MARINES

AT WAR

Edited by 

Paolo G. Tripodi and Kelly Frushour

Foreword by

Carroll J. Connelley 

Quantico, Virginia

MCUP MARINE CORPS UNIVERSITY PRESS 

STORIES FROM AFGHANISTAN AND IRAQ

MARINES

AT WAR
Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data

Names: Tripodi, Paolo G., editor of compilation. | Frushour, Kelly, editor of

 compilation.

Title: Marines at war : stories from Afghanistan and Iraq / edited by Paolo

 G. Tripodi and Kelly Frushour.

Other titles: Stories from Afghanistan and Iraq

Description: Quantico, VA : Marine Corps University Press, [2016] | Includes

 bibliographical references.

Identifiers: LCCN 2016019036

Subjects: LCSH: Iraq War, 2003-2011--Personal narratives, American. | Afghan

 War, 2001---Personal narratives, American. | United States. Marine

 Corps--Biography. | Marines--United States--Biography.

Classification: LCC DS79.766.A1 M37 2016 | DDC 956.7044/345092273--dc23

LC record available at https://lccn.loc.gov/2016019036

Disclaimer

The views expressed in this publication are solely those of the authors. They do not 

necessarily reflect the opinions of the organizations for which they work, Marine 

Corps University, the U.S. Marine Corps, the Department of the Navy, or the U.S. 

government. The information contained in this book was accurate at the time of 

printing.

Published by

Marine Corps University Press

3078 Upshur Avenue

Quantico, VA

22134

www.mcu.usmc.mil/mcu_press

1st Printing 2016

ISBN 978-0-9973174-1-1
v

DEDICATION

In memory of Major Douglas A. Zembiec and all of the fallen and wounded 

U.S. Marines of the wars in Afghanistan and Iraq.

Foreword xi

LtCol Carroll J. Connelley (Ret)

Preface xv

LtCol Kelly Frushour

Acknowledgments xxv

Abbreviations xxvii

Introduction 1

The Experience of Going to War

Paolo G. Tripodi

Chapter 1 19

Captain Doug Zembiec

SgtMaj William S. Skiles (Ret) 

vii

CONTENTS
Chapter 2 38

The Unspoken Leadership Challenges of Command

Col Brian S. Christmas

Chapter 3 57

A Fellow Marine in Combat: My Brother

Capt Matthew C. Fallon

Chapter 4 74

The Cobra, the Convoy, and a Crisis of Faith

LtCol Wayne R. “Gonzo” Beyer Jr. (Ret)

Chapter 5 97

The Bastards’ Shepherd: A Navy Chaplain with 

2d Battalion, 4th Marines, in ar-Ramadi, Iraq

Cdr Brian D. Weigelt, CHC, USN

Chapter 6 117

Trust Among . . . Allies?

SSgt Michael R. Moyer

Chapter 7 134

A Woman in Charge: A Civil Affairs Marine 

Team Leader in Afghanistan

Maj Aniela K. Szymanski (USMCR)

Chapter 8 151

Crowd Control

1stSgt Nicanor A. Galvan 

Chapter 9 170

The Advisor

Col Daniel L. Yaroslaski

viii
ix

Chapter 10 185

A Logistician’s Preparation for Combat

LtCol Clifton B. Carpenter (Ret)

Chapter 11 204

A Perspective on Leadership Attributes in Combat

Maj Benjamin P. Wagner

References and Further Reading 223

The decade plus of U.S. military combat in Afghanistan and Iraq has resulted in an extraordinary amount of articles, books, documentaries, and films. 

As with many subjects in U.S. culture today, the resulting productions are 

often glamorized, politicized, or simply focused on only the most astonishing events of these two conflicts. In contrast, this collection of narratives 

focuses on the more ordinary stories of war. 

This book brings together the short stories of 10 Marines and a sailor 

who served in either Afghanistan or Iraq, some in both. The authors reflect 

on their time in combat, focusing on preparation, particular moments, and 

the lessons or conclusions drawn from their experiences. While every servicemember has a different story, and despite these remembrances being 

very personal, this collection represents and provides insight into the ordinary experiences of fellow Americans serving during an extraordinary set 

of circumstances. That set of circumstances is obviously war. War, for the 

modern American, is the monotony of everyday life lived far away from 

home, broken up by intense moments of fear, conflict, and violence. This 

collection examines both the monotony and the intense moments that these 

men and women experienced from a diverse set of perspectives. From 

the Bell AH-1 Cobra helicopter pilot to the logistician to the chaplain and 

beyond, each experience is different and informative in its own particular 

sphere. 

FOREWORD

xi
xii | Foreword

I personally felt these stories were important to share because of my 

own experience in Iraq. As a former infantry officer turned judge advocate, I went to Iraq with the expectation of learning more of my craft as a 

relatively new lawyer and finally getting a chance to experience war. After 

a six-month deployment and upon returning home in 2006, I felt pride at 

having been part of the unit that made the al-Anbar Province more amenable to self-government and less hospitable to terrorists and insurgents. 

The regimental combat team I had been a member of for six months in fact 

had established conditions for what would later become known as the “alAnbar Awakening,” one of the shining moments of the Iraq War. However, 

that success was attributed to follow-on forces, and my unit’s time in Iraq 

became inextricably linked to the incident at Haditha in which multiple civilians were killed, resulting in a political and judicial firestorm that continued for years. Although I was not directly involved in the incident, I was a 

part of the chain of command responsible for responding and reporting the 

incident. I have spent years considering my part in that response and what 

I might have done differently. The incident affected my career, but in a very 

minimal way when compared to many other Marines’ careers. 

Upon my return from Iraq, I was assigned to successive positions at 

The Basic School, Marine Corps University, and finally the U.S. Naval 

Academy that each included a teaching component. At each assignment, I 

was able to challenge future leaders to consider deeply their responsibilities and the effects they would have on their Marines’ perspectives and 

understanding of the law of armed conflict and the rules of engagement. 

Given the opportunity to more deeply examine, reflect on, and regularly 

profess the importance of these two legal frameworks was a cathartic experience. As I engaged and challenged junior servicemembers, as well as 

those Marines poised to take command, I was reminded that the execution of war requires not only study but critical thinking, reflection, and 

ultimately the leadership of commanders. These assignments poignantly 

reminded me that, while experience may be the best teacher, study and reflection are necessary in transforming mere experience into knowledge and 

understanding. I was graced with the ability to share my experiences with 
thousands of Marines and translate those experiences into knowledge and 

understanding, not only for myself but for my fellow Marines. 

Beyond considering others’ experiences in combat, as with any endeavour, the Marine Corps and war are about people. As I reached the end 

of my career, I came to a personal realization that I have heard echoed by 

many career Marines. The sentiment is that “I don’t always love the Marine 

Corps, but I always love my fellow Marines.” I believe that to be true. 

Marines that read these stories will undoubtedly remember fellow Marines 

who they have loved and served with over the years. More importantly, 

I hope the American public will take this opportunity to learn about the 

extraordinary lives of ordinary Marines. In the case of Douglas A. Zembiec, 

readers will simply learn more about an extraordinary man. Doug’s story 

is personal to me in that we attended the Naval Academy together and remained friends in the same circles during our Marine Corps careers. I did 

not know Doug intimately but well enough to realize his greatness, and I 

was fortunate enough to have a picture taken of him holding my firstborn 

son, a picture that I cherish to this day. It is men and women like Doug 

whom I got to know personally over the years and who have challenged 

me to be a better Marine, husband, father, friend, and even a better American. I aspire to be as great a man as Doug. It is the remembrance of Doug 

and the other contributors to this book who I anticipate will humble and 

inspire the American people, just as I am humbled and inspired when rereading their stories. 

For these reasons, I am proud that the Marine Corps University Press 

has provided this platform for these Marines and sailor to share their 

voices. This is an opportunity for our fellow Americans to learn about the 

more common experiences of war and the people who risked and sacrificed for our country. The collection strives to be self-reflective and, at 

times, even critical of the Corps. This was on purpose, and the editors of 

this book asked the writers to consider how they or how the Marine Corps 

could have better prepared or aided them to succeed. Critically evaluating 

your past experiences is part of being a modern Marine. Clearly, the contributors have a profound affection for the Corps, and the few points of criForeword | xiii
tique included in their essays are given in constructive fashion. As Marines, 

we only want the Marine Corps to be better. On the few days we do not 

fully love the Marine Corps, we never stop loving our fellow Marines. I 

am certain that after reading this book, our fellow Americans will not only 

love the Marine Corps more deeply but understand and love the most extraordinarily ordinary Marines, who have volunteered to serve our nation.

Lieutenant Colonel Carroll J. Connelley (Ret)*1

*

 LtCol Connelley was an infantry officer turned judge advocate who served in Iraq and Africa as 

an operational lawyer. He taught leadership, ethics, and law at The Basic School, Marine Corps 

University, and the U.S. Naval Academy. He is currently a department counsel at the Defense 

Office of Hearings and Appeals prosecuting security clearance cases.

xiv | Foreword
The attacks on 11 September 2001 defined a generation of U.S. Marines. 

There are those who, that day, were already wearing the uniform, and 

there are those who felt called to join the Corps following the attacks. All 

carry with them the vivid memory of where they were that day and what 

that day meant for our nation. Over the course of more than a decade, 

thousands of Marines have deployed to Afghanistan, Iraq, and other parts 

of the world where they have fought against a persistent enemy. Over 

these years, many Marines cataloged their thoughts and observations in 

various ways, and their stories provide a much needed understanding on 

the impact combat has on those who experience it—even on those who are 

trained for it. 

As a public affairs officer, I look for stories, and together with Paolo G. 

Tripodi, we looked for Marines to share theirs. Thus, we invited Marines 

and a U.S. Navy chaplain, who deployed with Marines, to write about 

their experiences of going to war. We gave them guidance about the structure for their chapters, but not about the content. What they chose to share 

and how they chose to express themselves reveals the diversity of events 

that stick with and follow veterans into stateside military service and civilian life. 

PREFACE

xv
xvi | Preface

This project particularly interested me because I too am a veteran of 

Iraq and Afghanistan. When someone asks me about my deployment experiences, I think of the color green; a green so rich and so bright that it hurts 

the eyes. When I left for Iraq in 2003, I embarked on a ship. The ship was 

gray. The sea was blue. The sky was blue. Iraq was tan—the sand, the buildings, sometimes the air too. We wore tan uniforms. When I sailed home, I 

was again surrounded by blue and gray. I had not seen the color green in 

months. When we were off the coast of North Carolina and the land was 

a thick dark line in the distance, I embarked on a gray helicopter into a 

blue sky to touch down on a grassy landing zone at Marine Corps Base 

Camp Lejeune, North Carolina. The back of the helicopter opened up, and I 

stepped out onto green grass surrounded by green trees in the thick heat of 

June. I was overwhelmed by color. I barely remember people welcoming me 

home because I could not stop looking, and yet could not look fully at the 

grass and trees. There was no deeper meaning in this memory. During my 

deployment, green had no particular meaning to me, and I had not noticed 

its absence until it was again a part of my environment. It was the startling 

aspect of noticing its reappearance in my world that struck me. 

When people ask about my time at war, I do not share this story 

because I feel it would disappoint them. They do not want to hear about 

colors even though that is what comes to my mind first. I served in combat 

zones but not in combat—that is a distinction. I did not lead Marines 

through a field of gunfire; I did not clear houses of enemy combatants. I did 

not call for fire on the enemy from air, artillery, or ships. I never had to hold 

dying Marines in my arms and pray for them to survive while not showing 

them my fear that they would not make it home. I did see the bodies of 

people killed in combat and was struck by their stillness. I saw the wreckage of vehicles and had looping thoughts of what it must have been like to 

be in the vehicle when it was destroyed. I did see photos of carnage and 

then walked the ground where it occurred just days before. I felt heartache 

over hearing about the deaths of Marines in real time and felt sick about 

the bad news their families and friends would soon hear. I thought about 

the Marines back home who would have to deliver that news. These ex-
Preface | xvii

periences do not strike me as special or even unique, certainly not worthy 

of sharing. They strike me as less than worthy to share because there are 

Marines, sailors, soldiers, and airmen who experienced much worse. I do 

not feel claiming empathy is much of an accomplishment.

The stories I do share tend to be about the absurd moments. In Kuwait, 

I remember being handed a cage of pigeons to keep with us in the back of 

a large truck and being told, “If the pigeons die, put your gas masks on.” I 

remember initially there being a problem with some of the pigeons staging 

cage death matches until we found a Marine in the unit who had raised 

pigeons in his childhood. He could tell the difference between male and 

female pigeons, which was important for properly caging the birds. This 

Marine sat in a sea of pigeon cages, meticulously flipping over pigeons 

in order to segregate them. He became the official “pigeon sexer” of Task 

Force Tarawa.1 I learned, in that moment as well as others, that Marines 

have many and varying talents. Later in Iraq, I remember lecturing my corporal that he was not allowed to sell me. When we walked into villages, 

he was approached several times with offers to trade me for livestock. He 

joked with me that if the price was right, he would consider it. 

Just after Baghdad fell in 2003, there was a lull in the fighting in our 

region. We were in al-Kut, Iraq.2 The Marines had discovered an old British 

World War I cemetery that had become neglected and overgrown. They 

decided to fix that. Marines repositioned headstones, cleared weeds, and 

picked up trash, and the Seabees constructed a large and ornate cross to 

place in the center of the small square.3 We invited members of the British 

forces to come to the rededication ceremony. The cemetery was surrounded on three sides by buildings. Iraqis were on the roofs, were in the street, 

and were leaning out of windows to watch what we were doing. I stood on 

a small wooden dais with the other observers as the rededication occurred. 

Nice words were said about those who had gone before us. The British 

1

 The 2d Marine Expeditionary Brigade was named Task Force Tarawa during the United States’ 

2003 invasion of Iraq. 

2

 Al-Kut is in eastern Iraq along the Tigris River.

3

 Seabees is a Navy construction unit, an abbreviation for construction battalion (CB). 
xviii | Preface

had sent a religious man, who wore the robes and tall hat of some denomination. He led us in prayer. The Iraqis quietly watched the proceedings; 

some even bowed their heads with us. When the prayer was over and we 

said, “Amen,” the word was echoed by the Iraqis on the three sides. After 

a very brief pause, the Iraqis then broke into song. I think it must have 

been the only song they all knew in English. But there on that sunny day, 

the Iraqis serenaded the ceremony with a solemn singing of “Happy Birthday.” It began quietly and, then, was sung with more gusto until the triumphant end when they all cheered and clapped. In Afghanistan, I remember 

similar things that struck me as absurd, or just funny. I remember pilots 

returning from sorties and being tickled that, when they flew in support 

of Italians, the Italians ended their radio communication with “happy so 

far?” The Marines would reply, “Copy, (call sign) is happy.” One day, as 

they shared another story about “happy,” someone asked, “Are you sure 

they’re not saying, ‘copy so far’?” The looks on their faces, when they considered that, were priceless. We imagined the Italians somewhere discussing how strange Marines were for their constant reporting of their state of 

happiness. 

For me, the war was on two separate planes; I was both an actor and 

an observer. I, like the authors and others who have gone before, experienced a wide range of emotions while deployed, including the fear of the 

unknown (and the known), the dismay at the losses, the joy of camaraderie, the boredom of waiting, the monotony of meals, ready to eat, the pride 

in the actions of my Marines, the incredible nature of some of the situations 

I found myself in, and the state of being uncomfortable, dirty, exhausted, 

and sick. I feel guilty, at times, that my stories are silly and can seem to 

make light of a time that had a devastating effect on others. But I remember and share the stories above because they make me smile. For me, they 

do not take away the twinge I feel when I remember those who did not 

come back whole or those who did not come back at all. This volume is 

dedicated to those Marines. 

In the introduction, Dr. Paolo G. Tripodi gives a brief history of the 

telling of war stories first from military historian, war correspondents 
Preface | xix

then to the firsthand accounts from American servicemembers. Citing past 

conflicts of World War II and Vietnam, Tripodi notes the effect that public 

support for a war has on its combat veterans upon their return home from 

warzones. That hometown attitude coupled with the raw experiences of 

combat are what veterans wrestle with every day, Tripodi argues. For this 

reason, understanding wartime experiences, although important, is not 

easy for civilians. 

In chapter 1, “Captain Doug Zembiec,” Sergeant Major William S. 

Skiles shares a story from his time as a first sergeant for Echo Company, 2d 

Battalion, 1st Marine Regiment (1st Marines). As the chapter title reveals, 

the hero of his story is Captain Douglas A. Zembiec, then company commander. Zembiec was a Marine officer who distinguished himself in many 

areas, and excelled in leadership. The setting is a tough deployment to Iraq 

in 2004. For Skiles, this essay was a labor of love. “Humility” and “compassion” are the words most often used to describe Zembiec, “the lion of 

Fallujah,” with ample evidence to support their appropriateness. In Fallujah, Zembiec and Skiles were a cohesive command team that led their 

Marines through intense fighting. The captain was larger than life but not 

larger than death. Skiles brings the reader through his first meeting with 

Zembiec, their deployment, and to the day of the notification of Zembiec’s 

death. 

Chapter 2, “The Unspoken Leadership Challenges of Command,” 

written by Colonel Brian S. Christmas, focuses on the death of Marines and 

the impact on their units and families. Christmas’s story is unique, centering not on the battlefield but on family—his own and the families of his 

Marines. Marine families are actual characters in his essay, not an afterthought, and are central to the mission, not bystanders. Christmas begins 

thinking of families and their roles before the 3d Battalion, 6th Marines’ 

2010 deployment to Marjah, Afghanistan, and includes casualty notifications in his staff’s training. Families were never far from his thoughts. 

When deployed and faced with mounting casualties, Christmas shared his 

notes to the families of deceased Marines. Christmas does not recount tales 

of battle and bravery but focuses on their effects. 
xx | Preface

Chapter 3 also focuses on family with a very personal story shared 

by Captain Matthew C. Fallon. In “A Fellow Marine in Combat,” Fallon 

describes his combat experience in Afghanistan with intense detail and 

compassion. The true focus of his story falls after the battle. Marines have 

described family and home as being put on pause when they deploy. For 

families who lose a loved one, that pause is everlasting. Fallon’s story 

shares both sides, of going to war and of watching a loved one go to war. 

His younger brother followed him into the Marine Corps and became an 

infantry officer. In the essay, Fallon watches his brother board a bus for the 

airport amid a sea of Marines’ family members. Fallon then deals with sporadic communication, and—just hours before Fallon’s own deployment—

he gets the phone call no one wants to receive, his brother was badly 

wounded. When he returns home, all that he left behind—including emotions—is pushed abruptly to the foreground. 

In chapter 4, “The Cobra, the Convoy, and a Crisis of Faith,” Lieutenant 

Colonel Wayne R. Beyer Jr., a pilot, reflects on his own conflicting thoughts 

and feelings regarding his role in the Iraq War. His story includes a scattering of meaningful moments—a moment with a priest from his childhood, a 

moment with a Marine fuel truck driver, and a moment with a fellow pilot. 

As a man of faith, Beyer finds that participating in war from the sky does 

not lessen the human impact. He focuses on his faith both in the beginning 

as he contemplates joining the Service and in the end as he comes to grips 

with what he did during the war. In the moment of battle, rote memorization and training are what carry him through. 

In chapter 5, “The Bastards’ Shepherd,” Navy Commander Brian D. 

Weigelt, a chaplain with the 2d Battalion, 4th Marines, in 2004, tells his own 

story of faith and doubt. Weigelt went to the Iraq War unarmed, though his 

own personal safety was seldom at the top of his mind. Weigelt’s time deployed to combat is fraught with self-doubt and concern that he would not 

be enough for his flock. The chaplain’s tale is about sadness and strength, 

being strong for others while experiencing the same challenges. His story is 

about pride and humility, being proud of those with whom he served and 

feeling humble at being accepted by them. 
Preface | xxi

In chapter 6, “Trust Among . . . Allies?,” Staff Sergeant Michael R. 

Moyer provides an enlisted Marine’s perspective on the war in Afghanistan. He writes an emotional story about his experience in 2004 working 

with the Afghan National Army and Afghan National Police. His story includes a numbness in recalling the hard and cold facts of the deployment. 

He begins with anticipation as his unit, the 1st Battalion, 2d Marines, trains. 

Once in country, he meets Afghans and realizes that his own face is just 

another in a long line that the Afghans have and will meet. Moyer writes of 

fear, not for himself but for the Marines in his charge. He shares an intense 

desire to go into battle—to test oneself—combined with an intense desire 

not to lose anyone. He describes children being blown up. He worries 

about creating civilian casualties. When he returns home, Moyer wrestles 

with bitter feelings of pride for doing what few have done and anger for 

others who have not.

In chapter 7, “A Woman in Charge,” Major Aniela K. Szymanski offers 

a wartime story on a different side of the combat operations spectrum—

what comes after the combat, missions that are enabled by the clearing out 

of enemy targets. Szymanski and her team deliver on the promises Staff 

Sergeant Moyer felt were not kept. Her story also gives insight into three 

things she contended with during her deployment: being a woman, being 

a reservist, and being in civil affairs. Ironically, she notes that the only 

people who took issue with her gender were senior Marines in positions 

of leadership. The Marines in her charge, other troops, and Afghan citizens 

were not concerned at all by her gender or felt more comfortable coming 

to her to share their observations, concerns, and needs. Her civil affairs 

mission was the true challenge as she encountered policies and Marines 

who gave the mission lip service, but failed to be attentive to or address the 

true requirements of success. She tells of farm projects that needed simple 

solutions that were difficult to attain because of bureaucracy and infantry 

Marines who were concerned with security. Her frustration is evident, but 

so too is her pride. Szymanski is proud of the Marines who set the conditions for her mission. She is proud of her team members and their ability to 

solve problems despite the constraints of the situation. 
In chapter 8, “Crowd Control,” First Sergeant Nicanor A. Galvan also 

shares Marines’ frustrations, but is self-directed. Galvan looks back on his 

2003 tour in Iraq, when he was a sergeant, with the patience and maturity 

of an older man. He gives a detailed story of one mission, which he had 

not trained to accomplish. The combat mission he trained for—the march 

to Baghdad, Iraq, the mission that put him where he was—serves as the 

prequel. When his squad is assigned the noncombat task of controlling a 

crowd outside of a bank, Galvan and his squad are challenged by a crowd 

of Iraqis who just want to be paid. He matter-of-factly shares his frustrations and, in reflection, can see that he did not handle the situation as well 

as he could have. His story is one of regret. He regrets how he treated the 

Iraqi people. The word training is bandied about in the military. His story 

shows the consequences of what can happen when the training does not 

match the mission. 

Noncombat missions are not uncommon in combat zones, and some 

Marines are trained for them. As chapter 9’s title reveals, “The Advisor” 

tells one such story. Colonel Daniel L. Yaroslaski uses the paving of a 

road to detail the nuances of working with Afghans and to explain how 

a comment he heard during training served him well in his mission. This 

rings true here. In Yaroslaski’s story, he has plenty of exasperations with 

the way things are done. He admits mistakes and comes to appreciate what 

Afghans work with in terms of resources and expectations. 

In chapter 10, “A Logistician’s Preparation for Combat,” Lieutenant 

Colonel Clifton B. Carpenter presents another noncombat mission. Carpenter, who served as the 24th Marine Expeditionary Unit (24th MEU) logistics 

officer during the unit’s 2008 deployment to Afghanistan, focuses on three 

topics: the unit (he is an advocate of the MEU as a training ground); family 

(he is married to another Marine; in true logistician fashion, they war game 

their family readiness); and individual breaking points (he discovers true 

humility when he realizes he understands very little of what his subordinates are responsible for). I actually deployed with Carpenter. Any doubts 

he had about his ability were transparent. I, as a captain, thought thenMajor Carpenter was one of the strongest and most capable officers on the 

xxii | Preface
staff. Nothing was too difficult for him to make happen. And if he thought 

something was going to be impossible or difficult, I never saw it reflected in his words or actions. I had no doubts the Marine expeditionary unit 

would get where it needed to be with what it needed. 

Chapter 11, “A Perspective on Leadership Attributes in Combat,” explores the responsibilities of Major Benjamin P. Wagner, who as a captain 

in Afghanistan had an incredible duty in terms of area, numbers, and missions. His essay focuses on leadership, and he tells the stories of fellow 

Marines who deployed and embodied the qualities he values—competency, grace, dignity, and judgment. 

Lieutenant Colonel Kelly Frushour*4

*

 LtCol Frushour is a public affairs officer (PAO) with the U.S. Marine Corps. She has served as 

the PAO for 3d Marine Division, 2d Marine Division, 2d Marine Expeditionary Brigade (during 

its Iraq deployment in 2003), 24th Marine Expeditionary Unit (during the unit’s Afghanistan 

deployment in 2008), and II Marine Expeditionary Force. She has also served as an aide-de-camp 

for the deputy commander of Fleet Marine Forces Atlantic, Marine Forces South, and Marines 

Forces Europe; as the speechwriter for the Assistant Commandant of the Marine Corps; as an 

instructor/company commander at The Basic School; and, at that time of this publication, as 

the commanding officer of Region 7 (North and West Africa), Marine Corps Embassy Security 

Group.

Preface | xxiii

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

This acknowledgment should start with a special thanks to my coeditor, 

Kelly; to a dear friend, Carroll, who has always been ready and happy to 

discuss this and other projects with me; and to all the authors for their contributions. If this was a normal book, it would just be appropriate to thank 

them for their commitment to preparing this book, but this is not the culmination of a normal project. The authors, who have provided so many 

personal, intimate, and enlightening contributions, are Marines and a 

Navy chaplain who have served in war. We acknowledge and thank them, 

first and foremost, for their service, their decision to sacrifice their lives, 

if necessary, and the hardship they put their families through when they 

decided to serve, especially when deployed in harm’s way. For what they 

experienced and went through—thank you! We are indebted to them all 

for their decision to write about their experiences going to war, not an easy 

thing to do. They made this book possible.

I am particularly grateful to Marine Corps University Press (MCUP). 

What a great crew. MCUP is a young, yet quickly maturing, professional 

press. Angela Anderson, the senior editor, Alexandra Kindell, the acquisitions editor, and Jennifer Clampet, the manuscript editor, through their 

xxv
xxvi | Acknowledgments

commitment, passion, and time supported this project. They have been 

instrumental in making the book such a solid product. Graphic designer 

Robert Kocher’s creativity continues to amaze and impress me.

Both Colonel Scott Erdelatz and Dr. James Van Zummeren, the Lejeune 

Leadership Institute director and deputy director, have always encouraged 

and supported this project. Their constant interest in the book has been extremely valuable. They have provided, and continue to provide, the type of 

leadership that allows projects like this flourish. 

Finally, I owe a special thanks to my wife, Jenny, and my son, Antonio, 

for their love and constant support. 

