"Gunny John, American Marine" The Interview
Written by: D T Odeen, "My Point"

I met John a few weeks ago via his blog, Jarhead’s Firing Range. He is a no nonsense Marine currently serving in Okinawa, Japan in a large “support” unit for the wars in Iraq and Afghanistan. He has served the American Public for 15 years as a Marine and went to Iraq and fought in the initial Operation Iraqi Freedom, in 2003. He has no doubt that he may very well go back to Iraq or Afghanistan as some Marines have done multiple tours already. In his time he may very well return to Iraq or Afganistan in some roll, and he is prepared. Gunny John says he’s no hero; he’s just an average “Jarhead”. To me there is nothing average about any service member, but most come right from the same page Gunny John does. He comes from a rural background; tight knit family, and most important he holds a belief that America is still the best country in the world.

Speaking with Gunny John has taught me more than I first believed I would get from him. This is not your stereotypical Marine. He greatly loves his family, a wife and two children, which he cares for more than surely anything. He is also a brother and a son. I am sure when he is commanding or commanded he is a dedicated Marine, but I also found him to be emotional and caring. For what he’s been through as a Marine, that like so many before him has defined our country for 200 plus years.

Gunny John grew up in Southern California. Married his sweetheart after boot camp, and trained for the infantry. While recently talking with John he stated,

“I spent the first 13 years in combat arms units. I spent a total of approximately a year in various schools. Of course, I went through the standard stuff at the beginning, Recruit Training (three months), School Of Infantry (six weeks).

“I've been assigned to infantry platoons, a tank battalion, a Light Armored Reconnaissance Battalion, and spent three years as a Drill Instructor at Parris Island, SC. I've been to more countries than I can count on my fingers (when I tried to list them all, I think I came up with 12), and I guess that's about it”


I asked Gunny John the following questions about his time as a Marine and a husband, and father. I hope you find his responses to be a powerful, as I did, and come away with an understanding of what it is like to serve our great country, The United States of America. Many readers have served and will instantly be familiar with Gunny John’s experiences. Others may, for the first time, realize what a blessed people we are for men like John, and learn to understand the great deeds they perform. What a family shares when the call to duty in answered. The pure sacrifice made by such men.

An afor mentioned fact about what you are about to read: It is told from a soldier’s point of view, and it is graphic and brutal. There is nothing more human then stories like these.

All through out the interview Gunny was a true professorial and a man of his word.

What was a typical day growing up? Family, friend’s interests, etc:

My parents were pretty old fashioned. I spent most of my free time outdoors. I grew up in a pretty rural area, so I had to use my imagination to keep myself entertained most of the time. I would head out with my bb gun on one imaginary adventure after another. Usually, soda cans would be my adversaries, but an occasional piece of abandoned junk that someone had left somewhere would also get put to good use.

I enjoyed hunting, fishing, riding dirt bikes with my dad, reading, and anything having to do with the water. I had friends, but not very many until I was a teenager and we moved to a suburban area with more neighbors. My best friend in high school ended up being the best man in my wedding.

I grew up with an older sister, and no brothers. When we lived "out in the sticks," she and I spent a lot of time together. We're still quite close. I had a dog named after my dad's hometown, and she would usually follow me everywhere as a kid and join in whatever fun I was having.

My first job was at a restaurant, and that's where I ended up meeting my future bride. We dated off and on for about four years prior to being married.

What was the key motivation to join the Marine Corp?

I had been interested in joining the Marine Corps ever since I can remember; perhaps John Wayne in “The Sands of Iwo Jima” was my biggest inspiration. I just never saw it as a realistic goal because I didn't think I had what it takes. I finally just took the plunge and signed up. I was intimidated about the idea, but like most things, the dreading of something is usually worse than the actual something. I guess I just wanted to serve my country, and I wanted to join the best. I didn't join to get money for college, or because I couldn't find work back home, or mommy and daddy were going to throw me out. I think I truly joined for the right reasons.

Did you at any point regret your decision?

