thedrifter
04-02-03, 06:26 AM
April 01, 2003
Abrams crew’s unit grieves, vows to move on
By Elliott Blair Smith
USA Today
ALONG ROUTE 8, Iraq — The crew and the tank nicknamed “Hermes” disappeared just after midnight last Tuesday. It vanished, it seemed, in the dust and darkness just ahead of Marine Capt. Brendan Rodden.
In his tank immediately behind, Rodden didn’t realize the Hermes was gone until his unit had traveled five more miles — after the column of M1A1 Abrams tanks from the 1st Tank Battalion turned away from an unfinished bridge and skirted west along the Euphrates River.
They probably just got disoriented, Rodden thought, maybe mixed up with another unit. It was easy enough to get lost on a few hours of sleep, especially without headlights. That made the most sense, Rodden thought. Or maybe they’d encountered some sort of mechanical problems. That would explain why no one could reach them by radio.
The Marines of the battalion lived with the mystery of the missing tank for much of last week. Then, on Friday, the battalion learned the worst: The tank’s four crewmembers were dead.
What happened to the crew of the Hermes remains unclear. Late Monday, U.S. Central Command in Qatar released a statement that said a preliminary investigation of the incident suggested that the tank’s driver was shot and killed before the tank plunged off the unfinished bridge and into the Euphrates.
But no one else in the battalion knew of anyone being shot, let alone the tank’s driver, who sits inside the Abrams, protected by armor. The Marines suspected that the crew simply became disoriented in the darkness and drove off the side of the bridge.
Navy divers found the 60-ton tank at the bottom of the river, 20 feet under water. The Abrams rested upside down, and officials on the scene initially reported that the four Marines drowned inside and that their bodies showed no apparent signs of trauma.
Whatever the cause, the incident itself underscores the dangers U.S. troops face as they try to move swiftly toward Baghdad. The race to the Iraqi capital has stretched supply lines and left the columns of troops susceptible to attack from almost any direction.
It also has forced units to push through unfamiliar territory, often at night and in weather that makes travel treacherous.
For this group of Marines, the tank’s disappearance became another battle in the war, no less real to them than the bullets and mortars and days without sleep. What happened to the Hermes tested their resolve as they struggle to cope with the sort of heartbreak not even the chaplain could explain.
Although Rodden and others in the platoon feared that the tank was missing shortly after midnight last Tuesday, news that it vanished didn’t reach division headquarters until about 18 hours later. By then, a blinding sandstorm made searching impossible for almost another day.
Nearly three days passed before the battalion learned of the deaths of the crew: Pfc. Francisco Martinez Flores, 21; Staff Sgt. Donald May Jr., 31; Lance Cpl. Patrick O’Day, 20; and Cpl. Robert Marcus Rodriguez, 21.
Rodden had likely been the last man to see them alive.
“It’s a difficult time,” he said Friday to the officers of Charlie Company, which had 14 tanks. “We’re in combat. We just lost some Marines. If you spend enough time in the Marine Corps, you’ll see this happen to someone you know or to a friend. Let’s just be sure not to lose anybody else.
“That’s all I have.”
And then, like the chaplain and the lieutenant colonel and the Marines who had heard for the first time how the Hermes crew came to die, Rodden cried.
The last sighting
The Marines of the 1st Tank Battalion had hoped to be well on their way to Baghdad by March 24. That was the plan anyway: to use the quickness and firepower of the fleet of Abrams tanks to blow past the Iraqis.
But in the days after they moved north from Kuwait, little had gone smoothly for the battalion. Iraqi soldiers donned civilian clothes and ambushed them. Firefights slowed the unit.
Late that Monday, the battalion members approached a bridge they thought would lead them over the Euphrates. Instead, they encountered a Marine unit camped alongside the bridge.
The fellow Marines warned that the bridge was unfinished and impassable. But who could tell for sure? The moon shone little, and the dust kicked up by the caravan obscured almost everything.