Dr. Paolo G. Tripodi
AAR After action report

AAV Amphibious assault vehicle

ANA Afghan National Army

ANP Afghan National Police

ANSF Afghan National Security Force

AO Area of operation

AOR Area of responsibility

APOBS Antipersonnel obstacle breaching system

AWS Amphibious Warfare School

BAS Battalion aid station

BDA Battle damage assessment

BLT Battalion landing team

LIST OF ABBREVIATIONS

xxvii
xxviii | Abbreviations

CAAT Combined antiarmor team

CAG Civil affairs group

CAS Close air support

CAX Combined arms exercise

CFT Combat fitness test

COC Combat operations center

COIN Counterinsurgency

COP Combat outpost

DASC Direct air support center

DASC(A) Direct air support center (airborne)

DEA U.S. Drug Enforcement Administration 

DM Designated marksman

DSF District Stability Framework

ECM Electronic countermeasure

ECP Entry control point

ETT Embedded training team

EWS Expeditionary Warfare School

FAC Forward air controller

FARP Forward arming and refueling point

FOB Forward operating base

FRO Family readiness officer
Abbreviations | xxix

GWOT Global War on Terrorism

H&S Headquarters and support (company)

HET Human intelligence exploitation team

HMLA Marine light attack helicopter squadron

HMLAT Marine light attack helicopter training squadron 

HMMWV High Mobility Multipurpose Wheeled Vehicle or humvee

IED Improvised explosive device

IOC Infantry Officer Course

ISAF International Security Assistance Force

ISCI Interim Security for Critical Infrastructure

ISR Intelligence, surveillance, and reconnaissance

LAR Light armored reconnaissance

LAV Light armored vehicle

LOE Line of effort

LOI Letter of instruction

LOO Line of operation

LP Listening post

LZ Landing zone

MAGTF Marine air-ground task force

MarDiv Marine division

MARSOC Marine Corps Special Operations Command
xxx | Abbreviations

MATV MRAP all-terrain vehicle

MCAS Marine Corps air station

MCB Marine Corps base

MCCS Marine Corps Community Services 

MCDP Marine Corps Doctrinal Publication

MCWP Marine Corps Warfighting Publication

MEF Marine expeditionary force

MEU Marine expeditionary unit

MEU (SOC) Marine expeditionary unit (special operations capable)

MOPP Mission-oriented protective posture

MOS Military occupational specialty

MRAP Mine-resistant ambush protected vehicle

MRE Meals, ready to eat

MSR Main supply route

MWSS Marine wing support squadron

NATO North Atlantic Treaty Organization

NBC Nuclear, biological, and chemical

NCO Noncommissioned officer

NEO Noncombatant evacuation operation

NROTC Naval Reserve Officer Training Corps

NVG Night vision goggles
OCS Officer Candidate School

OEF Operation Enduring Freedom

OIF Operation Iraqi Freedom

OP Observation post

OSO Officer selection officer

PAO Public affairs officer

PB Patrol base

PCS Permanent change of station

PFC Private first class

PFT Physical fitness test

PID Positive identification

PITMOV Preparation is the mother of victory

PLC Platoon Leaders Class

PME Professional military education

PRT Provincial reconstruction team

PSD Protective security detachment

PTSD Post-traumatic stress disorder

QRF Quick reaction force

RC Regional Command

RCT Regimental combat team

RPG Rocket-propelled grenades

Abbreviations | xxxi
RTB Return to base

Seabees Navy construction unit (from CB for construction battalion)

SNCO Staff noncommissioned officer

SOC Special operations capable

SOTG Special operations training group

TBI Traumatic brain injury

TBS The Basic School

UAV Unmanned aerial vehicle

UDP Unit deployment program

UPFRP Unit, Personal, and Family Readiness Program

USAID U.S. Agency for International Development

WTB Warrior transition briefs 

WTI Weapons and tactics instructor

XO Executive officer

xxxii | Abbreviations
THE EXPERIENCE OF GOING TO WAR: 

WORLD WAR II, VIETNAM, AFGHANISTAN, AND IRAQ

PAOLO G. TRIPODI

The experience of going to war, whether in a combat zone or in a support 

role, is extremely powerful. It is an experience that defines all who have 

served. Servicemen and women who have been to war have gone through 

what can be considered a wide range of highly amplified emotions. Those 

among us who have never been at war struggle to understand how intimate 

and powerful such an experience can be and to grasp what veterans have 

gone through, what they did, saw, and felt. Soldiers and Marines experience contradictory and, sometimes, disturbing feelings. On the one hand, 

they may fear being killed, but also be elated or saddened at taking the life 

of another. As so many have written, those in battle oscillate between the 

ensuing adrenaline rush from the excitement of combat and the extended 

periods of boredom. Participating in war requires patience with the “hurry 

up and wait” mentality as well as the unique type of boredom that emerges 

INTRODUCTION

1
even in the midst of danger. Tim O’Brien, a Vietnam veteran, explained it 

best in his novel The Things They Carried: 

Even in the deep bush, where you could die any number of ways, 

the war was nakedly and aggressively boring. But it was a strange 

boredom. It was boredom with a twist. The kind of boredom that 

caused stomach disorders. You’d be sitting at the top of a high hill 

. . . and the day would be calm and hot and utterly vacant, and you’d 

feel the boredom dripping inside you like a leaky faucet, except 

it was not water, it was a sort of acid, and with each little droplet 

you’d feel the stuff eating away at important organs. You’d try to 

relax . . . Well, you’d think, this isn’t so bad. And right then you’d 

hear gunfire behind you and your nuts would fly up into your 

throat and you’d be squealing pig squeals. That kind of boredom.1

These are emotions that veterans of battle understand while most cannot 

even fathom the depths of despair and exhilaration felt in these moments.

The desire to understand the human experience of going to war has 

inspired the work of outstanding and gifted writers, their books have given 

us a grasp of that experience. Several authors have provided us with a profound understanding of how war impacts human beings. John Keegan, one 

of the most distinguished and prolific British military historians, opens his 

book, The Face of Battle: A Study of Agincourt, Waterloo, and the Somme, with 

an enlightening narrative. Keegan begins his exploration of the experience 

of battle by emphasizing the difficulty of understanding such experience 

for those who have not lived it directly. “I have not been in a battle; not 

near one, nor heard one from afar, nor seen the aftermath,” he wrote. Yet 

Keegan studied that experience with rare intellectual passion. “I have read 

about battles . . . have talked about battles, have been lectured about battles, 

and. . . . have watched battles in progress, or apparently in progress on the 

television screen.” Not only did Keegan study military history and battles 

for nearly two decades as a lecturer at the British Army Royal Military 

Academy-Sandhurst, he was also instrumental in the education of several 

1

 Tim O’Brien, The Things They Carried (New York: Broadway Books, 1998), 34.

2 | Paolo G. Tripodi
generations of British Army officers. He had lived among those who had 

direct experience with war, combat, and battles, and yet he felt the need to 

share with readers of his book that, “I grow increasingly convinced that I 

have very little idea of what a battle can be like.”2 However, Keegan found 

a way to describe battles from eras long gone with meaning and insight. 

Other scholars have combined their military experience with their academic knowledge. In Acts of War: The Behavior of Men in Battle, Richard 

Holmes, another British historian, takes the reader through a fascinating 

and eye-opening journey, exploring areas that are emotionally similar for 

soldiers throughout many modern conflicts.3 Unlike Keegan, Holmes is not 

concerned about his lack of wartime experience. Parallel to his academic 

achievements, Holmes had a military career, and although he never deployed to a war zone, he felt comfortable in exploring the impact of war 

on the individual soldier. At a young age, Holmes joined the British Territorial Army and eventually became a brigadier general. Holmes provides 

an insightful analysis of the experience of war, with its complexities, including psychological, and consequences for soldiers of all backgrounds. In 

the 1980s, Keegan and Holmes teamed up to produce the well-received 13 

episodes of the British Broadcasting Corporation’s documentary Soldiers: A 

History of Men in Battle. Indeed, Keegan’s and Holmes’s books and their additional television work provide an excellent understanding, at least in part, 

of the war experience. 

Until the twenty-first century, it was mainly historians, specifically military historians, who explored, analyzed, and wrote about the experiences 

of war. In smaller but nonetheless important numbers, war correspondents 

and journalists wrote about that war experience. One of the most respected 

war reporters was Ernest T. “Ernie” Pyle, whose articles and chronicles of 

World War II appeared in several newspapers. Pyle’s columns from June 

1943 to September 1944 were published in the book Brave Men, which tells 

2

 John Keegan, The Face of Battle: A Study of Agincourt, Waterloo, and the Somme (New York: 

Penguin Books, 1978), 13.

3

 Richard Holmes, Acts of War: The Behavior of Men in Battle (New York: Simon & Schuster, 

1985). 

Introduction | 3
the story of soldiers at war. Pyle lived firsthand the experience of combat 

in Africa, Europe, and later the Pacific. While on this final assignment, Pyle 

who was then attached to the U.S. Army 77th Infantry Division on an island 

close to Okinawa, Japan, was killed by Japanese fire. He was posthumously 

awarded the Purple Heart. In Brave Men, Pyle made no effort to disguise his 

respect and sympathy for the infantry soldiers more than members of any 

other Service. Pyle stressed how the frontline soldier

lived for months like an animal, and was a veteran in the cruel, fierce 

world of death. Everything was abnormal and unstable in his life. He 

was filthy dirty, ate if and when, slept on hard ground without cover. 

His clothes were greasy and lived in a constant haze of dust, pestered by flies, and heat, moving constantly, deprived of all things that 

once meant stability—things such as walls, chairs, floors, windows, 

faucets, shelves, Coca-Colas, and the little matter of knowing that he 

would go to bed at night in the same place he had left in the morning.4

Pyle wrote of the soldiers’ lives as if their grit infected the ink in his pen. 

Indeed, those who deployed during World War II, in addition to facing 

horrifying battlefield situations, often lived in extremely uncomfortable conditions. Many GIs who landed in North Africa in 1943—and were lucky 

to survive the terrible battles—fought for a few years in Italy, France, and 

Germany until the war was over. 

Much like those GIs who faced the horrible challenges of landing in 

Normandy on D-Day, young Marines in the Pacific theater were in a similar 

situation. They faced the horror of multiple landings in places fiercely and 

heavily defended by Japanese soldiers who were fully aware that any inch 

of ground given up brought the United States closer to victory. 

Unlike historians, and in a different way from war correspondents, these 

soldiers and Marines developed a much more emotional and personal understanding of such a powerful experience. Those veterans who decided 

to share their experience were in a unique position to provide the story 

from inside. They had experienced death, killing, fear, grief. They walked 

4

 Ernie Pyle, Brave Men (New York: Henry Holt and Co., 1944), 5.

4 | Paolo G. Tripodi
alongside evil and, in some cases, stepped right into it. For many of them, 

the intensity of the emotions and circumstances were extremely traumatic. 

Several of the most insightful books by World War II veterans were written 

and published decades after the end of the conflict. Although time never 

fully healed the impact the war made on them, at least it made them able to 

cope with their past and reflect on their experience of war. With time, they 

were able to share such an experience with those who never had a taste of it. 

J. Glenn Gray of Mifflintown, Pennsylvania, was one of the many GIs 

for whom service in the U.S. Army started a few months before the Japanese 

attack on Pearl Harbor in December 1941 and ended months after Berlin had 

fallen in May 1945. During those four years, Grey participated in several 

campaigns and battles and experienced a range of powerful emotions. His 

book, The Warriors: Reflections on Men in Battle, was published in 1954, nearly 

a decade after the end of the war. Gray was a particularly qualified observer 

of men at war, not only because of his extensive experience, but also because 

of his educational background. He had received his PhD in philosophy from 

Columbia University, while he was also drafted in the U.S. Army, and after 

the war, he became a philosopher and a professor at Colorado College. His 

observation of men at war is compelling and continues to enlighten readers 

today. Gray provides an intimate analysis of how conflicting emotions and 

highly unusual behavior became normal for soldiers who faced the challenges of landing on enemy territory, were targeted by enemy fire, and lived 

through enemy air raids. In anticipation of landing, soldiers’ “[m]oods of 

fear, anticipation, helplessness, praying and cursing, adventure and longing 

succeed each other like lightning.”5 When describing the impact of combat 

on the individual soldier, Gray notes how, in the same individual, inhuman 

cruelty could easily be replaced by superhuman kindness. He wrote that 

“Again and again in moments of this kind I was as much inspired by the nobility of some of my fellows as appalled by the animality of others, or, more 

exactly, by both qualities in the same person.”6 Gray stresses how the experience of war and combat removed many, if not all, inhibitions from those 

5

 J. Glenn Gray, The Warriors: Reflections on Men in Battle (Lincoln, NE: Bison Books, 1998), 13. 6

 Ibid., 14–15.

Introduction | 5
men. Their unfiltered behavior was spontaneous, a reaction to the highly 

emotional environment. Those millions of men who learned to live in such 

a highly charged and often confusing emotional environment, “have discovered in it a powerful fascination . . . many men both hate and love combat. 

They know why they hate it; it is harder to know and to be articulate about 

why they love it.”7

While Gray was 30 years old when he arrived in North Africa in 1942, 

Eugene Sledge of Mobile, Alabama, was not yet 18 when he joined the U.S. 

Marine Corps. Sledge dropped out of an officers training program and enlisted to ensure he would deploy and join combat against the Japanese. 

“Sledgehammer,” as he was called by his fellow Marines, participated and 

survived two bloody landings in which thousands of Marines were killed: 

Peleliu in the Palau Islands and Okinawa. His experiences were terrifying 

and likely also traumatic. Against regulations, while deployed in combat, 

he recorded those experiences in notes scribbled in a pocket-size copy of the 

New Testament that he always carried with him. In 1981, more than three 

decades after Sledge left active duty, he published With the Old Breed: At 

Peleliu and Okinawa. The book’s brief preface provides an excellent key to 

understanding Sledge’s mind-set as he worked through his memories and 

recollections of the war. 

My Pacific war experiences have haunted me and it has been a 

burden to retain this story. But time heals, and the nightmares no 

longer wake me in a cold sweat with pounding heart and racing 

pulse. Now I can write this story, painful though it is to do so. In 

writing it I am fulfilling an obligation I have long felt to my comrades in the 1st Marine Division, all of whom suffered so much 

for our country. None came out unscathed. Many gave their 

lives, many their health, and some their sanity. All who survived will long remember the horror they would rather forget.8

7

 Ibid., 28.

8

 E. B. Sledge, With the Old Breed: At Peleliu and Okinawa (New York: Ballantine Books, 2010), 

xiii–xiv.

6 | Paolo G. Tripodi
The Pacific theater was terrifying. The anticipation for Sledge’s first combat 

experience, the landing on Peleliu, was overwhelming. With his fellow 

Marines ready to land on the small island, he was ordered to get on the 

landing vehicle and wait for a Navy officer to give the order to head toward 

the beach. 

We waited a seeming eternity for the signal to start toward the beach. 

The suspense was almost more than I could bear . . . I broke out in 

a cold sweat as the tension mounted with the intensity of the bombardment. My stomach was tied in knots. I had a lump in my throat 

and swallowed only with great difficulty. My knees nearly buckled. I 

clung weakly to the side of the tractor. I felt nauseated and feared that 

my bladder would surely empty itself and reveal me to be the coward 

I was. But the men around me looked just about the way I felt.9

Finally, as Sledge was going through all these emotions, the Navy officer 

gave the signal that they could begin moving toward the beach. The noise of 

the amphibious tractor engine became extremely loud and the Marines went 

toward a “frightful spectacle,” seemingly drawing them “into the vortex of 

a flaming abyss.”10

For those young Marines who were lucky to survive the “flaming 

abyss,” life would never be the same. The fear of being killed was matched 

only by the fear of losing a fellow soldier or Marine. The bond among fellow 

soldiers created by war has been and always will be very strong. In such an 

environment, individuals are ready to do unthinkable things and deeds for 

each other. 

The young Americans who volunteered, or were drafted, to fight in 

World War II were motivated by the Japanese attack on Pearl Harbor. The 

unprovoked attack against the U.S. naval base in the Pacific was a motivating and inspiring factor for the American public overall. Yet, the attack only 

convinced Americans why the nation should face the Japanese in battle, but 

that conviction was not immediately connected with the war that raged in 

9

 Ibid., 55–56.

10 Ibid., 55.

Introduction | 7
Europe at the same time. As information became known about Nazi brutality against the Jewish people and civilians in the occupied countries, the 

war increasingly became portrayed as one of “good” versus “evil.” Many 

young Americans wanted to be a part of it. General Dwight D. Eisenhower, more effectively than many of his contemporaries, captured the sentiment of a majority of servicemembers who fought in the European theater. 

After visiting many concentration camps and witnessing the magnitude of 

the evil perpetrated in those terrible places, he said, “We are told that the 

American soldier does not know what he is fighting for. Now, at least, he 

will know what he is fighting against.”11 Eisenhower’s feeling was reflected 

and shared by soldiers on the ground. In April 1945, after liberating Kaufering concentration camp, Army Major Richard D. “Dick” Winters of New 

Holland, Pennsylvania, and his paratroopers of the 101st Airborne Division 

were overwhelmed by the horror.12 The images of death and immense suffering were difficult to comprehend. The now unveiled project of genocide 

provided instant clarity on why those American GIs had fought and died for 

months against the Nazis. Winters wrote: 

As I went through the war it was natural to ask myself, Why am I here? 

Why am I putting up with the freezing cold, the constant rain, and the loss of 

many comrades? Does anybody care? A soldier faces death on a daily basis 

and his life is one of misery and deprivation. He is cold, he suffers from 

hunger, frequently bordering on starvation. The impact of seeing those 

people behind that fence left me saying, if only to myself, Now I know 

why I am here! For the first time I understand what this war is all about.13

American servicemembers in Europe and in the Pacific, were joyously welcomed by the population of the countries that they liberated from the brutal 

occupation of the Germans and Japanese. With their jobs done, they were 

celebrated upon their return to the United States. Newspaper articles, movie 

11 Gen Eisenhower as quoted in Michael S. Sherry, In the Shadow of War: The United States Since 

the 1930s (New Haven, CT: Yale University Press, 1995), 91. 12 Kaufering and Mühldorf were two subcamps of the Dachau concentration camp in Bavaria.

13 Maj Dick Winters, Beyond Band of Brothers: The War Memoirs of Major Dick Winters, contrib. 

Col Cole C. Kingseed (New York: Berkley Caliber, 2006), 215. Emphasis in original.

8 | Paolo G. Tripodi
reels, and parades announced the success of the Allies and its American 

members. Soldiers and Marines enjoyed a sense of great accomplishment, 

and society did not miss an opportunity to acknowledge what they had 

done, and their sacrifices, missing no occasion to celebrate them.

A few decades later, the American society struggled to understand the 

U.S. commitment in Vietnam and so did many of the young Americans who 

were sent to fight there. During the Vietnam war, servicemembers’ experiences differed significantly from those of World War II veterans. Two sociologists, Ellen Frey-Wouters and Robert S. Laufer, investigated how the 

generation that went to Vietnam perceived war experiences. In Legacy of a 

War: The American Soldier in Vietnam, they note that “Vietnam was a strange 

and dangerous place for American soldiers” and “veterans admitted that 

upon arrival in Vietnam they experienced doubts about why they were 

there. Questions arose in their mind about the meaning of the war. They felt 

they were ‘the liberators,’ but [unlike the World War II veterans] they have 

no clear picture of what ‘the liberation’ was all about.”14 For many of the 

interviewed veterans, their first impressions stemmed from a negative reaction of the locals despite the servicemembers altruistic goals.15

O’Brien of Austin, Minnesota—a Vietnam veteran who served with the 

U.S. Army—was among those who had a hard time understanding the U.S. 

military commitment in that region of the world. Shortly after graduating 

from Macalester College, he was drafted to fight a war he “hated.” In his 

mind, “[T]he American war in Vietnam seemed to me wrong. Certain blood 

was being shed for uncertain reason . . . The very facts were shrouded in 

uncertainty: Was it a civil war? A war of national liberation or simple aggression? Who started it and when and why?”16 O’Brien’s sentiment about 

the war was not unique. The impact the war had on American society was 

well described by another veteran, former Marine Lieutenant Philip Caputo 

of Westchester, Illinois. In Caputo’s view, “Vietnam was the epicenter of a 

14 Ellen Frey-Wouters and Robert S. Laufer, Legacy of a War: The American Soldier in Vietnam

(London: Routledge, 1988), 5. 

15 Ibid., 6.

16 O’Brien, The Things They Carried, 40.

Introduction | 9
cultural, social, and political quake that sundered us like no other event 

since the Civil War.”17

For American soldiers and Marines, the battlefields in Vietnam were 

significantly more chaotic than the ones veterans faced during World War 

II, and certainly the Vietnam War was more complex and ambiguous. Soldiers and Marines deployed to the Southeast Asian country encountered 

volatile frontlines. Often there were none. The enemy they faced was a 

combination of regular and guerrilla forces. Frequently, combat took place 

in an environment with a significant presence of civilians, who may have 

been neutral, but often were hostile to the American troops. Describing the 

conflict in Vietnam, Caputo wrote that it “combined the two most bitter 

forms of warfare, civil war and revolution, to which it was added the ferocity of jungle war.”18 Such an extremely hostile environment—a source 

of constant frustration and fear—quickly took a toll on the troops. Ghostly 

snipers, booby traps, and mines were common features of the war environment. Difficulty in identifying the enemy and hitting them was a major 

frustration. The enemy, who seamlessly blended with the civilian population, applied an irritating hit-and-run tactic. Anybody could be the enemy. 

Caputo stressed that “Some men could not withstand the stress of guerrilla 

fighting: the hair-trigger alertness constantly demanded of them, the feeling 

that the enemy was everywhere, the inability to distinguish civilians from 

combatants created emotional pressures which built to such a point that a 

trivial provocation could make these men explode with the blind destructiveness of a mortar shell.”19

The cumbersome experience of fighting in the jungle wore on the troops’ 

nerves and psyches. The enemy proved difficult to spot and to engage. For 

O’Brien, the enemy was a ghost that came out late at night when “it seemed 

that all of Vietnam was alive and shimmering—odd shapes swaying in the 

paddies, boogiemen in sandals, spirits dancing in old pagodas.” To the 

American soldier, the enemy ghost “could blend with the land, changing 

17 Philip Caputo, A Rumor of War (New York: Macmillan, 1996), 353. 18 Ibid., xviii.

19 Ibid., xix.

10 | Paolo G. Tripodi
form, becoming trees and grass. He could levitate. He could fly. He could 

pass through barbed wire and melt away like ice and creep up on you 

without sound of footsteps. He was scary.”20 O’Brien provides an elegant 

and, at the same time, accurate description of what the encounter with the 

enemy was like and how terrifying these experiences were. Employing guerrilla warfare, the astute and versatile enemy became invisible among the 

Vietnamese people and seemed to be gifted with magical powers used to 

attack and kill Americans. In a short period of time, thousands of young 

American troops were killed in Vietnam, and more feared the same fate.

It did not take long for this grim reality to be known to Americans back 

home. 

The Vietnam War became the first televised conflict. New technology 

and the growing popularity of home television sets allowed Americans to 

view daily coverage of the conflict. Journalists and war correspondents used 

the advancing medium in an effective way, providing Americans with constant updates of the conflict and the images that often graphically narrated 

death and destruction. By 1960, nearly 90 percent of American homes had a 

television set, priming the country for a different kind of dialogue between 

society and the government about the conflict.21 Opposition to the war that 

had started on a small scale in 1965 had grown significantly by 1967. In 

that year, more than 15,000 troops were killed and more than 100,000 were 

wounded. Veterans who returned home, however, encountered a divided 

society that provided, at best, a lukewarm welcome and, at worst, hostile 

confrontations.

Karl Marlantes of Astoria, Oregon—a Vietnam veteran Marine lieutenant and the author of What It Is Like to Go to War (the memoir that actually inspired the premise for this book)—shared his painful experience of 

coming back from Vietnam and being confronted by hostile people. While 

walking in uniform in Washington, DC, he was followed and insulted by 

a group of young Americans. At Union Station, he boarded a train to New 

20 O’Brien, The Things They Carried, 202. 21 Katie McLaughlin, “5 Surprising Things that 1960s TV Changed,” CNN News, 25 August 

2014, http://www.cnn.com/2014/05/29/showbiz/tv/sixties-five-things-television/.

Introduction | 11
York. While seated during the trip, a woman proceeded to “get up and come 

down the aisle. She was looking right at me, lips pressed tight. She stood in 

front of me and she spit on me . . . I was trembling with shame and embarrassment . . . I wiped her spit off as best I could and pretend to go back to 

reading trying to control the shaking.”22 For many Vietnam veterans, such 

as Marlantes, the public hostility came at a time when servicemembers desperately needed their fellow Americans’ support. Unlike the World War II 

veterans who returned to an elated society offering the warmest welcome, 

Vietnam veterans were ostracized. Their return was not marked with national celebrations as was given for those who fought the righteous war 

against fascism and genocide.

Nearly three decades later, a new generation of soldiers and Marines 

enjoyed an outcry of public support for the war the United States fought 

in Afghanistan and later on in Iraq. Like those who responded to the call 

to arms after Pearl Harbor, the infamous terrorist attacks of 11 September 

2001 motivated young Americans to fight with spirit in one of the country’s longest wars. In many ways, the experience of the terrorist attacks on 

11 September, or 9/11, were similar to the attack against Pearl Harbor in 

1941, but amplified by a few significant differences. The 9/11 attacks targeted mainly civilian facilities with symbolic values, with the exception of the 

Pentagon. While unacceptable, the attack against the U.S. Navy Pacific Fleet 

in 1941 made strategic sense as it intended to debilitate the more powerful 

nation while Japan solidified its position in Asia. In contrast, the 9/11 attack 

targeted harmless civilians and caused the most death and devastation the 

country had ever seen on home soil. The event was also caught on camera. 

Many Americans who had been alerted by the plane hitting the first tower 

turned to their televisions and witnessed the second attack. It was clear that 

what happened on 9/11 was much more than an infamous terrorist attack; 

it was a declaration of war. American society was painfully wounded and, 

at the time, it received the sympathy and support of the world community. 

22 Karl Marlantes, What It Is Like to Go to War (New York: Atlantic Monthly Press, 2011), 177.

12 | Paolo G. Tripodi
The U.S. military that began active preparation to go to war against alQaeda following the 9/11 attack was a significantly different organization 

from the one that had entered World War II and later on the Vietnam War. 

The American military for decades had moved away from the draft to 

create an all-volunteer force, made up with individuals who committed 

themselves to serve. In addition, the number of women in uniform, as well 

as the new capacities in which they could serve, steadily increased. Thousands of women served in both Afghanistan and Iraq, a significant number 

participated in combat, hundreds were killed, and hundreds received the 

Combat Action Ribbon. 

The 2001 attacks inspired thousands of young Americans to enlist, to 

become active players in punishing those responsible for the death and 

destruction of 9/11, and to prevent future attacks against Americans. The 

new military recruits had a sincere desire to serve the country in the most 

dangerous and most honorable way. In a matter of weeks, they were ready 

for war. In less than a month, the U.S. military began operations against the 

Taliban government in Afghanistan. 

The “wars” they were about to fight would present them with old 

and new challenges. The initial belief of many senior political and military 

leaders—that the war would last for just a short period of time—would 

quickly prove to be wrong. For a relatively small, all-volunteer force, sustaining a protracted commitment in two major conflicts would prove to be a 

major challenge. As a result, after more than a decade at war, thousands of 

U.S. servicemembers deployed more than once. The multiple deployments 

took a significant toll on them and their families. 

As troops began their deployments, a considerable number of journalists and war correspondents went along with U.S. and international forces, 

many of whom were “embedded.” In Afghanistan and later on in Iraq, the 

number of journalists and war reporters grew dramatically in comparison 

to previous conflicts. The availability of new communication technologies 

made reporting from war zones a significantly easier job, even though the 

war environment was, in many ways, very dangerous to them. In addition 

to the daily threats posed by working in a war environment, terrorist orgaIntroduction | 13
nizations preyed on them as easy targets and had no hesitation about killing 

them. Sadly, the number of reporters killed in war zones indeed grew. The 

current generation of war correspondents, in many cases, wanted to provide 

a better and more intimate exploration of the psychological and emotional 

impact that the war has on the individuals who fight it. One of the most accomplished and celebrated war correspondents, Sebastian Junger, deployed 

several times and for months with Army units in the middle of combat 

zones in Afghanistan. Junger’s reporting was enlightening because he was 

in the midst of the battles that raged from the roads to towns as well as more 

traditional battle sites. In such books as War and such documentaries as Restrepo and Korengal, Junger provides a powerful narrative of the complexities 

of being at war.23

While veteran reporters returned to inform the public, a new generation 

of veterans from various U.S. military branches also came home to reflect 

upon their experiences. These veterans provided the most compelling narratives about the wars, sharing their experiences with fellow servicemembers 

and the American public. In their books and essays, they explore the complexities and challenges of fighting a different and unusual war—counterinsurgency—from a firsthand perspective. 

In Afghanistan and Iraq, soldiers and Marines operated in exacting environments. In the normal course of operations, they would witness harm 

and misery inflicted on women, children, and other defenseless civilians. 

Such experiences have proved to be extremely powerful. The inability to 

do much or anything at all to protect those in harm’s way is highly frustrating. The enemy’s use of suicide bombers, snipers, and improvised explosive 

devices (IEDs) was problematic and unpredictable and made protecting 

comrades and civilians complicated.

One of the most difficult challenges for the troops that served in both 

Afghanistan and Iraq was to be able to transition from what would be considered a traditional soldier’s role to a number of roles that soldiers and 

Marines operating in a counterinsurgency environment must be able to 

perform. After main military operations were over, soldiers and Marines 

23 Sebastian Junger, War (New York: Twelve, 2011).

14 | Paolo G. Tripodi
were tasked to provide humanitarian assistance, perform crowd control, 

back up law enforcement, and support and protect the local population, 

often an uncertain and sometime hostile population. In this process, they 

were still targets for terrorists, possibly easier targets as their roles shifted 

away from fighting to helping. The experience could be described mildly 

as frustrating, but in reality it was nerve wrecking. At any moment, at any 

intersection, one could be killed or brutally maimed, and thus the sight of 

any garbage bag on the side of the road, potentially an IED, could be the 

cause of great anxiety. The absence of a frontline made it so that once out of 

the “security of the base,” an invisible enemy could strike, kill, and remain 

unpunished. 

In 2004, civilian combat historian Patrick K. O’Donnell joined 1st Platoon, 

Lima Company, 3d Battalion, 1st Marines, in Iraq as the unit engaged in 

urban fighting during the second battle of Fallujah. O’Donnell describes the 

urban fighting as “extremely personnel-intensive and, in terms of casualties, 

one of the most expensive military operations. Clearing building is combat at 

its most primitive. The fight is up close and personal . . . While the Marines’ 

training and technique improved the odds, clearing was inevitably reduced 

to a high stakes game of Russian roulette. Kick the door in and see what’s 

inside: either it’s empty or there’s a machine gun pointed at your head.”24

O’Donnell’s description of urban fighting is echoed in Redeployment by 

Phil Klay of Westchester, New York, a former Marine captain who served in 

Iraq. He wrote that “In a city there’s a million places they can kill you from. 

It freaks you out at first. But you go through like you were trained and it 

works.”25 Enemy forces in Iraq and Afghanistan found methods of killing or 

maiming Americans that brought a new type of deadliness and unpredictability to war.

