thedrifter
06-02-08, 08:27 AM
June 2, 2008
Iraq baggage comes home with troops, ex-Marine says
Greenwood man held first man who died in that war, dedicates book to comrade who committed suicide
By Kelly VanLeeuwen
STAFF WRITER
Cpl. Jesse Odom watched as his friend and platoon commander, Lt. Shane Childers, bled to death in his arms while shots flew around their position near a pumping station in Iraq.
Childers was killed on March 21, 2003, the first of the more than 4,000 troops to die in combat in the Iraq war, according to Department of Defense records.
It was a long way from Greenwood, which Odom would later call home with his wife, Sheena. Odom, who attended Wren High, has since finished his four-year enlistment with the Marines in Alpha Company, 2nd Platoon,1st Battalion, 5th Marines.
But the battle has continued away from the front lines, he said.
His book, "Through Our Eyes," details his and other Marines' experiences overseas and the baggage they brought back with them.
Odom and about 200 other Marines crossed the Iraq border the night of March 20, 2003, and made their way to secure a pumping station, he said. When he went to sleep, no one expected combat.
When he woke, everybody was yelling.
"We're going to war!"
They faced what they thought were more than 1,000 members of the Iraqi Republican Guard, defending the station, which was on fire. But they were young and inexperienced -- hungry for a fight and eager to use the weapons they had trained on for countless hours, Odom said.
They were grunts: "young, ambitious and deadly," anxious to star in their own "Rambo" movie.
Odom, a sunny 25-year-old with a slight Southern accent and a rapid speaking voice -- both affected by his years in the military -- is saddened by that now.
After seeing fellow Marines lose jaws, suffer penny-sized holes through the cheek and have their helmets "axed" in two, Odom, who was not injured, has a new perspective.
He wouldn't say how many people he had killed and how many of those could have been innocents. He spoke carefully about the politics now entangled in any discussion of Iraq.
He called the war "a mess."
"If you accidentally kill innocent people, if you see your friends die, you start to (wonder) why," Odom said. "At the time, we all were very sure why."
Which is why, to save a pumping station, they rushed into the firefight, firing their M-16s as if it were their only chance to be soldiers. At one point, several Iraqis in a Toyota truck sped toward their position in what Odom called a "suicide mission that kind of caught us off guard."
"They were spraying and praying," he said.
Before the truck reached Odom and Childers, a Citadel graduate, other Marines had fired probably 400 rounds into it, he said. Miraculously, the driver got off a few shots, one of which pierced Childers' belly and exited his back.
Odom knew Childers would die. He brushed away the Copenhagen chewing tobacco that had spilled from Childers' mouth and gave him some air.
The Navy corpsmen could not save him. The internal bleeding was too much, and he died as his fellow Marines lifted him into the ambulance car.
"I don't think there's any way you can prepare someone emotionally to handle seeing someone that close die," Odom said.
Childers died easier than did some of his men.
Sgt. Chip Wicks, Odom's close friend for four years, hanged himself several months after returning from combat.
Wicks, like many of Odom's friends and returning soldiers, suffered from post-traumatic stress disorder (PTSD), Odom said, an illness that isn't always obvious.
"Some may not blink an eye," he said. "Some may (be driven) to suicide."
For Odom, writing the book was therapeutic at, say, 4 a.m., when he couldn't sleep for replaying moments from combat.
Some veterans repress, he said. They don't want to or know how to seek help.
"Nobody wants to be associated with a disorder," he said, possibly because of the stigma or the assumption that it will threaten their careers. Those who do seek treatment may find an "unreal" amount of paperwork and insufficient funding for treatment, he said.
When one of his friends finally got approved for psychiatric help, the psychiatrist told him they could meet only once every four or five weeks because Veterans Affairs couldn't pay him enough, Odom said.
Odom is currently working with doctors from the University of Texas to develop intervention programs to help those with PTSD, specifically those who won't help themselves.
He is donating 10 percent of his royalties to developing the programs that lower the "epidemic" veteran suicide rate and help people like Wicks and other buddies who are "drinking their lives away."
"It's hard to train somebody how to react, but we can do things to handle those reactions," he said.
His book will not give people a full understanding of war, Odom said.
"Everybody says they support the troops, he said, "but most of the time that's limited to tying a ribbon around a tree or putting a bumper sticker on a car. Nothing would help them (understand) unless they fought there themselves, seeing a real live person dying and suffering."
Odom chose not to re-enlist in favor of getting married but said he saw many friends return for second and third tours of duty, some up to 18 months long.
If he had to, he would go back.
"I would die a thousand times over to protect our country," he said. "We were kids at war -- shoot first, ask questions later. But you have to question things. There's a fog over everything."
