thedrifter
03-14-07, 07:59 AM
Marine pursues a Purple Heart for injuries in Iraq
By MARION CALLAHAN
The Associated Press
JAMISON, Pa. - War was not the place to complain. And the surgical unit outside the Iraqi city of Fallujah was not the place to think of medals or ribbons or anything else besides making it out alive.
It was there, in November 2004, that Marine Cpl. Jimmy Rendeiro lay, beside men who lost eyes, multiple limbs and, some, their will to live. His bedside neighbor, a 24-year-old sergeant, faced the end of his dream career in the Marines because a sniper took off a chunk of his arm.
"You are wounded and waking up in tears because of everything you've been through, and you're trying to be there for guys you've never seen before and may never see again," said Rendeiro, a 2003 graduate of Central Bucks East. "Being in the surgical ward was pure hell. It's all cowboys and Indians until you see the aftermath. Everyone wants to be the hero; everyone wants to be the winner until you figure out no one is winning. You are taking perfectly good human bodies and sending them to the grave. You can't help but sometimes just wonder why."
Then come the bedside visits from commanders, comforting the injured with word that one of nation's highest honors will come their way , the Purple Heart. It's not something eagerly anticipated or presumed but something Marines know is earned when injured in combat.
Rendeiro never got that visit.
The grenade that struck him, piercing his limbs and blasting the skin off his friend's face, was from another Marine, a result of "friendly fire" and not the result of "hostile actions," the denial letter stated. Today, Rendeiro and his family are frustrated with a military system that has deprived a Marine an honor they say he shouldn't have to fight for.
Officials with the Order of Purple Hearts said the medals can and have been awarded in "friendly fire" incidents during combat situations.
U.S. U.S. Rep. Patrick Murphy, who represents Bucks County and parts of Montgomery County and Philadelphia, served during the early months of the Iraqi War and plans to fight in support of Rendeiro's case.
"I believe this hero was on patrol for his country in a foreign land, and this hero was conducting a combat operation when he was injured," said Murphy, blaming a "bureaucratic loophole" for the denial. "As someone who has walked the streets of Baghdad and understands the enemy is behind every building, on every rooftop, I know he was in one of the most dangerous neighborhoods in the entire world. It's time the U.S. Marine Corps award this hero from Bucks County the honor he earned."
Never , not then, not now , did Rendeiro imagine he would have to justify the danger that surrounded him in one of the war's deadliest battles , the November 2004 fight for Fallujah.
He remembers the night Charlie Company of the First Marine Battalion, Eighth Regiment, rolled into the dense urban city of Fallujah, a stronghold for insurgents. Rendeiro, then 19, was among the Marines on the front line, facing intense enemy fire from the moment they poured out of their crammed assault vehicles.
"We thought we'd at least have time to find cover, but it was the Wild West; we had to shoot it out with them for a while until we could move forward," said Rendeiro, who fired back with his shoulder-mounted rocket launcher until the city was safe to enter.
Fallujah appeared deserted and eerily calm.
"We were about three buildings inside the city thinking it was all over; we couldn't have been more wrong," Rendeiro said.
They heard the distant sound of locals chanting in Arabic, "God is Good," and next came the sound of AK-47s, the enemy's weapon of choice, "cheaper than a meal to buy in Fallujah," he said. Three Marines patrolling a few blocks ahead of Rendeiro were hit, medical units were called in, and grenades and bullets continued to come from all sides of the surrounding buildings. Snipers poised on rooftops targeted his unit; other insurgents from rooftops hurled grenades, and Marines broke through closed doors to find cover.
"And that was just the first eight hours," he said. "Our guys were getting shot at, and we were seeing insurgents fighting and dying who looked younger than my little brother. But we weren't the ones putting AK-47s in their hands. They were."
The fight, expected to last 28 hours, raged on for weeks. More than 70 Marines were killed, more than 20 of them from Rendeiro's company.
"At one point, they shot a guy from my unit, mutilated him and then put him up in a window, so that we wouldn't shoot into the building," he said. "They were barbaric, inhumane. It's hard to say in war there's a limit. But they would cross the lines habitually, and that was the hardest thing about fighting that, is who we were fighting."