I never truly regretted signing up, but there have been times when I questioned my decision to stay in; usually after having a bad day at work. I think everyone has those thoughts once in a while. It's probably the best thing I've ever done for myself.

Having a family must be difficult. Having to travel from base to base, and moving, has that been difficult for your wife and kids? Does this create a different kind of stress then say your average family. Is the travel hard?

The moving every couple of years is more of an inconvenience than anything else. We've been fortunate to live both close to, and far from home. We've lived in new places that we may have never experienced otherwise. Yes, it is sometimes hard. We've had to say goodbye to good friends, as have our children. Moving in the middle of a school year is also trying for the kids. I think it does create unique stresses, but no more so than anyone whose job requires travel. I've been blessed in being able to take my family everywhere that I've been stationed.

I've traveled to several countries, but only with my unit, not with my family. I often wish that they could see some of the places that I've been.

Before the war was it difficult to know that you'd be going, and how did your wife handle the fact?

I was actually on leave for Christmas when I was recalled. I received word to pack my things and get ready to deploy. I was excited, and worried. Anybody that isn't worried about that type of thing probably has a screw or two loose. I was excited because I was going to go do my job for real. I had compared it to being on a professional football team, and only going to practice; never getting to play in the games. I had been in some bad situations before, in Egypt, but it wasn't really war. This was going to be the real deal, and I was looking forward to doing what I had been training for so long. Of course, I quickly learned that it wasn't glamorous or cool at all.

My wife was terrified, but she kept up a great façade. She's a brave gal, and I'm still impressed with the way that she handled it. She later told me that she had herself convinced that I'd only be gone a couple of months, and it wouldn't be all that bad. We had a very tearful goodbye on a January morning at about 2:30am.

How did you mentally prepare for battle?

Before the war started, we were all sitting in Kuwait for about two months. I would do all manner of silly things to keep myself busy, and my mind off of the impending war. I would clean my weapons, and then clean them again. I would write letters home, read books, play cards, etc. We all knew that we were going to kick the hell out of the Iraqis, but I was convinced that I would also come through unscathed. I went through all kinds of mental arguments over it. The odds were in my favor, we were facing a weak enemy; we were well trained and well equipped. I unpacked all of my belongings and made sure that everything was waterproofed. I double-checked to ensure that I had no personal information in my pack or sea bag (addresses of loved ones, letters, etc), since we were all told that the enemy would use this against us if we were captured. I burned all of the letters that I received, and only had a list of addresses, without references to who they belonged to.

During the war, any time that we were going to move out to a new location, and a new objective, I would go through the same routine. I would check the route of advance on the map, program checkpoints into my GPS, and clean my weapons. I cleaned my rifle and pistol every time I had an opportunity to do so. My driver and I would tell a couple of stories about home, and reaffirm that we would not allow ourselves to be captured. We swore a pact that we were both going home, and would do whatever it took to get there. We'd get each other fired up, much the way that football players get riled up before a game. We convinced each other that we were the baddest mother****ers in the valley and didn't need no stinking' rod or staff.

When did you arrive in Kuwait?

I arrived in Kuwait in early January 2003. I'm not sure of the exact date. There was no infrastructure in place, and we lived in the dirt. It was almost a month before I was able to make my way to an Army camp and infiltrate their showers. Pretty dirty, and basic living conditions.

What was it like first crossing into Iraq?

It was just like Kuwait, only with incoming fire. Kidding.

We had moved farther north from our camps a couple of days before the festivities kicked off. The day before we launched, we began taking sporadic mortar and artillery fire from across the border. We could also hear large amounts of artillery impacting farther to the north along our planned route of advance. This was not a good thing. The Iraqis obviously knew we were coming, and which way we would be going. They were getting ready.

That night, word came down from higher to shift our elements farther to the west. They decided that wading through a sea of artillery fire was probably not a good thing. We moved all through the night, all the while calling in artillery and air on any movement that we spotted across the border (we didn't want our movement reported to the Iraqi leaders).