Ellie
Iraq baggage comes home with troops, ex-Marine says
Greenwood man held first man who died in that war, dedicates book to comrade who committed suicide
By Kelly VanLeeuwen
STAFF WRITER
Cpl. Jesse Odom watched as his friend and platoon commander, Lt. Shane Childers, bled to death in his arms while shots flew around their position near a pumping station in Iraq.
Childers was killed on March 21, 2003, the first of the more than 4,000 troops to die in combat in the Iraq war, according to Department of Defense records.
It was a long way from Greenwood, which Odom would later call home with his wife, Sheena. Odom, who attended Wren High, has since finished his four-year enlistment with the Marines in Alpha Company, 2nd Platoon,1st Battalion, 5th Marines.
But the battle has continued away from the front lines, he said.
His book, "Through Our Eyes," details his and other Marines' experiences overseas and the baggage they brought back with them.
Odom and about 200 other Marines crossed the Iraq border the night of March 20, 2003, and made their way to secure a pumping station, he said. When he went to sleep, no one expected combat.
When he woke, everybody was yelling.
"We're going to war!"
They faced what they thought were more than 1,000 members of the Iraqi Republican Guard, defending the station, which was on fire. But they were young and inexperienced -- hungry for a fight and eager to use the weapons they had trained on for countless hours, Odom said.
They were grunts: "young, ambitious and deadly," anxious to star in their own "Rambo" movie.
Odom, a sunny 25-year-old with a slight Southern accent and a rapid speaking voice -- both affected by his years in the military -- is saddened by that now.
After seeing fellow Marines lose jaws, suffer penny-sized holes through the cheek and have their helmets "axed" in two, Odom, who was not injured, has a new perspective.
He wouldn't say how many people he had killed and how many of those could have been innocents. He spoke carefully about the politics now entangled in any discussion of Iraq.
He called the war "a mess."
"If you accidentally kill innocent people, if you see your friends die, you start to (wonder) why," Odom said. "At the time, we all were very sure why."
Which is why, to save a pumping station, they rushed into the firefight, firing their M-16s as if it were their only chance to be soldiers. At one point, several Iraqis in a Toyota truck sped toward their position in what Odom called a "suicide mission that kind of caught us off guard."
"They were spraying and praying," he said.
Before the truck reached Odom and Childers, a Citadel graduate, other Marines had fired probably 400 rounds into it, he said. Miraculously, the driver got off a few shots, one of which pierced Childers' belly and exited his back.
Odom knew Childers would die. He brushed away the Copenhagen chewing tobacco that had spilled from Childers' mouth and gave him some air.
The Navy corpsmen could not save him. The internal bleeding was too much, and he died as his fellow Marines lifted him into the ambulance car.
"I don't think there's any way you can prepare someone emotionally to handle seeing someone that close die," Odom said.
Childers died easier than did some of his men.
Sgt. Chip Wicks, Odom's close friend for four years, hanged himself several months after returning from combat.
Wicks, like many of Odom's friends and returning soldiers, suffered from post-traumatic stress disorder (PTSD), Odom said, an illness that isn't always obvious.
"Some may not blink an eye," he said. "Some may (be driven) to suicide."
For Odom, writing the book was therapeutic at, say, 4 a.m., when he couldn't sleep for replaying moments from combat.
Some veterans repress, he said. They don't want to or know how to seek help.
"Nobody wants to be associated with a disorder," he said, possibly because of the stigma or the assumption that it will threaten their careers. Those who do seek treatment may find an "unreal" amount of paperwork and insufficient funding for treatment, he said.
When one of his friends finally got approved for psychiatric help, the psychiatrist told him they could meet only once every four or five weeks because Veterans Affairs couldn't pay him enough, Odom said.
Odom is currently working with doctors from the University of Texas to develop intervention programs to help those with PTSD, specifically those who won't help themselves.
He is donating 10 percent of his royalties to developing the programs that lower the "epidemic" veteran suicide rate and help people like Wicks and other buddies who are "drinking their lives away."
"It's hard to train somebody how to react, but we can do things to handle those reactions," he said.
His book will not give people a full understanding of war, Odom said.
"Everybody says they support the troops, he said, "but most of the time that's limited to tying a ribbon around a tree or putting a bumper sticker on a car. Nothing would help them (understand) unless they fought there themselves, seeing a real live person dying and suffering."
Odom chose not to re-enlist in favor of getting married but said he saw many friends return for second and third tours of duty, some up to 18 months long.
If he had to, he would go back.
"I would die a thousand times over to protect our country," he said. "We were kids at war -- shoot first, ask questions later. But you have to question things. There's a fog over everything."
Ellie