Tales from the front

[thedrifter]

By Richard Tomkins
UPI White House Correspondent
From the International Desk
Published 4/22/2003 6:22 PM
View printer-friendly version


WASHINGTON, April 22 (UPI) -- Not everything that occurs during war makes it into the initial stories correspondents file, especially personal observations and ruminations. Here are some of mine from having embedded with Bravo Company, 1st Battalion, 5th Marines for the push from Kuwait to Baghdad.

-0-

ROLLIN' ON THE PORK CHOP EXPRESS

Ever notice how men tend to pamper their cars, especially those of the antique variety? They wash, they polish, they vacuum, they wax, they rub and rub and rub some more their four-wheeled pride and joy.

Marines with their amphibious assault vehicles are no different. Oh, sure, they have to take care of them, but somewhere along the line an unexplainable bond develops, much like that between sailors and their ships.

"Damn infantry," snarled Cpl. James Lyons, a normally affable AV driver from Springfield, Va. "They have no respect for anything. Look at the mess they made, look at the mud they dragged in."

Lyons and other crew called the Pork Chop Express (1st Platoon, Charlie Company, 3rd AV Battalion) were in a dither. Ground-pounders whose own vehicle had clapped out on the long march toward Baghdad, and were then added to the Pork Chop Express's manifest, had either not wiped the thick mud off their boots from a surprise bout of heavy rain before entering, or had scrapped them on the sill of the entry port. The sticky, slimy mass had to be scrapped away before the steel door could close.

And after they finally left ... well, there were empty food wrappers and boxes everywhere, and AV crew gear had been elbowed aside to make room for their own packs.

Disrespect, that's what it was, and totally unacceptable!

Now truth be told, the Pork Chop Express and her sisters are not much to look at. They are downright ugly, in fact, kind of a cross between a cockroach and a beetle on tracks. They are big and heavy -- 26 tons -- and slow despite their 400-horsepower engines.

According Lt. Anthony Sousa, commander of the Pork Chop Express, these vehicles were designed to take troops from ship to shore and a bit inland. Top speed on water is about 3 mph. On land, it normally cruises at 15 mph but can do 35 or better if needed. Gas mileage runs between 1.5 to 3 miles per gallon, depending on the model.

Armored plates are attached to its sides to deflect enemy fire, and they work. More than one AV sustained multiple hits from rocket-propelled grenades while entering Baghdad, but none penetrated the inner shells of the vehicles the 1st Battalion was riding in.

The Pork Chop Express is about 30 years old. It rattles, it clanks, and don't even ask about what it's like to ride in, comfort-wise. But it was home. It made it. It only clapped out once. True, it was a few minutes and a few miles before we rolled into a hellacious ambush, but hey, it did it beforehand -- not during -- and she eventually acceded to the crew's ministrations, incantations and exhortations.

In the days -- I can't remember the exact number anymore -- following the Marines' invasion of Iraq from Kuwait, she and her sister vehicles made one of the longest sustained marches by AVs in their history, which dates back to World War II.

Breakdowns occurred regularly with the AVs attached to the grunt units. Their crews, working around the clock in dust storms and without needed parts, stripped down and cannibalized others as needed. The result: The ride to victory, while crowded, continued.

-0-

WHAT'S IN A NAME?

Bad news and good news for the folks at the Pentagon who came up with the name of this war -- Operation Iraqi Freedom. I know it sounded good from the public relations standpoint, but it got an initial thumbs-down from troops in the field. When told of the name, Marines of Bravo Company, 1st Battalion, 5th Marines either just shook their heads in disbelief, groaned audibly or greeted it with a string of expletives.

Desert Storm II suited them fine, according to an unscientific straw poll, if political correctness was to rule the name game. Other high-scorers were Operation Sandstorm and Operation Stand Still, in honor of the many delays in the momentum of march to give supply trains time to catch up with front-line units.

The good news is that that attitude quickly changed, and it was the people of Iraq themselves that did it for the Marines. All it took was the liberation of a few poverty-stricken villages and outbursts of joy from a repressed people to change the Marines' mind.

-0-

IT'S THE LITTLE THINGS

Rolling across the Iraqi heartland for days on end in the same clothes you put on a week before hostilities began, you begin to appreciate the little things in life we so often take for granted.

Take fresh socks for instance.

Given that take-only-what-you-can-carry rule for the infantry, most Marines had only one or two changes of socks in their packs. And there was never enough time to wash them. So you'd turn the socks inside out after a few days to try to capture a fresher feeling. Later, you just gave up and adjusted to the sticky feeling, not to mention smell.

Later yet it was just airing your feet that became the treat, even if for just a few minutes. One thing about being in a war zone -- you don't take off your boots at night in case you must move quickly. It makes for a Mel Brooks-like comedy sketch when they finally do come off, especially in a group situation.

Well, guys would think it funny, but then the male species has a unique sense of humor.

For embedded reporters, these circumstances proved an unexpected benefit when they returned to Kuwait on the way home: They didn't have to wait in line at a hotel check-in counter. Other guests obligingly moved aside, hotel staff hurried them through the paperwork and made sure they made it to their rooms -- and baths -- with a minimum of delay.

And that bath ... There is nothing quite so exquisite as a hot shower and hot soak after a month without one.

I won't even mention another of life's pleasures. But let me say, not taking along an entrenchment tool (shovel) when answering nature's call was a real novelty back at the hotel. I did, however, miss the inevitable morning serenade from artillery batteries while attending to business once back in Kuwait City.

-0-

SURGEON GENERAL'S WARNING BE DAMNED

They don't put cigarettes in the individual meal packets of Marines anymore, but the noxious weed still carries high currency among the troops in the field, more so the farther you travel from home base.

Prior to the start of the land war, Marines lining up for hours at Camp Grizzly in Kuwait for the once-every-two weeks visit by the PX were only allowed to buy four packs because of low inventory. Lucky Marines were those who received smokes in packages from home.

The result: THEMS WITH became experts in the law of supply and demand when dealing with THEMS WITHOUT -- $4 a pack, $5 a pack, $6 or more was the going rate in Kuwait. Deep in Iraq and far from base, selling for profit gave way to bartering; later, bartering also fell to the wayside. Marines simply shared what they had. Eight or 10 men sharing one cigarette was commonplace.

While bartering was the rule, one pack of M&M candies from an MRE pack -- a rare find -- was worth two smokes. Later, a bite of lemon pound cake was worth a puff. How many packs for a candy bar or jar of coffee? Want a pack of MRE peaches?

This brings me to a gripe, a major gripe. OK, smoking is bad for your health. But hey, give the Marines in a battle zone a break.

And think of image. In every war movie you've ever seen, GIs win the hearts of local peoples by tossing them packs of cigarettes. In Operation Iraqi Freedom, impoverished Iraqis won the hearts of the GIs by offering their liberators smokes.

Sure, the blue-packed Sumer cigarettes -- "a fine blend of choice Iraqi and Virginia tobaccos" -- were a godsend, but we could have sworn they also contained at least a pinch of sawdust.

-0-

CLOSE SCRAPES

Death or injury is horrifically random in war. And survival is sometimes almost inexplicable. Some chalk it up to Lady Luck; others to fate and God's will.

Here are three such incidents in which, in this reporter's opinion, angels were looking out for our boys. I'm leaving the names out, however. The men involved may not want their families to know how close they came to meeting their Maker.

-- It was the battle for a key bridge over the Saddam Hussein Canal, a span that would give Marines quick access from southern Iraq to central Iraq. The ambush of Bravo Company, 1st Battalion, began almost as soon as we crossed the short expanse. A company of Iraqi troops opened up with automatic rifles and mortars from positions off the side of the road. Lucky for Bravo, the second Iraqi company on the other side of the road didn't open up when the Marines exited their vehicles to do battle -- they ran, leaving the Marines only one direction on which to concentrate. Mortars rained down on our positions, but luckily no one was hurt, not even a flanking platoon which was showered by debris thrown up by a round that landed just 10 meters (30 feet) from where they were moving forward at a crouch.

continued........

[thedrifter]

-- A thunderous, metallic bang sounded, a bright and eerie orange light filled the compartment; dirt, stones and metal rained in and the Pork Chop Express, all 26 tons of her, pitched onto one track before righting herself. An RPG, aimed for the vehicle on the way into Baghdad had instead hit a burning 7-ton truck we were passing next to. The truck's explosion added to the explosion of the rocket, but we escaped. The men who had been standing half-out of the top of the AV firing at the enemy in the dark were shaken but unscathed. The mortar rounds, 50-caliber ammunition and 40mm grenades in the Pork Chop Express had not been set off. The battle was rejoined.

-- The corporal from Alpha Company was excited. He stopped everyone nearby to tell his tale. And what a tale it was. The Marine was driving his Humvee when ambushed in Baghdad and five bullets tore through the Hummer's paper-thin passenger door. Two exited without causing damage. One hit his passenger in the wrist. It was bullets four and five that kept his adrenalin pumping, however. Bullet four, he said, hit his shaving kit that had been placed in a raised position between the seats and lodged in a washcloth. Yup, a quick look confirmed the tale. Bullet five was still sticking out the side of his flak vest. The vehicle door, a flashlight and a metal drinking cup had slowed it down and kept it from penetrating the Kevlar protector he wore.

-0-

DEATH AND TENDERNESS

The crescendo of battle around the al Azimiyah Palace in Baghdad was deafening. It was like a Fourth of July fireworks display, with constant booms and bangs that were punctuated with the rapid-fire pops of automatic rifles. Yet when an AV pulled in and the body of Gunnery Sgt. Jeff Bohr of Alpha Company was brought out, the sounds of war suddenly seemed distant, muted; there was a vacuum of silence around us, or maybe we just imagined it.

The gunny had died fighting around a nearby mosque. In one hand, observers said, he had held his field phone, advising headquarters of his men's situation and asking for help in fighting off extremist gunmen. With the other, he was simultaneously firing his M-16 when felled.