By the next early morning, we were in our attack positions and ready to move. At 0500, we unleashed hell. Artillery and air began pounding targets across the border with enthusiasm. It made me even more nervous. I was tense, excited, scared, and tired as hell. I was wondering if I'd die. I was thinking about my wife, kids, parents, sister, dog, you name it. Would I see them again? Would I be maimed for life? Would I be killed?

At 0600, we rolled across the border. The instant that my vehicle crossed the ditch into Iraq, I turned to my driver and yelled, "Holy **** man! We're in ****in' Iraq!" As it turned out, it was exactly the same as Kuwait, only about 100 yards north. We met little resistance at first, and it was a bit eerie. We took sporadic fire for the first hour or so, and quickly dispatched the poor bastards that fired on us. I shot my first man at 0714. I looked at my watch shortly after firing. I don't know why. My driver shot two more in quick succession.

The first one was a bit rough. We had "dismounted" and were firing from cover. My shot struck the enemy in the head, and he went down. We (my driver and I) immediately advanced to his position to fire on the next bunch of hajjis. I discovered that the man I had shot was not dead. My shot had struck him in the jaw, and he was very much alive, for a bit. He was crying and making horrible noises. I simply told him "Sorry man, I can't do anything for you." We moved on.

That was the first couple of hours of crossing the border. It was tiring and busy, but remarkably easy as far as resistance goes. Only small firefights, with conscripts that gave up quickly or just got dead.

Can you describe what it was like leading an invasion force into an enemy country? What you felt, did training kick in and you just did your job?

This is a tough one. What to tell? What to keep back?

I quickly learned that war isn't glamorous, cool, or fun. It's just plain bad. I was scared to death much of the time. We took some wounded the first day, and it changed my whole attitude very quickly. I guess I realized that horrible things could very easily happen to me at any moment.

I got used to the sight of dead bodies. They were everywhere. For some strange reason, most of them had no pants on. I remember remarking to my driver about that. We never came up with a reason as to why that would be; maybe locals had stripped the pants off of the dead for some reason (for the pants, to search the pockets…who knows?).

I got used to the sound of gunfire. It was a constant. It was sometimes distant, and sometimes just a few yards away. It never failed to get my attention, as I very much wanted to make it home in one piece.

A typical "day" would start in the middle of the night. We would get word that we would be moving out toward our next objective. We'd get a brief of what the enemy was up to, how large of a unit it was, how they were thought to be equipped, etc. We would copy all of the pertinent "graphics" onto our maps, and then go brief the troops. We'd move out long before dawn, so that we could hit the hajjis before daybreak. We'd take off in the wee hours of the morning and enter a town or village. The locals would already be up and running around. At some point, we would typically enter a part of town that appeared to be deserted. That's where the trouble would begin. That's when the butt muscles would tighten up. That's when all of my senses would be working in overdrive. There was no smell of cooking, no roosters crowing, no stray dogs. We'd then take fire and respond. Every village or town was assumed to be infested with bad guys. It was nerve wracking to say the least.

We'd work our way through town, clearing as many buildings as we could. We would then wait for our support elements to catch up, and provide security while they "set in" for the night. We would then move forward a few kilometers and set in ourselves. We'd try to pick areas that were as desolate as possible; less chance of the enemy sneaking into our position undetected. We'd spend a tense night at 50% readiness (half can sleep, while the other half is on watch), followed by an early morning of getting briefed on the next objective.

We didn't get much sleep for the first several days of the war. Most of us were like zombies from lack of sleep. This was probably a good thing, as we didn't seem to have the mental capacity for emotion.

The first man that I shot bothered me a lot. After taking wounded, it didn't seem to bother me anymore. I guess I had decided that the "better them than me or my buddies" attitude was a sound argument to the issues associated with killing someone.