The battalion needed to cross the Euphrates if it wanted to keep moving north. But not here.
For an hour, the column waited at the foot of the bridge. Then, just after midnight Tuesday, someone at the front came over the radio: There “was” a way to keep moving.
A marsh lay to the west of the bridge. From there, they would be able to skirt a bend in the river and head north.
An order went to the tanks in the front of the column. One after another, the tanks rumbled to life, kicking up dust and sand that all but blocked out the pale moonlight. The lead tank turned left, down an embankment and into the marsh dry enough to support the Abrams.
Each would try to keep pace with the tank ahead of it, traveling like elephants, nose to tail. If they lost sight of the tank ahead, drivers had been taught to speed up. The Hermes, so nicknamed because it was fast, was the fourth in the column; Rodden’s tank was the fifth.
His hatch open, Rodden popped up and then back into the tank. He wanted to see what was happening ahead. But as commander of the “Unforgiven,” he had a crew to oversee and a radio to monitor.
After the column started to move, Rodden noticed that the tank closest to him was already about 220 yards ahead. He would need to hurry to catch up. He thought it was the Hermes, but he was wrong. As he would learn later, the Hermes was already lost, sinking to the bottom of the river.
The missing crew
In the days after the Hermes vanished, how could the Marines of the 1st avoid wondering about their buddies? A sandstorm had brought the unit to a standstill, and the wait was as unbearable as the search was impossible. The Marines kept replaying memories of the lost crew.
Was anyone funnier than Martinez Flores? “Tiner,” they called him. The guy would do anything for a laugh.
What about May? That horseshoe haircut of his — a ridge around his crown and the rest shaved to his scalp. Cubs fan. Up at 4 a.m. and seemed to drink coffee all day. If he ever got shot, he’d “bleed” the stuff.
Isn’t his wife expecting? He’s got two other kids, too.
And Rodriguez, “Little Rod.” So what if he was short? He could do more chin-ups than almost anyone. Rodriguez, the loader, the guy who gets the shells in the cannon. He had that tattoo of the Iwo Jima flag-raising on one arm and the one of the firefighters doing the same at Ground Zero on the other. New Yorker heart and soul. Mets fan, too.
Don’t forget O’Day. There wasn’t a bad bone in the guy. O’Day, the gunner. He’d only been in the battalion three weeks. Just gotten married in October, too. Didn’t “Tiner” used to clip his hair?
The Marines speculated that if there had been mechanical problems, Martinez Flores probably could’ve handled them. He drove the Hermes, but he was also a damn good tank mechanic. And the company cut-up.
When the unit got its orders to head to Kuwait early this year, he roller-skated through the barracks wearing nothing but woman’s panties.
The memories seemed so simple, so reassuring. Maybe Rodden was right. Maybe they just got disoriented. With the sandstorm, maybe they’re just hunkered down and waiting it out.
By Thursday, when the storm had lifted, the wishful thinking gave way to reality.
The discovery
“We found the tank.”
There was no better way to start the speech that Lt. Col. Jim Chartier, the battalion’s commander, had to give to his troops Friday.
“The tank was going over the bridge across the Euphrates,” he told them. “Going across, it went off the bridge, over the side, and landed upside down. ... So we have to presume they all died.”
When the other tanks had moved left and headed into the marsh just after midnight Tuesday, the Hermes apparently never made the turn. Its track marks ended at the edge of the bridge. There were no guardrails.
Battalion leaders suspected that the Hermes either missed the radio order to turn left or lost sight of the tank ahead of it. The driver sped up, perhaps thinking the other tank would be straight ahead. Then, the leaders suggested, the Hermes plunged off the unfinished bridge and settled at the bottom of the river.
No one knew anything about a possible sniper attack.
Navy divers reported that the tank landed upside down, on its turret, and that the turret wedged into the muddy floor of the river.
Crews train to escape from an overturned tank but not one under water. Even if the crew had been able to open a hatch, a difficult task, water would have rushed in, making escape nearly impossible.