Marines are supposed to be tough, and indeed they are. But that afternoon -- or was it morning -- an unbelievable tenderness was also shown. The gunny's body was lifted in a stretcher from the AV slowly and with great care as Marines, who just minutes before were shouting commands, lapsed into silence. The gunny's body armor, load-bearing vest and other accoutrements had to be removed before he was taken to an evacuation site. And it was done with a surprising gentleness. The respect shown in the handling of the gunny's body by these battle-hardened men brought something to mind -- parents lovingly placing a slumbering newborn into its crib and gently rearranging its blanket and clothing.

A Marine had died. One of their own.

Copyright © 2001-2003 United Press International


Sempers,

Roger

[tommyboy]

what a great article. cant imagine going that far in an aav. that is simply amazing. im so proud of our marines. what a tough bunch!

[thedrifter]

Posted on Fri, Apr. 25, 2003

DEANGELO STROMAN - Pontiac, Mich.
By Jeff Seidel
Knight Ridder Newspapers



Name: DeAngelo Stroman
Hometown: Pontiac, Mich
Age: 19
Branch: Marines
Rank: Lance Corporal
Job: Security at a Navy surgical hospital br>


---


CAMP CHESTY, Central Iraq - The enemy prisoner of war sits naked in the sand, covered with a shiny silver blanket, his hands tied with plastic bands.


Lance Cpl. DeAngelo Stroman stands about 4 feet away, holding an M16 rifle.


The prisoner refuses to talk or cooperate. After a translator arrives, the prisoner is taken into the Navy surgical hospital, about 80 miles south of Baghdad. He doesn't appear to have any serious injuries.


"My shock trauma platoon, which is like a mobile surgical company, has seen 100 patients, and I'd say almost 75 percent or more has been EPWs," Stroman says, using the shorthand for enemy prisoners of war. "Most of them stay quiet. . . . You just want to watch them."


Stroman, 19, of Pontiac, Mich. isn't afraid. He stands 5 feet 10 and weighs 210 pounds. Most of the prisoners are small and look weak.


"There are a lot of people around," Stroman says. "The EPWs are unarmed, so they can't really do anything to you. Me? I'm a pretty big guy."


Stroman has four sisters and two brothers. He played football, basketball and baseball at Pontiac Northern High School. He played defensive end and wide receiver. "I was pretty good at football," he says. "I played a lot of sports to stay out of trouble."


Stroman's wife, Shaneka, talked him into joining the Marines a year and a half ago.


"It was my wife's decision," he says. "I wasn't really doing anything but getting in trouble. She sat me down and had a nice little conversation, and then I saw a recruiter. From there - boom! - that's how it happened."


Stroman trained to be a motor transport driver, called a Motor T. But he's been used as security in Iraq.


"My recruiter said, `Go Motor T, because it's really fun. You won't be away from your family a lot.' I said, `All right. Good to go. I'll go Motor T.' Before I knew it, I was here," he says.


He's been in Kuwait or Iraq for more than two months, watching the doctors make medical magic.


"Watching the doctors work is amazing," Stroman says. "We had one guy, an Iraqi, come in with three shots to his head, and our team was working hard and they brought him back. I was watching. I was curious. It's eye-opening."


When he gets out of the Marines in about three years, he plans to go to college.


"Hopefully, I'll have it better planned when I get back," he says. "But I want to go to school and get an associate's degree in business management or something, so I can get out and explore on my own."


Stroman and his wife have a daughter, Taylor.


"I miss home a lot," he says. "I miss everything. Snow. Real food. Ice water."


---


(Jeff Seidel writes for the Detroit Free Press. Send feedback to Seidel and Richard Johnson at portraitsofwar@freepress.com)



Sempers,

Roger

[thedrifter]

Posted on Thu, Apr. 24, 2003

BRIAN DOLLINGER - Morton, IL
By Jeff Seidel
Knight Ridder Newspapers

Name: Brian Dollinger
Hometown: Morton, Ill.
Age: 30
Branch: Marines
Rank: Sergeant
Job: Combat engineer



---


CAMP CHESTY, central Iraq - Sgt. Brian Dollinger wants to be home in Morton, Ill., by May 30, when his daughter, Arianna, turns 3.


"I'm hoping to get back by then," he says. "And I know I'll be home in time for my wife's birthday in July."


But then he continues: "Every day that goes by, I get a little more concerned that I won't make it. That timeline is starting to crunch down."


Dollinger, 30, is a combat engineer with 6th Engineer Support Battalion, and his commanders aren't as optimistic about when they'll be back in the United States. They are hoping to get back by October, but even that date changes constantly.


"Even though the mission is complete, there are different things we can do as engineers," Dollinger says. "I'm ready for it to be done. But I know how long it took us to come over, all the stages it took to get to California and then to get over here."


Dollinger, a Marine Reserve, is a doctoral student in music at Ball State University. His specialty is conducting orchestras and playing the bass.


He was one semester from finishing his coursework when he was deployed, and now he doesn't know when he'll get a chance to finish it.


"Certain classes are offered only at certain times and not every year," Dollinger says. "That may be a problem when I get back."




After he earns his doctorate, Dollinger hopes to teach at the university level.


"Hopefully, it's a position like Ball State where I'll conduct the orchestras, I'll teach conducting, teach bass and then have a professional local symphony as well," he says.


His wife, Sabina, is also a doctoral candidate in music at Ball State. They were planning to marry in July, but they bumped up the wedding to Jan. 14. The next day, he had to report.


"It's been a learning experience to watch people adapt and cope with issues," he says. "Not everybody adapts very well. The ones you wouldn't think would be very strong have really come forward. I've been very surprised by a lot of Marines, how strong they've been and how they were able to pull through."


Dollinger has spent most of his time in Iraq fortifying positions and on security details. His main concern is losing a finger, which would hurt his ability to play the bass.


"When I'm doing the explosives, I'm not thinking about losing a finger," he says. "If something goes wrong, I'll lose more than a finger. When I'm doing barbed wire, yes, I think about it. If I lost a finger on my left hand, that would hurt me big time. That's the hand that goes up and down the neck of the instrument when I'm playing bass. As far as conducting, if I lost my right arm, I could conduct with my left."


He's on five paying orchestras, four consistently. "Everybody needs a bass player," he says.



When he gets back from the war, Dollinger plans to dedicate a performance to the Marines who died.


"There are tons of pieces out there that are used in memorial concerts," he says. "I'm going to have a moment of silence and play a piece for them."




While Dollinger is starving to hear some classical music, he says he has benefited by being around Marines with a wide variety of musical tastes.


"I would give anything for a Beethoven Symphony right now, a quartet, anything," he says. "But I've been hearing all kinds of music from the younger Marines. I can't even pronounce some of the names of these groups, can't understand some of the things they are saying, but it's different music and interesting to hear it. Once in a while, I'll even get a good country tune."


---


(Jeff Seidel writes for the Detroit Free Press. Send feedback to Seidel and Richard Johnson at portraitsofwar@freepress.com)



Sempers,

Roger

[thedrifter]

Posted on Thu, Apr. 24, 2003

JEREMY DEVAULT - Chillicothe, IL
By Jeff Seidel
Knight Ridder Newspapers

Name: Jeremy DeVault
Hometown: Chillicothe, Ill.
Age: 21
Branch: Marines
Rank: Lance Corporal
Job: Combat engineer



---


CAMP CHESTY, central Iraq - For Lance Cpl. Jeremy DeVault, this war has been a grand adventure: wild, frightening, exciting, boring, sad and fun.


"It's been an experience of a lifetime," DeVault says. "It's something you can go back and tell your friends about. Nobody has been to Kuwait or Iraq. Nobody is ever going to come here to visit a country like this."


DeVault, 21, of Chillicothe, Ill., is a combat engineer with Charlie Company Engineers, 6th Engineer Support Battalion.


"It's like a big family," DeVault says. "I'll remember how close everybody came together. How everybody was willing to do everything for each other, to be one family."


A few weeks ago, DeVault was asked to work security for a convoy going south, to a camp in Kuwait. He stayed there two days, sleeping on a cot in an air-conditioned tent. He took showers and watched television.


"I felt awkward being down there, when my fellow Marines are up here" in Iraq, he says. "It wasn't bad coming back here. This is home, you know."




For DeVault, the highlight of the war came early on. As he was getting ready to get on a convoy in Kuwait headed for the Iraqi border, he watched a barrage of artillery go off.


"We were right there," he says. "It was like a movie. It surprised you at first, then you kinda rolled with it. You could see the flashes of lights. You could hear the rounds projecting. That's when I said, yeah, we are really here. You really need to get this job done."




DeVault, who is single, is a student at Illinois Community College in Peoria, studying accounting.


"Eventually, I want to own my own business, either a bar or an apartment complex, something like that," he says.


---



(Jeff Seidel writes for the Detroit Free Press. Send feedback to Seidel and Richard Johnson at portraitsofwar@freepress.com)



Sempers,

Roger

[thedrifter]

Posted on Wed, Apr. 23, 2003

COREY ROGERS - Loda, IL
By Jeff Seidel
Knight Ridder Newspapers


Name: Corey Rogers
Hometown: Loda, Ill.
Age: 23
Branch: Marines
Rank: Corporal
Job: Combat engineer




---


CAMP CHESTY, central Iraq - Cpl. Corey Rogers keeps track of the missions on his T-shirt.


On his shoulder it says, "Convoy Club: 13." After every convoy, he adds another mark with a pen.


"We pretty much got told we will be security on all the convoys, all of them, anywhere," he says.


In a two-week period, he has driven 790 miles through Iraq.


Some are quick, three-hour trips, but others last up to 10 hours as he stands watch behind a massive machine gun.


"There is a lot of desert," he says and smiles. "I had a different image of what we would be doing. … I didn't know we'd be traveling like this."




Rogers mans a 240 Gulf, an accurate, powerful machine gun, but after a few weeks in the desert he hadn't fired it, so he went to a firing range. He found out it's not as accurate as he thought when shot from the top of the Humvee.