Most of the dead enemy had horrific wounds, and stunk to high heaven. Most of them **** themselves at the moment of dying, and had a similar smell to a porta-potty. We could always tell when we were entering a town that some other unit had already been through. The smell was awful. It was a cross between rancid meat and ****. There was also the constant smell of things burning. Whether it be houses, tanks, bodies, etc; there was always something close by that was burning. I could still smell it in my clothing when we got to Baghdad. It was dirty, nasty work.

When I would hear the first shots in any given area, I would get that sick, nervous feeling in my guts. You know the one. When you're in trouble, when you've done something you shouldn't have, your bowels tend to turn to liquid. I actually managed to drop my drawers and take a crap under fire once. My driver didn't miss a beat. He kept firing, and didn't say a word to me.

There are no words that can describe the feelings, and sensation of incoming mortar or artillery rounds. They rattle your teeth, and there's not much you can do. The best thing to do is to either be in a hole below ground level (and pray that you don't experience a direct hit), or to simply move. The Iraqis had excellent artillery pieces. However, they were not very good at adjusting their fires. Once rounds began impacting near us, we simply had to move a few hundred meters to get out of the impact area. The bad guys wouldn't be able to adjust their fires onto us before we moved again. Pretty simple. The bad thing is, there were times when moving wasn't an option. You simply sat there hoping and praying that you didn't get hit. It was loud, intense, and scary as can be. Bad ****, all the way around.

My fellow Marines and I developed a special bond. We realized that we weren't fighting for our President, or for Iraq. We were fighting for each other. Nothing was worse than the idea of seeing a fellow Marine gets hit. We fought with ferocity, so that our fellow Marines wouldn't get killed. There were times when I thought I was going to die. My fellow Marines being there is what kept me sane. I knew I could count on them, and they knew the same about me. As much as folks would like to think that we fight for Mom and Apple Pie, we don't. We fight for each other. If you ask any fighting man about that, they'd probably give you the same answer. Sure, we wanted to defeat the bad guys, but not nearly as bad as we wanted each other to make it home.

I experienced every emotion that you can think of. I missed my family, I was mad as hell that people were trying to kill me and my fellow Marines, I was nervous, excited, happy, sad, but always the fear. Anybody that says they weren't scared is lying. Getting shot at is not a natural event. The fear lessened with the progression of the war, but it was always there. I developed a hardened mind set. I certainly wasn't worried about killing the enemy. I was worried about getting myself, or another Marine killed.

I'm not sure how else to describe the emotion and sensations of combat. I don't think that the English language has the words to describe it. I'm sure that I don't have the ability to do it justice. There are countless combat veterans out there that will look at this and ask "Why didn't he talk about 'this' or 'that'?" We all went through our own private hell. I don't care how small, short, or "low intensity" a conflict is. The men that do the fighting experience the intensity that the common man will never even dream of. Fighting for one's life on a daily basis makes combat a universal experience. Sure, there are differences, but one thing remains: The fear of death. There's no getting around that.

What were some of the “stand out” moments on your way to Baghdad?

As far as "stand out" moments, there's plenty to choose from. Sharing a meal with a shepherd and his son just outside of An Naseriah sticks out. There was a four-day halt to allow our supply lines to get better established, and we came across a sheep herder and his son (maybe his grandson?). I broke out a couple of MRE's and had a pleasant meal with them in a ditch beside the road. It really struck me as odd that I could have such a peaceful and comfortable moment like that in the middle of a war zone. The young boy told me that they were glad to see us because it meant that the Iraqi soldiers wouldn't be stealing their sheep anymore. The old man spoke no English, but the young boy could get his point across for the most part.

There's also the time that I saw what appeared to be a man hiding in a clump of bushes. I jumped out of my vehicle and approached him, ready to fire, while yelling at him to get up. As I got closer, I could see that he had a pretty traumatic head wound, and was extremely dead. We had a reporter with us that said something like "Oh my God! Who would shoot a teenager like that?" I reached down and pulled the young man's AK-47 out and pitched it into a pond across the road. The reporter wasn't as horrified after that. As it turned out, the Marine who had shot the young man was accused of killing an unarmed civilian (the teenager that I had found). The very reporter that was with us, happened to overhear the discussion and intervened it was quite a coincidence, and I'm glad that I spotted him. Otherwise, who knows what would have happened to that young Marine who shot.

