Yet both Marines struggled to their feet and
staggered back toward the corner.
"Cpl. Dunham was in the middle of the explosion," Pfc. Miller told a
Marine officer weeks later, after he and Lance Cpl. Hampton were
evacuated to the U.S. to convalesce. "If it was not for him, none of us would
be here. He took the impact of the explosion."
At first, Lance Cpl. Mark Edward Dean, a 22-year-old mortarman, didn't
recognize the wounded Marine being loaded into the back of his Humvee.
Blood from shrapnel wounds in the Marine's head and neck had covered
his face. Then Lance Cpl. Dean spotted the tattoo on his chest -- an Ace
of Spades and a skull -- and realized he was looking at one of his
closest friends, Cpl. Dunham. A volunteer firefighter back home in Owasso,
Okla., Lance Cpl. Dean says he knew from his experience with car wrecks
that his friend had a better chance of surviving if he stayed calm.
"You're going to be all right," Lance Cpl. Dean remembers saying as the
Humvee sped back to camp. "We're going to get you home."
When the battalion was at its base in Twentynine Palms, Calif., the two
Marines had played pool and hung out with Lance Cpl. Dean's wife, Becky
Jo, at the couple's nearby home. Once in a while, Lance Cpl. Dean says
they'd round up friends, drive to Las Vegas and lose some money at the
roulette tables. Shortly before the battalion left Kuwait for Iraq,
Lance Cpl. Dean ran short of cash. He says Cpl. Dunham bought him a
550-minute phone card so he could call Becky Jo. He used every minute.
At battalion headquarters in al Qa'im, Chaplain David Slater was in his
makeshift chapel -- in a stripped-down Iraqi train car with red plastic
chairs as pews -- when he heard an Army Blackhawk helicopter take off.
The 46-year-old Navy chaplain from Lincoln, Neb. knew that meant the
shock-trauma platoon would soon receive fresh casualties.
Shortly afterward, the helicopter arrived. Navy corpsmen and Marines
carried Cpl. Dunham's stretcher 200 feet to the medical tent, its green
floor and white walls emitting a rubbery scent, clumps of stethoscopes
hanging like bananas over olive-drab trunks of chest tubes, bandages and
emergency airway tubes.
The bearers rested the corporal's stretcher on a pair of black metal
sawhorses. A wounded Iraqi fighter was stripped naked on the next
stretcher -- standard practice for all patients, according to the medical
staff, to ensure no injury goes unnoticed. The Iraqi had plastic cuffs on
his ankles and was on morphine to quiet him, according to medical
personnel who were there.
continued.......................
Thank You Jim.......
Ellie
In Combat, Marine
Put Theory to Test,
Comrades Believe
Cpl. Dunham's Quick Action
In Face of a Grenade
Saved 2 Lives, They Say
'No, No -- Watch His Hand!'
By MICHAEL M. PHILLIPS
Staff Reporter of THE WALL STREET JOURNAL
May 25, 2004; Page A1
AL QA'IM, Iraq -- Early this spring, Cpl. Jason Dunham and two other
Marines sat in an outpost in Iraq and traded theories on surviving a
hand-grenade attack.
Second Lt. Brian "Bull" Robinson suggested that if a Marine lay face
down on the grenade and held it between his forearms, the ceramic
bulletproof plate in his flak vest might be strong enough to protect his vital
organs. His arms would shatter, but he might live.
Cpl. Dunham had another idea: A Marine's Kevlar helmet held over the
grenade might contain the blast. "I'll bet a Kevlar would stop it," he
said, according to Second Lt. Robinson.
"No, it'll still mess you up," Staff Sgt. John Ferguson recalls saying.
It was a conversation the men would remember vividly a few weeks later,
when they saw the shredded remains of Cpl. Dunham's helmet, apparently
blown apart from the inside by a grenade. Fellow Marines believe Cpl.
Dunham's actions saved the lives of two men and have recommended him for
the Medal of Honor, an award that no act of heroism since 1993 has
garnered.