"We have it jerry-rigged, on a tripod mounted on the top of the Hummer," he says. "We have to put up a better platform, because when you lean into it, you can move it all around the target. It's just sitting on the canvas. It's not sturdy."


Rogers joined the Marines in May 1999 on the advice of his grandfather, J.R. Herriott.


"My grandpa always told me that he thought it was everybody's duty to serve their country," Rogers says. "Everybody in my family has been in the Air Force: both my grandfathers, my dad, my brother, my great-grandpa. They didn't pressure me into it. He just told me that everybody should serve their country. My grandpas told me some stories, but they never told me the day-to-day routine."


So why did he join the Marines?


"I wanted to do it right," he says. "The Marines have given me some pretty good leadership and discipline. I've been in some pretty crappy situations here. You eat crappy food and it's hard work and you are expected to do the job. It's like construction. When I was roofing, I did the same thing."




Rogers is a combat engineer with Charlie Company Engineers, 6th Engineer Support Battalion. "I just like to build stuff and go out shooting sometimes," he says. "And I like to blow stuff up. It's a new experience."




Roberts recently graduated from Illinois State University with a degree in construction management, but he wants to become a police officer.


He's pretty sure he'll be able to land a job, being a veteran and having a college degree. He was trying to land a job in Madison, Wis., when he was activated.


"I was supposed to take the physical test the day after we got activated," he says. "I had to call them and tell them that I wasn't going to take it. They said it's fine. They said the written test score will stand, but I have to fill out the application. They said I did pretty good on it."


---


(Jeff Seidel writes for the Detroit Free Press. Send feedback to Seidel and Richard Johnson at portraitsofwar@freepress.com)



Sempers,

Roger

[thedrifter]

Wed, Apr. 23, 2003 <br />
<br />
MATT ORME - St. Joseph, Mich. <br />
By Jeff Seidel <br />
Knight Ridder Newspapers <br />
<br />
CAMP CHESTY, central Iraq - Lt. Cmdr. Matt Orme lets out a smile. <br />
<br />
<br />
&quot;We just showered for the...

[thedrifter]

Tue, Apr. 22, 2003

MIKE NACE - Hemet, CA
By Jeff Seidel
Knight Ridder Newspapers

Name: Mike Nace
Hometown: Hemet, Calif.
Age: 42
Branch: Navy
Rank:Lieutenant commander
Job: Nurse



---


CAMP CHESTY, central Iraq - Lt. Cmdr. Mike Nace gets off the helicopter and faces the ambulances, holding up four fingers.


"Four injured?" the ambulance driver asks.


No, Nace gestures. "Four ambulances," he says.


Three of the injured walk down the helicopter ramp with their arms in slings. One man is limping so badly that another Marine has to help him to the ambulance.


Nace disappears into the helicopter and comes off with a Marine on a stretcher. The Marine is rushed to the Navy surgical hospital in the back of an ambulance. At the same time, another helicopter unloads a string of enemy prisoners of war.


Thirteen patients show up at once. The medics and doctors work quickly, trying to figure out who should be treated first. Two Marines lie side by side on stretchers. They punch hands, giving each other encouragement.


Nace stays with a Marine who was injured about 18 hours earlier in a suicide bombing in Baghdad. The major battles of this war appear over, and Nace believes the danger now will come from terrorist attacks.


"We had four or five Marines and eight to 10 civilians who had shrapnel injuries from a terrorist," Nace says. "They were getting ready to set up a defensive perimeter. A bunch of people were hollering and waving, happy to see the guys. Somebody broke through, and they said he had a bomb on his back, detonated it and took all these people out with the Marines."




Nace has been up all night, working on the injured at a trauma unit about 7 miles from Baghdad. It's about a 40-minute flight to this surgical hospital.




This is Nace's fifth deployment to another country. He was part of Operations Desert Storm and Desert Shield, and he was in Bosnia and Beirut, Lebanon.


"We are moving faster as far as the medical part," he says. "During Desert Storm, we set up right behind the breach. We were about 6 miles back. We saw 750 patients in five days, and we were a big group.


"In the last five days, we've seen 132 patients. Yesterday, we had 13 operating room cases."


And that's at a small trauma unit.


"We've seen a lot of kids," he says. "We didn't think we would see a lot of kids."


Nace has three children of his own. As much as he wants to see his family, he thinks he'll be in Iraq for a while.


---



(Jeff Seidel writes for the Detroit Free Press. Send feedback to Seidel and Richard Johnson at portraitsofwar@freepress.com)



Sempers,

Roger

[thedrifter]

Mon, Apr. 21, 2003

PAUL SAILER - Pekin, IL
By Jeff Seidel
Knight Ridder Newspapers

Name: Paul Sailer
Hometown: Pekin, Ill.
Age: 22
Branch: Marines
Rank: Lance Corporal
Job:Combat engineer





---


CAMP VIPER, southern Iraq - Marine Lance Cpl. Paul Sailer is on watch, late at night, trying to stay alert. He won't fall asleep, no way, not after what happened last time.


"I fell asleep on watch a long time ago and learned my lesson,"


Sailer says. "They made me dig a grave for myself, 6 foot by 6 foot. Took me all day. I was sweating big time when I was done, and it taught me a lesson."


Sailer, 22, of Pekin, Ill., is a combat engineer for Charlie Company, 6th Engineer Support Battalion.


"This ain't so bad," he says. "There's not much to it. I get up, stand guard duty or fill sandbags and go to bed."


He is stationed in Iraq, facing miserable conditions from 100-degree heat to sandstorms. The Marines sleep in two-man pup tents or bivy bags, which are basically large, fancy sleeping bags. "That's pretty comfortable as long as you dig up the sand under the tent before you go to bed," he says.




They eat meals-ready-to-eat, prepackaged meals that include everything from a main course to fruit.


"I've hated MREs since boot camp," Sailer says. "They are horrible. They all taste exactly the same, either bland or Tabasco sauce, there's no difference."


Sailer said one other thing that bothers him is what he calls "the hurry up and wait."


"They say, `We are gonna leave in five minutes. We are gonna leave in five minutes,' and then 10 hours later you still aren't gone," he says. "Everything gets fumbled. Everything gets packed in the wrong place. When they want you to find something in a hurry, it's like, man, where did I put that?"




Sailer joined the Marines in 1999 after high school. "I was bored," he says. "I was just about to graduate from high school and I had nothing to do. A recruiter called and I said, `Sure, I'll come down.' "


Less than a month later, he was in the delayed entry program for the Marine Reserves.


"At the time, it was my parents' influence," he says. "If I had to do it over, I would have gone active, not reserves. My dad was all for it, but my mom wanted me to stay home and go to college."


He studies prelaw at Illinois Central College. He plans to transfer to Illinois State University when he returns home.


"I miss music and alcohol," he says. "I miss vodka. That's the way to go. And I miss hanging out with my friends, just normal life, so I don't have to worry about anybody shooting my butt."






(Jeff Seidel writes for the Detroit Free Press. Send feedback to Seidel and Richard Johnson at portraitsofwar@freepress.com)



Sempers,

Roger

[thedrifter]

Mon, Apr. 21, 2003 <br />
<br />
JACOB EMMONS - Tremont, IL <br />
By Jeff Seidel <br />
Knight Ridder Newspapers <br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
Name: Jacob Emmons <br />
Hometown: Tremont, Ill

[thedrifter]

Mon, Apr. 21, 2003

SARAH CADE - Detroit, Michigan
By Jeff Seidel
Knight Ridder Newspapers



Name: Sarah Cade
Hometown: Detroit, Mich.
Age: 27
Branch: Navy
Rank: Corpsman


---


CAMP CHESTY, central Iraq - Number 220 sits under a camouflaged net, at the U.S. Navy surgical hospital, looking absolutely harmless.


She wears a pink and orange dress and has long black hair braided down her back. She has a shrapnel wound in her side.


Sarah Cade, a Navy corpsman from Detroit, treats the injury, which isn't life-threatening.


Number 221 sits on the same cot. The woman, probably in her mid-30s, is wrapped in a silver blanket. She wears a purple and gold dress and her head is covered with a scarf. Cade puts a bandage on her right foot.


The woman starts to cry, holding her face in her hands, wiping tears from her eyes.


"Your family is in the back," Cade says. "They are all right."


The women say they are Iraqi civilians. Cade treats them with respect, giving them warmth and compassion, but she doesn't trust them.


"They came in, and they said their car was all shot up," Cade says. "They came in with two males, and the women said the males are their brothers. But you don't know if the males are civilian or military, and the women could be in on it, too. . . . The way this is going, the military folks are dressing up in civilian clothing. We don't know who is who. The females could be in on it, as you'd say."


No matter who comes to this hospital - Marines, Iraqi civilians or enemy prisoners of war (EPWs) - they are all treated the same. They are tracked by numbers written on their hands.


"The thing that's really hard for corpsman is we are here to take care of our Marines," Cade says. "But we have to take care of somebody who is trying to hurt us. And that's very, very hard for me to see. I don't want to see the EPWs. I don't want to give them any water, but it's my job and I do it. And I take pride in taking care of them."




She says it comes by instinct.


"It's a mother thing," she says. "If you see a baby fall and scrape their knee, your instinct is to pick that child back up."


As she treats the patients, she is protected by a Marine security detail, armed with M16 rifles.


"My Marines take care of me," Cade says. "If I say, `Get them down,' they get them down. . . . They don't leave my side."




Cade, 27, was born and raised in Detroit, in a family with five brothers and sisters. She graduated from McKenzie High School. While attending Wayne County Community College, she had a daughter, Marcia Black, now 7. Cade tried to work, go to school and raise a child as a single parent, but it was too hard.


"It didn't seem like I had enough time to be with her," Cade says.


Six years ago, she joined the Navy. She is stationed at Camp Lejeune, N.C., and works with the 2nd Medical Battalion.


"It's fun," she says. "It's a good experience. I'm glad I joined. I'm going to re-enlist for three years and then get out."




This is Cade's first time in a combat zone, and she has seen several gruesome injuries.


"Some dude got shot three times in the head," Cade says. "One came out his eye. He was also shot in the back."