How long did you spend in Baghdad? And can you describe what the city itself is like, compared to a typical American city?

I spent about a month in Baghdad. We did frequent security patrols, often with Iraqi Police. We broke up a couple of bank robberies, and stopped some of the looting. If the locals were carting off armfuls of food, diapers, water, etc, we turned a blind eye. If they were carrying furniture, electronics, etc, we stopped them. We took occasional sniper fire, but that was about it.

The city itself was busy, like any city, but it had a more laid back atmosphere than any other large city that I've been in. The people were mostly friendly, and glad to see us. We set up our position at "The Martyr's Monument." It looked like two big blue eggs in the middle of Baghdad. There was an amusement park adjacent to it that was a haven for snipers. We would kill two or three a day in there. Across the highway was the Olympic stadium, where other units had set up shop.

All around us was evidence of the air campaign. There were still buildings that were slowly smoldering. I could see the holes in the side where the laser guided bombs entered. The smell was a mix of burning plastic and tar; very strange.

Were you disappointed that the looting and the destruction took place.

I wasn't disappointed at the destruction. It was a comforting sight. It told me that the bad guys probably weren't in the neighborhood. The looting was just pathetic. These people had nothing. We had people offering to pay us if we'd go kill Baath Party hardliners in their neighborhood. We were interested in the intel, but they just wanted us to go kill the guys that had raped their daughter, killed their son, etc. It was truly sad. Everywhere was evidence of the Baath Party's brutality. We found big vans and trucks with bodies stacked in them. They were all shot in the head from behind. Entire villages were wiped out, to include women and kids. The Saddam Fedajeen (sp?) would coerce peasants into service, and kill those that refused, along with their families. What a mess.

Did you get into any of the Palaces and newsworthy areas?

I was about two blocks from where the statue was toppled when that happened. I was aiming at a young boy with an AK-47 when I heard the roar of the crowd. Weird.

I took a dump in Saddam's gold toilet. I had to stand in line for about a half an hour. I was just going to **** in it, but I ended up ****ing on the rug while waiting in line. I felt the crap coming on, so I stayed in line. That was a real feeling of satisfaction (so was the use of the toilet).

The Martyr's Monument was the Iraqi equivalent of our Vietnam Memorial, or our WWII Memorial. It has the names of those that died during the Iran Iraq war engraved all around it. It also had personal mementos of the soldiers on display inside. Most of the locals had looted the place by the time that we got there. I was absolutely disgusted. Fighting men are fighting men. When they're dead, you just don't go and disgrace them that way.

Before you left Baghdad what was a typical day like?

I was the Platoon Sergeant, so I was in charge of all of the logistics. If we took casualties, I was the one that called in the medi-vac bird. I locked on the chow, ammo, repair parts, etc. I would wake up before dawn, get my driver up, and go make the supply run. That was an adventure. I had to leave the "compound" of the monument to go meet with the supply convoy. I'd get chow, ammo, and other supplies. We'd get back just in time to see everyone else just getting out of the rack, or one of our patrols returning. We'd distribute the chow and ammo, and then figure out which patrol we'd be going out with. Usually just before lunchtime, we'd head out with a patrol. The patrol would stop at several places and "win the hearts and minds." The locals would give us food, booze, and you name it.

In the afternoons, we'd try to get some sleep. Nighttime was not good for sleeping because the locals would be partying with their weapons. Much the same way that we enjoy fireworks, they seemed to enjoy gunfire. It would be quite a light show to see all of those tracers going up into the sky at night.

The evenings were time for another patrol, and then some letter writing, cooking some chow, or just shooting the **** with my fellow Leathernecks.

You seem to think you'll be returning to Iraq or Afganistan. Do you have any thoughts on that?

