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thedrifter
01-03-09, 06:35 AM
January 3, 2009


Two Marines gave their lives to save dozens of others

By TONY PERRY
Los Angeles Times

SAN DIEGO -- They had known each other only a few minutes, but they will be linked forever to what U.S. Marines brass say is one of the most extraordinary acts of courage and sacrifice in the Iraq War.

Cpl. Jonathan Yale, 21, grew up in rural Virginia. He had joined the Marine Corps to put structure in his life and support his mother and sister. He was within a few days of heading home.

Lance Cpl. Jordan Haerter, 19, was from a comfortably middle-class suburb on Long Island, N.Y. As a boy, he had worn military garb, and he had felt the pull of adventure and patriotism. He had just arrived in Iraq.

On April 22, 2008, the two were assigned to guard the main gate to Joint Security Station Nasser in Ramadi, the capital of al-Anbar province, once an insurgent stronghold and still dangerous.

Dozens of Marines and Iraqi police lived at the compound, and some were sleeping after all-night patrols when Yale and Haerter BAGHDAD -- An explosives-strapped man slipped into a luncheon gathering at a tribal leader's home and blew himself up Friday, killing at least 23 people and wounding dozens. The attack in the area once known as the Triangle of Death because of its extreme violence, came a day after the United States relinquished the lead on security to Iraqi forces throughout the country. Police officials placed the casualty total at 30 dead and 110 wounded. But an Iraqi Army officer who was on the scene said 24 were killed and 38 wounded.

reported for duty. Yale, respected for his quiet, efficient manner, was assigned to show Haerter how to take over his duties.

Haerter had volunteered to watch the main gate, even though it was considered the most hazardous of the compound's three guard stations because it could be approached from a busy thoroughfare.

Marines' fire slowed truck

The sun had barely risen on a warm, sultry morning when the two sentries spotted a 20-foot-long truck headed toward the gate, weaving with increasing speed through the concrete barriers. Two Iraqi police officers assigned to the gate ran for their lives. So did several Iraqi police on the adjacent street.

Yale and Haerter tried to wave off the truck, but it kept coming. They opened fire, Yale with a machine gun, Haerter with an M-16. Their bullets peppered the radiator and windshield. The truck slowed but kept rolling.

A few dozen feet from the gate, the truck exploded. Investigators found it was loaded with 2,000 pounds of explosives and its driver, his hand on a "dead-man switch," was determined to commit suicide and slaughter Marines and Iraqi police.

The thunderous explosion rocked Ramadi, interrupting the morning call to prayers from mosques. A nearby mosque and a home were flattened. The blast ripped a crater 5 feet deep and 20 feet across into the street. Shards of concrete scattered everywhere, and choking dust filled the air.

Haerter was dead; Yale was soon to be.

Three Marines about 300 feet away were injured. So were eight Iraqi police and two dozen civilians. But several dozen other nearby Marines and Iraqi police, while shaken, were unhurt. A Black Hawk helicopter was summoned to get the dying Yale to a field hospital. A sheet was placed over Haerter. But his section leader insisted he be covered by an American flag.

"We did not want him carried out with just a sheet," Staff Sgt. Kenneth Grooms said.

Undeniable bravery

Maj. Gen. John Kelly, the top Marine in Iraq, wanted to know how the attack happened. Like many veteran Marines, he is haunted by the memory of the 1983 bombing of the barracks in Beirut, Lebanon, when a blast from an explosives-laden truck killed 241 U.S. service personnel, including 220 Marines.

Recurring nightmares

Kelly, who commanded Marines in the fight for Baghdad and Tikrit in 2003 and Fallujah in 2004, admits that the specter of another Beirut gives him nightmares as he commands the 22,000 Marines in Iraq.

He went to Ramadi to interview Iraqi witnesses -- a task generals usually delegate to subordinates. Some Iraqis told him they were incredulous that the two Marines had not fled.

When Marine technicians restored a damaged security camera, the images were undeniable. While Iraqi police fled, Haerter and Yale had never flinched and never stopped firing as the Mercedes-Benz truck -- the same model used in the Beirut bombing -- sped directly toward them.

Without their steadfastness, the truck probably would have penetrated the compound before it exploded, and 50 or more Marines and Iraqis would have been killed. The incident happened in just six seconds.

"No time to talk it over; no time to call the lieutenant; no time to think about their own lives or even the American and Iraqi lives they were protecting," Kelly said. "More than enough time, however, to do their duty. They never hesitated or tried to escape."

Kelly nominated the two young men for the Navy Cross, the second-highest award for combat bravery for Marines and sailors. Even by the standards expected of Marine "grunts," their bravery was exceptional, Kelly said.

The Haerter and Yale families will receive the medals early this year.

On the night after the bombing, Kelly wrote to each family: "I will remember him, and pray for him and for all those who mourn his loss, for the rest of my life."

Impossible to forget

A motorcade escorted Haerter's casket through Sag Harbor on Long Island, as residents lined the streets, wept and saluted.

Yale's casket made the 83-mile trip from the airport at Richmond, Va., to Farmville with an honor guard provided by the Patriot Guard Riders, a motorcycle group of ex-service members.

"He's not supposed to be dead," said the Rev. Leon Burchett, who gave the eulogy at Yale's funeral and in whose home Yale had often lived as a teenager. "The casket was flag-draped, but it couldn't be opened. There's no closure -- it's like we're still waiting for him to come home."

On Long Island, a bridge was renamed for Haerter. His high school put a flag from his funeral in a time capsule. His family set up a memorial Web site, www.jordanhaerter.com.

At a Wounded Warrior Project event, Haerter's mother, JoAnn Lyles, her voice breaking, talked of how she had hoped to do something special for his 20th birthday. "We now know that Jordan -- Lance Cpl. Jordan C. Haerter -- was already a man, a courageous and brave young man," she said.

Their battalions are now back at Camp Lejeune, N.C. -- for Haerter, the 1st Battalion, 9th Regiment; for Yale, the 2nd Battalion, 8th Regiment. In Iraq, both units were part of the Camp Pendleton, Calif.-based Regimental Combat Team One.

Yale's unit was within a week of going home when the attack occurred. His death seemed to deflate its sense of achievement.

"The Marines were very upset and very disappointed because of the effort they had made to make a better life for the Iraqis and then to have this happen," said Capt. Matthew Martin, Yale's company commander.

Haerter's unit had just arrived for a seven-month deployment, and officers tried to make sure his death did not unduly distract the Marines.

"It's something you don't get over," said Lt. Dan Runzheimer, 24, Haerter's platoon leader.

"I wouldn't say it put a cloud on us, but it was always there. The men still knew what they had to do: You have to ... complete the mission."

As both battalions train for possible deployment to Iraq or Afghanistan, the deaths of comrades are in their thoughts.

Yale was always trying to boost the morale of his buddies, said Lance Cpl. Brandon Creely, 21, of Boise, Idaho. "Whenever I was down, he'd tell a joke, tell me it's not as bad as it seems."

Staff Sgt. Grooms, 28, said he knows how Haerter should be remembered.

"He was a hero," Grooms said, "and a damn fine person."

Ellie