She also treated a major in the Iraqi Republican Guard.


"You know he was up there in the military," she says. "He was clean. Had a nice shave. Hair cut and everything. He had a bullet in his arm."


While she's extremely careful around the prisoners, she opens up with the Marines.


"You sit and talk to them," Cade says. "They are very grateful that you even sit and talk to them. I ask them: `How you doing? Where are you from? Everything is going to be OK.' "


Her unit has moved several times, going north through Iraq, from Breach Point West to Camp Viper to Camp Anderson to Camp Chesty.


She's been in the Middle East for more than two months, and she's ready to go home. She plans to go to Jacksonville, N.C., near Camp Lejeune, for a few days before heading to Detroit to pick up her daughter, who is staying with Cade's mother, Valencia Grier.


"I'm going to go and relax for two or three days. . . . I don't want to bring that home. Those days are gonna be quiet. No helicopters. No generators. Real running water. Nice. I'm just gonna sit and relax," she says. "I'm ready now. I'm ready to go home. I've been here too long. But we can't go home until the war is over, and I'm fine with that."





(Jeff Seidel writes for the Detroit Free Press. Send feedback to Seidel and Richard Johnson at portraitsofwar@freepress.com)



Sempers,

Roger

[thedrifter]

Fri, Apr. 18, 2003 <br />
<br />
TIFFANY CARLSON - Vancouver, WA. <br />
By Jeff Seidel <br />
Knight Ridder Newspapers <br />
<br />
<br />
Name: Tiffany Carlson <br />
Hometown: Vancouver, Wash <br />
Age: 21

[thedrifter]

Thu, Apr. 17, 2003

JOEY COLEMAN - Panama City, FL
By Jeff Seidel
Knight Ridder Newspapers



Name: Joey Coleman
Hometown: Panama City, Fla.
Age: 20
Branch: Marines
Rank: Lance Corporal
Job: Heavy equipment operator





---


CAMP CHESTY, central Iraq - Lance Cpl. Joey Coleman waits outside a Navy surgical hospital. His right hand hangs limp, swollen to twice its normal size.


"My right hand is my life," says Coleman, who is right handed. "It's my biggest fear, if anything happens to my right hand. I just don't want any scar tissue."


Coleman, 20, a Marine reserve, is studying to become a cartoonist. He smashed his hand into a rock six days earlier when he jumped into a hole after a mortar shell landed about 10 meters from him.


"I'm starting to get some numbness in my fingers, but that's about it," Coleman says. "They don't know what's wrong with it. Now, they think it's more of an infection."


Coleman, of Panama City, Fla., was guarding a Cobra helicopter at a base near Baghdad when the mortar round landed.


"As soon as it hit, it was a reaction," he says. "I just dived into my hole. I think God saved my life. I had my sergeant check the back of my flak jacket to make sure I didn't have any shrapnel in there."




After the explosion, he had to stay in the hole to make sure nobody was approaching his line.


"It's war," he says. "You can't let things like that bother you. I just went right back to what I was doing. You can't stop what you are doing. You gotta keep moving."


Coleman is a heavy equipment operator, but he's been used mainly for security. "Now, when I hear explosions or mortar rounds going off, I get weary about things," he says. "You start hearing noises, and you wonder if it's mortar or not."


He hasn't fired his weapon, but he's faced fire from civilians.


"With a lot of the pot shots we are taking, there are too many civilians around," he says. "They take a couple of pot shots, and they are gone. A lot of times you can't fire. They don't want you firing into a crowd because you want to keep peace with the civilians."




Coleman is a student at the International Academy of Design and Technology in Tampa, Fla.


"People say my stuff is like Garfield," he says. "It's definitely funny stuff. I'm not into the Japanese animation stuff."


He wants to work for Nickelodeon and eventually become self-employed with his own cartoon.


Coleman joined the Marine Corps when he was 19, following in the footsteps of his stepfather, Patrick McKenna.


"To me, it's the best," Coleman says. "The fewer the people, the harder it is. I just figured I'd go Marine Corps."


Coleman has been in Iraq for about three weeks. He's been in the Middle East for two months.


"It's been a good experience for me because you'll appreciate America a lot more," he says. "It's an experience nobody should have to live through. It's never pretty, never a nice thing. But it's something we have to do. I think it's a good thing that all these locals are so happy. It makes me happy about what we are doing."


---



(Jeff Seidel writes for the Detroit Free Press. Send feedback to Seidel and Richard Johnson at portraitsofwar@freepress.com)



Sempers,

Roger

[thedrifter]

Thu, Apr. 17, 2003

CHARMAIN JONES - Houston, Tx.
By Jeff Seidel
Knight Ridder Newspapers



Name: Charmain Jones
Hometown: Houston, Tx.
Age: 27
Branch: Marines
Rank: Sergeant
Job: Electrician





---


CAMP VIPER, southern Iraq - Sgt. Charmain Jones is sure about one thing: Her children are getting spoiled rotten.


Jones and her husband, Sgt. Terrance Jones, are Marines stationed in Iraq. Their three children - Demetrice, 4, Michael, 2, and Natasha, 6 months - are staying with their grandparents, Johnny and Melondy Jones, in Bradenton, Fla.


"I don't think they miss me at all," Jones says, smiling. "They are with their grandparents. They are getting away with murder."


Jones, 27, of Houston, is an electrician with the 6th Engineer Support Battalion. Her husband helps build runways with another unit. They met in the Marines in 1999.


"He's at the Air Force base, like 35 minutes from Camp Coyote," she says. "I saw him once when I was at Coyote. I was happy. We had been separated for a month or a month and a half. I like playing with my kids and my husband. My husband and I are like two big kids."


She has been in Iraq since Feb. 6.


"Am I sick of it?" she says. "It's tolerable, but I can't wait to go home."


Jones joined the Marines seven years ago, for a $2,000 bonus and a chance to go to school. She is scheduled to get out Dec. 2, and says she doesn't plan to re-enlist.


This is her third deployment. She has been to Bolivia and Greece.


She can't wait to see her children; her smile grows stronger as she talks about them.


"Demetrice loves her grandpa," Jones says. "And their grandma loves children. I'm sure they are getting spoiled. But they are in good hands. Demetrice is sneaky. She tries to get away with everything. And my son, he is rough. He likes to pick with her, to make her mad, just because he knows he can do it. She'll start crying and go and tell my husband and me. My son thinks it's funny, and my husband thinks it's funny."


Her smile fades. As much as she wants to see her children, she's prepared for a rough homecoming.


"I think I'll be heartbroken when I see them," she says. "I know how my daughter was when I left her for the first time for three months. When I came back, she looked at me like, `Who is this lady, waking me up at 6 o'clock in the morning?' She didn't know who I was. So I kind of expect it."


---

(Jeff Seidel writes for the Detroit Free Press. Send feedback to Seidel and Richard Johnson at portraitsofwar@freepress.com)



Sempers,

Roger

[thedrifter]

Wed, Apr. 16, 2003

CHILDREN -- Iraq
By Jeff Seidel
Knight Ridder Newspapers



ON THE ROAD TO BAGHDAD, Iraq - Hundreds of Iraqi children stand by the side of the road, waving at the U.S. troops.


As thousands of Marines and soldiers head north toward Baghdad in massive convoys that snake to the horizon, the children line the route through the desert.


Some hold empty water bottles, begging for a drink.


Many just smile, some with looks of apprehension, others with looks of joy. Most hold up Iraqi money, wanting to trade for American cash.


The children are dirty and look tired, and almost all of them are barefoot on the hot sand and gravel.


They use deliberate gestures, trying to communicate.


A little boy in a white flowing gown, tattered and flowing in the breeze, taps his mouth and then pats his belly, over and over. Others just hold out both hands, palms up, hopeful and eager, looking desperate.


Most are out in the open desert, and you can't be certain where they live. You search the horizon and see a small brick hut, off in the distance, the only building in sight, but there's no other sign of life, just the waving children. Only a handful have parents with them.


The trucks drive by, about 45 mph, and the children are left in a cloud of dust. At times, on the wrong side of the wind, they become almost invisible.




Sometimes there are so many military vehicles on one road at one time that it turns into a massive traffic jam, heading toward Baghdad.


The trucks come to a stop and you can hear the voices of the children: "Mistah!"


"Money, money."


In one stretch through a small city, a place that was the site of a nasty firefight just a few days earlier, about 80 children stand by the side of the road, holding up blue boxes of Iraqi cigarettes.


The Marines call it gasoline alley: Every time you go through there at night, you get filled up with lead.


But daylight brings out the children.


Four children are selling bottles of Pepsi, and a man is selling bottles of whiskey out of his coat.


A boy holds up a Playboy magazine, a gift, apparently, from an American soldier. The Marines laugh and shower him with candy as he flashes them pictures of pinups. "Smart kid," somebody says.


The Marines have been told not to give the children any food or water. It creates chaos, they have been told, because the children swarm the trucks. As the Marines say, if you give a child a bottle of water, there's no way to be sure he will be the one who gets to drink it.


But you can't help it.


Staff Sgt. Jeremy Westlake, of Charlie Company, 6th Engineer Support Battalion, sees a tender little girl in a purple dress. Barefoot. Sad eyes. Dark hair. She looks like an angel, full of innocence.


He tosses her a piece of candy and it whizzes by her head. He feels bad but he is glad it didn't hit her.


He's a hard-charging Marine, an expert with just about every gun in the corps. And he never shows a soft side. Not until now.


The next day, Westlake sees the girl again, on the trip back south to Camp Viper, and he can't get her out of his head.


"How do I go about adopting an Iraqi?" he asks. "I could put her in my sea bag and take her home with me. She's just adorable."




A boy stands outside an empty brick building, about the size of a two-car garage. It doesn't have windows or a door, just a flat roof that bakes in the sunshine. He wears a brown shirt, torn at the bottom. He stands without moving, as a giant convoy of Marines goes past. He holds up his left thumb and smiles. I point at him and he smiles even harder.


Is he hungry?


Where are his parents?