Dealing with IEDs was probably the most difficult thing to do. Tyler E. 

Boudreau, a former Marine captain, describes the impact of the use of IEDs 

made on servicemembers as “the inflictor of more casualties than any other 

24 Patrick K. O’Donnell, We Were One: Shoulder to Shoulder with the Marines Who Took Fallujah

(Cambridge, MA: Da Capo Press, 2006), 81. 

25 Phil Klay, Redeployment (New York: Penguin Books, 2014), 12.

Introduction | 15
kind of enemy attack, bar none . . . It was what every soldier would remember 

about the war, what every soldier feared most about the war. In our Area of 

Operations, every drive down every road was a round of Russian Roulette.”26

The comparison to Russian roulette is a clear analogy. Conducting patrols was 

a gamble. No matter how well trained and equipped, no matter the intent of 

the mission, whether on patrol to get the enemy or to help build a school or 

a hospital, servicemembers were constantly risking their lives.

After operating in these dangerous environments, the Afghanistan and 

Iraq generation of veterans has strung together narratives of frustration and 

fear along with more traditional stories of camaraderie and pride in their 

work. They feel a strong sense of brotherhood with their comrades, and 

believe they made a significant difference in the local population where they 

served. They are proud of what they accomplished and, in large numbers, 

American servicemembers say they would do it all again. Yet veterans have 

expressed pain over a perceived apathy or distance that the American public 

developed toward the wars. Veterans “have come back to a nation that has 

embraced them—warmly, strongly, positively—and put tremendous value 

and appreciation into their service,” said former U.S. Secretary of Defense 

Charles T. “Chuck” Hagel.27 However, many of these servicemembers did 

not feel the public embrace the war. According to a 2014 Washington Post and 

Kaiser Family Foundation poll, nearly “seven in 10 [veterans] feel that the 

average American routinely misunderstands their experience, and slightly 

more than four in 10 believe the expressions of appreciation showered upon 

veterans—often at airports, bars and sporting events—are just saying what 

people want to hear. More than 1.4 million vets feel disconnected from civilian life.”28

The causes for the disconnect between veterans and those who attempted 

to welcome them home from the front is difficult to pinpoint, but America’s 

historical memory about war can offer some answers. World War II provided 

26 Tyler E. Boudreau, Packing Inferno: The Unmaking of a Marine (Port Townsend, WA: Feral 

House, 2008), 45. 

27 Rajiv Chandrasekaren, “A Legacy of Pain and Pride,” Washington Post, 29 March 2014, http

://www.washingtonpost.com/sf/national/2014/03/29/a-legacy-of-pride-and-pain/.

28 Ibid.

16 | Paolo G. Tripodi
a benchmark for what Americans consider a “good war.” Sixteen million men 

went off to war, leaving behind women, children, and the elderly. Almost 

every American civilian knew someone who went off to war. The American 

public was invested in the war effort with rationing, working in factories, 

collecting recyclables, and buying war bonds. At a time when the nation was 

coming out from the painful 10-year long Great Depression, “victory” over 

tangible and scary foes permeated American culture. Victory was attained 

and marked by VJ Day (or Victory over Japan Day) and VE Day (or Victory 

in Europe Day). World War II had definable players and distinct winners and 

losers. Veterans came home to parades and accolades at the time and they, 

together with their fellow civilian Americans, went down in the annals of 

American history as the “greatest generation.”29

American support for and understanding of the war in Afghanistan and 

Iraq differs greatly. The enemy was tangible after terrorists hijacked four 

planes on 9/11. The entire country had an emotional response similar to the 

reaction to the Pearl Harbor attack. Yet, the players were not as distinct as in 

the past, and the number of those who would be needed to fight were not 

as great either. Although the United States had more than 2.6 million men 

and women serve in Iraq and Afghanistan, this number is remarkably low 

when compared with the more than 9 million who served in the Vietnam War 

during a 10-year period (1965–75) when the population was between 194.3 

and 216 million. The ratio for World War II is even bigger when considering 

that 16 million served during a four-year period (1941–45) at a time when the 

nation’s population was between 133.4 and 139.9 million.30 The percentage 

of those who served in the Afghanistan and Iraq wars was barely 1 percent 

of American society. So while nearly everyone knew someone fighting in 

Europe or the Pacific in the 1940s, very few had family or friends fighting in 

either Afghanistan or Iraq. 

Though the public was supportive of the U.S. troops, they were not socially invested in the war. The cost of the war was added to the national debt. 

29 Tom Brokaw, The Greatest Generation (New York: Random House, 1998). 30 Population statistics for the United States during these periods can be found at “U.S. Population by Year,” http://www.multpl.com/united-states-population/table.

Introduction | 17
Without sacrifices being made on the home front, young veterans felt the 

American society slowly disconnected from the wars. Veterans saw a national 

apathy as those back home continued on with their daily lives, forgetting 

the wars and, therefore, the veterans who were risking and losing their lives 

daily in two vicious conflicts.

Americans may not wholly understand how powerful the experience of 

going to war is, or the feelings expressed by war veterans, but they should 

hear about the experience, while veterans need to share their stories for the 

sake of each other.

This book provides an understanding of what the experience of going to 

war was like for a selected group of veterans of Afghanistan and Iraq wars. 

The essays are written by several Marines and a U.S. Navy chaplain who 

deployed with Marines in combat. Though combat is probably the most 

powerful experience of being at war, many other aspects are also important 

when comprehending fully what going to war is like. Thus, several essays 

deal with the broader experience of being in a war zone and not necessarily 

with combat. Many books provide an excellent understanding of combat, 

this work provides insight on the impact war makes on individuals overall.

The essays in this book convey that going to war is a complex phenomenon that begins before troops even arrive in a war zone and lasts well 

beyond the end of deployment. Going to war makes an impact on individual 

servicemembers, their immediate family, their larger family, and their fellow 

Marines. 

In putting this book together, we asked the authors to write their stories 

with a gritty directness, combining their personal and professional reflections 

to express the emotional impact of their wartime experiences. The authors’ 

language and approaches can, at times, be blunt, and that is by design. As 

editors, we wanted to have the most accessible essays without filtering, interfering or, even worse, compromising the voice of those who have been at war. 

31

*

 Paolo Tripodi is professor of ethics and ethics branch head at the Lejeune Leadership Institute, 

Marine Corps University.

18 | Paolo G. Tripodi
CHAPTER ONE

CAPTAIN DOUG ZEMBIEC

BY SERGEANT MAJOR WILLIAM S. SKILES (RET)

Sergeant Major William S. Skiles served in the U.S. Marine Corps for 32 years. 

During his career, Skiles held a variety of positions including sniper instructor, 

reconnaissance platoon sergeant, Royal Marine exchange instructor, drill instructor, and Marine Corps rifle team shooter. He was decorated three times for his 

heroic combat actions during his deployment to Fallujah, Iraq, in 2004. The following story is focused on that deployment when he served as a first sergeant with 

Echo Company, 2d Battalion, 1st Marines. Skiles reflects on his relationship with 

company commander, Captain Douglas A. Zembiec, and on how Zembiec’s leadership, character, and humility influenced Skiles’s life, as well as the lives of all the 

Marines in Echo Company who saw combat together. Skiles received the Colonel 

Francis F. “Fox” Parry Writing Award for initiative in combat for his January 

2008 Marine Corps Gazette article, “Urban Combat Casualty Evacuation,” 

which covered the same time period depicted in this essay.

19
20 | Sergeant Major William S. Skiles

When the ramp drops tomorrow, who will come out? What type of 

human beings will come out? Will those humans honor their country, 

their corps, and more important, the Marines to their left and right? 

When the ramps dropped from the boats on the beaches of Iwo Jima, 

who came out? When the ramps dropped from the helicopters in 

Vietnam, who came out? Honorable warriors came out to uphold the 

virtues and values by their actions on the battlefield. This is our time 

and our legacy. This is our Vietnam. This is our Okinawa. Carry the 

honor and traditions that formed our great nation into battle. Climb 

aboard, Marines!1

These were the words spoken by Captain Douglas A. Zembiec as he addressed his company of Marines before they entered the city of Fallujah, 

Iraq, in 2004. I was one of those Marines. Why were these words so important? Were these words a way to stop the hatred we felt against the individuals that killed four Americans the day prior? Was it because we had 

weapons in our hands and could take lives with one pull? Was it a reminder that regardless of what we all felt inside, our ethical and moral obligations to each other and this great country of ours should be paramount in 

our minds? By the captain’s words and, more important, his actions, we 

entered and left a battle with a clear conscience and a feeling that we did 

good in the face of extreme adversity. Whenever he spoke to us, we listened. From my first encounter with him, he had a certain way to make me 

believe in his actions and words.

I arrived to 2d Battalion, 1st Marines, on 12 October 2003, as a senior 

first sergeant.2 The sergeant major assigned me to Echo Company and 

paired me with Captain Douglas Zembiec. As I left the sergeant major’s 

office, he said, “good luck with that warrior of officers!” I did not know 

how to take the comment, but soon found out what he meant. 

1

 Capt Douglas Zembiec (speech, Operation Vigilant Resolve, Fallujah, Iraq, 3 April 2004), 

based on author’s recollection. 

2

 The 2d Battalion, 1st Marines, is based at Marine Corps Base Camp Pendleton, CA.
Captain Doug Zembiec | 21

Though I did not know it at the time, meeting Captain Zembiec would 

change my life. As I walked into his office, he dutifully got up and offered 

the type of firm handshake I would expect of a Marine. He said, “First 

Sergeant Skiles, Bill, I’ve been waiting for your arrival, and we are going 

to do good things together.” I reviewed his vision for the 139-man infantry company he commanded, and we discussed how I could assist him to 

prepare the company for battle. He knew at that point that we were headed 

to a place in Iraq known as Fallujah. It seems funny today to think that, 

at the time, we had no idea where Fallujah was; it was just a mysterious 

place on a map. Our unit was to depart in late February 2004 and arrive in 

Kuwait. We would then head north to relieve the U.S. Army unit that was 

currently stationed there. This was going to be the first time the Marines 

traveled back to Iraq since President George W. Bush declared the end of 

combat operations in May 2003. Captain Zembiec also briefed me on the 

training that he would like our men to do, which was not necessarily the 

type of training the higher-ups wanted us to provide. Somehow, he knew 

we were not heading into a mop-up situation and that we needed to be 

prepared for combat. 

As I left his office, the captain gave me a reassuring handshake and 

invited me to the evening’s social event at his house. He then asked me to 

bring my wife, Tanis, to this event so he could meet her. At that moment, I 

realized he had taken the time to find out my wife’s name before meeting 

me; this is something that not all leaders in the Marine Corps do. 

Tanis and I arrived at the captain’s apartment in Mission Viejo, California. What was inside taught me the true meaning of strength through humility. After Tanis and I were introduced to others in the room, I wandered 

through the apartment, taking note of all the awards that were hanging on 

the walls. What Doug had accomplished was amazing. He graduated from 

the U.S. Naval Academy in 1995 and was a two-time NCAA all-American 

wrestler. He also had experience with force reconnaissance, serving as 

a platoon commander in Bosnia, where he saw combat face to face. Prior 

to coming to 2d Battalion, 1st Marines, he had graduated from resident 
Expeditionary Warfare School (EWS) at Marine Corps Base (MCB) Quantico, Virginia, a school very few captains are selected to attend.3

Why was I so surprised to learn of all Doug’s accomplishments? 

Mostly, I was impressed by his humility and the fact that he was never arrogant, despite his personal successes. If I had not visited his apartment 

that day, I may never have found out that he attended the Naval Academy 

or that he was a competitive athlete. It was as though he wanted to be just a 

Marine sharing an experience with other Marines without calling attention 

to his accomplishments. Humility was Doug Zembiec’s greatest strength, 

and in the next few months of training for Fallujah, he demonstrated this 

attribute in every way possible. 

From October 2003 to February 2004, our battalion was in predeployment status, and we trained. For the most part, the training we received 

was typical; we attended hundreds of briefs about what to do and what 

not to do during deployment, and we participated in various work-up exercises. However, it was Captain Zembiec’s company training that made 

us lethal. Each morning, Doug would lead us through our physical fitness 

training regimen. Here are a few examples of Doug’s humility in action 

during this training. Because of his physical prowess, one might think 

Doug would always strive to be the first to finish the company runs and 

that he would mock the Marines who were not able to keep up with him. 

This is the typical “lead from the front” mentality that our young leaders 

are encouraged to employ. I learned from Doug, however, that true leaders 

finish in the middle. “How can a leader see what’s behind him if he finishes first?” he asked. 

Unaware that Doug was an all-American wrestler in college, one of our 

bigger lance corporals challenged him to a grapple. Confident that Doug 

would win the match, I stood by to watch the spectacle. In a matter of three 

minutes, I learned again the lessons of humility from a captain of Marines, 

a true leader. He actually pretended to struggle and allowed the young 

3

 EWS, one of several professional military education (PME) schools at Quantico, educates 

and trains company-grade Marine air-ground task force officers to serve in expeditionary 

environments.

22 | Sergeant Major William S. Skiles
MAJOR DOUGLAS ALEXANDER ZEMBIEC 

14 APRIL 1973–11 MAY 2007*1

Douglas A. Zembiec graduated from the U.S. Naval Academy in 1995 

and was commissioned a second lieutenant in the Marine Corps on 31 

May 1995. In April 1996, after finishing The Basic School and Infantry 

Officers Course, he was assigned to 1st Battalion, 6th Marine Regiment, as a rifle platoon commander. In June 1997, after successfully 

passing the force reconnaissance indoctrination, he was transferred to 

2d Force Reconnaissance Company at MCB Camp Lejeune, North Carolina, where he served for two and a half years as a platoon commander, eight months as an interim company commander, and one month 

as an operations officer. As a platoon commander, his force reconnaissance platoon was among the first conventional forces to enter Kosovo 

during Operation Joint Guardian in June 1999. 

In September 2000, Zembiec transferred to the Amphibious Reconnaissance School located in Fort Story, Virginia, where he served as the assistant officer in charge for two years. He was then selected to attend 

the Expeditionary Warfare School at MCB Quantico, Virginia, graduating in May 2003. 

In July 2003, he took command of Echo Company, 2d Battalion, 1st 

Marines. As a rifle company commander, he led 168 Marines and 

sailors in the first conventional ground assault into Fallujah, Iraq, 

during Operation Vigilant Resolve. 

In November 2004, Zembiec turned over his company command and 

served as an assistant operations officer at the 1st Special Operations 

Training Group (1st SOTG), where he ran the urban patrolling/military operations in urban terrain, and tank-infantry training packages 

* Official Marine Corps biography of Douglas A. Zembiec as attached to Marine Corps 

Order 1650.55.

Captain Doug Zembiec | 23
for the 13th Marine Expeditionary Unit in preparation for a deployment to Iraq. 

On 10 June 2005, he transferred from 1st SOTG to the Regional Support 

Element for Headquarters Marine Corps. He was promoted to major 

on 1 July 2005. 

On 11 May 2007, Zembiec was serving his fourth combat tour in Iraq 

when he was killed by small-arms fire while leading a raid in Baghdad. 

Zembiec was leading a unit of Iraqi forces he had helped train. Reports 

from fellow servicemembers present in the dark Baghdad alley where 

Zembiec was killed indicated that Zembiec had warned his troops 

to get down before doing so himself and was hit by enemy fire. The 

initial radio report indicated “five wounded and one martyred” with 

Zembiec killed and his men saved by his warning. 

Zembiec’s personal awards include the Silver Star, a Bronze Star with 

distinguished device, two Purple Hearts, two Navy and Marine Corps 

Commendations, two Navy and Marine Corps Achievement Medals, 

two Combat Action ribbons, a Navy Unit Commendation, two National Defense Service Medals, a Kosovo Campaign Medal, three Sea 

Service Deployment ribbons, a Global War on Terrorism Expeditionary Medal, a Global War on Terrorism Service Medal, a Humanitarian 

Service Medal, and a NATO Medal.

SILVER STAR CITATION 

DOUGLAS A. ZEMBIEC

The President of the United States of America takes pride in presenting 

the Silver Star (Posthumously) to Major Douglas Alexander Zembiec, 

United States Marine Corps, for conspicuous gallantry and intrepidity 

in action against the enemy while serving as a Marine Advisor, Iraq 

Assistance Group, Multi-National Corps, Iraq, in support of Opera24 | Sergeant Major William S. Skiles
tion IRAQI FREEDOM on 11 May 2007. Attacking from concealed and 

fortified positions, an enemy force engaged Major Zembiec’s assault 

team, firing crew-served automatic weapons and various small arms. 

He boldly moved forward and immediately directed the bulk of his 

assault team to take cover. Under withering enemy fire, Major Zembiec 

remained in an exposed, but tactically critical, position in order to 

provide leadership and direct effective suppressive fire on the enemy 

combatant positions with his assault team’s machine gun. In doing so, 

he received the brunt of the enemy’s fire, was struck and succumbed 

to his wounds. Emboldened by his actions his team and supporting 

assault force aggressively engaged the enemy combatants. Major Zembiec’s quick thinking and timely action to re-orient his team’s machine 

gun enabled the remaining members of his unit to rapidly and accurately engage the primary source of the enemy’s fire saving the lives of 

his comrades. By his bold initiative, undaunted courage, and complete 

dedication to duty, Major Zembiec reflected great credit upon himself 

and upheld the highest traditions of the Marine Corps and the United 

States Naval Service.

Marine to pin him. As they both got to their feet, Doug embraced the 

Marine and said, “Great job, warrior. The enemy is in for it with strength 

like that.” The young Marine smiled and walked away proud. Doug knew 

something the rest of us did not. He understood the importance of being 

comfortable in his own skin. He always told me there is no need for showboating when you are comfortable with your strengths and flaws.

Doug only lost his temper with me once, but even then, he acted as 

a professional. It was a typical early morning workday, and we all came 

together for a company formation. The platoon sergeants and company 

gunny gave me the thumbs-up to let me know that everyone was in formation, and I took their word for it instead of double-checking to make 

sure all of the Marines were present. I walked down to the captain’s office 

Captain Doug Zembiec | 25
to let him know that the company was standing by in formation. Yet my 

accounting of the Marines present was incorrect. Doug said a few words 

to the Marines of Echo Company and then met with the company officers, 

while I met with the enlisted. After the meetings, Doug called me into his 

office and asked me to close the door. When I turned around to talk to him, 

he was inches away from my face. He looked me straight in the eye and 

said, “Don’t you ever lie to me again!” All I could reply was, “Yes, sir.” 

He then turned and calmly asked, “What else do we have on the training 

schedule today?” Like a true professional, he did not allow his emotions 

to distract him from the mission. That day I learned two other attributes of 

leadership: accountability and passion. 

One last highlight of our time together in predeployment training was 

during the regimental field mess night, at which all the Marines from 1st 

Marine Regiment broke bread, shared embarrassing stories from training, 

and drank alcohol until we all passed out in the brush. Over a few beers, 

Doug’s compassion and concern for the lives of our Marines was obvious. 

He shed a tear here and there, talking about what we would face and of his 

hope of bringing everyone home alive. Waking up after this event is something I will never forget because the scene was similar to events we would 

witness as we battled in Fallujah later that year. There were bodies everywhere! The smell of alcohol was apparent, and trying to find my Marines 

was difficult. In fact, we just let them sleep until they got up on their own. 

Before we left Camp Pendleton for Kuwait, Doug got the unit together 

and had a contest. He said that whoever came up with the best company 

call sign would get time off. In response, a young lance corporal came up 

with the call sign, “War Hammer.” From then on, when we talked to one 

another on our radios, we would refer to each other as members of the War 

Hammer company. For instance, Doug answered to War Hammer 6 while 

I was referred to as War Hammer 8. On 29 February 2004, the Marines of 

War Hammer went to war. 

Our flight to Kuwait was typically long with various stops and customarily poor service. We could not wait to hit the ground. We transferred 

all of our gear from the plane to buses and drove hours to our holding 

26 | Sergeant Major William S. Skiles
base to acclimatize. During the next couple weeks as we waited to make 

the long drive to Fallujah, Doug was the only company commander who 

had his Marines participate in daily physical training exercises. We also did 

company runs just to reinforce the idea that we were a tight-knit, well-oiled 

machine. I think other companies were jealous of the cohesion that existed 

between the Marines in our group. Doug and I always ate chow together, and we discussed, from time to time, our mission in this mystery city 

called Fallujah. Like all good Marines, we wanted a mission statement and 

commander’s intent that would outline the purpose of our mission, but we 

were not receiving that type of direction. During this time, we attended 

meetings about unit discipline around the camp. We were provided with 

long lists of regulations regarding the type of behavior that was appropriate at the joint military camp. However, there was very little planning 

taking place. It was as though going to Iraq was not the priority despite the 

inevitability of deploying to that place. 

As we prepared to leave the camp and head north into Iraq, Doug and 

I agreed that what would take place next was the hardest thing we had 

to do in our entire time serving together. Our company was instructed to 

drive 36 vehicles across hundreds of miles of unsecured territory in Iraq. 

We were expected to have numerous attachments, and all of the Marines 

and vehicles were to arrive intact within three days. 

First of all, most government vehicles were not well maintained. We 

had 7-ton trucks, jalopy-looking humvees, dump trucks that looked like 

they were from World War II, and fuel trucks that were already riding 

on spare tires.4 Doug and I did our best to organize this disaster and to 

develop security plans, breakdown plans, and troop issue plans. It was 

Doug’s passion and courage that ensured the success of this convoy from 

hell. 

As we were driving to Fallujah, a U.S. Army unit with five vehicles 

decided to integrate into our convoy. Doug told the driver of our vehicle to 

speed up close to the Army unit and find the leader of this intrusive force. 

4

 Humvee, or High Mobility Multipurpose Wheeled Vehicle (HMMWV). Also known as a 

military hummer.

Captain Doug Zembiec | 27
Our driver did exactly that. He cut off the Army vehicle, running into its 

side. A soldier got out of the Army vehicle and approached Doug, and immediately, a heated argument ensued. After a lot of shouting, the soldiers 

got back in their vehicles and stated they would continue to follow us, 

regardless of the concerns Doug had expressed. I could not believe what 

I saw next. As the soldiers attempted to drive away, Doug stood in front 

of their vehicle. The soldier then began to drive over Doug, so he leaped 

on the hood of the hummer and held on to the windshield wipers. The 

hummer took off, and we followed it for about a quarter mile before the 

soldiers pulled over. To my amazement, Doug was still attached to the 

hood! Even before the valor of combat, Doug showed his men that he was 

willing to stand his ground, no matter what the personal consequences. 

Camp Baharia, located three miles from downtown Fallujah, was to be 

our home for the next seven months.5 When we arrived, the Army unit we 

were replacing taught us about the local populace, the terrain, improvised 

explosive device (IED) lanes, and areas to avoid. Doug and I both thanked 

the leaders of the unit for a great turnover and their professionalism, a welcomed contrast to the treatment we had received from the soldier who had 

attempted to run Doug over with the hummer. 

It was not long before we had our first hostile encounter. On one of the 

last days of turnover from the Army, we were in downtown Fallujah conducting some grip and grins with the local town leaders.6

 I was on top of 

a tall building, along with about 100 other soldiers and Marines. We were 

keeping watch and providing security in case there was an incident during 

the meetings. Doug was situated near the vehicles and was chatting with 

another member of our company. Without warning, a mortar round hit 

dead center in the middle of the company’s compound. Then, two more 

mortars hit around the compound, and one exploded where 10 Marines 

and soldiers were gathered. As chaos ensued, I had the chance to witness 

Doug Zembiec in action when lives were on the line. 

5

 Camp Baharia, also known as Dreamland, was located on the outskirts of Fallujah, Iraq. 

6

 Grip and grin (handshake and smile) refers to the general meet and greet that would take place 

between military units and town locals.

28 | Sergeant Major William S. Skiles
Through my binoculars, I watched him leap over a high wall and run 

out to where 10 troops lay on the ground. All of them were crawling and 

were clearly injured by the mortar explosion. Without hesitation, Doug 

climbed up the stairs and carried the more severely wounded over the wall 

to safety. He made numerous trips, and only one other Marine helped get 

all 10 servicemembers back over the wall. Once the wounded were all together, some of our vehicles left to find medical help. By now, all of us on 

the rooftops were being shot at by small-arms fire, so we hunkered down 

and slowly made our way to the vehicles. Once all were accounted for, we 

drove out as well. I assisted at a point outside the city to render medical assistance as best I could. By the end of the day, 10 men were hit. There were 

no deaths, but the Marines accounted for 5 out of the 10 casualties, and it 

was only our tenth day in the country. As things calmed down, I remember 

Doug and I walking to the chow hall with blood on our boots and trousers. 

All Doug could tell me was that “it’s going to be a long seven months, and 

we better get a plan for more of the same.” When I got back to the hooch 

that I shared with Doug, I started writing down the heroics of this captain 

of Marines, mostly to never forget but also to tell everyone about this man 

and to be an eyewitness to greatness in the face of adversity.7

During the next seven months, Doug’s words proved to be true. We 

saw too many skirmishes and heated exchanges of battle with the enemy 

to recall all of them, but I will try to capture the character and heroics of 

Doug Zembiec that stood out to me and all the Marines of Echo Company.

On 26 March 2004, the warriors of War Hammer headed into the city 

of Fallujah on foot. This would be the unit’s first true test of discipline in 

battle that Doug had prepared us for. The day before, a lone Marine was 

killed in the city, and our battalion’s response to this aggression was to 

send in a couple Marine companies to go fishing for insurgents. That day, 

alongside Doug, we battled insurgents street by street, block by block, and 

we controlled about one-third of the city—sharing this moment with Doug 

was an experience beyond description. His demeanor and patience under 

fire made the rest of us more confident. He never fired a shot but made his 

7 Hooch is the term for a military dwelling during deployments.

Captain Doug Zembiec | 29
way down the streets, coolly and calmly using his radio to keep control of 

the three platoons. He was moving so quickly that the lance corporal radio 

operator was having difficulty keeping up with the good captain. It was 

only when we got word that one of our own had been wounded that a look 

of panic hit his face. I told him, “I’ve got this,” and “You keep the others in 

the fight.” He just gave me a thumbs-up, and I ran toward the area where 

the injured Marine was. 

This Marine was shot in the hip and needed to be taken to Bravo Surgical Unit aboard Camp Fallujah, our main headquarters.8

 I flagged down 

one of the Weapons Company vehicles and asked if they could assist. I 

took a door off the hinges of a hut nearby and placed the injured Marine 

on it. We then stuck the door and Marine in the back of the vehicle and 

headed back to our camp. This was the first of the 78 casualty missions 

that I went on for Doug and our Marines. After dropping off the Marine at 

medical, I went back out to rejoin the fight. I found Doug and gave him the 

thumbs-up to let him know the Marine was taken care of.

After this daylong battle, Echo Company fell back. We dug in around 

an area known as the cloverleaf.9 The next day, we learned that we had 

killed more than 20 enemy combatants, yet we had one Marine wounded. 

We waited for a counterattack that never came. After two days, Doug was 

frustrated by the lack of information we had gained, but he still felt that 

it would be foolish to just give up the ground. On the third morning, we 

were ordered back to our home, Camp Baharia. This is when Doug and I 

had a serious talk about what each of us would be responsible for. “Having 

one of our Marines down with no real medivac plan was stupid and reckless on our part,” Doug insisted. Then and there, we decided who would 

take the fight to the enemy and who would be responsible for the fallen. 

8

 Camp Fallujah, MEK Compound was a military base located inside the city of Fallujah. 

9

 The cloverleaf interchange was a military entry control point for Fallujah located just east of 

the city at the intersection of Iraq’s Highway 1 (Main Supply Route [MSR] Mobile) and Iraq 

Highway 10 (MSR Michigan). See Timothy S. McWilliams, U.S. Marines in Battle: Fallujah, 

November–December 2004, with Nicholas J. Schlosser (Quantico, VA: Marine Corps History 

Division, 2014).

30 | Sergeant Major William S. Skiles
Doug made sure I knew his appreciation for my efforts, and I would 

like to share what Doug wrote on my going-away plaque that he gave me 

on 12 December 2004, when we came home to the states and I was promoted to sergeant major. It reads, 

From the Marines of War Hammer, you slayed the enemy when 

needed, and took care of our wounded, and for that we are brothers 

forever. May the memories of this company stay with you forever and 

ever and it’s been an honor to share the experience of valor and sacrifice with you. War Hammer 8, I salute you. 

Things that Doug gave me and wrote for me, and items that we shared, are 

still in my heart and soul today. 

As the month of April 2004 came, so did the sacrifice. After the American contractors were slain in the streets and hung on the bridge, we went 

back to this city of hell to stay for the entire month.10 What occurred during 

this month affected us, but most of all, it reinforced what Doug Zembiec 

instilled in us and how we knew things would work out so long as he was 

in the fight. 