Between operations, Marines set up camp, slept in shifts, living cramped in occupied Iraqi houses and mosques. They detained prisoners, searched for enemy holdouts and watched for rigged cars and bodies left behind. "It seemed everything was rigged with explosives; nothing was safe."
Ten days into the battle, Rendeiro was returning from a patrol and was assigned to destroy an abandoned vehicle, suspected of being booby-trapped. A Marine threw a grenade at the vehicle, but it ricocheted off something and exploded between Rendeiro and another Marine, Cpl. Ryan Orgeron. Shrapnel pierced Rendeiro's feet and arm.
"But Ryan had it much worse. It looked like half his face was blown off," he said.
Both Rendeiro and Orgeron were medically discharged from the Marines, where they were based at Camp Lejeune, N.C., and today, they both are fighting to prove they deserve a Purple Heart. They are both still seeking medical treatment and coping with new physical limitations.
"I can't run anymore without feeling pain," said Rendeiro, who still needs surgery to remove a piece of shrapnel embedded in his left foot. "Sometimes it swells so much, I can't put on a shoe."
He said he's trying to move on with his life, attending school at Bucks County Community College and making plans to attend Indiana University of Pennsylvania. But something, he now knows, is missing.
When people learn of his injury, of his service and of his experiences as a Marine, a question about the Purple Heart is sure to follow.
"It's embarrassing; I didn't get it, and I don't know what to tell them. I fought in combat, I was injured, but I didn't get it. I guess having it would provide closure. Now, I feel like I'm being neglected for not opening my mouth earlier."
Back in Iraq, in a combat zone, a low-ranking Marine doesn't talk about awards.
"In Iraq, it's uncomfortable for lance corporals who are at the bottom of the totem pole to ask a senior officer about an award," said Rendeiro. "And when people are losing lives and limbs, a Purple Heart seems so trivial. I almost felt like it would have been disrespectful to complain about anything. I saw the carnage all around me and death and people's bodies being mutilated; I was alive and walking , how could I have complained about anything?"
"I now realize it's something I deserve and people around me think I deserve," he said. "All I can do is my best and see what happens."
Ellie
By MARION CALLAHAN
The Associated Press
JAMISON, Pa. - War was not the place to complain. And the surgical unit outside the Iraqi city of Fallujah was not the place to think of medals or ribbons or anything else besides making it out alive.
It was there, in November 2004, that Marine Cpl. Jimmy Rendeiro lay, beside men who lost eyes, multiple limbs and, some, their will to live. His bedside neighbor, a 24-year-old sergeant, faced the end of his dream career in the Marines because a sniper took off a chunk of his arm.
"You are wounded and waking up in tears because of everything you've been through, and you're trying to be there for guys you've never seen before and may never see again," said Rendeiro, a 2003 graduate of Central Bucks East. "Being in the surgical ward was pure hell. It's all cowboys and Indians until you see the aftermath. Everyone wants to be the hero; everyone wants to be the winner until you figure out no one is winning. You are taking perfectly good human bodies and sending them to the grave. You can't help but sometimes just wonder why."
Then come the bedside visits from commanders, comforting the injured with word that one of nation's highest honors will come their way , the Purple Heart. It's not something eagerly anticipated or presumed but something Marines know is earned when injured in combat.
Rendeiro never got that visit.
The grenade that struck him, piercing his limbs and blasting the skin off his friend's face, was from another Marine, a result of "friendly fire" and not the result of "hostile actions," the denial letter stated. Today, Rendeiro and his family are frustrated with a military system that has deprived a Marine an honor they say he shouldn't have to fight for.
Officials with the Order of Purple Hearts said the medals can and have been awarded in "friendly fire" incidents during combat situations.
U.S. U.S. Rep. Patrick Murphy, who represents Bucks County and parts of Montgomery County and Philadelphia, served during the early months of the Iraqi War and plans to fight in support of Rendeiro's case.
"I believe this hero was on patrol for his country in a foreign land, and this hero was conducting a combat operation when he was injured," said Murphy, blaming a "bureaucratic loophole" for the denial. "As someone who has walked the streets of Baghdad and understands the enemy is behind every building, on every rooftop, I know he was in one of the most dangerous neighborhoods in the entire world. It's time the U.S. Marine Corps award this hero from Bucks County the honor he earned."