What will become of him?


What will become of his country?


He's about 3 years old, with dark eyes and a big smile, just like my youngest child.


Our convoy keeps moving. Keeps pushing forward. The boy is long gone, but I keep thinking about him, wishing I could do something more.


We keep driving. Keep seeing more children. After a while, it gets so sad, so depressing, I can't look anymore. I can't even wave.


---


(Jeff Seidel writes for the Detroit Free Press. Send feedback to Seidel and Richard Johnson at portraitsofwar@freepress.com)



Sempers,

Roger

[thedrifter]

Wed, Apr. 16, 2003

SAMIA NAKHOUL - Beirut, Lebanon and PAUL PASQUALE - London
By Jeff Seidel
Knight Ridder Newspapers



Name: Paul Pasquale
Hometown: London
Age: 36
Job: Reuters cameraman



---


Name: Samia Nakhoul
Hometown: Beirut, Lebanon
Age: 42
Job: Reuters bureau chief



---


CAMP CHESTY, central Iraq - Paul Pasquale lies on a gurney in a Navy surgical hospital, covered with wounds and bandages, looking like a shark-attack survivor.


Pasquale, 36, of London is a cameraman for the Reuters news agency. He was on the 15th floor of the Palestine Hotel in Baghdad when it was hit by a shell fired from a U.S. tank.


He has wounds on his cheeks, nose, hands, arms, down his side, across his chest, over his hip and down to his feet.


He lifts up the sheets to show the wounds on his legs. Some look like little punctures, while others snake across his side in a bizarre pattern, as if a child had scribbled over his body with a marker.


"But I've still got my testicles," he says and laughs.


Samia Nakhoul, 42, a writer for Reuters, was injured along with Pasquale. Two other journalists were killed in the attack.


Thirteen journalists have died during the Iraq war, some in accidents, some from bombs and bullets. No incident drew more attention than the Palestine Hotel shelling.


Nakhoul and Pasquale do not assign blame or express regret.


"I've been doing it for 13 years," Nakhoul says. "I like to chase the story. I don't regret it. This is part of the deal."




She is peppered with cuts on her cheek, forehead, nose and chin.


A piece of shrapnel sliced into her forehead and settled in her head.


"I had brain surgery four days ago to clean it up," she says.


She doesn't know the extent of the damage. They'll have to do tests, she says.


She opens her mouth and a nurse takes her temperature, as another inserts an IV stem.


"Don't bend your arm," he says.


She squeezes her eyes in pain.


At the same time, doctors work on Pasquale.


He tried to carry a friend out of the rubble, but his hands were injured.


"I just crawled out," he says. "I wasn't feeling too great, put it that way. I didn't feel I was dead, but I felt like I was on the way out."


He has been in Baghdad for six months. He had the option to leave, but he wanted to stay.


"I was running part of the operation, and I employed a lot of Iraqis; a lot of fixers, a lot of people like that. For me to … leave the work to the Iraqis, I just couldn't do that," he says.


He is asked whether he will cover the next war.


"I don't know," he says. "Ask me in a year."


---


(Jeff Seidel writes for the Detroit Free Press. Send feedback to Seidel and Richard Johnson at portraitsofwar@freepress.com)


Sempers,

Roger

[thedrifter]

Tue, Apr. 15, 2003

JOHN ALVARADO -- Peoria, IL
By Jeff Seidel
Knight Ridder Newspapers



Name: John Alvarado
Hometown: Peoria, Ill.
Age: 20
Branch: Marines
Rank: Lance Corporal
Job: Combat engineer




---


SOUTHERN IRAQ - Lance Cpl. John Alvarado misses French fries, phone calls, and drinking beer and tequila. He also misses ordering pizza.


"And I don't even like pizza," Alvarado says. "I just wish I had the chance to order some."


Alvarado, a combat engineer in Charlie Company, 6th Engineer Support Battalion, which has set up a camp in southern Iraq, also misses drinking coffee on his porch at home in Peoria, Ill.


Out in the desert, he drinks coffee warmed on a makeshift stove - an empty ammunition case filled with diesel fuel and sand. The top is covered with wire. He drinks the coffee out of an aluminum canteen cup, sitting in the sand.


He misses seeing the sun rise over the Illinois River. Alvarado is a maintenance worker at the Illinois Valley Yacht and Canoe Club, and he used to get there an hour early every morning to watch the sunrise. Some of his co-workers just sent him a care package with cookies and cards. "It's a tight little family there," Alvarado says.




He misses the smell of a woman's perfume. Alvarado dated a girl named Nicole for about three weeks before he left for Kuwait, but a few weeks ago he got a Dear John letter.


"She was so hot, awesome, smoking," he says. "I knew it wasn't going to last. She had an ex-boyfriend, and it was only a matter of time before she went back to him. I got a letter from her that said she really liked me, but she wanted to go back to him. I knew it was coming. I knew she wasn't the one. She was just fun to hang out with for a while."


He misses smoking cigarettes. His stash ran out four days ago, but the people in his squad try to hook him up. They smoke one down and then let him finish it. He normally smokes a pack a day.


"I don't know if it's the habit or the nicotine," he says. "In the Marine Corps, you have a lot of down time, and it's something to do."


This might sound strange, but he misses traveling. His mom, Roberta Alvarado, works as a flight attendant for United Airlines, and he gets to fly for free. He's been to Hong Kong, Germany, London and Hawaii.


When a Marine recruiter tried to use a sales pitch promoting the travel and a chance to see the world, Alvarado laughed, "Nah, I get to travel already."


But he doesn't feel like he's really seen Kuwait or Iraq.


"It's different traveling with the Marine Corps because you don't get to see anything," he says. "You just see it through the back of a truck."




He made a spur-of-the-moment decision to join the Marine Reserves. "I didn't know what I wanted, and I figured I might as well join the Marines," Alvarado says.


He misses his spare time.


"Here, the only time off you have is at night. I'd like some time during the day to read a magazine and not read it under a red lens," he says.


He misses his dog, a fat Dalmatian named Cupid.


"She used to have a heart on her nose but grew more spots so now people can't see the heart," he says, smiling. "They think it's stupid that her name is Cupid now."


He misses eating a meal, usually once a week, with his mother. "She's always traveling so she doesn't have normal meals," he says. "She'll throw a bunch of leftovers together, some of it from her travels, and make a crazy casserole."


He already knows what he'll miss about Iraq.


He'll miss sitting on post, late at night, and looking at the sky on a cloudless night. "They have some of the best stars here," he says. "The sky is so bright. There are no trees so you see the whole sky."


He'll miss the sunsets, too, and his comrades.


"I'm so close to these people," he says. "It's like having 13 best friends."


---



(Jeff Seidel writes for the Detroit Free Press. Send feedback to Seidel and Richard Johnson at portraitsofwar@freepress.com)



Sempers,

Roger

[thedrifter]

Tue, Apr. 15, 2003

TIMOTHY EDWARDS - Fremont, Wisc.
By Jeff Seidel
Knight Ridder Newspapers



Name: Timothy Edwards
Hometown: Fremont, Wis.
Age: 24
Branch: Marines
Rank: Lance Corporal
Job: Driver


---


CAMP VIPER, southern Iraq - Lance Cpl. Timothy Edwards wrote his nickname on his helmet: Preacher.


Edwards, 24, of Fremont, Wis., is a youth minister and plans to become a pastor.


"I get a lot of mail from the kids I work with," Edwards says. "That's the stuff that cheers me up the most. The kids remember me and tell me how good I was. It makes me feel good about what I was doing.


"I was working at summer camp this last summer," Edwards says. "One of my old pastors who had transferred to a different church was looking for a youth director. He knew I was planning on going to the seminary. He wanted to know if I'd like to get my feet wet and wondered if I wanted to be their youth director for a couple of years. Firsthand experience is even better than getting an education. I was trying it out. I really like it."


He went to college thinking he was going to work as a chemist, but he loved working with youngsters.


"When I graduated from college, I was undecided what to do," Edwards says. "I kinda wanted to follow the rest of my family. My dad was a Marine, and my uncle was a Marine, and grandpa was a Marine. I figured, `What the heck, I'll try it.' "


His grandfather fought in World War II, while his father and uncle were in Vietnam.


"They didn't say a lot about their experiences until the day I got called up," Edwards says. "All of a sudden, they started telling me a whole lot of stuff that happened to them. They gave me little tips of advice: Keep your head between your legs and don't be afraid to get up and do stuff."


Edwards is a truck driver assigned to Charlie Company, 6th Engineer Support Battalion. He drives everything from 7-ton trucks to dump trucks.


"These new trucks are kinda like driving a car," Edwards says. "It's all push button. It's pretty nice. The old trucks are a little trickier. Stuff breaks, and you have to be semi-mechanically oriented. You can fix it."




He says that in Iraq he daydreams about war scenarios.


"What would I do if a 12-year-old kid were running after you? Would you shoot him? I've thought of hundreds of outcomes," he says. "Some are good; some are bad. It could go wrong; it could go right."


Edwards tries to maintain a Christian walk in a place where profanity is as common as sand.


"I can't judge other people for swearing," Edwards says. "Sometimes, it's just the way they vent their frustrations."


---


(Jeff Seidel writes for the Detroit Free Press. Send feedback to Seidel and Richard Johnson at portraitsofwar@freepress.com)


Sempers,

Roger

[thedrifter]

Fri, Apr. 18, 2003 <br />
<br />
Marines: 'Bonnie with 1,000 Clydes' on the front lines <br />
By ANDREA GERLIN <br />
Philadelphia Inquirer <br />
<br />
BAGHDAD - At times, I felt like Bonnie with 1,000 Clydes. <br />
<br />
Traipsing...

[thedrifter]

As we stepped out of the vehicle at Ash Shahtrah a few hours later, the local Iraqi militia welcomed the battalion with the sound of "pop, pop, pop" and little puffs of white smoke rising from the grass in an adjacent field. I had just gotten on the phone with an editor in Washington, whom I and a photographer called after deciding that the war was too dangerous to cover and it was time for us to leave, even if only a week had passed. Fortunately, nearby gunfire and the abrupt end to our conversation sounded persuasive if he begged to differ.