Echo Company fought the insurgents daily, and thank the Lord, they 

were lousy shots. We occupied houses on the edge of the city in an area 

known as Jolan Heights.11 We built up our positions, ready for a counterattack at every waking moment. The beautiful thing about having Doug as 

my company commander was that he always had time for me. Between 

firefights, we both agreed to sit down and document the heroics of our 

Marines that day. We focused on recording eyewitness statements that 

would hopefully reward these young Marines for their fearlessness in the 

face of the enemy and give credit where credit was due. By the end of our 

seven months in Iraq, our company had written more valor awards than all 

10 On 31 March 2004 in Fallujah, insurgents killed four employees of the security contracting 

company Blackwater, and two were hung from a bridge in the city. See McWilliams, U.S. Marines 

in Battle. 11 Jolan Heights is a residential area in northwestern Fallujah. The district is the oldest area of the 

city. See McWilliams, U.S. Marines in Battle. 

Captain Doug Zembiec | 31
other companies combined.12 It was not because we saw more combat; it 

was because our company commander had the humility to remember daily 

the Marines in front of him and to make sure their stories were told. Doug 

got upset if a platoon commander put off writing about a Marine due to the 

commander’s fatigue, because he truly enjoyed writing about the heroics of 

his men and wished to write a book about them someday. In the same light 

of valor, we also had those who made the ultimate sacrifice. Doug confided 

in me a lot about his experience writing condolence letters to the families 

of our dead Marines. Knowing a grieving mother and father would receive 

these letters, he wanted to make sure they were the best he ever wrote. All 

in all, Echo Company had more than 78 dead and wounded Marines out 

of a company of 139. Some of these warriors were hit by enemy fire twice 

and still continued to fight. This is a true testament to how Doug Zembiec 

inspired his Marines through his leadership and humility. 

In honor of his heroics in battle, I wrote-up seven separate, heroicaction awards for Captain Doug Zembiec. I had hoped one of these writeups would make a difference. After all, if I did not record the heroics of my 

captain, who would? In fact, one event I described in one of these write-ups 

is portrayed on a statue that Marine Corps Special Operations Command 

(MARSOC) gives annually to its team leader of the year. Named after the 

brave captain who taught me so much during our deployment, this annual 

award became known as the Zembiec Award.13 Below is the citation I wrote 

to recognize Doug for his heroic actions: 

April 6, 2004, Captain Doug Zembiec went above and beyond the call of 

duty. While in a static, defensive position, Echo Company came under 

a mortar and small-arms attack by a platoon sized insurgent element. 

Two U.S. M-1A [Abrams] Tanks were in support and as Echo received 

the fire, the two tanks went forward into the outskirts of the city laying 

supporting fires. The two tanks were using their main gun and machine 

12 Awards recognizing Marines for valorous actions include the Medal of Honor, the Navy Cross, 

the Silver Star, and the Bronze Star with “V” for valor.

13 The Douglas A. Zembiec Award for Outstanding Leadership in Special Operations was first 

awarded in 2011.

32 | Sergeant Major William S. Skiles
gun to repel hostiles. Doug Zembiec noticed that the two buttoned up 

talks were firing at the wrong building, so he leaped forward, ran over 

two walls, and exposed himself to enemy fire as he approached the rear 

of one of the tanks. The tank phone was not quite working, so Doug 

had no other choice but to get on top of this moving and firing tank to 

try to get the commander’s attention and redirect their fire to where the 

insurgents really were. As enemy bullets ripped all around him, Doug 

banged on the hatch of the tank and the commander opened the hatch 

as to communicate with Doug. Doug used his knife hand to show the 

commander which building the enemy was in. Doug then took a magazine of tracers and fired these visible bullets into the building where 

the tank should be firing. As I looked on, the tank slowly rotated its 

main gun, and with Doug still on the back, the tank fired its main gun 

into the correct house. The intense blast and shock knocked Doug off 

his feet. Doug gave the thumbs-up to the commander and ran back 

to our lines. Due to his heroics, the bad guys quit firing and retreated as the tank finished off a couple more. The witnessing Marines all 

gave our Captain a high-five and there were smiles all around.14

In October 2004, the warriors of Echo Company returned home. One of 

the proudest moments that Doug and I shared was when we got off the 

buses, formed the men up, and marched toward our waiting families. I 

remember seeing Pam, Doug’s fiancée, jumping into his arms and almost 

taking him down. We looked at each other, and I said, “See you tomorrow.” Then, in December, Doug and I parted ways. I was promoted and 

reassigned, and Doug had orders as well. We stayed in contact throughout the following months, and in mid-2005, I was honored to attend Doug 

and Pam’s wedding on the U.S. Naval Academy grounds. I toasted them 

and told some of the stories that Doug and I shared in our hooch in 2004. I 

spoke of how hairy this man was from the eyebrows down and of his ob14 Author’s notes on Douglas Zembiec’s actions of 6 April 2004 (submitted to the Marine Corps 

for valor award). The Marine Corps awarded Zembiec the Bronze Star with “V” on 8 December 

2004 for his actions in Fallujah between 6 April 2004 and 1 May 2004.

Captain Doug Zembiec | 33
sessive need to keep his toenails clipped. I had a great time remembering 

the fun we had during the most difficult, but most rewarding, time in our 

lives. After the wedding, we lost touch for a bit. I learned that Doug volunteered for duty with special operations for the Marine Corps. The missions 

he was selected for are still unknown; what little I do know about what 

Doug was doing in Iraq I learned from Pam. The twelfth of May 2007 is the 

day I wept. 

I was a sergeant major of a squadron of Marines, and I was doing my 

daily routine when I received a phone call. One of my former Marines from 

Echo Company asked if I had heard the news. I asked, “What news?” He 

replied, “Doug’s dead.” I wanted what I had just heard to be a bad joke. I 

sat down and asked, “How did he die? How do you know?” He said Doug 

had died the day before, but the Marine Corps had just received the news. 

All I could do was try to breathe. There was no way a goliath of a man like 

Doug could be dead. I said my thanks, hung up the phone, and sat silently 

for a few minutes. And then it came. I have never in my life experienced 

what I went through that day in my office. Rage and tears flowed to the 

point that I could hardly catch my breath. I wept for at least an hour before 

I composed myself enough to call my wife. I went home early that day and 

stared at nothing. Then, I received a call asking if I could fly to the Naval 

Academy to assist with Doug’s funeral. 

I left that night for Annapolis, where I met up with others who were 

also shocked to hear the news of Doug’s death. Despite our grief, we knew 

we had to regroup to do this deed together. I shared the news of Doug’s 

death with the folks I met that day, and I think we all felt sorry for those 

who were not fortunate enough to have met Doug. We considered ourselves better for having been in his presence at one time or another. The 

things Doug’s friends and family said about him during his funeral will 

always stick with me. In a story recounted at Zembiec’s funeral and reported in coverage by the Washington Post, Zembiec and his father, Don, were 

driving on to Camp Pendleton and were stopped at the gate by a young 

Marine. “Are you Captain Zembiec’s father?” the Marine had asked. “Yes,” 

his father said. “I was with your son in Fallujah,” the Marine said. “He was 

34 | Sergeant Major William S. Skiles
my company commander. If we had to go back in there, I would follow 

him with a spoon.”15 Almost the entire Echo Company gathered at the Arlington National Cemetery, Virginia, that day to say goodbye to the “Lion 

of Fallujah,” as we called him. 

Doug told me one time that he really looked up to me and appreciated how I handled the Marines and their personal problems. It is funny to 

reflect on this conversation that I had with Doug, because for the rest of my 

life, I will look up to him. The following is what I wrote the night I heard 

about Doug’s death. It was originally sent as an e-mail, but it went viral to 

blog sites. It is the best way to conclude this essay about the life and work 

of Doug Zembiec: 

I’m SgtMaj Bill Skiles, and I was Doug’s 1stSgt in Echo Co. in 2004 in 

Fallujah. I would like to tell you about the Doug Zembiec that you 

won’t read about in papers. I shared a hooch with this man for seven 

months and we would talk about everything from his Marines to what 

it will be like to be married. Doug was known for his tremendous 

warrior spirit and his physical strength. He was a physical specimen, 

but he had a heart of gold. The qualities that I still live with thanks to 

him are humility and sincerity, Doug would be the first to hug a PFC 

and tell him it’s OK, instead of putting him down for being weak. He 

would be the first person to stand up for you if he felt you were being 

treated unfairly. When he told someone he would do something, he did 

it and made sure you knew the results. He wouldn’t sleep until he knew 

you understood what was happening. Doug was confident is [in] his 

own abilities, and he had every right to be the most arrogant man alive. 

But he knew who he was and would always tell me that any leader who 

had to be arrogant towards his own Marines was probably thin skinned 

and insecure. He would call some of these Marines “junior varsity.” 

Doug and I made a deal on the day our first wounded went down 

in late March ’04. The deal was that I would take care of and account 

for all wounded and he would keep the rest of the Marines focused on 

15 Dan Morse, “Salute to a Memorable Marine,” Washington Post, 17 May 2007, http://www

.washingtonpost.com/wp-dyn/content/article/2007/05/16/AR2007051602860.html.

Captain Doug Zembiec | 35
the fight. This agreement was made because he could not handle seeing 

his Marines bleeding and hurting. . . . He and I would weep behind 

closed doors during some of the trying times with mass casualties. 

Doug’s emotions were always worn on his sleeve, and I really admired 

that. His troops admired that. . . . He showed us all that he was human; 

he cared deeply about us and felt what we felt. ALL of his troops would 

have given their lives for Doug if needed; I cannot name another commander who could say that. He wasn’t fake; he wasn’t the most politically correct officer, but the troops that walked the streets with him and 

fought and sacrificed with him understood. That bond is hard to teach 

any ego. . . . I wish all commanders could learn just a little of the humility and sincerity this warrior displayed daily to every Marine, regardless of rank. Doug’s Marines loved to laugh with him, cry with him, 

and mostly, to fight and kill the enemy with him. Every Marine knew 

that when Doug showed up to a fight, things were going to be ok. 

Doug allowed the chaplain to perform services during firefights, 

comforting our grieving warriors after loss. He listened to our corpsman about how to take better care of the fallen. From his firm handshake to a grieving hug, I will miss him until I join him. I will miss 

this man, the hairiest man on earth from the eyebrows on down. 

The poor guy had no hair above his eyebrows, but he was a human 

woolly pulley every where [sic] else. He would try to shave his back 

before patrols and always missed various spots. And yes, I would 

help finish the job. What are buddies for? Doug Zembiec would never 

talk about himself, about what’s he done, about any of his accomplishments, because he told me that no one really cares about what 

you have done. As you command, the Marines want to know what 

you can do now and [in] the future. Well said! The day Doug received his Bronze Star with “V”, he wept. I wept and I hugged this 

warrior and no words were spoken . . . I know why we wept. We 

would talk over and over again about how with valor comes sacrifice, but he thought this valor medal would never match the sacrifice that his Marines went though [sic]. Humility again shows itself.

36 | Sergeant Major William S. Skiles
About his new family: Doug LOVED Pam and being a dad made 

him even more humble. His daughter’s birth was the proudest day 

ever for him. Until that day, he told me the proudest moment in his 

life was leading the Marines of Echo Co in battle. I could talk for days 

about how much this man meant to me and to his Marines, but I know 

this man was the definition of what a Marine should be, what a committed husband and father should be, and what this country looks 

for in a true hero in every sense of the word. I will spend a couple 

hours with him tomorrow night when it’s my turn to watch over his 

body, and we will finish what we talked about for those seven months. 

I love you, Doug

Sgt Maj Bill Skiles16

REFLECTION POINTS

• How does a Marine, or a soldier, assimilate the need to be lethal—which 

requires a sense of brutality—while also having an ethical base? What 

role, if any, does the leader play in this process?

• How do the actions of leaders affect those who follow or lead alongside?

• Can leaders be chosen or trained to achieve the success Zembiec did with 

his men and women?

16 Author’s e-mail, 12 May 2007.

Captain Doug Zembiec | 37
CHAPTER TWO

THE UNSPOKEN LEADERSHIP CHALLENGES 

OF COMMAND 

COLONEL BRIAN S. CHRISTMAS

Colonel Brian S. Christmas, a Marine infantry officer, has been led and mentored 

by some of the best officers and enlisted military leaders throughout his childhood 

and career. Exposure to these professionals enabled him to accomplish missions 

alongside Marines, sailors, soldiers, airmen, but also interagency and international partners during multiple wartime deployments, including with the 24th Marine 

Expeditionary Unit (24th MEU) as a platoon commander with Battalion Landing 

Team 1/6 (BLT 1/6); during a unit deployment program (UDP) to Okinawa as 

a weapons company commander; as a 22d MEU BLT operations officer conducting combat operations in Uruzgan Province, Afghanistan; as a battalion executive 

officer conducting combat operations in Fallujah, Iraq; and as a battalion commander of 3d Battalion, 6th Marines, conducting combat operations in Marjah, 

Afghanistan. Colonel Christmas provides insight on leadership challenges and the 

importance of personal and unit preparation associated with combat losses on the 

battlefield. He also conveys to the reader that he holds his Afghanistan and Iraq 

campaign medals in the highest regard.

38
In 1991, during my junior year of college, I walked into the Marine Corps 

recruiter’s office and declared my desire to serve my country as a U.S. 

Marine. To those who know me superficially, this career would have 

seemed like the natural choice. Both my father and my grandfather are 

well-known, highly respected Marines. My brother was a Marine platoon 

commander who actively served in Operations Desert Shield/Storm. My 

longtime girlfriend’s father was also an esteemed active-duty Marine 

aviator who served in Desert Storm; his father-in-law served on Iwo Jima, 

Japan, during World War II, coincidentally on the same beach where my 

own grandfather served gallantly. I had a great-aunt, uncles, a godfather, 

and close friends who were all Marines. Given my lineage and the significant influence the Marine Corps had on my life, choosing it as a career 

seemed logical, even predictable, to the casual observer. But for those who 

knew me well, my decision was a complete surprise. To them, I was academically minded and prepping myself for law school and perhaps involvement in Washington, DC, politics. I had never expressed any interest 

in becoming a Marine or joining any other Service. They wondered what 

prompted this change of heart. 

My decision was not an epiphany that happened overnight. It was 

based on the realization that I was not ready for law school. I lacked the 

desire and discipline, and I knew that if I was going to succeed, I would 

need to mature, to grow up if you will. I enjoyed college, not only for 

my studies but also for my role as the basketball manager. My basketball 

coach demanded excellence and commitment, not just from his players but 

also from his manager. Every person under the coach’s supervision had a 

vital role to play in making the team a success. Our commitment earned 

us responsibility and trust. I was given authority and represented the organization. I made crucial decisions, interacted with others, and executed 

tasks based on a known mission and my coach’s intent. The more I accomplished, the greater his confidence in my abilities grew, which was directly 

reflected by the complexity of each new task that I was assigned. I thrived 

in this environment and desired more. 

The Unspoken Leadership Challenges of Command | 39
My affinity for serving, leading, and making a difference, combined 

with my goal to mature and reset myself, led me to the Marine Corps’ 

officer selection officer (OSO). I could not think of a finer institution 

that specialized in leadership and discipline. The numerous examples of 

Marines that I held in high regard were evidence enough. So, I developed 

my plan. I would attend Platoon Leaders Class (PLC) during the summer 

while continuing to maintain a heavy course load to graduate a semester 

early my senior year. After that, I would graduate from The Basic School 

(TBS) and serve my country.1 After spending some time in the fleet, I 

would reevaluate my circumstances and consider applying for the Funded 

Law Education Program.2 If all went well, I would attend law school and 

serve my additional commitment while gaining valuable legal experience 

in the military judicial system. I would then leave the Marine Corps with 

a heightened sense of discipline and purpose and return better equipped 

to pursue a legal profession and possibly “Beltway,” or DC, politics. In my 

various visions of the future, never did I imagine the path I would actually 

end up taking. 

It all started at TBS where officers are assigned their military occupational specialty (MOS). I chose infantry not because of my lineage but because 

I realized during the training and exercises that I genuinely enjoyed what I 

was doing and the leadership responsibilities associated with being a grunt. I 

was given orders to 3d Battalion, 8th Marines, at MCB Camp Lejeune, North 

Carolina. When I contacted my new unit, Lieutenant Colonel Christopher 

J. “Chris” Gunther, the battalion commander, informed me that I had two 

choices: I could go on leave (I had just gotten married and was prepping for 

the move to North Carolina) while the rest of the unit conducted mountain 

warfare training in California, or I could cut my leave short and deploy for 

a month to California with the unit. I knew the best way to get to know the 

unit and to gain the unit members’ confidence was to prove myself to them in 

1

 TBS is a Marine Corps training command, which trains and educates newly commissioned or 

appointed officers.

2

 The Funded Law Education Program provides an opportunity for officers to laterally transfer 

to the occupational specialty of judge advocate, performing legal services for Marine or Navy 

commands or organizations.

40 | Colonel Brian S. Christmas
the field. So, after consultation with my wife, whom I had just returned with 

from our honeymoon, we decided to head to North Carolina immediately. 

A couple of weeks later, I was on an airplane with the rest of my battalion. 

The trip to Bridgeport, California, taught me a great deal. I remember 

approaching my company commander on the way up Hill 9494 in the Mountain Warfare Training Center area in Bridgeport.3

 I had been a rifle platoon 

commander for less than a month. I expressed my concern for the Marines’ 

ability to make the hike at the current pace with the extra weight of the winter 

combat load. Captain Robert F. “Bob” Killackey, the company commander, 

assured me, “They don’t have a choice. They have to.” I never imagined the 

admiration and sense of brotherhood that I would feel for my Marines and 

sailors who did exactly what was expected of them—they made it. They 

always made it. They do what they have to do. They rise to the occasion. 

More than two decades later, Marines still amaze me, and my love for 

them remains steadfast. It is hard to imagine that I ever considered leaving 

them. I became a Marine because I realized that I needed what only the 

Marine Corps could offer. My desire to make a difference in the world while 

maturing and satisfying my penchant for leadership and responsibility was 

more than met by the Marine Corps. It raised the bar entirely. The Corps has 

groomed me during the past 20-plus years to realize that leadership and responsibility require trust, confidence, humility, and resilience. I learned these 

lessons at the platoon, company, battalion, and staff levels. Consequently, I 

acquired the character traits necessary to be successful. Leading also means 

serving the Marines and sailors in a manner that is effective and empowers 

them to rise to the occasion and make it happen like they always do. The 

joys of leading these young men and women in their quests to achieve their 

personal best is rewarding beyond words, but it is not without its own set 

of difficulties and heartbreak.

 As a Marine, the greatest challenges came when I was in command. Such 

challenges, while occasionally discussed in the classroom as hypotheticals, 

are never truly understood until a person actually assumes the role of com3

 Hill 9494 refers to the highest elevation Marine units climb while conducting cold weather 

mountain warfare training in Bridgeport.

The Unspoken Leadership Challenges of Command | 41
mander. Walking in those boots is an honor and privilege like no other. A hallowed relationship is forged—a deeply rooted connection and trust with the 

Marines, sailors, and families of the battalion you serve. This reality became 

clear to me when I took command of 3d Battalion, 6th Marines, in January 

2009. After the unit’s change of command, I told my wife that I could actually 

feel the weight of the colors as they were handed to me and I returned them 

to the sergeant major during the ceremony, which symbolized the battalion 

transferring from the hands of the previous commander to my own. I was 

not referring to their physical weight but rather the weight of responsibility a command brings. I did not know it at the time, but I would come to 

understand these unique challenges almost immediately. 

During my first night in command, a Marine was killed in a motorcycle 

accident (at a time when motorcycle safety was paramount in the Marine 

Corps).4 I had dealt with both garrison and combat losses in the past, but 

there is a significant difference when one experiences it as a battalion commander. The loss of any Marine or sailor is devastating for all members of a 

unit, but as the commanding officer, there is a deep feeling of responsibility 

that is almost parental in nature. As the one in charge, you mourn the loss 

alongside your battalion, but you must also move the unit forward; help 

the Marines understand what happened and what can be done to prevent 

future loss of life. This tragedy was the first during my time in command; 

regretfully, it would not be the last. 

The lessons I learned during my command were many and did not 

fall into one neat category; the lessons were diverse and ranged from unit 

readiness and family support to battlefield problem solving and casualty 

assistance. Some lessons I anticipated and prepared for; others, I became 

conversant with on the job, and still others I lived in the moment. The most 

important lesson was also the most difficult, because it involved the harsh 

reality in which no one wants to be proficient. The loss of a comrade in arms. 

The proper notification and subsequent support of family members. The 

mourning of the battalion family. The need to grieve within the unit and then 

4

 The Naval Safety Center reported 25 fatalities for the Marine Corps in 2008, meaning more 

Marines died that year in motorcycle accidents than were killed during combat in Iraq.

42 | Colonel Brian S. Christmas
move forward with the mission. A battalion commander’s biggest challenge 

is his fallen Marines and sailors. Some of the necessary points to consider are 

detailed in the paragraphs that follow in hopes that readers will consider, 

mentally prepare, and explore their own solutions to similar scenarios. It is 

essential for a battalion commander to be forward thinking, anticipating and 

preparing a unit to handle anything, even death. The Marines and sailors 

deserve it. Their families deserve it. The fallen angels deserve it.

Uncertainty is the enemy of preparation. It attempts to undermine even 

the best-laid plans. A few months after I took command, the battalion was 

conducting extensive training at the U.S. Army’s Fort A. P. Hill, Virginia, 

in preparation for the unit’s deployment to Iraq as part of Operation Iraqi 

Freedom. I was informed that our departure date was now ambiguous and 

that the battalion might not deploy at all. Proper training requires intense 

focus and motivation by those preparing to deploy for combat. Now, in the 

middle of the unit’s training, I had to distract the Marines and sailors with 

the news that our mission was in limbo. This announcement had a terribly 

negative effect on morale.

 Then a few weeks later, the decision to deploy was made but with a location change to Afghanistan instead of Iraq. The battalion was given an abbreviated 30-day timeline in which to pack out and depart. Rapid response and 

compressed timelines are scenarios Marines always prepare for and handle 

well, but those scenarios are not something family members welcome or 

appreciate. Family separation is one of the hardest parts of this profession, 

and unexpected departure plans only increase the emotional intensity. It is a 

reality that must be addressed and taken as seriously as the pack out itself. 

Servicemembers need to know their families will be all right and well taken 

care of in their absences. Leaving without this assurance will cause the servicemembers to be distracted, which poses a real danger to themselves and 

to the battalion. 

Throughout my career, I was exposed to different challenges, as well 

as the various kinds of leadership required to overcome or mitigate them. 

As a result, I had made a point of preparing myself for the opportunity 

to lead young Marines and sailors into combat; and when the time came, 

The Unspoken Leadership Challenges of Command | 43
I quickly realized there was even more involved in unit readiness than I 

initially thought. I needed to ensure that the details were taken care of not 

just for myself and the men and women serving alongside me, but for their 

family members too. I had no doubts that our Marines and sailors would 

be successful, because we were well prepared for combat. I ensured this to 

a fault. I also found that mastering the maneuvers of combat is critical, but 

other aspects of war are more difficult to prepare for in advance. 

Preparation even when difficult is still key. PITMOV is an acronym 

that I learned from Hal Nunnally (1939–2004), the infamous basketball 

coach from Randolph-Macon College in Virginia. He explained to me that 

in everything we do—studies, sports, work, life—preparation is the mother 

of victory (PITMOV). When I joined the Marine Corps, this lesson was reinforced by the six Ps (proper preparation prevents p——s poor performance) embedded in our leadership traits and principles. It was a mantra 

underscored as I worked for and with such leaders as Lieutenant Colonel 

Bob Killackey, First Sergeant Al Ashbolt, Colonel Chris Gunther, Sergeant 

Major Mark Freres, now-Major General Paul E. Lefebvre, Master Gunnery 

Sergeant Alvin McNeal, Colonel David C. Fuquea, Lieutenant Colonel 

Asad Khan, Colonel William M. Jurney, and many others who all made 

certain that their subordinate leaders and young officers mentored by staff 

noncommissioned officer (SNCO) leadership understood and acted on this 

fundamental principle. It is no surprise then that, as a battalion commander, I put my heart and soul into ensuring our Marines and sailors were prepared for the worst challenges of combat. At times, it appeared as if this 

would be detrimental to my career. 

I clearly articulated my vision, but garnering enthusiastic support of 

that vision from the families and my superiors was not always easy or 

successful on the first attempt. Once a plan was in place and the Marines 

and sailors understood the mission, they were all in. Their families, on the 

other hand, often did not recognize the true value of the time invested in 

training until the unit’s return from deployment. As a commander, I understood that I needed to provide realistic and challenging training that my 

Marines and sailors understood and desired. When the goal of the train44 | Colonel Brian S. Christmas
ing was clear, organized, and effectively executed, the Marines and sailors 

fully appreciated its value. I minimized transitions between tasks, so they 

were not standing around with nothing to do. I made use of every moment 

possible, but did not forget to let them breathe. 

The schedules that I created allowed the servicemembers some time 

for themselves and for their families. It was never perfect, but it was done 

in a variety of ways to achieve an acceptable balance. The difficulty came 

in creating the same balance for the families. I tried to assist them in understanding the plan, recognizing their roles and their importance to our 

unit readiness and overall success. I have always made the analogy that 

our families are like those that stand behind the spartan line.5 From the 

home front, family members are the ones who have their hands figuratively placed in the small of our backs, pushing firmly, providing us the muchneeded support to ensure that we do our job. They may struggle to provide 

this crucial support, especially if they do not feel like they are a part of the 

plan. 

For this purpose, I attempted to include families from the beginning. 

They were now a part of my family and were treated as such. It was not 

always easy, but it was essential. My phone rang and my e-mail buzzed 

with numerous inquiries from my new family members. On occasion, they 

voiced opinions or concerns that contradicted my plan (something I desperately wanted it to become—our plan) or my feelings on the matter. I 

heard their concerns and delegated the handling of those concerns to the 

appropriate individuals in the chain of command. 

To bolster the families’ strengths and build their resiliency, they were 

introduced to outstanding programs established through Marine Corps 

Community Services (MCCS), the Family Readiness Program, Military One 

Source, and other military programs that provide support services during 

a family member’s absence. If the issue required my personal involvement, 

I answered it myself. I then made note to follow up on the initial action. It 

5

 Scholars argue that the formation of the ancient Greek phalanx incorporated Spartan soldiers 

who physically pushed the military’s front line forward. See Victor Davis Hanson, The Western 

Way of War: Infantry Battle in Classical Greece (New York: Knopf, 1989).

The Unspoken Leadership Challenges of Command | 45
was crucial to complete these tasks and respond. I did not always provide 

the answer that the family members wanted to hear, but they always received a response. They knew that their voices were being heard and that 

the commanding officer was involved. This proactive approach fostered 

trust and confidence in me, my staff, and my subordinate commanders. Securing this trust and confidence prior to the unit’s combat deployment was 

critical.

Despite my best efforts to smooth the way for the families that would 

be left behind, I sometimes questioned if I had gained enough of the families’ trust and confidence prior to the deployment. I had an excellent Family 

Readiness Program.6 I did my best to keep family members in the loop 

and involved, although I could not always provide them with what they 

wanted—time with their loved ones—because I took advantage of every 

training opportunity I could to get the battalion ready based on my assessment of what the unit needed to do. The better prepared the Marines were, 

the fewer our losses would be. I provided the Marines, sailors, and families 

with realistic, challenging, and time-consuming training prior to the deployment. Some people just could not see the need to train to the degree 

that we did. So, I was relieved and very appreciative when numerous 

spouses and parents approached me at the unit’s deployment homecoming 

and thanked me for preparing both their Marines and their families. Then, 

they understood. I only wish that I had been able to convince them of the 

value of the training from the very beginning. War is hell, but preparing for 

hell is harder, especially when it comes to convincing everyone involved 

how necessary and important the preparation is.

Having said that, preparation can sometimes come with its own repercussions, as I soon discovered. The S-1 officer, the family readiness officer 

(FRO), and Key Volunteers were to deal with casualty notification.7 It is 

heartbreaking for everyone involved, but it is also imperative that casualty 

6

 Christmas’s unit also instituted the strengths of the former Key Volunteer Network, which was 

led by spouses and active-duty leaders within the organization to provide an information support 

network for families.

7

 S-1 refers to the office managing personnel for the unit.

46 | Colonel Brian S. Christmas
notifications be handled with the utmost care and competence. Indeed 

competence comes with preparation, but that is particularly challenging 

when it comes to the death of a loved one. I would learn this firsthand 

when my efforts to test this crucial notification system caused emotional 

turmoil for my own family. 

While training at A. P. Hill, I spoke to my wife, Nikki, and asked her if 

she would agree to receive a mock phone call notifying her that I had been 

shot. She did not like the thought of it but understood the value of verifying that the notification process worked efficiently. She thoroughly prepared to grill the S-1 officer and the FRO with questions and concerns and 

to be as emotional as possible. With only my executive officer in the loop, 

I was “shot” by a sniper following a meeting with foreign role players. My 

jump platoon reacted with amazing vigor.8 The Marines quickly recovered 

me and secured the area. Somehow, I seemed to be dragged through every 

puddle, every hole, and every bump. “Doc,” the platoon corpsman, immediately dressed my wounds and directed the Marines for my movement to 

the vehicle. With the medevac request called in and the movement route 

defined, Sergeant Dennis K. Derr II moved us down the road while the battalion aid station (BAS) prepared for my arrival and the S-1 officer wrote 

up the casualty report. 