’Grief enough to be shared’
continued.......
Abrams crew’s unit grieves, vows to move on
By Elliott Blair Smith
USA Today
ALONG ROUTE 8, Iraq — The crew and the tank nicknamed “Hermes” disappeared just after midnight last Tuesday. It vanished, it seemed, in the dust and darkness just ahead of Marine Capt. Brendan Rodden.
In his tank immediately behind, Rodden didn’t realize the Hermes was gone until his unit had traveled five more miles — after the column of M1A1 Abrams tanks from the 1st Tank Battalion turned away from an unfinished bridge and skirted west along the Euphrates River.
They probably just got disoriented, Rodden thought, maybe mixed up with another unit. It was easy enough to get lost on a few hours of sleep, especially without headlights. That made the most sense, Rodden thought. Or maybe they’d encountered some sort of mechanical problems. That would explain why no one could reach them by radio.
The Marines of the battalion lived with the mystery of the missing tank for much of last week. Then, on Friday, the battalion learned the worst: The tank’s four crewmembers were dead.
What happened to the crew of the Hermes remains unclear. Late Monday, U.S. Central Command in Qatar released a statement that said a preliminary investigation of the incident suggested that the tank’s driver was shot and killed before the tank plunged off the unfinished bridge and into the Euphrates.
But no one else in the battalion knew of anyone being shot, let alone the tank’s driver, who sits inside the Abrams, protected by armor. The Marines suspected that the crew simply became disoriented in the darkness and drove off the side of the bridge.
Navy divers found the 60-ton tank at the bottom of the river, 20 feet under water. The Abrams rested upside down, and officials on the scene initially reported that the four Marines drowned inside and that their bodies showed no apparent signs of trauma.
Whatever the cause, the incident itself underscores the dangers U.S. troops face as they try to move swiftly toward Baghdad. The race to the Iraqi capital has stretched supply lines and left the columns of troops susceptible to attack from almost any direction.
It also has forced units to push through unfamiliar territory, often at night and in weather that makes travel treacherous.
For this group of Marines, the tank’s disappearance became another battle in the war, no less real to them than the bullets and mortars and days without sleep. What happened to the Hermes tested their resolve as they struggle to cope with the sort of heartbreak not even the chaplain could explain.
Although Rodden and others in the platoon feared that the tank was missing shortly after midnight last Tuesday, news that it vanished didn’t reach division headquarters until about 18 hours later. By then, a blinding sandstorm made searching impossible for almost another day.
Nearly three days passed before the battalion learned of the deaths of the crew: Pfc. Francisco Martinez Flores, 21; Staff Sgt. Donald May Jr., 31; Lance Cpl. Patrick O’Day, 20; and Cpl. Robert Marcus Rodriguez, 21.
Rodden had likely been the last man to see them alive.
“It’s a difficult time,” he said Friday to the officers of Charlie Company, which had 14 tanks. “We’re in combat. We just lost some Marines. If you spend enough time in the Marine Corps, you’ll see this happen to someone you know or to a friend. Let’s just be sure not to lose anybody else.
“That’s all I have.”
And then, like the chaplain and the lieutenant colonel and the Marines who had heard for the first time how the Hermes crew came to die, Rodden cried.
The last sighting
The Marines of the 1st Tank Battalion had hoped to be well on their way to Baghdad by March 24. That was the plan anyway: to use the quickness and firepower of the fleet of Abrams tanks to blow past the Iraqis.
But in the days after they moved north from Kuwait, little had gone smoothly for the battalion. Iraqi soldiers donned civilian clothes and ambushed them. Firefights slowed the unit.
Late that Monday, the battalion members approached a bridge they thought would lead them over the Euphrates. Instead, they encountered a Marine unit camped alongside the bridge.
The fellow Marines warned that the bridge was unfinished and impassable. But who could tell for sure? The moon shone little, and the dust kicked up by the caravan obscured almost everything.
The battalion needed to cross the Euphrates if it wanted to keep moving north. But not here.