The battalion's executive officer, Philadelphia native Maj. David Holahan, told us that he couldn't guarantee anyone's safety in a war zone, but we weren't yet facing a hopeless situation. We told Holahan we wanted to get on the next helicopter out. One was due to arrive shortly to pick up some injured refugees.

I really didn't want to leave, even if staying meant sacrificing my safety. As the war grew more intense, it seemed more important to cover it, and I didn't want to abandon my post. I knew the risks now more than ever, and I felt defeated either way. Before leaving home in February, I had gotten my affairs in order, taken an inventory of my assets and life insurance and written a will for the first time. At the time I didn't think it would be useful to anyone for many years. Now I wasn't so sure.

Sitting on a bare dirt slope, I used my satellite phone to call my fiance, who I knew would be home in London glued to the news. I couldn't bear to punish him any longer, but I couldn't bear to leave. The conflict was tearing at me. If I stayed and died, would he hate me for my decision?

No, he said, he wouldn't. He told me he had been checking my e-mail and had read the messages pouring in from the parents, wives and siblings of men with the First Battalion, Fourth Marines. He said they appreciated the journalists' presence and that people out there were counting on me. I should leave if I thought it best, he said, but he would understand and respect my decision if I stayed.

My head was still telling me to leave, my heart to stay. I am the kind of rational thinker who usually listens to her head, but in that moment I took a leap of faith and listened to my heart. The helicopter failed to arrive and the next day, after we came through the mess that was Ash Shahtrah following an all-night battle, I told Holahan to cancel my request for the helicopter.

It was likely to get worse, the major told me at regular junctures. In some ways it did, but it never seemed as bad as that first series of firefights. The battalion began to realize that it could handle conventional warfare with the Iraqis pretty effectively but guerrilla tactics were more challenging. Most of the second half of our march north turned on reducing the unconventional threats from such paramilitary tactics as ambushes, small-arms fire, stray rocket-propelled grenades, and mortars. As March turned to April, we traveled through marshy eastern towns, and, in the growing heat, insects joined the attack on us, vicious and unrelenting. Though Saddam Hussein's regime possessed little in the way of airplanes, one of the corpsmen dubbed the attacking horde of gnats, flies and mosquitoes the Iraqi air force. The force of bloodsucking bugs was overwhelming; nothing repulsed them. Hygiene was another American vulnerability. We were living in the dirt without running water, a recipe for disease and infection, despite having been prescribed prophylactic doses of the antibiotic doxycycline. We washed our hands and faces and brushed our teeth with water from canteens, supplemented by hand wipes and antibacterial hand cleanser. But we never felt clean. The morning before we entered Saddam City, I was lucky to have my first shower in nearly four weeks, using a five-gallon shower bag that one of the battalion doctors had brought. For a few hours, the dirt, sweat and dead skin were gone.

As the only woman with this battalion of 1,000 men, I encountered particular difficulty in one aspect of hygiene: answering the call of nature with some privacy. In the open desert, this was often impossible. I would scout for a shrub or natural obstacle, though in some environments, such as areas with land-mine risks, I didn't want to wander too far. My worst nightmare was lived out by one unfortunate Marine in the battalion, who was evacuated by helicopter after shrapnel from a live round struck him in the buttocks as he was tending his business in the field.

Over time, I learned to find a young private or corporal on guard duty near a good obstacle and consult him about my choice of location. If anyone should disturb me, I asked, "Please shoot them." Unfailingly polite, the young Marines always responded with an enthusiastic, "Yes, ma'am!"

As a group, the young infantrymen - a word that officers point out derives from "infant" - were a delightful mixture of capability and immaturity. A few of them enjoyed playing jokes on me when they discovered that I was still learning to distinguish incoming artillery and mortars from outgoing. Since I had superior access to information about troop movements, I could retaliate by telling them to pack up because we were leaving in 15 minutes. They believed me as many times as I believed them, and word spread among them like wildfire.

Most Marines get their news from what's known as the "Lance Corporal Underground," a group of privates and corporals who trade and embellish the latest gossip.

Word had spread on the underground that Jennifer Lopez was dead. Not true, I said. Bet you didn't know, soldiers confided back, the late Mr. Rogers had been a Marine sniper. They had heard that on the underground as well. Back home checked for me: No truth to that one either.



Sempers,

Roger

[thedrifter]

Son helps to finish fight dad began

By John Tuohy
john.tuohy@indystar.com
April 20, 2003


One could say Marine Corps Lt. Col. Charles Haislip and his son Shawn Haislip have teamed up to help topple Iraqi President Saddam Hussein.

Dad fought in the Persian Gulf War in 1991. Son is there now.


"I tell him that he's over there to finish the job I started," Charles Haislip, 51, said.

Marine Cpl. Shawn Haislip, 24, a graduate of Lawrence Central High School, is a computer operator with the 1st Marine Division. The reservist was called away from his job at a heating and ventilation company to active duty on Jan. 29. He shipped off to the Persian Gulf region on Feb. 10.

Six weeks into his tour, Haislip got some good news: His wife, Kacy, gave birth to their second son, Brady Michael, on March 21.

"He's more anxious than ever to return now," Charles Haislip said.

Haislip spoke with his son last on April 12, after Shawn's unit had moved into Baghdad.

"He's tired and hungry," Charles Haislip said. "All the things you'd expect from a fast-moving Marine unit."

Shawn Haislip said the Iraqis so far have been mostly friendly.

"He said it felt like for the most part they wanted us there," Charles Haislip said.

Shawn Haislip joined the Marines when he was 21 -- not right after high school like many.

"I didn't want to push him," said Charles Haislip, a 29-year Marine veteran who works at the Reserve Center in Indianapolis. "But one day he saw a show about boot camp, and the next day he was at the recruitment office.

"Now he says he's following his dad's footsteps."

Sempers,

Roger

[thedrifter]

Marine flies home to the many, proud
Columbus native was wounded in Iraq

By Cathy Kightlinger
cathy.kightlinger@indystar.com
April 19, 2003


Indiana Marine Sgt. Jacob Hopkins has exchanged a world full of death for one centered on new life.

Hopkins, 22, a native of Columbus, was injured by friendly fire about 75 miles outside Baghdad in late March.

Shrapnel from a mortar round landed about 10 feet from him, shattering the tibia and fibula bones in his leg.

He was awarded the Purple Heart and promoted from corporal to sergeant.

And then he was sent home.

Hopkins arrived Friday evening on a Delta Air Lines flight to a cheering crowd at Indianapolis International Airport.

"It tickles me to death to see people clapping," Hopkins said. "I'm proud to be an American, never prouder."

Other airport patrons joined his flag-waving family members in the welcome, which also included tight hugs and a few tears.

"I'm glad it's over and relieved he's finally coming home," said Ken Brown, 43, Hopkins' father-in-law. "Even though he's wounded, he made it back alive, unlike some of the other troops over there."

Other family members on hand were Hopkins' father, Joe Hopkins, his cousin, Kelly Wise, and Brown's wife, Cheryl.

"I wish my parents were alive to see this," Joe Hopkins, 45, said of his only child's homecoming. "They thought he (Jacob) was special."

Hopkins' mother, Debbie Hopkins, and wife, Amanda, who is four months pregnant, accompanied him on the flight from California.

Early in the week, the two traveled to Maryland, where Hopkins made a short stop.

They saw him for only three hours before he was flown to a hospital in California.

The two drove back to Indiana on Sunday, only to board a plane Monday to meet him in California.

Joe Hopkins said he paid more for a one-way ticket for his son's return to Indiana ($324) than he did for round-trip tickets for his wife and daughter-in-law ($281 each).

It seems to him, he said, that the government should have been paying or the airline should have offered a discount.

"I would have sold my house to bring him home," he said. "But here's my son getting injured . . . He should have flown home for free."

Jacob Hopkins was last in Columbus at Christmas.

He was deployed to the Mideast in January.

The thin, soft-spoken Marine took a few moments at the airport to describe how it felt being wounded.

"As soon as it went off, it took my legs out from under me," he said. "I didn't know what to think. I was lying down and I (thought), 'Wait, I can't feel my legs'. . . I was screaming for help."

Amanda Hopkins, 19, said the prognosis is that her husband will be walking in about six months, which would come shortly after the expected birth of their first child.

"He's been kissing my belly," she said, as she and other family members prepared to return to Columbus with her husband.

"He tells the baby 'good morning,' and 'good night' every day."


--------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Call Star reporter Cathy Kightlinger at 1-317-444-6040.

Sempers,

Roger

[thedrifter]

Fri, Apr. 11, 2003

JODY STENQUIST - Pontiac, Mich.
By Jeff Seidel
Knight Ridder Newspapers



Name: Jody Stenquist
Hometown: Pontiac, Mich.
Age: 29
Branch: Navy
Rank: Petty officer first class
Job: Corpsman at Fleet Hospital Number 3 in southern Iraq.




---


CAMP VIPER, southern Iraq - Petty Officer 1st Class Jody Stenquist says the doctors are working magic.


"It's amazing what they are doing with the limited supplies we have," says Stenquist, a 29-year-old corpsman at Fleet Hospital Number 3 in southern Iraq. "We aren't getting one or two patients at a time. We are getting five, six or seven at a time."


This is the first time a fleet hospital has been set up in enemy territory, and on this recent day the troops are still working through some of the bugs.


"We don't have the normal things you would have," says Stenquist, of Pontiac, Mich.


"We don't have Band-Aids. We are using gauze and things like that. I guess they didn't come. We still have containers with gear in it that haven't been opened yet. Some of our equipment is 20 years old. … We didn't know how to work the suction machines. We are cutting tubing off other things to connect to suction machines."


Despite the obstacles of setting up a hospital in the desert, they have made it work. Last week, two ambulances rolled up, unannounced, with seven patients.


"We had no idea they were coming," Stenquist says.