Our excessive speed through A. P. Hill required me to come out of 

character, “Sergeant, great job, but slow down. The Army military police 

are not read into this role-play scenario.” It was a smooth transition from 

Doc’s care to that of the battalion surgeon and his team in the BAS; information flowed from the BAS to the S-1, and once ready, the casualty report 

was sent. 

Upon notification, my wife began to ask the FRO a litany of questions, 

and then, the unexpected happened. My 5-year-old son walked out of the 

adjoining craft room, heard “shot” and “dad” and urgently returned to 

the craft room to share the upsetting news with his intense, Irish-blooded 

8-year-old sister. My alarmed daughter authoritatively stomped over to her 

mother, grabbed the notebook out of my wife’s hand, read the contents, 

8

 A jump platoon ensures the safety of the battalion commander during missions.

The Unspoken Leadership Challenges of Command | 47
and then screamed, “Daddy’s been shot?” My son’s reaction was natural 

for a boy. He proceeded to repeatedly strike my wife’s legs in fear and 

anger as tears rushed down his face. Nikki hung up the phone and calmed 

our children. She later informed me, in Edgar Allen Poe style, “Nevermore, Brian! Nevermore!” The unintended impact on my family was not 

desirable, but it was a great test for the battalion as the unit would conduct 

these procedures more than 150 times during our time in Marjah, Afghanistan, including one notification to my own family due to an IED blast. 

Preparing Marines and sailors for combat is something the Corps typically does well. When it comes to readying families, the task is much more 

complex and delicate, but no less necessary. My greatest obstacle was preparing the families for the possibility that any of the unit’s Marines, sailors, 

Coalition partners, and interpreters could die. The only real method of 

doing so was to discuss such a risk, to ensure that everyone understood 

the spectrum of likely reactions, and to develop and emplace, as much as 

possible, measures to deal with each one. Yet, the sudden and violent death 

of a person that I was responsible for and had grown to love was not a 

scenario for which I could easily fortify myself, or those serving with me, 

against. 

A common example of a personal dilemma when one is in a job that 

requires putting people in harm’s way is that of a company commander 

who is required to clear lanes of possible IEDs so that his Marines can 

progress forward. His job is to call up his Marines who are armed with 

antipersonnel obstacle breaching systems (APOBSs) to clear the lanes. He 

does so. The fighting becomes heavy, and his gunners must expose themselves to fire to get into a good position. Word gets back to the commander that the Marines were killed. It was his job to make the choice to send 

them into danger. These are the tough decisions that leaders and individuals make nearly every second they are on the field of battle. The problem, 

in this specific situation, was that a film crew was with the commander at 

that moment in the middle of the battle, asking him the hard questions in 

real time. Leaders deal with their decisions, think about them, and attempt 

to justify them after the fact, when the fight is over. Leaders cannot allow 

48 | Colonel Brian S. Christmas
themselves to focus on these questions in the middle of the kinetics of 

battle or more lives could be lost. Death on the battlefield is inevitable and 

heartbreaking and is also one of the greatest challenges to a leader’s ability 

to stay above emotion and to continue to perform his or her duties. 

Several months before I deployed to Marjah in December 2009, my 

wife wisely gave me a journal for Christmas. I was taking command of the 

battalion and was originally scheduled to deploy to Iraq shortly thereafter. 

On the inside cover, she inscribed the following:

Dearest Brian,

We will all miss you so much while you are away, but I thought you 

could use this journal to capture the moments that remind you why 

you do what you do. 

The kids are always asking your reasons for choosing the Marine 

Corps. I thought it would be neat for you to share those special 

moments with them that speak to your heart and confirm your 

decision. 

I love you beyond words. You make us proud. Be safe, my love. 

Big prayers.

Always and then some—Forever in my heart you are with me

—everyday!

I love you.

Nik

This journal provided me more than just an opportunity to express 

why I do what I do; it also provided me with a way to work through those 

complicated times when sorrow and hurt met pride and honor.

One such time occurred in mid-February 2010. My battalion deployed 

as part of the surge into the Helmand Province in Afghanistan.9 Specifically, 

the battalion was tasked with taking part in seizing Marjah, a well-known 

Taliban stronghold. In the early 1950s, the U.S. Agency for International 

9

 In late 2009, the United States committed to a plan for a surge of military troops, the majority of which were Marines, to Afghanistan for a counterinsurgency strategy. See Kummer, U.S. 

Marines in Afghanistan, 2001–2009.

The Unspoken Leadership Challenges of Command | 49
Development (USAID) was instrumental in developing this large farming 

community that included an extensive canal system. The Taliban later used 

it as a logistics hub and prominent poppy growing area. My unit initiated a combined assault on Marjah. The battalion was tasked with moving 

from north to south. Fighting was significant, and I spent a lot of time 

forward with the Marines and sailors in addition to the unit’s Afghan partners as they assaulted through their objectives. They fought with courage, 

restraint, and effectiveness. One evening, the battalion suffered its first 

combat loss. I remember moving my jump platoon to the evacuation scene. 

I also recall being angry, not at the Marines but at myself. I said a prayer 

over the fallen Marine’s body; I spoke to his squad members and reminded 

them and their company leadership that we had just begun the fight and 

that we would grieve later. I reminded them of the battalion’s mission, of 

the importance of their efforts in making a difference, and to hold the line. I 

returned to our forward operating base (FOB), escorting the casualty to the 

BAS, and then headed to the command post where I received the battlefield update brief and sat with the intelligence officer. 

Then, when time allowed, I settled in to write personal condolence 

letters to the Marine’s pregnant wife and his father—another emotional 

punch with many more to follow. It hit me hard when I wrote the letters 

to moms, dads, and wives—giving notice to the living, the ones left 

behind, who may have to make explanations to children and babies not 

yet born. I wanted them to know how proud I would always be of their 

Marines and sailors, and that they should be proud too. I wanted them 

to understand. I wanted them to forgive. Because I put each family member’s feelings in mind as I wrote, I wept during the writing of each letter. 

It hurt, but it was necessary. It allowed me to get through the emotion 

and provided the families details that I know I would want to know if it 

were my loved one. In fact, it was my loved one too. Putting pen to paper 

to pay respects to the family was the very least I could do to honor the 

memory of each fallen brother. When I was finished with the correspondence, on 16 February 2010, I wrote the following in my journal, recording 

the loss for myself:

50 | Colonel Brian S. Christmas
It seems a bit off that I would be writing in this book shortly after 

the first combat loss. . . . [The Marine was] married, wife expecting. I 

wrote his father and his wife a letter, not an easy task. I spoke to his 

squad leader and members of his squad, not an easy task. I spoke to 

his young Lt—not an easy task and I spoke to GOD. Not always an 

easy task. In all of these I found strength, I gained confidence, [and] I 

reaffirmed my deep affection for my Marines and why I love being a 

part of this organization.

Shortly after the worst of the fighting, the unit arranged its first in-theater 

memorial service to celebrate the lives of four of our Marines, including 

our first loss. It was the opportunity, promised earlier, to grieve and say 

good-bye. We bonded, we said good-bye, and for an hour, the fight stopped 

for those in attendance, allowing them time to share their emotions. Then I 

had to draw it to a close; I had to return them and myself to the warrior’s 

mind-set for our own sake and the sake of the mission. We had to close the 

ranks and continue to hold the line. These were my words to the Marines 

and sailors:

Good Afternoon,

I say “good” because today I have the privilege of honoring our fallen 

Marines and addressing their brothers, some of the finest Marines and 

sailors I have served with. This memorial is simply about two things. 

Honoring the ultimate sacrifice of [the four Marines]; and allowing 

their brothers to say goodbye until another day and do what they 

would want them to—which is to continue the mission. Soon you will 

hear from the Commanders and Marines closest to these heroes. They 

will speak of experiences and genuine feelings that create the unbreakable bond of brotherhood not truly understood until actually being 

a part of it. I only wish that we were able to share this time with the 

entire battalion as your emotions will collide. All that you have experienced so far will rush through you, overwhelming your senses, making 

you question your ability to continue—let the wave through—share 

The Unspoken Leadership Challenges of Command | 51
your emotion, your love for your brother, your fear for the future, then 

realize as it passes that you are not alone, that because of the sacrifice of 

these warriors we honor today, the warriors around you today, and the 

warriors on patrol, on post and holding the line—you have nothing to 

fear—that this is the time to say goodbye to our brothers and to retake 

our positions in the line—whose strength depends on our commitment 

to the mission and each other and ensures that the ultimate sacrifice of 

these fallen warriors was not in vain. These warriors have left behind 

mothers and fathers, wives and unborn children and us, their brothers in arms—but I am here today to tell you they have not left us. 

They watch above us—feeling their presence gives us strength and 

purpose—and fond memories of the past brings smiles and laughter 

in our celebration of their life. They will always be with us—and we 

owe it to them to make it positive and celebratory. Honor them with 

exuberance, love, and understanding and do what they would do—and 

continue to hold the line. Each night before I rest, I pray these words: 

“Visit this place, O Lord, and drive from it all the snares of the enemy; 

let your holy angels dwell with us to preserve us in peace; and let your 

blessings be upon us always; through Jesus Christ our Lord, Amen.” 

(Names of the fallen Marines) are amongst those angels now—be 

glad in that. 

As I concluded my commemoration, each company first sergeant conducted a roll call of his Marines and sailors. One by one, they emphasized the 

missing Marines by repeating their names three times with no answer. The 

company first sergeants’ voices continue to echo in my head: Lance Corporal (last name) . . . Lance Corporal (first name, last name) . . . Lance Corporal (first name, middle name, last name),” and 21 shots were fired, “Taps” 

was played by a lone bugler, and I paid my respects along with my Marines 

and sailors. Some walked up together, others alone. Some kneeled, others 

stood. Some prayed. Others were silent. All of this happened in front of a 

pair of boots, a rifle, a helmet, and dangling dog tags with the background 

52 | Colonel Brian S. Christmas
of our national ensign and the battalion battle colors.10 The senior leaders, 

the sergeant major, and I were the first to pay respect to the fallen Marines. 

Once we finished, the sergeant major and I stood to the side and, as the 

Marines and sailors filed through, we reinforced our love, our concern, and 

our commitment by simply giving them a hug and standing firm. There is 

not a day that goes by that I do not think about the 10 Marines, 10 Afghan 

soldiers, and the one interpreter I lost. They were my responsibility, and 

I loved them. Evacuating wounded warriors is hard enough, but watching my deceased go to their final rest was much worse. Several memorials were conducted throughout the deployment, and they took a toll over 

time. On 6 May 2010, I wrote the following:

Because he would want you to.

Because you have to.

You have to close the ranks,

And hold the line.

We will mourn another day.

Close the ranks.

Hold the line.

My words to the Platoon of Company I after putting (name) on 

the Angel Flight out of the LZ [landing zone] and following a prayer 

from the Chaplain. 

I closed this journal entry with “They say these are the times that try men’s 

souls . . . I will submit to you that my heart aches, my head throbs, my eyes 

water, my knees loosen, and my soul is tired.”

War is hell. And then, it is over, but it is never really over. I will never 

forget all that we saw and experienced, but I will cope. I know it is part 

and parcel of the life every warrior has chosen. I know I put my heart and 

soul into preparing them; it is what we as Marines do. I ensured that my 

10 A national ensign refers to the American flag displayed onboard ships of the U.S. Navy and at 

Navy and Marine Corps commands on land.

The Unspoken Leadership Challenges of Command | 53
subordinate leaders and myself were prepared to process our own grief 

and help the Marines and sailors navigate through their personal emotional quagmires. In the moment, we were not distracted by the logistics 

of executing the ceremony. The ceremonial details were practiced and mastered as a critical part of our predeployment readiness. The sergeant major, 

along with the company first sergeants, developed a plan, acquired the resources to professionally conduct these services, and prepared a letter of 

instruction (LOI) for everyone to follow.11 This plan included the capability 

to record the ceremony and the means to deliver a copy of the recording to 

the family of each fallen servicemember. The loss of my Marines and sailors 

broke my heart, but for the sake of my unit members and their families, I 

maintained my professional bearing and stayed focused on the mission. 

Preparation is the mother of victory. And yet, there was simply no adequate mechanism to ready myself for the time I would spend with the 

parents, spouses, and the children of the fallen Marines and sailors upon 

my unit’s return from Afghanistan. I had written my feelings in letters, but 

eventually, I had to face the families. I had led their loved ones to war. I had 

trained them hard and prepared them for the worst so that I could bring them 

back safely, and ultimately, I failed. I could not change that harsh reality. Soon 

after the unit returned from Afghanistan, we conducted a battalion memorial 

service. We arranged a dinner the night before the service for family members 

so I could meet with them individually. That evening, I revisited all of the 

emotions that I had attempted to leave on the battlefield. I said a prayer, and 

with apprehension and fear, I approached each family. Some understood 

what I was trying to do and what I needed to do, and they hugged me and 

amazed me with their kindness and love. Others could not look at me and 

wanted nothing to do with me. I tried to understand, but it stung, and those 

feelings still stay with me as much as the memories I have of the Marines 

and unit members who I did not return to their families’ embrace. I failed 

them, the families; what did I expect? 

11 The LOI provides the details for conducting a desired activity or action to include a mission, 

specified tasks, and coordinating instructions to ensure necessary items are not overlooked during 

the stress of the moment. 

54 | Colonel Brian S. Christmas
On the following morning, the battalion held the memorial service. The 

service allowed the families to have a chance to meet and grieve together; 

to know that they were not alone; to see and meet their loved ones’ other 

family (battalion members); to realize that they were a part of that family; 

and to gain a sense of the pride, love, sorrow, grief, and loss that I, as the 

commander, and the unit felt so intensely. It was my solemn prayer and the 

deepest desire of my heart that this time of gathering together would convey 

what words could not, that the families would feel the fierce love and profound respect that those on the parade field felt for the fallen servicemembers. 

I prayed the families would find peace in knowing their loved one did not 

die in vain. 

Furthermore, I understood that there were other heavy hearts that needed 

to be acknowledged during the service. I was not just addressing the families of the fallen. I was readdressing the emotions, the heartache, the guilt, 

and the sorrow of their extended families—their brothers-in-arms, who had 

returned and were revisiting their own emotions that had been necessarily 

suppressed during combat and successfully stowed away in order to close 

their ranks and fight another day. The difference now was the Marines and 

sailors were no longer in full-body armor, protecting the men around them. 

In the midst of dealing with the families’ emotions, I also had the feelings of 

my Marines and sailors, as well as my own, to consider and to keep in check. 

It was a challenge unlike any other. 

Finally, just as on the battlefield, in life, we must move forward. Now, 

the key is being there for one another, always. Regardless of the time of day 

or activity, we must be willing to pick up the phone or knock on the door. 

When the phone or doorbell rings, we must answer. We cope, and when it 

becomes too difficult for us to cope alone, we call or visit a fellow Marine or 

sailor who knows, who picks up the phone or answers the door. Someone 

who listens then closes the ranks to hold the line. War is certainly hell. Unfortunately, for those who serve, it is not over at the end of a deployment 

or with a cease-fire, treaty, victory, or defeat. The memories remain, but we 

always reform the line and move forward. That is what we do. 

The Unspoken Leadership Challenges of Command | 55
REFLECTION POINTS

• Considering the stresses faced by Marines, soldiers, and sailors, what 

role does leadership, as described by Lieutenant Colonel Christmas, play 

in addressing the emotional needs of servicemembers deployed to war? 

Does acknowledging emotion make it easier for these men and women 

to face trauma and to be resilient? 

• What can military leaders do to prepare families for deployments? Are 

the institutional forms of support or the personal touch of the commanders more important? Or, do the resources work well together in providing assistance to families during wartime?

• While battalion and unit leaders must train their warriors for battle, what 

should they consider when preparing families? Do these two aspects of 

predeployment activities conflict or complement each other? 

• What can commanders do to prepare themselves for the possibility of casualties and deaths in their units during deployments? What resources 

are available?

• Considering the challenges of preparing a unit for deployment, how 

does a commander balance the need for training with the need to ensure 

family time? What is the proper ratio? How does a commander obtain 

support from higher commands, unit members, and families for a commander’s assessment of the unit’s readiness and what it needs to succeed 

during a wartime deployment?

• Discuss methods of how a servicemember can prepare and ultimately 

cope with combat losses both as a leader and a brother-in-arms.

56 | Colonel Brian S. Christmas
CHAPTER THREE

A FELLOW MARINE IN COMBAT: MY BROTHER

CAPTAIN MATTHEW C. FALLON

Captain Matthew C. Fallon deployed two times as a first lieutenant with 3d Battalion, 9th Marines, first to Iraq in 2009 and then to Afghanistan in 2010 –11. 

As an infantry officer, Fallon served at company and battalion levels. His story 

covers events during his deployment to Afghanistan. Fallon’s brother, then-Second 

Lieutenant Timothy E. “Tim” Fallon, also an infantry officer, was wounded just 

before Fallon deployed. Then-Lieutenant Matthew Fallon was forced to leave his 

wife, new son, and extended family as they dealt with the trauma of and struggle 

to overcome the reality of his brother’s wounds. Fallon’s story extends through his 

own homecoming and reintegration with his family.

I am the oldest of three brothers. We were very close growing up. Tim 

was the second oldest and Dan the youngest. We spent most of our days 

playing in the woods around the house reenacting the adventure stories 

my mother would read to us. Throughout high school and college, we re57
58 | Captain Matthew C. Fallon

mained close. Even in college, Tim and I frequently saw each other and 

hung out. We could not have been closer.

My uncle was a Marine infantry officer, one grandfather had been in 

the U.S. Army 82d Airborne Division, and my other grandfather served 

in the U.S. Navy onboard a destroyer escort in the Battle of the Atlantic 

during World War II. None of them shared any serious war stories with 

the exception of my uncle after I started to show an interest in joining 

the Marine Corps. He told me several stories about combat in Operations 

Desert Shield/Storm and a few about Panama. As I matured and read more 

adventure and war stories, I developed a fascination with military history, 

which grew into a desire to serve. 

I received a Naval Reserve Officer Training Corps (NROTC) scholarship to Villanova University in 2003. I can still remember the selection 

officer giving the speech at my high school. I was to be part of the “tip of 

the spear,” the leading edge of America’s military. After graduating Officer 

Candidate School (OCS) in 2006 and college in 2007, I went to The Basic 

School followed by the Infantry Officer Course (IOC). During that time, 

Tim went the other direction, embracing college life to the extreme; he 

grew a huge red beard and long curly hair. Though he had many interests 

similar to mine, I never expected him to join the Marine Corps. 

After graduating IOC in 2008, I was assigned to 3d Battalion, 9th 

Marines, a newly activated battalion at the time. I became the M252 81mm 

mortar platoon commander. We trained constantly trying to weld the new 

unit. I was married on 27 September 2008 to my college sweetheart, Jen, 

and less than a month later, I left for training. And while the next few 

months required more training locally, I was gone for most of the week. 

Jen hardly ever saw me. I distinctly recall coming home one day to meet 

a dog my wife had brought home from a shelter. Training continued into 

the spring and focused on improving the ability to rapidly and accurately 

shoot mortars. The unit was preparing to go to Afghanistan. In April 2009, 

we learned we were going to Iraq instead.

I was tremendously let down by the news. My platoon and I had 

worked furiously to prepare, and now we were going to a war that was 
A Fellow Marine in Combat | 59

over.1 We arrived in June 2009. I went “out of the wire,” outside the American-controlled safe perimeter, only once while in Iraq. At that point, U.S. 

troops had to receive permission to enter the cities. Most of our time was 

spent drilling as the heliborne quick reaction force (QRF) for all of al-Anbar 

Province. If something catastrophic occurred or an aircraft went down, we 

launched to secure the site. Only a commanding general could launch the 

QRF. My primary challenge was to keep the Marines under my command 

focused, and when we found out we were leaving early, that became nearly 

impossible. 

After an uneventful tour in Iraq, we returned to MCB Camp Lejeune 

and immediately prepared for potential redeployment as part of the opening 

stages of the Afghanistan troop surge. We were told to prepare to participate in the clearing of Marjah, a rural community and Taliban stronghold in 

the Helmand Province of Afghanistan. By December 2009, it became clear 

that we were not one of the battalions that would deploy. The 3d Battalion 

began to shed Marines, who left the Service or went on to other jobs in the 

Marine Corps, since we were no longer on a deployment footing. Within the 

battalion, many people switched jobs or were promoted to make room for 

incoming Marines. I left the 81mm platoon and became the battalion assistant 

operations officer.

Meanwhile my brother, Tim, graduated from college early and decided 

to become a Marine officer. I was in shock, but could not be more proud. He 

braved a winter OCS class, then continued straight to TBS and on to IOC. 

He became a platoon commander in a sister battalion, the 2d Battalion, 9th 

Marines. He lived 40 minutes from the base on “Lieutenant Isle,” and so he 

became a part-time resident at my house since I lived on Lejeune, only five 

minutes from where he worked, giving him the opportunity to bring pickles 

to my wife during her pregnancy. Tim and I spent long nights debating tactics 

and training. We became even closer in those few months. He deployed first, 

and it was hard to see him go as I waited for my deployment to begin. 

1 The U.S.-Iraq Status of Forces Agreement signed by President George W. Bush in 2008 called 

for the withdrawal of U.S. combat troops from Iraqi cities by 30 June 2009. In February 2009, 

President Barack H. Obama extended the combat withdrawal date to 31 August 2010.
Tim left for Marjah in August 2010. I saw him off as his company 

boarded buses. There were hundreds of Marines waiting for the buses and 

their families saying goodbye. I am embarrassed to say but, it was the first 

time that the weight of being a Marine leader really struck me. Fathers said 

goodbye to their children and tried to explain—for the thousandth time—

what seven months away meant. Mothers cried as they said goodbye to 

their Marine sons. Girlfriends sobbed. Some struggled to remain emotionless. Others obviously just wanted their loved ones on the bus and away to 

escape the depth of emotion. The terrible weight of responsibility for another’s loved one became deeply apparent as I said my own farewell to 

Tim. The worst moment was watching the Marines board the buses. Tim 

was nervous and, at the same time, frustrated with the long process. I distinctly remember thinking that some of these men would not come home; 

some would not come home in one piece. I do not know why, but I had not 

truly grasped the solemn human element of deployment before this. My 

deployment to Iraq, so late in that war, was just not dangerous enough to 

bring this realization home, especially after preparing for clearing operations in Afghanistan. 

In the weeks following my brother’s deployment, Tim and I occasionally talked on the phone. He was doing what he had trained for and was 

enjoying it. I was enjoying my job as the assistant operations officer. My 

role was mostly planning and supervising the execution of the details 

of the unit’s plans. My unit, 3d Battalion, 9th Marines, was scheduled to 

deploy around mid-November to Marjah proper. Tim and I joked that 

we would see each other in-country. At the same time, my wife was very 

pregnant. With a little less than a month before I was to deploy, my son 

Emmett was born. We had a christening party with our families and looked 

forward to the following summer when we would all be reunited. My 

youngest brother Dan was, by this time, a midshipman in the NROTC unit 

at George Washington University. 

One night, a few days after my family had left, Emmett would not 

sleep. He was bawling. Car rides calmed him down, so I strapped him in 

the baby seat and drove around Camp Lejeune. My father called me on 

60 | Captain Matthew C. Fallon
the way home: “Where are you?” Reporting on my fatherly duty, I replied, 

“I’m driving around trying to put Emmett to sleep. Why?” There was a 

rare urgency in his voice, and he said, “Pull over.” In that instant, I knew 

Tim had been hurt. For a few seconds, I thought he was dead. I pulled over. 

He told me what they knew. It was not much.

The initial report was that Tim was wounded in the face. What did that 

mean? Well, the official could not tell us because he only read from a vague 

and limited report. Tim and I had talked over beers about what part of the 

body would be better to lose and agreed that losing a leg was not so bad. 

Being wounded in the face had never entered the conversation. Was he disfigured? Brain-dead? Blind? No one could tell us. Despite the immediacy 

of social media and the Internet, it remains difficult to talk to those who 

are in the fight, and information that does come out is often inaccurate. It 

is agonizing for family members as they desperately try to piece together shards of accurate information to create a picture of the extent of their 

loved one’s injuries. It will always be that way.

I drove home and told my wife. She was in shock. I watched a YouTube 

video with particularly powerful music again and again. It seemed to 

vaguely reflect my emotions but could not match the depth of what I felt. 

Eventually, I went to the office and e-mailed Tim’s company commander, who I had met once. I hoped that I would hear from him by the next 

morning. My wife and I went to bed feeling empty and incomplete. 

The next morning, I went into work overwhelmed by what had happened and concerned about what the future held for both my brother and 

my family. I was numb, moving in slow motion, yet I was scheduled to 

deploy to Marjah in two days. I remember seeing my battalion commander Lieutenant Colonel David W. Hudspeth who asked, “How’s it going, 

Matt?” I replied, remaining stoic, “Tim’s been hit.” The commander’s response, “I know I just saw the casualty list,” was full of meaning, yet there 

was no other way for me to react but unemotionally. The fact that he knew 

and was obviously seeking me out to talk about it made me feel better. I 

heard from Tim’s company commander, but he had very little information 

as to the extent of the injuries. In combat, we do not treat and diagnose the 

A Fellow Marine in Combat | 61
wounded. We just stabilize and evacuate the injured. The hospital units in 

the rear areas are staffed with true professionals who diagnose and provide 

treatment. Despite twenty-first century communication technology, there is 

still a “fog of war” at the front where the wounded are rapidly triaged and 

transported. 

My family anxiously sought more information, so my uncle, who 

knew Tim’s battalion commander, sent him an e-mail. The battalion commander said that Tim was just fine and would recover with only superficial damage to his face. I remember thinking this was too good to be 

true. So, despite the good news, I continued to hunt down information. 

I talked to the medical chief and got the number to a hospital unit in Afghanistan. After hours of phone calls, I tracked down a sergeant who was 

in charge of routing casualties to the United States. She read Tim’s chart 

to me, which was against regulations but merciful. His face was structurally intact, but both eyes were badly damaged. I did not know about 

brain function or much of the medical terminology used by the sergeant, 

so I could only understand pieces of the jargon. I called my mother and 

painfully delivered the news that Tim may be blind and have a traumatic 

brain injury (TBI). Although my family and I were never speechless, our 

words never captured the depth of our distress. I remember conversations as being surreal, skimming the surface of our agony as each person 

tried to be strong for the other. If one person fell apart, we would all fall 

apart. My mother called my father and Dan to give our family the news 

of Tim’s injuries. Yet, there was still Tim’s fiancée who needed to be notified, and I had to make that call. There was not much to say except to 

repeat the little we knew. But the little we knew was weighty enough, 

and the unknown was even more solemn. My unit’s deployment was 

delayed by 48 hours. As I prepared to deploy to Afghanistan in the next 

two days, Tim was on his way to the states to Walter Reed Army Medical 

Center in Washington, DC. 

Through a friend in the U.S. Air Force, I was able to get Tim’s flight 

information to the United States. If I had not had that contact, we never 

would have known when Tim arrived in the states. He was scheduled to 

62 | Captain Matthew C. Fallon
arrive 36 hours before I was scheduled to leave. I considered traveling 

to Walter Reed where I might have been able to see him, but my mother 

talked me out of it, urging me to spend every moment before I left with 

Jen and Emmett. So along with the rest of my unit’s advanced party, I 

packed my kit and staged to load the buses. I recall waiting to leave. A 

friend asked, “Isn’t your brother there?” meaning Afghanistan, of course. 

I responded simply, “No, he was stuck by an IED.” That was the first time 

that most of my friends heard of Tim’s injury.

I relied on emotional distance at this point. My uncle called and told 

me they, the family, had Tim, and I had to concentrate on what I had to 

do. This was repeated by my father and mother. In retrospect, it is remarkable to even realize that only 96 hours transpired between my learning 

that Tim was hit and my leaving for Marjah. I was in an emotional haze 

of anger. Leaving my wife and 12-day-old son hardly registered. I had not 

even had the time to comprehend, beyond the intellectual level, that I was 

a father. As I got on the bus, a profound moment occurred that I will never 

forget. For unknown reasons, the buses were delayed multiple times. The 

“Old Man” (the commanding officer of the battalion) had to get off twice 

to explain to his little girls that he was leaving. He came back in a rage: 

“Don’t these motherf——s know how hard it is to explain eight months? 

Let’s get f——g going.” A few minutes later the Old Man made a joke, and 

I think he felt bad about destroying us, but it was for a good reason. Then 

he said, “You know, Matt, you’re gonna be a better officer now that you’re 

a father.” I said something shallow but polite in response. He responded, 

“No, you don’t understand. John A. Lejeune said to love your men like you 

love your own children. But you’re gonna find that no matter how hard 

you try, you will fail at this, so you are constantly going to struggle to love 

them [your Marines] the way you have been charged to.” It was among the 

best leadership advice I ever received, made more powerful by the timing 

of its delivery.