For an hour, the column waited at the foot of the bridge. Then, just after midnight Tuesday, someone at the front came over the radio: There “was” a way to keep moving.
A marsh lay to the west of the bridge. From there, they would be able to skirt a bend in the river and head north.
An order went to the tanks in the front of the column. One after another, the tanks rumbled to life, kicking up dust and sand that all but blocked out the pale moonlight. The lead tank turned left, down an embankment and into the marsh dry enough to support the Abrams.
Each would try to keep pace with the tank ahead of it, traveling like elephants, nose to tail. If they lost sight of the tank ahead, drivers had been taught to speed up. The Hermes, so nicknamed because it was fast, was the fourth in the column; Rodden’s tank was the fifth.
His hatch open, Rodden popped up and then back into the tank. He wanted to see what was happening ahead. But as commander of the “Unforgiven,” he had a crew to oversee and a radio to monitor.
After the column started to move, Rodden noticed that the tank closest to him was already about 220 yards ahead. He would need to hurry to catch up. He thought it was the Hermes, but he was wrong. As he would learn later, the Hermes was already lost, sinking to the bottom of the river.
The missing crew
In the days after the Hermes vanished, how could the Marines of the 1st avoid wondering about their buddies? A sandstorm had brought the unit to a standstill, and the wait was as unbearable as the search was impossible. The Marines kept replaying memories of the lost crew.
Was anyone funnier than Martinez Flores? “Tiner,” they called him. The guy would do anything for a laugh.
What about May? That horseshoe haircut of his — a ridge around his crown and the rest shaved to his scalp. Cubs fan. Up at 4 a.m. and seemed to drink coffee all day. If he ever got shot, he’d “bleed” the stuff.
Isn’t his wife expecting? He’s got two other kids, too.
And Rodriguez, “Little Rod.” So what if he was short? He could do more chin-ups than almost anyone. Rodriguez, the loader, the guy who gets the shells in the cannon. He had that tattoo of the Iwo Jima flag-raising on one arm and the one of the firefighters doing the same at Ground Zero on the other. New Yorker heart and soul. Mets fan, too.
Don’t forget O’Day. There wasn’t a bad bone in the guy. O’Day, the gunner. He’d only been in the battalion three weeks. Just gotten married in October, too. Didn’t “Tiner” used to clip his hair?
The Marines speculated that if there had been mechanical problems, Martinez Flores probably could’ve handled them. He drove the Hermes, but he was also a damn good tank mechanic. And the company cut-up.
When the unit got its orders to head to Kuwait early this year, he roller-skated through the barracks wearing nothing but woman’s panties.
The memories seemed so simple, so reassuring. Maybe Rodden was right. Maybe they just got disoriented. With the sandstorm, maybe they’re just hunkered down and waiting it out.
By Thursday, when the storm had lifted, the wishful thinking gave way to reality.
The discovery
“We found the tank.”
There was no better way to start the speech that Lt. Col. Jim Chartier, the battalion’s commander, had to give to his troops Friday.
“The tank was going over the bridge across the Euphrates,” he told them. “Going across, it went off the bridge, over the side, and landed upside down. ... So we have to presume they all died.”
When the other tanks had moved left and headed into the marsh just after midnight Tuesday, the Hermes apparently never made the turn. Its track marks ended at the edge of the bridge. There were no guardrails.
Battalion leaders suspected that the Hermes either missed the radio order to turn left or lost sight of the tank ahead of it. The driver sped up, perhaps thinking the other tank would be straight ahead. Then, the leaders suggested, the Hermes plunged off the unfinished bridge and settled at the bottom of the river.
No one knew anything about a possible sniper attack.
Navy divers reported that the tank landed upside down, on its turret, and that the turret wedged into the muddy floor of the river.
Crews train to escape from an overturned tank but not one under water. Even if the crew had been able to open a hatch, a difficult task, water would have rushed in, making escape nearly impossible.
’Grief enough to be shared’
continued.......