The American service members were hurt in a motor vehicle accident; their injuries included a broken femur, a broken back and head trauma.


"We were pretty excited to talk to them to see how the war was going, to find out where they were," Stenquist says.


This is the first time Stenquist has been in a combat zone, and she's been frustrated because she doesn't have any sense of the big picture. She doesn't know what's going on.


"We get very little intel here," she says. "It was great to be able to talk to these guys, to let them know we are working our butts off here too."


Stenquist works on a casualty receiving team, pulling eight-hour shifts every day.


When an ambulance arrives at the hospital, she meets the rig outside. Security guards check the Iraqi patients and she does a quick triage.


"We can't bring anybody in until they are checked by security," Stenquist says. "Security checks them before we even touch them. None of our people are allowed weapons. The trick is keeping a clear mind. We are getting all variety of nationalities. We don't treat the patients; we treat the injuries. We will treat anyone who is injured."


They have seen everything from multiple gunshot wounds to motor vehicle accidents.


"A lot of the junior corpsman are amazed at the types of injuries we are getting with the limited amount of equipment we have," she says. "We're just making things up. We are making magic."




Stenquist grew up in Pontiac, Mich., and her family lives in Auburn Hills. She attended Eastern Michigan University to study nursing.


"I was only 17 when I went, and I wasn't sure if that's what I wanted to do," she says. "I figured joining the military and getting 12 weeks of school to be a corpsman and having that medical experience would let me know if that's what I wanted to do. I've just enjoyed it and stayed."


She has been on active duty for almost 10 years and plans to retire after 20.


"We can do everything like a physician assistant," she says. "We are doing sutures, procedures, putting in chest tubes, intubating patients, pushing morphine."


For Stenquist, the only real negative is being away from her daughter, Victoria Tison, who turned 1 on Thursday. Victoria is staying with her father, Blake Tison, in Pensacola, Fla.


"It was really hard," Stenquist says. "I spent the last seven years with the Marines and I came to shore duty to have a baby and finish school. It was harder than I thought it was gonna be to leave her. I think it's harder on me than her."



Sempers,

Roger

[thedrifter]

Fri, Apr. 11, 2003

SIDNEY MENDOZA - San Jose, CA
By Jeff Seidel
Knight Ridder Newspapers



Name: Sidney Mendoza
Hometown: San Jose, Calif
Age: 26
Branch: Marines
Rank: Lance Corporal
Job: Combat engineer




---


CAMP VIPER, southern Iraq - Lance Cpl. Sidney Mendoza was in a truck moving through the Iraqi desert when he heard a loud bang.


"I guess we went over a land mine," Mendoza says. "I remember thinking somebody shot at me. That was the wildest moment, because I didn't know what it was. I was ready to shoot back, at whoever it was."


Mendoza is the A gunner for a .50 caliber machine gun. It's his job to load the gun, spot where the rounds go and adjust fire.


"All I remember was I was wanting to get up there, load the babies in on the .50 cal and shoot at whoever was shooting, so they wouldn't be shooting at us anymore," Mendoza says.


Mendoza, 26, from San Jose, Calif., is a combat engineer assigned to Charlie Company, 6th Engineer Support Battalion.


He joined the Marine Reserves after the Sept. 11, 2001, terrorist attacks on America.


"At that point in time, I started to think, `You know what, America has given me so much,' " he says. "And I decided to join the Marines."


Mendoza was born in Nicaragua. His family moved to San Jose when he was 3.


"My parents have been able to live the American dream," he says. "I'm really grateful for America and all the opportunity that's been given to me."


He became a U.S. citizen when he was 19. "That was the proudest day of my life," he says.


Mendoza lived in San Jose for 20 years. He went to Silver Creek High School and then graduated from San Jose State University with a degree in marketing. He decided to become a pastor and spent a year at a seminary.


"I ended up dropping out because it got expensive," he says. He bounced from job to job, unable to find the right fit. He tried sales, but didn't like it.


"Right before I got activated, I was working with a friend of my dad's in Arizona," he says. "He does income taxes for the Hispanic community, and he opens up franchises. I was going through the process of having my own location to do income taxes, to learn the ropes. Then I was gonna open an income tax businesses, and then I would get a cut from each business. But that plan went out the door for now."




Mendoza married his longtime girlfriend, Martha Garcia, one week before he was deployed. Her father, Pastor Hugo Garcia, performed the ceremony in a chapel in Oceanside, Calif., not far from Camp Pendleton.


"It wasn't as cool as I'd like," he says. "I didn't have any friends or family there."


The conditions in the desert are rough, but he tries to keep a positive attitude.


"I try to look at the bright side," he says. "I have food every day. I have shelter. I'm alive. I'm just doing my job. You can't be out here and think, I hate this, every day. It works on you. You learn to adjust and do your job. I have no fear of dying. If I die, I know I'm going to heaven. But nobody wants to die. I want to go back home and start a family."


---



(Jeff Seidel writes for the Detroit Free Press. Send feedback to Seidel and Richard Johnson at portraitsofwar@freepress.com)



Sempers,

Roger

[thedrifter]

Thu, Apr. 10, 2003 <br />
<br />
MICHAEL SIMMONS - St. Louis, Missouri <br />
By Jeff Seidel <br />
Knight Ridder Newspapers <br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
Name: Michael Simmons <br />
Hometown: St. Louis, Missouri

[thedrifter]

Apr. 09, 2003

YOON RA - Chicago, IL, South Korea
By Jeff Seidel
Knight Ridder Newspapers



Name: Yoon Ra
Hometown: Chicago, Ill.
Age: 22
Branch: Marine Corps Reserves
Rank: Corporal
Job: Combat Engineer


---


CAMP VIPER, southern Iraq - Cpl. Yoon Ra is fighting for his country, even if it's not official.


Yoon, who was born in South Korea but grew up in Chicago, is a combat engineer in southern Iraq. He has applied for U.S. citizenship.


"Yeah," he says with a smile. "I'm fighting for a country that I'm not a citizen of. It's not weird, because I was raised in America. The only difference between me being a citizen is the paperwork. I feel like I am an American citizen. I was basically raised here. I have no weird feelings like I'm not fighting for my country."


Yoon, 22, is a Marine reservist stationed with Charlie Company, 6th Engineer Support Battalion.


"You can join the military even if you aren't a citizen, but you can't be an officer," Yoon says. "I love working with reservists. Active-duty people put us down, saying we are weekend warriors. But I like seeing how we pull together, and we can accomplish the same mission the same way the active-duty people can."


Yoon was born in Seoul. In 1986, he moved with his family to Chicago. There are better opportunities in the United States, he says.




"My dad wanted us to get schooling here. He brought us over, me and my older sister," he says.


Yoon joined the Marine Corps Reserves in 1999 after graduating from high school.


"At that point in my life, I didn't have any goals or focus," he says. "In Korea, every male in the family has to go into the army. My dad, Sang Ra, did serve in the Korean army. He feels every man should do service. My dad wanted me to do the ROTC and the whole officer thing. I wanted to do the enlisted side so I could … learn how to lead."


Back home, Yoon studies animal sciences at the University of Illinois.




When he becomes a U.S. citizen, he will have plenty of support at the swearing-in ceremony. The Marines in his squad have promised to be there.


"We are going to all dress in our blues," he says. "The fact that I'm in the military pushes things through faster. … When I get back, there is a fee and some more paperwork I have to send in. I'd say it will happen within two years."


Yoon could be in for a surprise. Last July, President Bush issued an order making noncitizen troops immediately eligible for citizenship, no longer requiring three years of active service.


---


(Jeff Seidel writes for the Detroit Free Press. Send feedback to Seidel and Richard Johnson at portraitsofwar@freepress.com)



Sempers,

Roger

[thedrifter]

Apr. 09, 2003

MOHAMMED ALSALAHI - San Diego, Iraq
By Jeff Seidel
Knight Ridder Newspapers



Name: Mohammed Alsalahi
Hometown: San Diego, born in Iraq
Age: 36
Job: Works for Iraqi Free Officers and Civilian Movement


---


EAST OF NASIRIYAH, Iraq - Mohammed Alsalahi stands outside a U.S. Army hospital, trying to translate for a group of Iraqi men who don't speak English.


"His brother died, and they want the body back," Alsalahi tells an Army nurse, who speaks only English.


But the body has already been buried.


"They want to take him and do Islamic procedures for burial," Alsalahi says.


Alsalahi, 36, of San Diego, works with the Iraqi Free Officers and Civilian Movement, a Washington-based Iraqi opposition group. He was born and raised in Nasiriyah, but he left Iraq eight years ago.


He declined to discuss the exact nature of his business in Iraq.


"We are a peace mission," he says. "We are trying to rebuild the relationship between Iraqi people and the United States. It's been destroyed by Saddam and the Baath Party. The main thing is for people to get rid of Saddam and his regime. I am part of this mission. We are here to participate with the Allies to liberate our country."


He wears camouflage military fatigues and a flak jacket and carries a pistol.


"I left Iraq because of Saddam, because of the situation here," he says. "I come back here to liberate our country. … We will help rebuild Iraq with our friends in America."


A nurse returns to speak to the Iraqi men about trying to get the body of the dead Iraqi man.


"They use civilians as human shields, and that's how this happens," Alsalahi says. "He was with his brothers and got shot. His brother is now wounded here at the hospital. The other brother died, and they want the body. I know with the Quran, there is a specific way they have to bury the body. They have to read some specific words from the Quran."


Alsalahi is more than a translator. He says he came to this hospital today on other matters that he declines to discuss, and he's just helping out.


"I cannot leave them without helping," Alsalahi says.


Alsalahi has a bachelor's degree in management from a university in Baghdad. He lives in San Diego with his wife and two children. "I'm a student in San Diego," he says.


He's been a member of the Free Officers and Civilian Movement, which was founded in 1996 by an ex-Iraqi military officer, for three years.


"Our goal is to topple Saddam," Alsalahi says. "It's going to happen. It makes me so happy, so happy I cannot describe it. But our feeling goes between happiness and sorrow that some people have accidentally died."