I'm not jumping with joy over it, but I'm not going to try and hide from it. If I go, I go. That's why I get paid the big bucks. I wish that we could fight the way we're trained and get it over with, but that's not up to me.

You are in Japan now, what is a typical day? What functions do you provide?

I run a shop that repairs various fire control instruments. They fix sights and quadrants for artillery pieces, night vision equipment, and other fire control equipment.

On PT days (Physical Training), I'm up at 0415, out the door at 0445, and running "the boys" at 0530. At about 0630, I cut them loose to shower and change uniforms, eat and the like. They show up at "the shop" at about 0730. I put out fires of all kinds. Units calling from all over the world wanting to know what the status of a piece of gear is. Headquarters Marine Corps calling about fielding a new piece of weaponry, etc. I miss being in a combat arms unit, only because we actually did realistic training. The only real training that we do in this unit is the annual required stuff (rifle range, swim qual, gas chamber, etc).

How has combat changed you?

My wife says that I'm colder. I think I do have fewer feelings when it comes to other people's suffering (other than my kids). I seem to have less patience. I usually don't remember my dreams, but I know when I've had bad ones. The sound of gunfire gets me tense, even on the range. The smell of anything burning bothers me. I seem to have lost any love that I had for Muslims. I've seen how they treat each other, and everyone else.

We've talked about some degree of PTSD, How that affected you and your family? Has it even been an issue?

I had some serious issues when I got back. I questioned my morals. I wasn't raised to be a violent person. I wasn't raised to get satisfaction out of hurting people, but there were times when I did. I struggled with that for a while. I guess I finally came to the realization that I'm still a good man, and I did what I had to do. I still have bad dreams, but, thankfully, I usually don't remember them. I just wake up knowing I had a bad dream. There are the things that bother me, like previously stated, but I'm hoping that's normal. My wife seems to have grown accustomed to me being a bit "colder." I think some of that has worn off as well. I don't know, as I don't have to interact with me the way she does. I guess only time will tell. If I end up being "screwed up”, so be it. I'm all about us being sent into harm's way, I just wish my government would look after us when it's done.

When do you expect to retire? If ever?

“I'll either do 20, or 22. It depends on whether or not I make Master Sergeant (E . If I do, I'll probably do 22. So, either five more years, or seven, depending on promotion. I'm at 15 now, so I'm on the down slope.”

What would you say to an 18-year-old man thinking of jumping into your world?

“Do it. Do it now. Go do what your forefathers did. It'll make a man out of you. There's no more honorable profession in the world.”

You are still serving in the Marine Corps, and you are politically active with your blog. How do you see the situation in Iraq, what would like to see different?

As far as the current situation in Iraq, it is quite frustrating. I can't help but think that we need to be taking a much tougher stance. The time for worrying about public opinion of the U.S. is long gone. I'm also quite angered at the media for only reporting the doom and gloom. We've made incredible strides in that country, and you just don't hear about it in the papers or on television. I'm not in charge, and I'm not as well equipped to make the strategic decisions, but I'm still convinced that we're not being aggressive enough. It should be made quite clear via radio, television, leaflets, etc, that any town or village that harbors insurgents will be completely destroyed. I would bet money that the peace loving inhabitants would be much less sympathetic to the terrorists in that case. Warfare, is brutal for a reason, it gets results. Holding back, lacking decisiveness, or sparing as much of a village or town as we can only hinders our efforts. Label me a warmonger if you'd like, but that method would get results.

A few things, personally, have happened for me during my time creating this article. First, I have made a new friend. I hope to be able to keep in contact with Gunny John past his time in the Corps. Secondly, and most important, I truly believe that there are combat vets out there that need to discuss what their experiences have been. It needs to take place outside their marriage and fellow Marines. They need to tell people what they’ve experienced. I had no idea that I would be saying this at the beginning of my talks with Gunny. How this happens, I have no idea. America needs to listen to our vets. They need to hear their stories. Maybe it will change their feelings, I don’t know. Anyway, Gunny is probably is saying, “Just get on with it.” So I shall.

Ellie