A 6-foot-1 star high-school athlete from Scio, N.Y., Cpl. Dunham was
chosen to become a squad leader shortly after he was assigned to Kilo
Company, Third Battalion, Seventh Marine Regiment in September 2003. Just
22 years old, he showed "the kind of leadership where you're confident
in your abilities and don't have to yell about it," says Staff Sgt.
Ferguson, 30, of Aurora, Colo. Cpl. Dunham's reputation grew when he
extended his enlistment, due to end in July, so he could stay with his squad
throughout its tour in the war zone.
During the invasion of Iraq last year, the Third Battalion didn't
suffer any combat casualties. But since March, 10 of its 900 Marines have
died from hostile fire, and 89 have been wounded.
April 14 was an especially bad day. Cpl. Dunham was in the town of
Karabilah, leading a 14-man foot patrol to scout sites for a new base, when
radio reports came pouring in about a roadside bomb hitting another
group of Marines not far away.
Insurgents, the reports said, had ambushed a convoy that included the
battalion commander, 40-year-old Lt. Col. Matthew Lopez, of Chicago. One
rifle shot penetrated the rear of the commander's Humvee, hitting him
in the back, Lt. Col. Lopez says. His translator and bodyguard, Lance
Cpl. Akram Falah, 23, of Anaheim, Calif., had taken a bullet to the
bicep, severing an artery, according to medical reports filed later.
Cpl. Dunham's patrol jumped aboard some Humvees and raced toward the
convoy. Near the double-arched gateway of the town of Husaybah, they
heard the distinctive whizzing sound of a rocket-propelled grenade
overhead. They left their vehicles and split into two teams to hunt for the
shooters, according to interviews with two men who were there and written
reports from two others.
Around 12:15 p.m., Cpl. Dunham's team came to an intersection and saw a
line of seven Iraqi vehicles along a dirt alleyway, according to Staff
Sgt. Ferguson and others there. At Staff Sgt. Ferguson's instruction,
they started checking the vehicles for weapons.
Cpl. Dunham approached a run-down white Toyota Land Cruiser. The
driver, an Iraqi in a black track suit and loafers, immediately lunged out
and grabbed the corporal by the throat, according to men at the scene.
Cpl. Dunham kneed the man in the chest, and the two tumbled to the
ground.
Two other Marines rushed to the scene. Private First Class Kelly
Miller, 21, of Eureka, Calif., ran from the passenger side of the vehicle and
put a choke hold around the man's neck. But the Iraqi continued to
struggle, according to a military report Pfc. Miller gave later. Lance Cpl.
William B. Hampton, 22, of Woodinville, Wash., also ran to help.
A few yards away, Lance Cpl. Jason Sanders, 21, a radio operator from
McAlester, Okla., says he heard Cpl. Dunham yell a warning: "No, no, no
-- watch his hand!"
What was in the Iraqi's hand appears to have been a British-made "Mills
Bomb" hand grenade. The Marines later found an unexploded Mills Bomb in
the Toyota, along with AK-47 assault rifles and
rocket-propelled-grenade launchers.
A Mills Bomb user pulls a ring pin out and squeezes the external lever
-- called the spoon -- until he's ready to throw it. Then he releases
the spoon, leaving the bomb armed. Typically, three to five seconds
elapse between the time the spoon detaches and the grenade explodes. The
Marines later found what they believe to have been the grenade's pin on
the floor of the Toyota, suggesting that the Iraqi had the grenade in
his hand -- on a hair trigger -- even as he wrestled with Cpl. Dunham.
None of the other Marines saw exactly what Cpl. Dunham did, or even saw
the grenade. But they believe Cpl. Dunham spotted the grenade --
prompting his warning cry -- and, when it rolled loose, placed his helmet and
body on top of it to protect his squadmates.
The scraps of Kevlar found later, scattered across the street,
supported their conclusion. The grenade, they think, must have been inside the
helmet when it exploded. His fellow Marines believe that Cpl. Dunham
made an instantaneous decision to try out his theory that a helmet might
blunt the grenade blast.