The 3d Battalion, 9th Marines, was part of the same regimental combat 

team that the 2d Battalion, 9th Marines, (Tim’s battalion) belonged to, and 

I was deployed only three miles away from what had been Tim’s outpost 

A Fellow Marine in Combat | 63
in Afghanistan. People looked at my name tape then at me and said, “Are 

you the Lieutenant Fallon that was wounded? You can’t be.” I answered 

truthfully that it was my brother. In retrospect, I sometimes wished I had 

just said, “No.” I tried to keep the focus on what I was there to do, but 

that was difficult because of the circumstances. I did a lot of planning 

work to bring the battalion into the country and deploy to Afghanistan. 

There is a running joke in the Marine Corps that the two worst units in 

the Corps are the one you replace and the one that replaces you. This was 

not true of 2d Battalion, 6th Marines, the unit that we replaced. We listened to what the 2d Battalion, 6th Marines, had to say because that unit 

had fought hard and well and shattered the Taliban in Marjah. Marines 

from the 3d Battalion, 9th Marines, had a lot to learn. First, my unit had 

to understand how the Marines had fought and thought in this particular 

place. Much of the time was spent talking through what had happened 

before the 3d Battalion, 9th Marines, got there. We had to learn about 

our Afghan partners—both the official Afghan National Security Force 

(ANSF) and local security forces. Additionally, we had significant planning to coordinate with higher headquarters. One constant surprise was 

the amount of gear the unit received from overseas that we had never 

trained with or heard of. Some of it was highly technical and complex, 

while other pieces were as simple as a scythe on a stick used to find wires 

or the soft spot in the earth where potentially dangerous items were 

buried. Throughout the early months of my deployment, my family told 

me that Tim wanted to talk to me. Although phone calls were successfully arranged between Walter Reed Army Medical Center and Marjah, I 

found that I almost did not want to talk too much. I was not sure what to 

say to Tim, and I knew I had to focus on where I was and what I had to 

accomplish. Again, I kept myself purposefully distant to maintain emotional control.

Then came the first operation, and I was tasked with planning it. It 

was a reinforced company clearing mission to deny the enemy an assembly area near the heart of the town. I went on a reconnaissance patrol 

with the engineer platoon and found the key problem: we had to resup64 | Captain Matthew C. Fallon
ply the company and push down enough engineering supplies to establish a patrol base. The battalion was worried, during this time, about the 

prospect of a welcoming party, when the enemy tests a newly deployed 

battalion by attacking everywhere. Even a week or two prior to turning 

over the battle space to the 3d Battalion, 9th Marines, every single position held by the 2d Battalion, 6th Marines, had been attacked within a few 

hours. Something similar never occurred during my unit’s deployment. 

We later determined that a deception plan we had run was likely the 

cause of the enemy’s hesitancy to act. I remained in the battalion combat 

operations center (COC) during the first clearing operation. The boring 

nature of this work is vile. For what seems to be an eternity but can only 

be minutes, one sits waiting for a report. But for Marines at higher headquarters, they shut up and stay off the radios because the “dudes”—the 

riflemen and small unit leaders in the field, those at the cutting edge—

know what is going on and what to do. The long minutes are followed 

by brief moments of stress and excitement from news of cache finds or 

clearing detonations and clearing fires or giving directions to a forward 

element. That is followed by more waiting while the Marines in the field 

do their work. It is also immensely frustrating since someone in my position could not be there, and all I wanted was to be there with the Marines. 

During officer training, instructors constantly talked about the bond 

we officers would form with our first Marines and how much counseling 

would be required in our roles as leaders. The first Marine I ever counseled 

was from a small town in Louisiana. He had graduated infantry school the 

week before and was about to marry his high school sweetheart. He was 

18 or 19 at the time. He remarked that the roads around Camp Lejeune 

were the biggest he had ever seen. It is very difficult for people so young 

to be married and more difficult to be in a place so far from home and so 

alien in culture. Both he and his fiancée knew very few people outside of 

their hometown in Louisiana, and they were about to move into Jacksonville, North Carolina, which, while a modest town, was much larger than 

his hometown. After I was no longer his platoon commander, I learned 

that he and his wife were experiencing the typical stresses of a young 

A Fellow Marine in Combat | 65
couple.2

 When word came that this Marine was wounded, it was a blow. I 

had known him and liked him as a Marine, and while he was not picture 

perfect, he worked hard and persevered no matter the situation. Then, he 

became a double amputee. Later, when reports came in from the hospital 

(reports from units in the fight are by necessity short and only contain 

the most necessary details), I learned his penis had been destroyed.3 I remember the depths of my sadness; the tragedy of someone that young 

dealing with the normal challenges of newly married life and coming 

home mangled. 

For many servicemen and servicewomen during the Iraq and Afghanistan wars, the daily grind of combat was more about drafting reports and 

e-mails to request support assets and watching intelligence, surveillance, 

and reconnaissance (ISR) feeds. At the battalion level, one knows the people 

fighting, but above that, I found a tendency for people to lose the personal element of war and become consumed with the requirements of daily 

duties. From the grunt’s perspective, it was very hard to watch Marines 

be in the fight without going into the field alongside them. Occasionally, 

I would leave my primary role in the operations center to go on patrols 

through the area of operations. There was a single time I was actually in 

a significant fight. One company was pushing into an area east of Marjah, 

controlled either by the Taliban or a drug lord. It was a reconnaissance in 

force operation to determine routes and the location of a new patrol base in 

2 The Marine and Family Programs Division, under the deputy commandant for Manpower 

and Reserve Affairs, is tasked with providing policy and resources to support personal and family 

readiness programs. One such program, LifeSkills Training and Education, addresses family functioning and communication for Marines and their families. See the Marine Corps Community 

Services website at www.usmc-mccs.org.

3

 Injury to the genitals, bladder, urinary tract, and kidneys, known as genitourinary trauma, became more common during the wars in Iraq and Afghanistan as American troops participated in 

dismounted patrols with frequent exposure to IEDs. See Sherrie L. Wilcox, Ashley Schuyler, and 

Anthony M. Hassan, Genitourniary Trauma in the Military: Impact, Prevention, and Recommendations, CIR Policy Brief March 2015 (Los Angeles, CA: University of Southern California, Center 

for Innovation and Research on Veterans and Military Families, 2015); and Dismounted Complex Blast Injury Task Force, Dismounted Complex Blast Injury: Report of the Army Dismounted 

Complex Blast Injury Task Force (Fort Sam Houston, TX: Army Surgeon General, 2011).

66 | Captain Matthew C. Fallon
support of a regimental push within the month.4

 I knew the Marines were 

going to see enemy action, because every time we moved east, the enemy 

would invariably provoke a fight. Knowing this, I went with the Protective 

Security Detachment (PSD) trucks to see the place where we would be operating for the next few months. I clearly remember prepping gear the night 

prior and the morning of because a dry lightning storm eerily created spider 

web designs through the low clouds. In movies, occurrences such as this are 

portrayed as omens, but while on the ground during war, they are often just 

passing observations. The trucks moved to one of the patrol bases on the 

edge of what was, in essence, the front line. If we crossed into Trek Nawa, 

the enemy always came out to fight.5 While we waited for the cloud cover 

and rain to clear, the company commander reviewed the plan to the battalion commander. The expectation of getting into a fight was foremost on my 

mind. By midmorning, the rain stopped, and the company began to move 

out of patrol bases into Trek Nawa. Much of the first hour was consumed 

with pushing through fields. We followed the exact path marked in front of 

us. Up front, the sweepers led the way with metal detectors and scythes. I 

am loath to admit that, like many Marines new to combat, I longed to be in a 

fight, and part way through the push when nothing was happening, I began 

to worry that we would not encounter action. 

Just as it seemed that this would be an uneventful operation, there was 

the crack of rifle fire. It was only a few shots at first. The formations spread 

out and began to push across the fields while I stopped and held security 

for one of the designated marksman (DM) with the PSD. He was providing overwatch as the rest of the company moved forward.6

 I could not see 

anyone, nor could I really fire as columns of squads pushed in front of me. 

Minutes went by, and it dawned on me that we were all alone—two men 

on security and the designated marksman, who was on the roof of the compound. The entire force was 200–300 meters ahead. “Baily,” I shouted to the 

4

 The term reconnaissance in force refers to an operation designed to gather intelligence about an 

enemy’s capabilities. 

5 Trek Nawa is located east of Marjah in the Helmand Province.

6

 The term overwatch means to provide fire support for another moving element.

A Fellow Marine in Combat | 67
DM, “I think it’s time to go.” Everything comes out like a cliché in combat. 

He jumped off the roof, and the three of us sprinted across a field. “This 

is stupid,” I thought. IEDs are rarely in the middle of a field, but rounds 

were cracking overhead. Suddenly, I had an image in my mind of multiple 

YouTube helmet-camera videos portraying this moment. We ran 200 meters; 

mud from the rain started to clump on our boots, slowing us up. I was in 

front, moving across the field. I sensed the other two had fallen back but 

were still with me. 

After what seemed like an eternity, we reached a compound on the far 

side of the field with the rest of the PSD. After a few minutes, we moved 

forward to one of the outbuildings farther south by about 50–60 meters. 

Somehow, we ended up on the left flank of the company’s advance. We 

started to take a higher volume of fire, and for some foolish reason, I moved 

out from behind the building. I wanted to get to a strong firing position 

to help suppress the enemy team or squad that had us pinned. I sprinted from behind the building back to one of the walls 10–15 meters away. 

I fired my weapon for the first time in anger at one of the possible firing 

positions. I distinctly recall watching my weapon’s plastic barrel protector 

fly into pieces as the round flew out. Firing the first round always takes 

more oomph. Once outbound, subsequent rounds come much faster. Some 

Marines from the company came past me and continued south toward the 

village, which was our objective. Increasingly, I began to realize my position was imprudent. If I had been shot, no one would have seen me. Having 

come to this earth-shattering conclusion, I moved back to the building next 

to everyone else. At this point, we were pinned down. When we tried to 

move from behind the building, there was a crack from gunfire. To gain fire 

superiority, the DM climbed up onto the roof, and within seconds, he and 

his rifle came tumbling back off as all of the enemy fire concentrated on him. 

At this point, gun trucks came forward and put enemy positions under 

fire. We were able to achieve fire superiority. We bounded forward in two 

groups, one providing fire for the other. This maneuver was more organized 

than the first run across the field. We bounded between 50 meters and 100 

meters twice. It was the second bound forward that the combined antiar68 | Captain Matthew C. Fallon
mor team’s (CAAT’s) grenades from the automatic grenade launcher began 

to fall short. The grenades were landing within 50 meters of the fighting 

Marines, and it took a few minutes to shut off. The Bell AH-1 Super Cobra 

helicopters finally showed up.7 The relief of witnessing an enemy position 

pulverized by rockets and 20mm cannon fire is hard to describe. After one 

or two more runs, the enemy stopped fighting; rarely would they fight with 

aircraft on station such as Cobras or certain drones. With the firepower to 

suppress enemy fire, the company cleared to the objective; engineers began 

conducting their reconnaissance of the compound that would be the patrol 

base, determining what other supplies would be required to turn it into a 

permanent position for Marines. 

There were only a few people on security. Snipers established an overwatch position to allow us to safely perform our duties. As the engineers 

worked, the cloud cover from the morning came back, which was a serious 

problem because aircraft would not be able to fly. We could see movement 

to the east. Just as the engineers finished their reconnaissance of the future 

patrol base, the enemy counterattacked by fire. One of the platoons suppressed the enemy while the rest of the company began to withdraw as we 

had the information required for future operations in the area. It took more 

than an hour to walk across the muddy fields back to the established patrol 

bases. It was just a matter of each Marine following the guy in front of him 

to avoid the IEDs. 

Three weeks later, the actual clearing operation began. The goal was to 

seize the staging areas that anti-Coalition forces were using in Trek Nawa, 

east of Marjah. To do this the battalion would establish a patrol base in the 

position that engineers had found earlier. This time I remained in the main 

operations center. The forward operations center, consisting of trucks specially outfitted with communications equipment, had moved forward to 

control the operations in Trek Nawa. The first few hours of the operation 

went well. There were close to 800 Marines, members of the ANSF, and local 

7

 The Bell AH-1W is officially named the Sea Cobra, which is virtually never used. It is almost 

universally known as the SuperCobra or Super Cobra, but will be referred to throughout this 

book as the Cobra.

A Fellow Marine in Combat | 69
fighters called Interim Security for Critical Infrastructure (ISCI). With such 

a large number of people pushing into the area, Taliban fighters and foot 

soldiers for the drug lords were unlikely to take the opportunity to fight us. 

The odds were too much in our favor. However, around midmorning, a call 

came from the units on the northern flanks. There had been an IED strike 

but no casualties. When the unmanned aerial vehicle (UAV) finally positioned overhead, we saw that the mine-resistant ambush protected (MRAP) 

all-terrain vehicle (MATV) was torn in half. It was impossible that there 

were no casualties. After several minutes, a corrected report finally came 

through. 

The nature of war is always complex and often uncertain as so many 

men and women try to carry out their isolated tasks while coordinating with 

others in a naturally dynamic and chaotic environment. No one will ever 

know how that initial, very wrong, causality report reached the main COC. 

It did not matter; those who died would have died even if accurate reports 

had been received. This type of misinformation is a common occurrence on 

the battlefield. The Marines on the deck pulled the five casualties out of the 

truck and recovered one Marine from a canal 20 meters away. That Marine 

was the gunner who had been ejected from the vehicle by the force of the explosion. Two Marines died soon after the evacuation helicopter took off. The 

other three were marred for life. All of them were from Weapons Company, 

and I knew several of them, including the vehicle commander who died. He 

was a good man. He had risen from a private first class to a sergeant in three 

years and deserved every bit of it. Everyone respected him as a level-headed 

and fair leader, who was always respectful but never intimidated by rank. 

He was the heart and soul of that section. 

When the vehicle was recovered and brought back to the battalion’s 

forward operating base, the MATV’s condition was jarring. People who 

work on large bases and camps are cut off from the daily grind of fighting and can lose touch with the brutality of war. There was significant 

shock among the Marines as they stared at the remains of the vehicle. Most 

Marines at the FOB gathered around, mouths agape. The vehicle had been 

literally ripped apart. It was horrific and terrifying to see it torn to shreds 

70 | Captain Matthew C. Fallon
when it was supposed to provide so much protection. I wonder if after the 

landings in Normandy, troops looked at those M4 Sherman battle tanks, 

gutted by the German Tiger heavy tanks and 88mm guns, and felt equally 

terrified. 

While the unit’s operation was successful, the presence of those IEDs 

forced us to fight much longer in Trek Nawa than we had intended. Two 

months later, the battalion started to redeploy. I was among the first out. 

Throughout the entire deployment, I had rarely talked to my family, my 

wife, or Tim. Admittedly, this was a half-conscious decision. I did not want 

to think about the trauma at home. It was as if I could not simultaneously 

handle fighting a war while coming to terms with Tim’s wounds. Throughout this time, we had found out that Tim would not be able to see again 

without tremendous technological advancements. He and his fiancée committed to stay together; they became a unit of strength. There had been 

things I heard about while I was gone, like the Christmas Eve Mass at our 

hometown church, St. Luke’s. We had been parishioners since we were kids, 

and when Father Mike welcomed Tim home, there was a standing ovation 

and people lined up to shake his hand. While emotionally gratifying to hear 

these stories, because I knew Tim was being honored and supported by 

community, the stories were equally draining to hear and difficult to digest. 

I felt helpless when it came to Tim and his life-changing injury and that, in 

part, made me angry. But with my job in Afghanistan over, I was headed 

home.

Most Marines underestimate the enormity of coming back, probably 

because of the intense immediacy of a war’s daily focus or the obvious 

traumas of combat. The majority of the men in the battalions had wives who 

had been running everything at home while the Marines were deployed. 

The wives single-handedly raised children, worked, dealt with finances, and 

made family decisions without input from their husbands. So no matter 

what a Marine has experienced, coming back after six months or a year, 

he has to face an intense process of acclimation. Very often his wife cannot 

understand what the Marine was tasked to do. Likewise, the Marine cannot 

understand what his wife went through. While I was deployed, my wife 

A Fellow Marine in Combat | 71
went through a period of postpartum depression alone. It was exacerbated 

by my own struggles to handle Tim’s injury that made me unsupportive 

to her before I deployed. While I was away, I abruptly left her with a twoweek-old child and headed to Afghanistan and turned inward after Tim’s 

injury to focus on my job. To her credit, she did not share her burdens with 

me, but bore them herself to ensure I could focus on combat. 

So, I faced a new challenge upon coming home, and it was one that I did 

not recognize until long after we had overcome the trials of war and returning home. First, there was dealing with Tim. While deployed, I had intellectualized his injury and his disability. I had separated myself from his pain. 

But the first time I embraced Tim after getting off the bus at Lejeune, I knew 

he had retained his trademark humor and love of life. Even a few months 

after his injury, he was running sightless down a dock and jumping into the 

White Oak River in North Carolina. However, to see the visual world now 

off limits to him was painful for me and triggered a raw ache that I had not 

anticipated. I experienced anger and frustration and had the sense that the 

world had moved off its axis because it had not properly recognized Tim’s 

sacrifice. 

Second, I was dealing with being a father for the first time, and diapers 

were the least of the trials. Finally, my wife and I faced the challenge of 

becoming a couple again after enduring emotional and physical separation 

and disconnection. There were months of postdeployment stress for both of 

us. My wife and I spent months circling each other and fighting for the sake 

of fighting. This was uncharacteristic of us as a couple, and neither of us 

really understood the reasons for the tension with one another. It was only 

after months of working together that we became strong friends again and 

were able to talk through the hurdles life had placed in our paths.

As for Tim, he has progressed faster than anyone could have anticipated. It is a testament to his resolve, his strength of character, and his love 

of life. While I was away, Tim had traveled around the country receiving 

superb care and rehabilitation at Walter Reed Army Medical Center with 

ophthalmologist Dr. Dal Chun, the Edward Jr. VA Hospital Central Blind Rehabilitation Center just outside of Chicago, and The Seeing Eye, Inc. in New 

72 | Captain Matthew C. Fallon
Jersey. He was fully supported by the Semper Fi Fund, Blinded Veterans 

Association, and Fisher House Foundation. Today, nearly six year later, he 

has a guide dog, a master’s degree from Georgetown University, and a job 

and loves an 18-month-old son. I no longer have those days of anger when 

I only think about what a good officer he was and his potential, and bitterly 

wonder if Americans recognize his sacrifices for their safety. Yet, Tim’s story 

reflects the experiences of thousands of Marines throughout history. Tim 

and I have talked, and we know our story is not unique. Other families have 

suffered far more in this war and in past wars. His life now embodies the 

strength of the human spirit when faced with great loss.

Tim first held my infant son, Emmett, 24 hours after arriving at Walter 

Reed Army Medical Center. Later, Tim bought Emmett a copy of J. R. R. 

Tolkien’s The Lord of the Rings. In it, Tim wrote an inscription about the 

unique bond and love that develops between those who have served:

I fought dark men far from home. I lost my eyes in battle against evil 

and the protection of that home. I would lose them again a hundred 

times over for you and the light my brothers and I protect. I never saw 

more clearly than when I held you for the first time in a hospital room, 

lightless only to me.

REFLECTION POINTS

• How do injuries of servicemen and -women affect leaders and their actions? 

Is there a way to prepare for these moments?

• How does poor communication or lack of notification affect those on the 

battlefield and stateside? If you have had experience with this, did it help 

not to get the worst of the news at once?

• Captain Fallon mentions uncertainty on several levels—the battlefield, the 

home front, and even his own feelings. How can policy makers, family 

members, and military leaders help Marines, soldiers, and sailors handle 

this uncertainty so that servicemembers can focus on wartime objectives?

A Fellow Marine in Combat | 73
CHAPTER FOUR

THE COBRA, THE CONVOY, AND A CRISIS OF FAITH

LIEUTENANT COLONEL WAYNE R. “GONZO” BEYER JR. (RET) 

Lieutenant Colonel Wayne R. “Gonzo” Beyer Jr. served with the U.S. Marine 

Corps for more than 20 years as an aviation instructor and helicopter pilot of Bell 

AH-1W Super Cobras. He flew with Marine Light Attack Helicopter Squadron 

169 (HMLA-169) and later with Marine Light Attack Helicopter Training Squadron 303 (HMLAT-303). During his service, he deployed twice from Okinawa, 

Japan, to Kuwait/Iraq for Operation Iraqi Freedom I (OIF I) and to Djibouti, 

Africa, for Combined Joint Task Force-Horn of Africa. Beyer narrates events that 

took place during his time as a captain deployed for OIF I in 2003 with HMLA169. He was awarded nine Strike/Flight Air Medals and two Individual Action 

Air Medals with the combat “V” distinguishing device.

It was dark, there was no moon, and that meant there was very little contrast in the desert terrain for the night vision goggles (NVGs) to pick up. 

This made flying at low altitudes rather disorienting. It was 28 March 2003, 

and the I Marine Expeditionary Force (I MEF) was moving rapidly north 

from Kuwait toward Baghdad, Iraq, and I was flying in support from my 

74
The Cobra, the Convoy, and a Crisis of Faith | 75

AH-1W Cobra attack helicopter. At this moment, my spatial world came 

down to two sources: the tracer fire from the Marine light armored vehicles 

(LAVs) blasting east into the buildings along the road and ricocheting high 

into the sky, and even heavier tracer fire blasting from the buildings to the 

west into the LAVs and ricocheting into the sky. The volume of fire was so 

heavy and in such a compact area that it looked like a scene from Star Wars. 

This was going to be the closest I had ever fired rockets to support Marines 

on the ground less than 100 meters away. To ensure we did not frag the 

Marines, my division had to push in really close, and that meant diving the 

Cobras right into that mess.1 I was convinced there was no way we were not 

going to get hit by all those ricocheting rounds, but we had to stop those 

machine guns from unloading on the Marines.

They said that without the Marine Close Air Support the losses to the 

convoy would have been significant. 

~Lieutenant Colonel Freddie J. Blish2

How did I get here? It is a long story. Everyone has a unique path 

to becoming a Marine; mine began with the first Marine I ever met, my 

childhood priest Father Eugene Lutz. Father Lutz was the greatest priest I 

have ever known. He enlisted in the Marines at age 17, went to boot camp, 

and shipped out to an island in the Pacific. Unfortunately, that island was 

Bataan in the Philippines, and within a month of becoming a Marine, he 

found himself a Japanese prisoner of war and on the infamous death march. 

Story has it that while being tortured, he swore to God that if he got out of 

there alive, he would dedicate his life to God’s service. He stayed true to 

his promise and became a priest. He was beloved by his community. Every 

now and then, he would wear a tattered USMC shirt. I could tell he was still 

proud of having been a Marine. 

I learned early on that Marines are riflemen first. Officer Candidate 

School (OCS) and The Basic School (TBS) also engrained in me a theoretical 

1

 Frag, in this case, refers to the killing of a Marine by a fellow Marine.

2

 LtCol Freddie J. Blish, e-mail to author, 4 August 2004.
appreciation for the Marine air-ground team. As a light and fast force, 

Marine infantry does not carry with it the same heavy firepower (e.g., tanks, 

artillery, heavy equipment, etc.) as the U.S. Army. Marine infantrymen rely 

on speed, surprise, and violence of action. They make up for the lack of 

heavy firepower with Marine aviation, which the Marine Corps has integrated into most aspects of operations from Marine assault pilots—who are 

legendary for carrying Marines into and out of hot landing zones—to close 

air support (CAS), where rotary-wing and fixed-wing aircraft integrate with 

the Marines on the ground to drop or fire ordnance in close proximity of 

those troops. If Marines are in contact with the enemy, Marine aviators are 

almost always there to supply them, protect them, or to get them out. And 

so, at TBS, a contract begins to be established between the aviators and the 

grunts. It is one of shared understanding, respect, and most importantly 

trust. Psychologically, it is brilliant to make all Marine officers go through 

the six-month training at TBS. There, we gain the mentality that we are 

Marine riflemen first and aviators second; the concept of “one team, one 

fight” is anchored there.

Between primary and intermediate flight training, I had gone home to 

ask Father Lutz if he would perform my marriage ceremony to my fiancée, 

Elizabeth. We had a long talk about marriage, and the consequences of becoming a Marine. He seemed torn—proud, but pensive about what might 

lay ahead for me. After all, his Marine Corps experience was more horror 

story than fairy tale. I confessed to him about having a conflict as well. In 

the grand scheme of life and faith, I was struggling with one concept I could 

not get out of my head. If we were called to aspire to be Christ-like, how 

could I reconcile that with volunteering to become a Marine aviator? I told 

him that I believe the Marines are ultimately a force for good, but I did not 

want to have to kill anyone. I realize there was an unfortunate reality in this 

world, and that someone has to be willing to stand up and fight evil. But I 

did not think Jesus Christ would choose this career path. Father Lutz put 

his hands on my shoulders, looked me straight in the eyes, and said, “That’s 

why you need to become a Marine aviator. That kind of power needs to 

be in the discerning hands of someone who doesn’t desire to use it.” With 

76 | Lieutenant Colonel Wayne R. Beyer Jr.
tears in his eyes, he blessed my forehead and said, “God will be with you.” 

It was the last time I saw him. He did not live long enough to perform the 

ceremony for us. Thousands came to his vigil.

During flight training, there was a lot of talk between my fellow Marines 

about what kind of platform (aircraft) we would end up flying, provided we 

were to make it through flight school. Prior to getting to flight school, most 

of us had an idea of what we wanted to fly. A lot of aviators wanted to select 

“jets,” so they could fly McDonnell Douglas F/A-18 Hornets or McDonnell 

Douglas AV-8B Harriers. Others wanted to fly helicopters, so they could be 

closer to the Marines. As for me, I just wanted to finish flight school. At that 

time, they could give me anything, and as long as I got my wings, I was 

going to be happy. I did envision myself flying every platform, wondering 

which one would be the most fun to fly. I considered every platform, that 

is, except one: the Cobra. I am not sure why, but I discounted any notion of 

flying a Cobra. Even after primary flight training, when I was selected for 

the helicopter pipeline, I thought about all the helicopters except the Cobra. 

The Marine Corps helicopter options at that point were the Sikorsky 

CH-53 Super/Sea Stallion heavy-lift helicopter, the Boeing Vertol CH-46 

Sea Knight medium-lift helicopter, the Bell-Textron UH-1N Iroquois lightlift and utility helicopter, and the AH-1W Cobra attack helicopter.3

 Unless 

a pilot was at the top of the list of graduates in their class, it was a roll of 

the dice what platform the Marine aviator would ultimately fly. The top 

graduate in the class, however, always got his or her first choice. At that 

point, I had never really done better than average, so graduating at the top 

of my class was something that seemed impossible. But on my first helicopter flight, I imagined tipping the aircraft over and launching rockets from 

a Cobra, and I was hooked. In my mind, I had to fly the Cobra. I now had 

a vision and a goal, and I knew I was going to have to do a lot better than 

average to achieve it. Instantly, my grades in flight school took a drastic turn 

for the positive, and I graduated third in my class. During the week that I 

finished, there was only one Cobra slot available; yet, I was the only Marine 

3

 The UH-1N helicopter is commonly referred to as a Huey.

The Cobra, the Convoy, and a Crisis of Faith | 77
in that class who desired to fly the Cobra. So, I ended up with my choice: 

Cobras on the West Coast at MCB Camp Pendleton, California. 

THE COBRA

The AH-1W Cobra attack helicopter is an awesome flying machine. I was 

assigned to Marine Light Attack Helicopter Squadron 169 (HMLA-169), also 

known as the “Vipers.” The HMLA community is known throughout the 

Corps for being a very tough community. I think I was developing an ulcer 

during that first year from trying to adjust to the culture. In the Cobra community, if pilots do not bring their best games, they are quickly discarded. 

The amount of studying I did in my six years in the Vipers was unparalleled 

for me. 

Flying an aircraft is one thing; using it to fight is altogether another 

thing. I was struggling my first year in the Vipers when a captain, who saw 

potential in me, pulled me aside and mentored me. He used an analogy: 

“ ‘Gonzo’ [my call sign], if you were a brain surgeon instead of a Cobra 

pilot, would you want to perform open-brain surgery on your wife if she 

needed it, or would you want the best brain surgeon in the country to do 

the surgery?”4 As I was thinking about my answer, he asked, “To put it a 

different way, if you were responsible for cracking someone’s skull open 

and digging around in his brain, would you be studying harder than you 

are now as a Cobra pilot?” I responded that I probably would be studying 

a bit harder if I was going to actually perform brain surgery, and then the 

tone changed immediately. It would be inappropriate to use the colorful 

language that ensued, so allow me to summarize the lesson: there is no difference between the responsibilities of a brain surgeon and a Cobra pilot in 

terms of preparation and experience. Lack of knowledge and mastery by 

a brain surgeon will just as assuredly get a patient killed as a Cobra pilot 

could get Marines killed without professional dedication to mastering our 

craft. As Cobra pilots, we should seek to be so skilled, knowledgeable, and 

4

 Although likely intended early on to allow ground controllers to easily communicate with pilots, call signs today are created by the members of air units for each pilot and usually reference 

their names, physical traits, or specific events.