(Jeff Seidel writes for the Detroit Free Press. Send feedback to Seidel and Richard Johnson at portraitsofwar@freepress.com)



Sempers,

Roger

[thedrifter]

Apr. 08, 2003 <br />
<br />
ROD RICHARDS - Morton, IL <br />
By Jeff Seidel <br />
Knight Ridder Newspapers <br />
<br />
Name: Rod Richards <br />
Hometown: Morton,Ill. <br />
Age: 34 <br />
Branch: Navy

[thedrifter]

Apr. 07, 2003 <br />
<br />
RHETT PHILLIPS -- Pittsfield, IL <br />
By Jeff Seidel <br />
Knight Ridder Newspapers <br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
Name: Rhett Phillips <br />
Hometown: Pittsfield, Ill.

[thedrifter]

Mon, Apr. 07, 2003

DANIEL C. RHODES - Champaign, IL
By Jeff Seidel
Knight Ridder Newspapers



Name: Daniel C. Rhodes
Hometown: Champaign, Ill.
Age: 22
Branch: Marines
Rank: Lance corporal
Job: Combat engineer


---


SOUTHERN IRAQ - For two hours, Lance Cpl. Daniel Rhodes lies on the ground holding an M-16 rifle. His left elbow is aching. Half of his body is numb. Both knees hurt. Two grenades stick in his ribs. And a canteen rubs against his hip.


His Kevlar helmet rides low on his forehead, and he has to push it back to see. He's on a team, spanned across the desert, providing security for combat engineers, who are about to blow up a portion of road in southern Iraq.


Rhodes spots some Iraqi civilians in the distance, about 1,000 meters away, walking toward his position. Rhodes thinks: What are they doing?


He counts three civilians.


He sees a man on a donkey, waving his arms wildly, flailing them up and down, as if he's throwing a grenade. The man wears traditional Iraqi clothing with a scarf draped around his neck.


The two other people are smaller. It looks like a child and a woman wearing hoods or scarves over their heads.


Rhodes has been warned about Iraqi commandos wearing civilian clothing. They lull you into a false sense of security and then take you prisoner. Or worse.


The family keeps getting closer.


Maybe this is what they always do, Rhodes thinks. Maybe this is their back yard and they are looking for their sheep.


But he doesn't know. And that's the dilemma.


The man is just 30 meters away when he stops and gets the point. He turns around and leaves.


"Why did he just do that?" Rhodes says, getting mad. "You start to think, `I could have taken him out, if I would have misinterpreted something he did. ... Man, I could have shot him. And that defeats the purpose of why we are here."


---


(Jeff Seidel writes for the Detroit Free Press. Send feedback to Seidel and Richard Johnson at portraitsofwar@freepress.com)


Sempers,

Roger

[thedrifter]

Mon, Apr. 07, 2003 <br />
<br />
JEREMY WESTLAKE - Browning, IL <br />
By Jeff Seidel <br />
Knight Ridder Newspapers <br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
Name: Jeremy Westlake <br />
Hometown: Browning, Ill.

[thedrifter]

Thu, Apr. 03, 2003

ALEX BUHLMAN - Farmington, IL
By Jeff Seidel
Knight Ridder Newspapers

Name: Alex Buhlman
Hometown: Farmington Hills, Mich.
Age: 19
Branch: Marines
Rank: Pfc.
Job: Combat engineer


---


SOUTHERN IRAQ - Pfc. Alex Buhlman was watching the History Channel when he saw a show on combat engineers.


"It showed what the combat engineers did in World War II," said Buhlman, 19, of Farmington Hills, Mich. "The engineers stopped an advancement by blowing up a bridge. I thought, Man, that looks cool."


It stuck in his head.


When he joined the Marine Reserves, he wanted to become a combat engineer.


"We do a lot of cool stuff, like build things and blow things up," he said.


Buhlman, fresh out of boot camp, is sitting on a sand berm in southern Iraq, protecting a supply base.


"A lot of guys say, `He's fresh, just out of boot camp, what does he know?' " Buhlman said. "But I just had all the training and I haven't had time to forget it. It took me a while to gain their trust. I think they got used to me and I got used to them."


Buhlman is with Charlie Company, 6th Engineer Support Battalion.


"When I was little, I remember watching the first war, being really interested in it," Buhlman said. "For some reason, I remember eating Pizza Hut pizza, watching the Gulf War."


It's strange the things you remember 12 years later, when you are half a world away from childhood.


"There's a big difference," he said. "When you see it on television, you think it's tanks and planes, and the ground troops don't do much. You think it's all mechanized. But you don't think about bunker clearing."


Buhlman has done his share of bunker clearing, approaching a sand bunker with a shotgun to find out if the enemy occupies it.


"It's a scary moment, but to this point, none of the bunkers has been filled," he said.


"When we crossed the border into Iraq, I was thinking, I hope we'll be all right. I hope we don't see anything," Buhlman said. "But it was really exciting. Everybody was alert and awake, locked and loaded. I'm all about experiences. Life's about experiences. I'm not a real church guy, but I think life is more about learning than staying away from sin."




Buhlman's father, William, is a leading writer of metaphysical out-of-body experiences. His mother, Susan Buhlman, is a material manager at General Motors.


Buhlman signed up for the Marine Reserves midway through his senior year of high school. "I wanted the experience. I wanted something exciting; I joined at the right time, I guess," he said.


He drove to Maryland for boot camp on June 24. He graduated on Sept. 20 and then had a 10-day leave, so he went back to Michigan. After four weeks of combat training, he had seven weeks of combat-engineer school. He got out Dec. 14 and drove back to Michigan for a week.


He drove back to Maryland for his first drill weekend, where he learned that he had been activated. "I didn't get a chance to say good-bye to my family," he said.


So his family went to see him.


"My parents were pretty calm," he said. "My dad would let out a sigh, like, `oh, man.' He couldn't believe his son was going to war. I'm sure there were tears, but there was nothing frantic."




When he gets back, he plans to buy his dream car, a red 1970s Corvette Stingray with a T-top.


"I've been looking for about a year," he says. "That's the first thing that I'm going to get. I've been thinking about it since boot camp, and that seems like a lifetime ago."


---




(Jeff Seidel writes for the Detroit Free Press. Send feedback to Seidel and Richard Johnson at portraitsofwar@freepress.com)



Sempers,

Roger

[thedrifter]

Thu, Apr. 03, 2003

BOB MARTIN - Peoria, IL
By Jeff Seidel
Knight Ridder Newspapers



Name: Bob Martin
Hometown: Peoria, Ill.
Age: 22
Branch: Marine
Rank: Corporal
Job: Combat engineer


---


VIPER CAMP, Southern Iraq - Cpl. Bob Martin stands in a U-shaped machine-gun nest, dug in the sand, staring at a crest in the desert.


He's heard there is a battalion of Iraqi soldiers lurking nearby in armored vehicles, somewhere to the south.


"If they are coming, they are coming right over that crest," he says to two Marines on watch with him.


He squints into a pair of binoculars. Nothing there.


A strong wind kicks up a blinding sandstorm. He puts on a pair of goggles caked with dust and dirt. He leans into a Mark19, a machine gun that launches grenades.


He gets out an AT4, an antitank rocket, and lays it on the sand. He jokes that it's "Marine proof" - with pictures on the side on how to hold it, how to aim and how to fire.


But there is one rule when trying to bring down a tank: the closer you are, the better.


So he sits and waits.


Martin, 22, of Peoria, Ill., is a combat engineer in Charlie Company, 6th Engineer Support Battalion. He is guarding a critical supply camp, which will provide fuel to about 50,000 Marines. The war rages around him.


"Every day here is worse than the day before," he says. "I'm sick of waiting for something to happen. We are just waiting for somebody to come over that crest. We want to be part of the war."


He scoops up a chunk of sand and crushes it in his fingertips.


"I just got a letter from my mom," Martin says to a Marine. "They caught bin Laden's right-hand man, the guy who planned the World Trade Center attacks."


The news is weeks old, but it seems new. In the age of the Internet, these young Marines have never been so out of touch.



And Martin has never been so tired. That's the one thing he misses, a full night of sleep. Last night, he got about four hours after a sergeant woke up him and told him to help strip a seven-ton truck in the dark, removing the roof and benches, turning it into a flatbed truck.


He has no idea why.


"It would be a lot easier if they told us what our mission was," he says.


For weeks, Martin has worked security - eight hours on, eight hours off, eight hours on again.




Martin sleeps on the ground, in a sleeping bag, inside a waterproof shell. The Marines in Charlie Company move so much they don't bother to put up tents. And the truth is, he doesn't mind it.


Every morning after breakfast, he takes the blue pill, as the Marines call it, a medicine to prevent malaria.


Standing 5 feet 10 and weighing 180 pounds, he figures he has lost about 15 pounds eating prepackaged MREs, or meals ready to eat.


Back home in Peoria, Martin, who is in the Marine reserves, is a surveillance officer at a department store. When he gets out of Iraq, he plans to finish his studies at Illinois State University. He's studying business administration and wants to own his own business.


Martin is convinced he will be home in July because reserves get more benefits if they are gone for more than 180 days. Charlie Company was activated Jan. 14. Earlier that January day, he married Brooke Martin.


"We went down to the courthouse and got married. We are still going to have the big wedding when I get back," he said.




They were supposed to be married June 14, but they decided to make it official before he went, in case something happens to him, so she could receive benefits.


In his combat vest, he keeps a pair of her pink panties in a plastic bag. She sprayed them with his favorite perfume. When everybody else in his squad saw the bag and smelled the perfume, they wrote home, asking their wives and girlfriends to send the same thing.


Two Chinook helicopters fly by, carrying troops and equipment, right over the crest he's been watching.


"If there was a battalion out there, sure as heck, these Chinooks wouldn't be out there," he says.


His shoulders relax. He leans against his gun and takes another breath of sand.


---




(Jeff Seidel writes for the Detroit Free Press. Send feedback to Seidel and Richard Johnson at portraitsofwar@freepress.com)



Sempers,

Roger