"I deeply believe that given the facts and evidence presented he
clearly understood the situation and attempted to block the blast of the
grenade from his squad members," Lt. Col. Lopez wrote in a May 13 letter
recommending Cpl. Dunham for the Medal of Honor, the nation's highest
award for military valor. "His personal action was far beyond the call of
duty and saved the lives of his fellow Marines."
Recommendations for the Medal of Honor are rare. The Marines say they
have no other candidates awaiting approval. Unlike other awards, the
Medal of Honor must be approved by the president. The most recent act of
heroism to earn the medal came 11 years ago, when two Army Delta Force
soldiers gave their lives protecting a downed Blackhawk helicopter pilot
in Somalia.
Staff Sgt. Ferguson was crossing the street to help when the grenade
exploded. He recalls feeling a hollow punch in his chest that reminded
him of being close to the starting line when dragsters gun their engines.
Lance Cpl. Sanders, approaching the scene, was temporarily deafened, he
says. He assumed all three Marines and the Iraqi must surely be dead.
In fact, the explosion left Cpl. Dunham unconscious and face down in
his own blood, according to Lance Cpl. Sanders. He says the Iraqi lay on
his back, bleeding from his midsection.
The fight wasn't over, however. To Lance Cpl. Sanders's surprise, the
Iraqi got up and ran. Lance Cpl. Sanders says he raised his rifle and
fired 25 shots at the man's back, killing him.
The other two Marines were injured, but alive. Lance Cpl. Hampton was
spitting up blood and had shrapnel embedded in his left leg, knee, arm
and face, according to a military transcript. Pfc. Miller's arms had
been perforated by shrapnel. Yet both Marines struggled to their feet and
staggered back toward the corner.
"Cpl. Dunham was in the middle of the explosion," Pfc. Miller told a
Marine officer weeks later, after he and Lance Cpl. Hampton were
evacuated to the U.S. to convalesce. "If it was not for him, none of us would
be here. He took the impact of the explosion."
At first, Lance Cpl. Mark Edward Dean, a 22-year-old mortarman, didn't
recognize the wounded Marine being loaded into the back of his Humvee.
Blood from shrapnel wounds in the Marine's head and neck had covered
his face. Then Lance Cpl. Dean spotted the tattoo on his chest -- an Ace
of Spades and a skull -- and realized he was looking at one of his
closest friends, Cpl. Dunham. A volunteer firefighter back home in Owasso,
Okla., Lance Cpl. Dean says he knew from his experience with car wrecks
that his friend had a better chance of surviving if he stayed calm.
"You're going to be all right," Lance Cpl. Dean remembers saying as the
Humvee sped back to camp. "We're going to get you home."
When the battalion was at its base in Twentynine Palms, Calif., the two
Marines had played pool and hung out with Lance Cpl. Dean's wife, Becky
Jo, at the couple's nearby home. Once in a while, Lance Cpl. Dean says
they'd round up friends, drive to Las Vegas and lose some money at the
roulette tables. Shortly before the battalion left Kuwait for Iraq,
Lance Cpl. Dean ran short of cash. He says Cpl. Dunham bought him a
550-minute phone card so he could call Becky Jo. He used every minute.
At battalion headquarters in al Qa'im, Chaplain David Slater was in his
makeshift chapel -- in a stripped-down Iraqi train car with red plastic
chairs as pews -- when he heard an Army Blackhawk helicopter take off.
The 46-year-old Navy chaplain from Lincoln, Neb. knew that meant the
shock-trauma platoon would soon receive fresh casualties.
Shortly afterward, the helicopter arrived. Navy corpsmen and Marines
carried Cpl. Dunham's stretcher 200 feet to the medical tent, its green
floor and white walls emitting a rubbery scent, clumps of stethoscopes
hanging like bananas over olive-drab trunks of chest tubes, bandages and
emergency airway tubes.
The bearers rested the corporal's stretcher on a pair of black metal
sawhorses. A wounded Iraqi fighter was stripped naked on the next
stretcher -- standard practice for all patients, according to the medical
staff, to ensure no injury goes unnoticed. The Iraqi had plastic cuffs on
his ankles and was on morphine to quiet him, according to medical
personnel who were there.
continued.......................