78 | Lieutenant Colonel Wayne R. Beyer Jr.
proficient in the craft that others seek our expertise. My confidence needed 

to be equal to the brain surgeon who would demand that he, and only he, 

be the one to perform surgery on his wife. Lesson learned. And from that 

moment on, just like in flight school, I had a new motivation. No Marines 

were going to die due to my lack of preparation. I was going to be the best 

Cobra pilot that I could be, and no one was going to out work me. My 

life for the next five years almost entirely consisted of 12-hour days at the 

squadron and studying until I fell asleep at night. 

Then, the unspeakable happened on 11 September 2001, while I was a 

captain on deployment in Okinawa. I was up late studying weapon systems, 

with the TV on for background noise. When the second plane hit, I knew 

we were going to war. When we returned to Camp Pendleton, I attended 

the Weapons and Tactics Instructor (WTI) Course. Between the awesome 

instructors I had with the Vipers and the incredible training and instruction 

I received at WTI, I could not have imagined being better prepared for flying 

in combat. I owe a lot to the many instructors I had in my career and to the 

challenging yet realistic training I received. I also owe a lot to my peer group 

in the Vipers. We had a very close-knit group that had an incredible balance 

between friendship and intense competition. We pushed each other to be the 

best we could be. Measuring up to their talent level was another factor that 

helped to drive me to work as hard as I did. They were, and are, the most 

competent group of people I have ever known.

When it became clear that the Marines were going to Iraq, and I MEF 

was getting the assignment, our attention became a kind of myopic panic 

over which light attack helicopter squadrons were going to go, or more 

importantly, who was going to get left behind. As it is stated in the 1995 

Marine Corps Warfighting Publication 6-11, Leading Marines, “Marines are 

going in harm’s way, and there is an unnatural feeling of being ‘left out’ 

among those not able to go. . . . One Marine father sending his son into the 

Corps summed it up this way: ‘May our Corps not have to go in harm’s way 

on your watch; but if it does, may you never be the second Marine there.’ ”5

5

 Marine Corps, Leading Marines, MCWP 6-11 (Washington, DC: Headquarters Marine Corps, 

1995), 16.

The Cobra, the Convoy, and a Crisis of Faith | 79
Yet, the reality was that some Cobra pilots were going, and some were not. 

HMLA-169 Vipers, and HMLA-267 “Stingers” were the two squadrons from 

Camp Pendleton that went to Kuwait for OIF I. HMLA-367 “Scarface” was 

still on deployment in Okinawa. And so, it was HMLA-269 “Gunfighters” 

that would not go to war. I felt for my friends in the Gunfighters. They 

were a great squadron, and being left behind while fellow Marines went 

into harm’s way was unthinkable. To be honest, every light-attack helicopter pilot thinks that his or her squadron is the best that ever existed and, 

thus, should be the one to go to war. That is probably a good and healthy 

confidence to have. We certainly felt we were, but regardless, I was relieved 

it was not my squadron that had to stay behind. It seems silly now, because 

at the time, we had no idea we would rotate squadrons through Iraq and 

Afghanistan for the next 10 years (and counting). 

We traveled to Kuwait via a Lockheed C-5 Galaxy airlift and spent 

about three weeks practicing tactics with our Cobras and Hueys, drilling for 

chemical attacks, and building up the expeditionary airfield at Ali al-Salem 

Air Base with AM-2 matting.6 It was pretty slim pickings as far as the accommodations went. I recall the “grade F” burgers being served up at the chow 

tent in boxes labeled “WARNING: For Prisoners and Military Only!” The 

speaker system we called “Giant Voice” would echo the warnings for practice drills a couple times per day. We were practicing full MOPP gear all the 

time, expecting a chemical attack via a Scud-B surface-to-surface missile.7

The fighting started on the evening of 20 March 2003, and on 21 March we 

had nine actual incoming warnings. U.S. Army Patriot antimissile batteries 

were fired off to intercept inbound missiles. I do not recall any ever coming 

very close to hitting our air base, but the enemy forces tried.

The next month and a half was a whirlwind, a blur of memories, but 

some memories are still pretty solid in my mind. I recall flying to the border 

6

 Ali al-Salem is a Kuwaiti air force base located west of Kuwait City. See Col Nicholas E. Reynolds, U.S. Marines in Iraq, 2003: Basrah, Baghdad, and Beyond (Washington, DC: Marine Corps 

History Division, 2007).

7

 MOPP refers to mission-oriented protective posture gear or individual protective equipment 

including suit, boots, gloves, and mask with hood issued to military members in preparation for 

possible chemical attacks.

80 | Lieutenant Colonel Wayne R. Beyer Jr.
of Kuwait and Iraq and looking out to the west and witnessing the Army’s 

3d Infantry Division (3d Division) staging to cross the line of departure. It 

was magnificent to behold—horizon to horizon, M1A1 Abrams main battle 

tanks, Bradley fighting vehicles, trucks, and equipment. I had been flying 

over the Marines’ positions for three weeks and could not recall seeing 

even one-third the number of vehicles, particularly tanks. It was striking 

to see the differing approach to warfare so apparently displayed from 300 

feet above the ground, the best view in the world. The contrast was clear: 

strong and steady versus light and fast. On the left, the Army’s 3d Division 

resembled the bullmastiff; while on the right, the 1st Marine Division was 

more like a Doberman pinscher. 

On 21 March, after flying over the al-Faw Peninsula and supporting the 

British in al-Basrah, we were directed to support the lead Marine elements 

moving north toward Baghdad. The forward air controller (FAC) directed us 

to his position: “I’m in the tank with the orange signal panel; call contact.”8

As we flew directly over him at about 50 feet, we called, “Contact.” “I am 

the lead tank,” he said. “Anything military north of me is bad guys. If it isn’t 

waving a white flag—kill it.” Proceeding north, out in front of everyone, 

armed to the teeth, into a country that did not want us there was a surreal 

feeling for me. We spotted groups of Iraqis clearly surrendering and called 

out their positions to the grunts. The war equipment they were abandoning, we destroyed. My front-seat copilot, who was as green as could be, had 

never fired an actual AGM-114 Hellfire air-to-surface missile. His first and 

second Hellfire missiles destroyed a ZSU-23-4 Shilka antiaircraft gun and 

an SA-9 Gaskin surface-to-air missile system that we found hidden under 

a bridge. 

As I remember it, the battle rhythm (if there was one) went as follows.9

We departed Ali al-Salem with a division of four Cobras and flew missions 

in support of the Marines on the ground for about three days.10 We slept on 

8

 FAC is an aviator or pilot who is a member of the tactical air control party who, from a forward 

ground or airborne position, controls aircraft in CAS of ground troops.

9

 As used here, battle rhythm is a deliberate daily cycle of command, staff, and unit activities 

intended to synchronize current and future operations.

10 A division consisted of four Cobra attack helicopters.

The Cobra, the Convoy, and a Crisis of Faith | 81
the ground under our aircraft in the forward arming and refueling points 

(FARPs) that were established as the infantry moved forward. There is very 

little storage space in a Cobra, so we stuffed the small opening in the tail 

boom with compressed sleeping bags, changes of underwear, our chemical 

masks, and some meals, ready to eat (MREs). Under my seat, I stored as 

many water bottles as I could. We carried M4 rifles and 9mm pistols in the 

cockpit, along with our NVGs. Generally, the day started early, at sunrise, 

and we started the aircraft and contacted “Skychief,” the direct air support 

center (airborne) (DASC[A]).11 Skychief directed us to wherever we were 

needed with a grid, a frequency, and the call sign of the FAC to contact. We 

supported the FAC with whatever he needed, usually in the form of CAS, 

and repeated the process by cycling in and out of the FARP for fuel and 

ammo without shutting down the Cobras all day. The most mundane details 

turned out to be what left a lasting impression on me. The Cobra is a tight fit 

on the inside and provides a rather uncomfortable ride, which was tolerable 

for short flights. We were not, however, accustomed to flying them for 8–12 

hours straight. Often, we started the aircraft at about 0600 and did not shut 

down until sunset, only getting out of the cockpit during refueling for about 

five minutes each time for a chance to stretch and relieve our bladders. I 

recall doing pseudo wall sits in the cockpit in an effort to get my aching 

a——s off the seat. I began taking Motrin because my legs and back were in 

such pain from sitting in that uncomfortable and tight space for so long. I 

remember thinking to myself at the time how funny it would be if someone 

in the future asked me what it was like to fly in combat, and I could honestly 

respond: “It’s a real pain in the a——s!”

After a few days of flying missions all day, sleeping on the ground, 

c——ping in the dirt, and milking the few MREs we had to make them last, 

it was the aircraft, not the pilots, that needed to be taken back to Ali al-Salem 

for inspection and maintenance. We would fly them back, get sleep, and, if 

we were lucky, get a shower (nothing ever worked in Ali al-Salem, includ11 DASC is the principal air control agency of the Marine air command and control system responsible for the direction and control of air operations directly supporting the ground combat 

element.

82 | Lieutenant Colonel Wayne R. Beyer Jr.
ing the showers), and then, we would go back out for another three to four 

days of work. 

My division of Cobras was on a second rotation in Iraq when we 

spent most of one day supporting Marines pushing through the city of anNasiriyah.12 When we showed up on station, we relieved the division that 

had been there through the night during the infamous ambush on the U.S. 

Army convoy where Private First Class Jessica D. Lynch was captured.13

We worked with the Marines on the outskirts of the city to take out some 

sniper positions across the Euphrates River, and we tried to do some reconnaissance for the grunts over “Ambush Alley.” As we flew over the city, I 

heard the FAC’s garbled voice over the radio shouting, “You’re taking fire!” 

The sky suddenly lit up with antiaircraft artillery blasts. Large black puffs 

of smoke about the size of a small car blasted all around us. We were pretty 

lucky not to get shot down, because the Iraqis had our distance and elevation dialed in; they just missed us. Recon (reconnaissance) over Ambush 

Alley on that day was untenable.

THE CONVOY

It was still March 2003 when our division, on its third rotation into Iraq, 

was directed back to an-Nasiriyah. Our division of four Cobras was given 

the call sign “Clancy 31.” For this story, I will only identify pilots by their 

call signs. The division leader (dash-one) for Clancy 31 on that day was 

“Penguin;” his copilot was “Sweaty.”14 Penguin’s wingman (dash-two) was 

“Nuts;” his copilot was “Happy.” The second section lead (dash-three) was 

“Gecko;” his copilot was “Woody.” I (Gonzo) was Gecko’s wingman (dashfour); my copilot was “Gorby.”

12 An-Nasiriyah, a city in southern Iraq, was the first major challenge for the Marine’s Task Force 

Tarawa, which initially needed to secure the city and the bridges over the Euphrates River. See 

Reynolds, Basrah, Baghdad, and Beyond. 13 Lynch was a member of the Army’s 507th Maintenance Company when she was taken prisoner 

by Iraqi forces on 23 March 2003. She was rescued on 1 April 2003 by U.S. Special Forces. See 

Reynolds, Basrah, Baghdad, and Beyond. 14 The terms dash-one, dash-two, etc., refer to physical position of the aircrafts in formation. Dashone is used for the lead aircraft.

The Cobra, the Convoy, and a Crisis of Faith | 83
Before we got orders for a convoy mission, we landed along a small 

road where a new FARP called Camden Yards had been created just south 

of an-Nasiriyah. This FARP was really about as basic as it could get: a fuel 

truck, a couple of ordnance trucks, and a handful of maintenance and ordnance Marines. We had to sleep in a ditch that night next to our Cobras. It 

was pretty cold for just a sleeping bag liner and what we were wearing. We 

received our first mission at about 0630 on 28 March from Skychief. We were 

to provide security for a Cobra that had run out of gas and had autorotated 

to the desert floor.15 A CH-46 was inbound to bring it fuel so it could get 

back into the fight. We located the Cobra and coordinated the recovery, and 

then, we got the convoy mission.

At about 0730, Skychief came on the radio with orders, “Clancy 31, 

contact ‘Housefly’ or ‘Chilipepper’ and coordinate to provide convoy escort 

from Camden Yards to Regimental Combat Team 1 (RCT 1).” Housefly was 

the call sign of the convoy commander, and Chilipepper was the FAC with 

a light armored reconnaissance (LAR) unit, providing ground escort. After 

refueling the Cobras at Camden Yards, we located the convoy not far from 

our position. You could not miss it (it was a big convoy), and it was heading 

for an-Nasiriyah. Penguin, our division leader, landed his Cobra in the dirt 

next to the ground escort commander. Penguin got out of the Cobra and 

coordinated face-to-face with either Housefly or Chilipepper or both. They 

had to figure out a plan on how we were going to tackle this, because this 

was no ordinary convoy of 30–40 vehicles. This was going to be a convoy 

with more than 200 vehicles!

The infantry was moving north fast and needed the ability to establish 

more FARPs so rotary-wing support could be close at hand. The original 

convoy was supposed to only consist of FARP and rapid runway repair elements of Marine Wing Support Squadron 371 (MWSS-371) and 12 LAV-25s 

from LAR for ground escort. This totaled about 100 vehicles, but due to 

the fighting in an-Nasiriyah, the vehicles were delayed by two days. After 

Task Force Tarawa had secured the bridges and Ambush Alley, the Marines 

15 Autorotated refers to a controlled landing maneuver when a helicopter experiences engine 

failure.

84 | Lieutenant Colonel Wayne R. Beyer Jr.
were ready to move north when the force service support group sent an additional 100 vehicles to piggyback onto the already enormous convoy.16 It is 

not surprising that a 215-vehicle convoy would get the attention of someone 

directing aviation assets, and that is how we came to pick up the mission of 

escorting the convoy from Camden Yards north to RCT 1.

 Penguin ran to each of our aircraft and pointed out on the map where 

we were going and what each of our responsibilities would be within the 

division. We were going to escort the convoy all the way north to RCT 1 so 

they could set up Fenway FARP by Qalat Sikar. We pushed ahead of the 

convoy and made our presence known over an-Nasiriyah, flying over the 

exact same spot we were nearly shot down at just days before. It was weird 

seeing an-Nasiriyah as calm as if no one was there, when just days earlier, it 

was a hotbed of enemy fighting. We got the convoy through to the north of 

an-Nasiriyah without anyone taking enemy fire. It takes a long time to get 

215 vehicles moving in the same direction, so by the time they got through 

an-Nasiriyah, we were bingo on fuel (out of gas) and had to head back to 

Camden Yards. Once we were refueled, we were temporarily retasked to 

detach from the convoy and perform armed reconnaissance in support of 

Task Force Tarawa.

Sometime around 1200, we received an immediate air request from 

the DASC, whose call sign was “Chieftain,” to proceed north along Route 

Bismarck (Highway 7) and contact the convoy. We contacted Chilipepper, 

who reported that the convoy was ambushed in the vicinity of a small town 

called ash-Shatrah with small arms and rocket-propelled grenades (RPGs).17

16 The 15th MEU (Special Operations Capable) [SOC] provided a security force to run the 

200-vehicle convoy through an-Nasiriyah to Qalat Sikar. While en route, the LAR company 

escorting the convoy encountered heavy resistance and defeated deliberate ambushes along Iraq’s 

Highway 7 and through a four-kilometer stretch of road connecting the bridges over the Euphrates River and the Saddam Canal known as Ambush Alley. LtGen Wallace C. Gregson, “I 

Marine Expeditionary Force Summary of Action,” in U.S. Marines in Iraq, 2003: Anthology and 

Annotated Bibliography, comp. Maj Christopher M. Kennedy et al. (Washington, DC: Marine 

Corps History Division, 2006).

17 See Commander and Staff, Marine Wing Support Group 37, “No FARP Too Far!,” in Anthology and Annotated Bibliography; Nathaniel Fick, One Bullet Away: The Making of a Marine Officer

(Boston: Houghton Mifflin, 2005); and Jay A. Stout, Hammer from Above: Marine Air Combat 

Over Iraq (New York: Presidio Press, 2005). 

The Cobra, the Convoy, and a Crisis of Faith | 85
Chilipepper described the ambush site as a building next to the highway 

with arches and several pictures of then-Iraqi President Saddam Hussein 

on the west-facing wall and gave us type-three clearance to find and engage 

the suspected ambush site.18 We approached from the west, as we did not 

want to just barrel up the obvious avenue of approach. Ash-Shatrah was 

a small town, mostly built up on the east side of Highway 7. There was a 

brick factory just to the west, easily distinguishable by the two large smoke 

stacks (possible obstacles to low-flying helicopters) and some wires to be 

concerned with if we got really low. We utilized the optics in the Cobra to 

locate the building described by Chilipepper, which was suspected to be 

the local Baath Party headquarters, and sure enough about a dozen enemy 

fighters were there carrying small arms, so we sent them a couple blast-frag 

Hellfire missiles and destroyed half the building. 

We returned to the convoy, passed the battle damage assessment (BDA) 

to Chilipepper, and then had to return to Camden Yards for more fuel and 

to reload our missiles. Once complete, we flew back north to relocate the 

convoy, and to our surprise, the whole convoy had turned around and was 

headed south. After what seemed like an eternity of flying butterfly patterns—one section on the east side of the highway, one on the west side, 180 

degrees out from each other—the convoy turned back north and proceeded 

to RCT 1 at Qalat Sikar as originally planned. This made us very happy, 

because we did not want to try to get those vehicles through an-Nasiriyah 

at night, which was quickly descending upon us. Well, it took a long time 

to coordinate 215 vehicles to turn around and get moving, and as we approached ash-Shatrah, we were running out of fuel again. When we told 

Chilipepper we needed to go back to Camden Yards for fuel, I could tell in 

his voice that he was not happy. I think his exact words were, “What? You 

can’t leave us!” Penguin, thinking out of the box, said, “I see a number of 

fuel trucks down there, we could land on the road and have them refuel us 

right here.” This was totally unorthodox. To do this meant refueling armed 

18 According to the 2014 Joint Publication 3-09.3 on CAS, type-three clearance is the least restrictive for air support and gives the aircraft authorization to engage enemy on the ground, who 

may or may not be engaging friendly forces. 

86 | Lieutenant Colonel Wayne R. Beyer Jr.
Cobras while they were running on the side of the road without being in a 

sanitized FARP. Chilipepper said, “Can we do that?” and quickly followed 

with “Stand-by Clancy. I’m coordinating.” He and Penguin continued to 

work out the possibilities. I cannot recall all of the coordinating that took 

place, but at one point Chilipepper, arguing with someone, said, “If we 

don’t refuel them here and now, they will have to leave us and go back to 

Camden Yards for gas.” There was a long silence and then a loud and direct, 

“We’re making a hole for them right now!” Clearly, the convoy did not want 

to be left alone. 

The vehicles left a gap in the convoy, just enough room for two Cobras, 

so we came down two at a time and got the gas we needed for the next 

two hours. I was in the second round of refueling and had Gorby get out to 

disarm the rockets and supervise the Marine putting fuel in the aircraft. It 

was quickly getting dark, so I took this time to get my NVGs on and ready. 

The fuel truck pulled up, and Gorby gave me a thumbs-up that the refueling was going well. I looked back at the young Marine refueling the aircraft, 

who was close to me. The gravity fuel port is right behind the backseat pilot 

on the right side, so he was almost within arm’s distance from me. As I 

looked back, he looked up at me with wide eyes. I could not read his mind, 

but I thought he looked scared, and at that moment, I could not blame him. 

Marines in the convoy had already been ambushed; they were about to go 

through the same ambush site, only this time in the black of night; and he 

was driving a giant fuel truck! 

That was a moment of clarity for me about the importance of my duty 

as a Marine aviator. That one Marine (maybe 19 years old) was the representation of whom I was training my whole career to protect. He was young, 

he was driving a big target, and he needed us. I had looked that Marine in 

the eyes and saw the reason I was there. He might have needed the best 

“brain surgeons” possible during this operation. I gave him a reassuring 

nod and wink. He looked at me and recognized I was communicating with 

him, which I think took him by surprise, and he slowly nodded back. The 

nonverbal, Marine-to-Marine expression of “I’ve got your back” was comThe Cobra, the Convoy, and a Crisis of Faith | 87
municated and acknowledged. His wide-eyed look hardened, and he turned 

his focus back to filling up the turning Cobra.

We got back in the air and, within minutes, were in full-blown, low-light 

level conditions. To nonaviators, that translates to flying in the dark under 

difficult conditions. While we were refueling, Penguin and Chilipeper had 

coordinated a plan for us to push ahead of the leading LAVs arriving in ashShatrah and hit those buildings at the ambush site again. We set up from 

the west and launched a couple more Hellfire missiles into the buildings as 

planned preceding the LAVs. Once complete, we set out to reestablish the 

butterfly pattern over the convoy for optimal protection in case the enemy 

was bold enough to attempt another ambush despite knowing four Cobras 

were overhead. 

At that time, another division of Cobras from HMLA-267 showed up. 

Apparently, the DASC was pushing air assets our way to help escort the 

convoy, and that turned out to be a good thing. We coordinated that the division from HMLA-267 would cover the back half of the convoy while we, 

the division from HMLA-169, covered the front half, which was more than 

enough work as this convoy stretched out for miles along Route Bismarck. 

The 12 LAVs providing ground escort were divided into three groups: four 

LAV-25s in the lead, four in the center, and four at the tail end. As the lead 

vehicles got to the ambush site, they immediately came under heavy fire 

from multiple positions within the town of ash-Shatrah. All the buildings 

were on the east side of the road, and heavy fire was coming from about a 

block’s worth of buildings firing east-to-west into the LAVs. The glowing 

tracer fire came from the buildings, hit into and around the LAVs, and ricocheted up into the air in all directions. Almost instantly, the LAVs opened 

fire on the enemy positions, and that blazing tracer fire went west-to-east 

into the buildings and ricocheted up intermixing with the enemy fire filling 

the sky like a pyrotechnic firework display. Penguin communicated with 

Chilipeper, trying to get clearance to attack the enemy positions. Chilipeper was positioned with the LAVs in the middle of the convoy about a 

hundred vehicles back from the front of the convoy. The trust he must have 

had to clear us to attack the enemy was enormous. Penguin painted the 

88 | Lieutenant Colonel Wayne R. Beyer Jr.
picture for Chilipepper quickly, letting him know this was a linear target 

array with easily identified enemy and friendly positions. This was going 

to be danger close, so he was clearly nervous about clearing us, the Cobra 

pilots.19 He wanted reassurance that we knew exactly what we were going 

to be shooting at. Penguin picked up on this and confidently and clearly 

stated, “Clancy is tally enemy, visual friendly.20 We will maintain our attack 

along the north-south road axis.” Chilipepper understood and responded, 

“Clancy, you are cleared type-three control to attack enemy positions.” With 

that, Penguin came up on the interflight radio and coordinated our attack: 

“Trail attack, left-hand pulls.” He did not have to explain that Marines were 

within 100–200 meters of the enemy and that we would be pushing in closer 

than we had ever pushed in before. One errant rocket and we would be 

doing the enemies’ job for them. We had to get close to be accurate, and 

we had to fly into that heavy fire to do it. The division simply responded: 

“Two.” “Three.” “Four.” We all got it.

Penguin dove in. I could tell he was shooting because flashes from his 

rockets were causing my NVGs to wash out. NVGs are light intensifiers and 

are very sensitive. When confronted with bright light, the goggles will go 

blank from the intense light, and it takes a second for them to recover. With 

all the tracer fire, the rockets, the city lights, and the explosions, it became 

very disorienting in the low-light level conditions. In the dash-four position, 

I focused on not running into Gecko in dash-three, as well as maintaining 

contact with the enemy and friendly positions. I knew Nuts, in the dashtwo position, was now firing, because of the blinding light from his rocket 

fire and impacts. Gecko made his attack run, and I set up to have my nose 

on the target ready to fire the second he cleared the target area. I wondered 

for a moment if there would still be enemy left after three Cobra attacks, 

but it was clear that there was as the rate of fire from both sides was still 

very heavy. With tracer ricochets flying up and in my face, I picked out 

the source of fire from one of the enemy positions and pushed in, I think 

19 Danger close is a term included in the method of engagement segment of a call for fire that 

indicates that friendly forces are within close proximity of the target.

20 Tally means that the enemy position or target has been positively identified.

The Cobra, the Convoy, and a Crisis of Faith | 89
I shot the first rocket at about 300 meters. It was on target, so I followed it 

up with two more. That was all I had time to shoot. Being that close, I had 

to pull off or run into the target. “Back stick, power, turn.” was the mantra 

drilled into my core from those who trained me. Now, up and away from 

the target, I needed to quickly locate Gecko. Predictability is key to avoiding 

a midair collision in these conditions, and Gecko was right where I thought 

he would be, but he was hard to see because of all the tracers flying past 

my aircraft. Between Gorby and myself, we maintained contact with Gecko 

and heard Penguin call out another attack. As we were coming around for 

a second pass, I saw the flashes from Penguin’s rockets in my peripheral 

vision, and then the volume of tracers flying past my aircraft lightened up. 

I stayed in position in trail of Gecko, and everything happened as expected, 

just as we had done countless times in training. We kept track of each other 

using minimal communication: “Lead is off left, visual four.” Then: “Two 

is in,” which was followed by flashes of light from his rockets. “Two’s off 

left, visual one.” And “Three’s in.” Gecko’s Cobra tipped into the ricocheting fire, and his rockets pounded the targets: “Three’s off left, visual two.” 

As the fourth Cobra, I now tipped in again, looking for the source of enemy 

machine-gun fire. I was happy to see only one gun still firing on the Marines. 

I lined up on that source, got a visual of the Marines, eyes back to the enemy, 

and made my call: “Four’s in.” I fired four rockets into that machine gun. 

Back stick, power, turn—find Gecko, got him. “Four’s off left, visual three.” 

This time, there was no tracer fire blasting past my aircraft as I pulled off 

target. I looked back and all the enemy guns were silent.

We stayed with the convoy as it traveled north along Route Bismarck. 

The next small town along the road, about 20 kilometers north, was an-Nasr 

and was eerily similar in layout to ash-Shatrah. As the lead elements of 

the convoy reached an-Nasr, the back half of the convoy was still passing 

through ash-Shatrah. When the lead LAV reached an-Nasr, it immediately 

came under fire. It was exactly the same as ash-Shatrah. The radio chatter 

picked up, and Penguin was attempting to coordinate with Chilipepper, 

but it got very confusing because, at the same time, the rear of the convoy 

still passing through ash-Shatrah came under fire again. Both divisions of 

90 | Lieutenant Colonel Wayne R. Beyer Jr.
Cobras began CAS attacks on the enemy positions, much the same as we 

had just done. As I pulled off target from my first pass on enemy positions 

and began my left-hand turn, keeping interval off of Gecko and Nuts, two 

large rocket-like projectiles launched from the ground and blasted right 

through the middle of the division. That got our attention, but we decided 

to stay focused on the immediate threat to the convoy and made a second 

pass from north to south on the enemy positions firing on the Marines. We 

proceeded as we had in ash-Shatrah; two passes were enough to silence the 

enemy machine guns and RPGs. With a break in the fire, we engaged the 

launch site just for good measure. The back of the convoy was experiencing 

some chaos, and from the radio chatter, we could tell that multiple vehicles 

were hit and some had gone off the road. The Marines in the convoy were 

aggressively attempting to get accountability as they continued north. 

We were once again out of gas and out of rockets. As we began our 

return to Camden Yards (now much farther away), two Marine F/A-18s 

were checking in to continue to escort the convoy while we were gone. We 

were asked to use our sensors to do recon along the road at the rear of the 

convoy as we headed south back to Camden Yards. We could not spend 

much time searching due to our fuel state, but we did see a vehicle, as best 

we could determine it was abandoned, and we could not find any Marines 

near it—dead or alive. 

Once again, we got fuel and ordnance from Camden Yards and headed 

north back up Route Bismarck, past an-Nasiriyah, past ash-Shatrah, past anNasr, beyond a very small town on the map called ar-Rifa’I, and on toward 

Qalat Sikar where the last elements of the convoy were nestled in with RCT 

1. We contacted Chilipepper, and I recall him saying, “We had a feeling 

you’d be back to make sure we made it.” They had made it, and we were 

cleared to go back for the night. We had started that morning at 0600 and 

shut the Cobras down in Camden Yards at about 0200 in the morning the 

next day—20 hours later. We looked over our aircraft as best as we could in 

a moonless, dark night, but planned to look them over for bullet holes again 

more closely in the morning light. We conducted a short debrief and then 

slept in the ditch along the small road under the tail boom of the Cobras. 

The Cobra, the Convoy, and a Crisis of Faith | 91
I remember having a hard time walking because my a——s and back hurt 

so much. Laying down on the ground did not help, but it was nice to be on 

terra firma. The next morning we were all very surprised to find out that 

not one Cobra had battle damage, so we fired up the aircraft and contacted 

Skychief: “Four Cobras, up as fragged.”21 Another day’s work ahead, and 

so it went. 