Never , not then, not now , did Rendeiro imagine he would have to justify the danger that surrounded him in one of the war's deadliest battles , the November 2004 fight for Fallujah.
He remembers the night Charlie Company of the First Marine Battalion, Eighth Regiment, rolled into the dense urban city of Fallujah, a stronghold for insurgents. Rendeiro, then 19, was among the Marines on the front line, facing intense enemy fire from the moment they poured out of their crammed assault vehicles.
"We thought we'd at least have time to find cover, but it was the Wild West; we had to shoot it out with them for a while until we could move forward," said Rendeiro, who fired back with his shoulder-mounted rocket launcher until the city was safe to enter.
Fallujah appeared deserted and eerily calm.
"We were about three buildings inside the city thinking it was all over; we couldn't have been more wrong," Rendeiro said.
They heard the distant sound of locals chanting in Arabic, "God is Good," and next came the sound of AK-47s, the enemy's weapon of choice, "cheaper than a meal to buy in Fallujah," he said. Three Marines patrolling a few blocks ahead of Rendeiro were hit, medical units were called in, and grenades and bullets continued to come from all sides of the surrounding buildings. Snipers poised on rooftops targeted his unit; other insurgents from rooftops hurled grenades, and Marines broke through closed doors to find cover.
"And that was just the first eight hours," he said. "Our guys were getting shot at, and we were seeing insurgents fighting and dying who looked younger than my little brother. But we weren't the ones putting AK-47s in their hands. They were."
The fight, expected to last 28 hours, raged on for weeks. More than 70 Marines were killed, more than 20 of them from Rendeiro's company.
"At one point, they shot a guy from my unit, mutilated him and then put him up in a window, so that we wouldn't shoot into the building," he said. "They were barbaric, inhumane. It's hard to say in war there's a limit. But they would cross the lines habitually, and that was the hardest thing about fighting that, is who we were fighting."
Between operations, Marines set up camp, slept in shifts, living cramped in occupied Iraqi houses and mosques. They detained prisoners, searched for enemy holdouts and watched for rigged cars and bodies left behind. "It seemed everything was rigged with explosives; nothing was safe."
Ten days into the battle, Rendeiro was returning from a patrol and was assigned to destroy an abandoned vehicle, suspected of being booby-trapped. A Marine threw a grenade at the vehicle, but it ricocheted off something and exploded between Rendeiro and another Marine, Cpl. Ryan Orgeron. Shrapnel pierced Rendeiro's feet and arm.
"But Ryan had it much worse. It looked like half his face was blown off," he said.
Both Rendeiro and Orgeron were medically discharged from the Marines, where they were based at Camp Lejeune, N.C., and today, they both are fighting to prove they deserve a Purple Heart. They are both still seeking medical treatment and coping with new physical limitations.
"I can't run anymore without feeling pain," said Rendeiro, who still needs surgery to remove a piece of shrapnel embedded in his left foot. "Sometimes it swells so much, I can't put on a shoe."
He said he's trying to move on with his life, attending school at Bucks County Community College and making plans to attend Indiana University of Pennsylvania. But something, he now knows, is missing.
When people learn of his injury, of his service and of his experiences as a Marine, a question about the Purple Heart is sure to follow.
"It's embarrassing; I didn't get it, and I don't know what to tell them. I fought in combat, I was injured, but I didn't get it. I guess having it would provide closure. Now, I feel like I'm being neglected for not opening my mouth earlier."
Back in Iraq, in a combat zone, a low-ranking Marine doesn't talk about awards.
"In Iraq, it's uncomfortable for lance corporals who are at the bottom of the totem pole to ask a senior officer about an award," said Rendeiro. "And when people are losing lives and limbs, a Purple Heart seems so trivial. I almost felt like it would have been disrespectful to complain about anything. I saw the carnage all around me and death and people's bodies being mutilated; I was alive and walking , how could I have complained about anything?"
"I now realize it's something I deserve and people around me think I deserve," he said. "All I can do is my best and see what happens."
Ellie