THE CRISIS 

Word of the convoy escort got around. We lost one Marine. Literally “lost” 

him. We were asked to look for that Marine along the route our last time 

back to Camden. Our fellow squadron mates heard about the mission when 

we finally got back to Ali al-Salem to get a couple day’s rest and some new 

aircraft. We were all sharing our stories and trying to learn from our collective experiences. The 1st Marine Division (1st MarDiv) had paused from the 

rapid drive north to clear their rear areas and prepare, in coordination with 

the Army, for the final push into Baghdad. It was at this time, the grunts 

went back through ash-Shatrah to look for the lost Marine, and they were 

able to get a BDA from the fight along Highway 7. 

It was dark, and I was coming back from a tent where we had a TV 

showing CNN when a couple of guys approached me. “Gonzo, we just 

got word that they recovered the lost Marine’s body from that convoy 

mission.”22 This was not good news. For despite knowing he had probably 

been killed, we were all hoping they would find him alive. “They also said 

you guys killed a lot of fedayeen fighters.” With a sense of dread, I asked, 

“What do you mean by a lot?” One Marine informed me that, “They don’t 

have a number. They said the Iraqis had already buried them, but that there 

were a lot of them.” And that is when the sinking feeling came. I can tell the 

21 As fragged means the fighter, FAC, mission package, or agency will be performing exactly as 

stated by the air tasking order.

22 Sgt Fernando Padilla-Ramirez, assigned to MWSS-371, was reported missing in action on 

28 March 2003 as his convoy traveled near an-Nasiriyah. The 24th MEU (SOC) recovered his 

remains on 10 April 2003. LtCol Melissa D. Mihocko, U.S. Marines in Iraq, 2003: Combat Service Support During Operation Iraqi Freedom (Washington, DC: Marine Corps History Division, 

2011).

92 | Lieutenant Colonel Wayne R. Beyer Jr.
next part of this story a hundred different ways, and none would be able to 

convey what I was feeling. This story is not only about what it is like to be in 

combat, but it is also about what someone goes through after combat. Some 

people simply will not understand it. To be honest, I would not have understood it had another Marine approached me at that time and expressed 

feeling similarly. But having lived through it myself, whether rational or 

irrational, this is my best attempt to describe what I went through.

I was suddenly having an ethical crisis. Getting unequivocal evidence 

that I had taken human life was the worst day in my life. Period. I have 

an impression in my memory, almost in slow motion, of squadron buddies 

high-fiving me; my response was automatic because my mind was not celebrating. I was in a sudden fog. The scene often portrayed in movies that 

depicts a person experiencing tunnel vision with all the eerie music is the 

best way I can describe what I was going through. Years of learning Catholic 

theology rushed to my consciousness. “Thou shall not kill” boomed in my 

mind overlapping a foggy impression of giving high-fives. A distorted voice 

in the background added to the experience saying, “Way to go. You killed 

a bunch of bad guys!” An image of Father Lutz flashed into my mind. He 

was crying. 

I had to get away. I could not let anyone see me questioning what I had 

done. I quickly made my way to the chaplain’s tent where they were just 

beginning an evening Mass. “Thank God,” I thought and went right in. I did 

a lot of praying. I did not take Communion, because I did not know if that 

was the right thing to do, at that point, with that on my hands. I repeated 

one prayer over and over: “God, if what I’m doing is wrong, somehow let 

me know. I need you to talk to me.” I needed a definitive moment of clarity, 

but all I could think about was that same feeling I had when talking to 

Father Lutz. Jesus would not be doing this. I told myself I had to get my 

head right because I was going back in the saddle in two days. Marines 

would be counting on me, and I had to have my head in the game. I kept 

thinking: why was I not prepared for this? I can say, from experience, that 

one can intellectually rationalize every combat scenario and be very comfortable with what might happen in combat—the potential for experiencing 

The Cobra, the Convoy, and a Crisis of Faith | 93
a grizzly death or the reality that some actions must be done that cause 

harm to others. Here I was, multiple combat missions under my belt, and 

suddenly, with the news that I had killed “a lot of bad guys,” emotionally everything had changed. What I am saying is that rational analysis 

and years of conditioning cannot always predict the emotional response to 

information, information that was not even new or unexpected. I did not 

know I would have such an emotional response when confronted with that. 

I thought I had intellectually come to grips with the possibility of the reality 

of war. It would not have been right or fair to the Marines in my squadron, 

or the Marines we were protecting, to continue if I had not. 

Most of us are both rational and emotional beings. Obviously, the 

former can be dissected, explained, and quantified. The latter . . . well, who 

knows? What I know is that most of you reading this are probably thinking what I was thinking as well: you are a trained Marine Cobra pilot. You 

had to expect this, right? You had to be prepared for this, right? You knew 

what you were doing. High-explosive rockets are designed to kill, and you 

launched them, accurately, into enemy positions. That was your job, you 

did it, and you saved Marines lives. There was no ethical dilemma. There 

was no gray area involved here. Mistakes were not made; innocent people 

did not die. It was a black-and-white scenario—kill or Marines get killed. 

This was all rationally true. Yet, my brain was taking me out of the tactical 

situation, and I was suddenly questioning eternity and salvation juxtaposed 

with my actions. After Mass, it was dark and I was walking back to my tent. 

I was still struggling with reconciling my faith and my profession. I thought 

again: “God, I need you to talk to me.” Just then I came across one of the 

pilots in my division. 

We did not have enough pilots at the time of the deployment to fill all 

the seats in the aircraft, so we needed at least five pilots from other squadrons to meet the missions. Sweaty was one of those pilots. He was flying 

as Penguin’s copilot. Sweaty was well known as a Bible-thumper. He was 

one of the nicest guys I had ever met. He did not swear or drink, so as 

you might imagine, he was a bit of an odd duck in the Cobra community. 

Sweaty was just sitting there in the starlight relaxing outside his tent when 

94 | Lieutenant Colonel Wayne R. Beyer Jr.
he saw me and said, “Hey Gonzo, everything okay?” I stopped and stared 

at him. He should not have even been in my squadron let alone in my division. But here he was, sitting right there as I asked God to talk to me. 

“Bible-thumper,” I thought as I looked up at the stars and back to Sweaty. 

No way. I must have stared an inquisitive hole into Sweaty’s forehead. I do 

not know what I was looking for? A halo? Wings to sprout from his back? I 

shook my head like I was shaking out of a hallucination and began to walk 

past him. “Gonzo! You okay?” I stopped and thought, “Well that’s twice. 

Are you going to walk away from what could literally be God answering 

your prayers?” I turned and stared at him, wondering if I should risk talking 

to him about what was bothering me. “Okay, God, if this is your way, I’m 

going to trust you,” I thought to myself before sitting down next to Sweaty. 

I said, “You’re a Bible guy.” Sweaty laughed, “Yeah, I’m a Bible guy.” With 

that, I asked the big question, “How do you know what we are doing isn’t 

against what God wants from us?” It became apparent that Sweaty was 

there for a reason. Sweaty started quoting scripture, most of what he said I 

recalled reading myself or hearing at Mass. None of it was new, but talking 

with Sweaty helped me access memories, stories, and lessons I had forgotten. It was just what I needed. We talked for about 45 minutes, and when we 

were finished, I was good. Weight lifted. Prayers answered.

Emotionally and physically exhausted, I lay down on my cot to crash for 

the night. I thought about everything that had transpired: the convoy, my 

moment of doubt, my prayers for answers, my chance run-in with Sweaty, 

and our long conversation. I said a prayer for everyone fighting, both the 

enemy and friendly forces. That no matter whose numbers were getting 

punched, they would be right with the Man. I thought about Father Lutz 

and the last time I saw him. I thought about the image of him that popped 

into my head in my moment of doubt. Then, I realized that image was not 

some new image of him crying because he was disappointed. It was the 

same image of him blessing me and crying, and now, I understood. He was 

crying then because he knew I would struggle with this, and when I was 

struggling, his face popped into my mind. To this day, I wonder if it was 

The Cobra, the Convoy, and a Crisis of Faith | 95
an amazing example of how the subconscious mind works or if it was just 

Father Lutz trying to talk to me in a way that is beyond words. 

It was months later when Marines from the convoy, retrograding back 

home, made their way through Ali al-Salem. I was not there. I was in Iraq 

on strip alert standing watch over the last Marine units there.23 Some of the 

Marines from the convoy went out of their way to find the Cobra pilots that 

escorted them that night, but we were scattered all over the place flying 

missions. However, they did find Gecko. I am told they all shook his hand, 

thanked him, and told him that without the Cobra support they would have 

had significant losses. I admit that I have a degree of peace knowing that 

they said we saved a lot of Marines that night.

This reminiscence is dedicated to Sergeant Fernando Padilla-Ramirez from 

MWSS-371—the Marine who was killed the night that my division watched over 

the convoy in our Cobras. He was a Marine I never met, but wish I could have.

REFLECTION POINTS

• How is the Marine Corps concept of brotherhood useful in battle? 

• How do air personnel adapt to maintaining cohesiveness when they are 

confined by aircraft and separated from troops on the ground?

• In the case of Lieutenant Colonel Beyer, how did having spiritual faith 

both help him and distress him? Have servicemembers always had to 

balance fealty to their nation and brothers-in-arms with their faith?

• How do the results of battle differ for those who experience events firsthand and those who make the orders? From those in the field to those 

back in Washington, DC?

23 Strip alert is when aircraft are placed in a standby or on-call status.

96 | Lieutenant Colonel Wayne R. Beyer Jr.
CHAPTER FIVE

THE BASTARDS’ SHEPHERD: 

A NAVY CHAPLAIN WITH THE 2D BATTALION, 

4TH MARINES, IN AR-RAMADI, IRAQ

COMMANDER BRIAN D. WEIGELT, CHC, U.S. NAVY

In November 2003, Brian D. Weigelt left Coquille, Oregon, to begin his career as 

an active-duty U.S. Navy chaplain. He reported for duty at 1st Marine Division 

in January 2004 and, six weeks later, deployed to Iraq with the 2d Battalion, 4th 

Marines. Over the course of seven months (February–September 2004), Lieutenant Weigelt supported more than 1,000 Marines as they patrolled the streets of arRamadi, the capital of al-Anbar Province in Iraq. His transformation from pastor 

of a civilian congregation to chaplain of Marines in combat occurred at lightning 

speed as he shuttled between three bases in ar-Ramadi. He ministered to one of the 

hardest hit Marine battalions in the early years of OIF. Since leaving 1st Marine 

Division, Chaplain Weigelt has served onboard ships, at the U.S. Naval Academy, 

in Djibouti, Africa, and for the Joint Chiefs of Staff.

97
98 | Commander Brian D. Weigelt

GETTING READY FOR WAR

The alarm went off at 0300. Setting the alarm had not been necessary; I 

hardly slept. My ride to Marine Corps Base Camp Pendleton, California, 

would arrive in 20 minutes. I crawled out of the motel room bed, got ready, 

and quietly walked to the portable playpen where our 13-month-old daughter Eliza lay blissfully asleep. Bending over, I kissed her gently on the cheek 

as tears began forming in my eyes. I then kissed my wife, Rosslyn, silently through our mingled tears, and I walked out to the waiting car in the 

parking lot.

Clari helped me load my seabag and pack it into his car. My wife and I 

met Clari and Sue at the church we had started to attend. Clari was a retired 

minister, and Clari and Sue’s son, James, had been a seminary classmate of 

mine. We knew it would be too hard for Rosslyn and Eliza to get up so early 

and drive me, so Clari graciously volunteered to provide transportation. 

Driving from Temecula, California, to Camp Pendleton the morning of 19 

February 2004, we made small talk, but my mind was reviewing the cascade 

of events that had taken place during the previous eight months. 

In early July 2003, Rosslyn and I were the pastors of a church in the small 

town of Coquille on the coast of southern Oregon. I was a drilling U.S Navy 

Reserve chaplain, our church was flourishing, and Eliza was six months old. 

We had been unsettled for the previous few months, uncertain if we should 

stay in Coquille or move on to another town or have me go on to active duty. 

Driving home from a trip to Salem, Oregon, we turned to each other and said, 

“Active duty?” The following week, I left for two weeks of reserve duty, and 

we determined to pray about whether I should become an active-duty Navy 

chaplain. It did not make a lot of logical sense—the United States had just 

gone to war in Iraq, we had a six-month-old daughter, and we had a growing 

church that loved us. Yet after those two weeks of separation, we both sensed 

that God was calling us to make this drastic change. On 23 November 2003, 

we had our last Sunday in Coquille. After four years and four months, we 

left the community of faith and its members who had taken a risk on young 

seminary graduates and allowed us to journey through difficult days with 

them. A series of tragic events caused one saint in the church to say, “Pastor, 
The Bastards’ Shepherd | 99

I don’t know what God is preparing you for, but you’ve been through more 

in these few years than most pastors experience in a career.” 

In February 2004, I was in a car riding through northern San Diego 

County on my way to Camp Pendleton to deploy with 2d Battalion, 4th 

Marines, to ar-Ramadi, Iraq. I had checked into the battalion on 5 January 

2004 and knew that I would be leaving for a combat deployment in about six 

weeks. Though I had excelled academically in college and the seminary and 

though I had been through the Navy’s basic chaplaincy and expeditionary 

skills training courses and though I had developed ministry skills through 

practical experiences in various settings, I had a strong sense that I was 

thoroughly unprepared to be a chaplain for a battalion of infantry Marines 

going to combat. Waves of questions came over me. What programs did I 

need to implement prior to the battalion’s departure? What training did I 

need to offer the Marines upon our arrival? How would I relate to Marines 

in such a difficult setting? What had I done by volunteering for active duty?

On my first day at Camp Pendleton in early January, I met the 1st Marine 

Division chaplain, Navy Commander Bill D. Devine, a Roman Catholic priest. 

I sat in his office and immediately began expressing my lack of confidence—

not exactly a good way to introduce myself to my new supervisor. Exuding 

incredible pastoral concern, Father Devine graciously said, “Don’t worry 

about programs. Stay close to Jesus—he’ll show you what to do.” He assured 

me that if I maintained my spiritual disciplines, immersed myself in prayer, 

loved the Marines and sailors in the battalion, and listened closely for the 

voice of God, I would do all the necessary things. In fact, arriving with preconceived notions of what must be accomplished may have actually become 

a hindrance to effective ministry. He also let me know that he would be with 

me in Iraq, coming by my battalion from time to time to celebrate Mass with 

our Catholic men and to see how I was doing. His counsel resulted in a great 

sense of relief for me.

The day of my deployment, we got to the San Luis Rey Gate at Camp 

Pendleton much too quickly for my satisfaction. We wove from the southeast corner of the sprawling Marine base to the northwest corner, the San 

Mateo area of Camp Pendleton—home of the 5th Marines, the regiment 
that famously fought at Belleau Wood during World War I.1

 The 2d Battalion, 4th Marines, was a part of the 5th Marines due to the dissolution of the 

4th Marine Regiment. The battalions of the 4th Marines were reassigned to 

other regiments, and the 2d Battalion then belonged to the 5th Marines. Acknowledging the fact that Marines were in a 2d Battalion to a regiment that 

no longer existed, 2d Battalion, 4th Marines’, nickname is the “Magnificent 

Bastards.” 

I first really got to know the Magnificent Bastards during a preparatory 

field exercise at the end of January 2004. The unit rode in buses from Camp 

Pendleton to March Air Reserve Base in Riverside County, California. An 

abandoned military housing complex there was converted into a simulated 

Iraqi village, complete with forward operating bases (FOBs), role players 

dressed as Iraqis, and subject matter experts on security and stabilization 

operations who served as trainers. During the week we were there, I made 

my home at the battalion aid station with the Navy corpsmen who also 

served with the 2d Battalion, 4th Marines. Navy Religious Program Specialist Second Class Robert Plaisted could not join me for the field exercise 

because he was still attached to his previous battalion, with which he had 

participated in the invasion of Iraq during 2003. It gave me a lot of comfort 

to know that I would have a combat-tested chaplain’s assistant with me in 

Iraq, but I was disappointed that he would not be joining me for my first 

real immersion experience in the battalion. Plaisted adopted me into the 

corpsmen and promised that they would take good care of me in the field. 

During those pleasant winter days in Southern California, I got to 

know men who would become incredibly significant to me in the following year: Lieutenant Colonel Paul J. Kennedy, battalion commander; Major 

Michael P. Wylie, battalion executive officer (XO); Sergeant Major James E. 

Booker, battalion sergeant major; Major John D. Harrill III, battalion operations officer; First Sergeant Joseph J. Ellis, headquarters and support first 

1

 Belleau Wood is a legendary battle for Marines as it was a turning point in World War I when 

German troops were first halted and then forced to retreat at this site in France. Maj Edwin N. 

McClellan, The Unites States Marine Corps in the World War (Quantico, VA: Marine Corps History Division, 2014). 

100 | Commander Brian D. Weigelt
sergeant; and Navy Lieutenants Kenneth Y. Son and Collin Crickard, battalion medical officers. I had begun the journey of not only being assigned 

to the 2d Battalion, 4th Marines, but of actually “becoming” their chaplain. 

It is possible to be assigned as a chaplain to a battalion without ever becoming the chaplain. Becoming the chaplain means that the assigned officer did 

not squander the goodwill that the Marines readily offered him because of 

his position. Becoming the chaplain means he has proven that he can be 

trusted with the deepest pain, most troubling dilemmas, and joyful diversions of his Marines. I began that journey at March Air Reserve Base. By 

the time I came home from Iraq, I had earned the call sign, “Bastard Shepherd,” a name I treasure.

On the day of my deployment, I arrived at the staging area in Pendleton’s San Mateo area. Semitruck trailers were parked, ready to receive our 

seabags and packs. Talking in hushed tones and experiencing the weight 

of the day, families were gathered in the predawn darkness. I knew, at that 

moment, that my family had made the right decision about Rosslyn and 

Eliza staying at the hotel. Clari popped the trunk, and we took out my 

gear, adding it to the pile. And while we had only met weeks before, he 

embraced me as though I was his own son. Through his tears, he prayed 

for me, for my girls, and for my battalion. He promised that he and Sue 

would take good care of my girls for me and that they would not forget to 

pray for my protection. 

He drove off, and I watched the taillights as long as I could. And then, 

I turned to the Marines and the families all experiencing their own emotional farewells. It was a mixture of excited anticipation for the Marines—

as they were embarking on a journey that they had prepared to go on for 

a very long time—and the uncertainty of what the future would hold for 

all of them. It was time for me to move beyond my own feelings of uncertainty, anxiety, and sadness and to embrace the role that I had been called 

to perform—the role that God had been preparing me to assume. While 

I will not deny my own emotions, I could not let them control me. It was 

time for me to be a sign of hope for others. It was time for me to live out 

what I believed, that we can face any overwhelming and uncertain circumThe Bastards’ Shepherd | 101
stance with the confidence that comes from knowing God’s love and from 

trusting those around us.

BEING AT WAR

The unit’s chartered planes left March Air Reserve Base late in the afternoon on Thursday, 19 February. After brief stops in Maine, Ireland, and 

Germany, the unit arrived in Kuwait City on Saturday morning, 21 February. We collected our bags and boarded buses that would take us from the 

modern city to military staging bases in the desert. The flat, sandy terrain 

extended as far as the eye could see as we drove to the entry control point 

(ECP) at Camp Victory.2 This massive complex of tents was filled with U.S. 

Army soldiers and Marines awaiting the arrival of vehicles at the port of 

Kuwait, so they could make the journey into Iraq. 

The first two weeks in Kuwait were filled with logistics briefs, weapons 

training, convoy preparations, and physical training. We slept on cots in 

large tents with plywood floors. It was our opportunity to get acclimated to the desert climate and the constant presence of sand. First Sergeant 

Ellis had the cot right next to the front “door.” Multiple times a day, he 

would plug his earbuds into an MP3 player, sprinkle water on the floor, 

and sweep up the sand that had been either blown in or tracked in. I was 

introduced to the Marine’s style of leadership that included taking care 

of the mundane basics so that the important things can happen without 

hindrance.

By early March, most of the battalion was ready to travel to Iraq. We 

had enough HMMWVs and 7-ton trucks to transport the majority of four 

companies across the desert border. A portion of Echo Company and 

Headquarters and Support (H&S) Company stayed in Kuwait for another 

week and then flew into Iraq. Plaisted and I stayed in Kuwait. Father 

Devine arrived at Camp Victory as the convoy was staging in the desert 

for a nighttime departure. He was going to hold Mass for the Catholics and 

suggested that I consider having a Protestant Communion service as well. 

We rode out into the desert to meet the convoy.

2

 Camp Victory, a U.S. military installation in Kuwait, closed in 2006.

102 | Commander Brian D. Weigelt
After we arrived, we consulted with the leadership and determined 

when and where our respective services would be. Father Devine asked me 

to spread the word. Feeling empowered by all I had learned in my months 

of experience, I went to the companies’ first sergeants and told them when 

and where the services were going to be held. I asked them to spread the 

word among the Marines, quite proud of myself for knowing how to most 

efficiently pass the word. I then returned to Father Devine’s position and 

let him know what I had done, awaiting his congratulatory remark on my 

wise decision. Instead, he said, “Why are you going to rely on the first 

sergeants to promote your event? You need to tell the Marines yourself.” 

While leading a worship service is important, it is not an end in itself. Relationships are essential, and a chaplain should take every opportunity 

available to build those relationships—another lesson learned from Father 

Devine.

After the majority of the battalion began the trek through the desert to 

the Iraqi border, the rest of us found ways to pass the time awaiting our 

flight. There were more small-unit level training, more physical training, 

more relationship building, and more time to consider what we were about 

to experience. I was going through a roller coaster of emotions, not unlike 

the others around me. Often, I would wake up with a sense of spiritual 

emptiness, a sense of loss and uncertainty that was hard to fully describe. 

At those moments, I had a decision to make. Would I feel sorry for myself, 

becoming increasingly self-absorbed and isolated, or would I own my 

emptiness and then rely on my relationship with God to be my source of 

strength, propelling me into the pain-filled lives of others? It would be a 

daily decision I needed to face throughout the deployment. And most of 

the time, I chose wisely.

On Monday, 8 March, with most of the battalion on the way to Iraq, 

those of us who remained in Kuwait received word that there had been 

a suicide at Camp Victory. We soon discovered that the victim was one of 

our Marines. The finely tuned military organization sprang to action with 

Marines responding to the crisis. Having been the pastor of a small church 

who had experienced a number of tragedies, my mind raced through a list 

The Bastards’ Shepherd | 103
of all the things that I would need to do. I quickly realized that now I was 

the chaplain, and all I needed to do was be present to those whose hearts 

and minds were filled with questions and mixed emotions. Working closely 

with the battalion executive officer, Major Wylie (the battalion commanding officer was on his way to Iraq with the convoy), my religious program 

specialist, and I developed a memorial service, which was held the following day, 9 March. The Marines needed to have some way to acknowledge 

this event and move on—ignoring it because it was a suicide would have 

only resulted in more uncertainty. At the conclusion of the brief service, 

the platoon commander of the deceased Marine came to me. The tent was 

empty except for the two of us. This tall, incredibly fit, young second lieutenant poured out his heart. And for the first time, but certainly not the 

last, a Marine put his head on my shoulder and sobbed. The honest emotions of Marines—both their joys and their sorrows—captured my heart as 

I sought to serve them in God’s name.

We left Camp Victory on Thursday, 11 March, taking buses to the Kuwaiti 

military air base near our position. Late in the afternoon, we climbed aboard 

the airplanes and began our journey to Iraq. We arrived in the dark at alTaqaddum Air Base (known as TQ).3

 After being told that we would collect 

the majority of our gear in the morning, we were transported by truck to a 

large metal warehouse filled with cots. It can be very cold in Iraq in March, 

and we did not have our gear with us. Needless to say, it was a restless night 

as we shivered through the night hours. I clearly remember First Sergeant 

Ellis finding trash bags that he then turned into a field expedient blanket, 

once again showing me the kind of determination a Marine Corps leader 

must have in taking control of the circumstances. 

I began my mornings—following the advice of Father Devine—spending 

time in prayer and staying close to Jesus. My prayers were shaped by reading 

scripture and the book My Utmost for His Highest (1935) by Oswald Chambers. Chambers was a Scottish evangelist and teacher born in 1874. Known 

for a deep personal spirituality and an extraordinary ability to communicate 

3

 Al-Taqaddum Air Base is located in central Iraq, in Habbaniyah, and is also known as Camp 

Taqaddum.

104 | Commander Brian D. Weigelt
truth, he established a ministerial training school in London prior to World 

War I. A year after the outbreak of the war, he suspended the operations of 

the school to volunteer as a YMCA chaplain ministering to troops in Cairo, 

Egypt. He had an incredibly effective ministry to troops there, particularly 

among the Australian and New Zealand soldiers who participated in the 

Battle of Gallipoli in Turkey. Skeptics in the military and the YMCA doubted 

that anyone was interested in hearing this chaplain speak, yet hundreds of 

soldiers packed into the hut where he taught as he challenged them to rely 

upon God for all of their needs, both physical and spiritual. After his death, 

a collection of his devotionals was compiled into the book My Utmost for His 

Highest. Through this devotional classic, Chambers became my daily mentor 

while ministering to Marines and sailors in combat. His devotional directed 

readers to fully surrender to God, not considering the consequences. As we 

do so, we can trust God to meet all the needs of those who are influenced 

by our decision to surrender to Him. I thought of Rosslyn and Eliza and all 

that they were experiencing due to my decision to obey God and become 

an active-duty chaplain. This was going to stretch my family, but we as a 

family also believed that God could not only get us through this, but make 

us stronger.

On Friday morning, 12 March, I and members of my unit collected the 

remaining pieces of our gear. After lunch, a convoy of 7-ton trucks—accompanied by our battalion’s Mobile Assault Company in ar-Ramadi, 25 miles west 

of the air base—came to escort us to our new home for the duration of the 

deployment. Our first stop was Camp Combat Outpost, the home of two rifle 

companies on the eastern edge of ar-Ramadi. It was, let’s say, “rustic.” There 

were a few real, solid buildings in various stages of dilapidation, but the 300 

Marines were actively making it feel like home. Our convoy was greeted by 

the resident company commanders—Captain Christopher J. Bronzi of Golf 

Company and Captain Kelly D. Royer of Echo Company. They welcomed us 

to ar-Ramadi with sly grins on their faces, knowing looks that seemed to say, 

“We’re going to have an interesting time during this deployment.”

After dropping off the Echo Company Marines, the rest of us made our 

way to Camp Hurricane Point on the western edge of the city, a former 

The Bastards’ Shepherd | 105
presidential compound wedged between the Euphrates River and a canal 

used to divert water to Lake Habbaniyah. Compared to Combat Outpost, 

Hurricane Point was lavish. The main palace on the estate had been destroyed, presumably during the initial invasion of 2003. There were, 

however, still some buildings that remained, including a large ornate 

building consisting of three sections connected by covered walkways. The 

battalion headquarters was located in the center section with the H&S 

Company headquarters and the battalion aid station (medical) on either 

side. The Navy corpsmen assigned to the 2d Battalion, 4th Marines, had set 

up the battalion aid station and claimed a room for Plaisted and me. We got 

settled into our new accommodations, which were nicer than we had anticipated. After our first night in ar-Ramadi, we received word on Saturday 

that four Marines had been wounded. It did not take long for the reality of 

combat to settle in. Plaisted and I caught a convoy back to Combat Outpost 

as soon as we could to see if we could offer any support to the platoon that 

had been hit. I am not sure that I knew what I was going to do when I got 

there. For most of the day, I felt like I did not do much; I simply talked with 

Marines and corpsmen. Eventually, I would learn that my presence was 

enough, but I was not yet convinced.

We stayed there over night, and I led a worship service on Sunday 

morning. We had a good-size group show up—about 40 Marines. During 

the sermon, I asked the participants how many hoped to go home more 

spiritually mature and strong. The vast majority of those gathered willingly raised their hands. I sensed the awesome responsibility of being a guide 

along that journey. If they were going to go home better and stronger men 

by the end of this deployment, they would need to battle cynicism, fear, 

hatred, and anger. They would be pushed to evaluate everything they believed in and question their own motivations while holding desperately to 

the lifelines of friendship and love. By the end of the day, I felt emotionally, 

physically, and spiritually drained. Ministry in this setting would draw 

upon all my resources, which were limited. I would need to make sure that 

I stayed close to Jesus—just as Father Devine had recommended at Camp 

Pendleton in January. 

106 | Commander Brian D. Weigelt
On Monday, 22 March, at 0315, the XO knocked on my door awakening 

me. The dreaded moment arrived—we had experienced our first combat 

death. Major Wylie came to me as soon as he received word. A rocketpropelled grenade killed Lance Corporal Andrew S. Dang along a road that 

unit members travelled frequently.4 We all knew that we were in dangerous 

territory, but the reality of our vulnerability became incredibly real in that 

moment. I kept thinking about Rosslyn and Eliza. I imagined a car pulling 

up to my house in Temecula, with an officer and chaplain going to the door 

to break the news of my death. My heart broke at the thought of my family 

having to experience that. But I could not dwell on my vulnerability and 

my fears. I was there to be a chaplain, to be a symbol of hope, a sign of 

certainty even when everything else was falling apart. There was no time 

for the luxury of self-focus; I needed to support those around me. We had 

our first memorial service on Wednesday, 24 March. We held it in front of 

the battalion command post. Following my words and the remarks by battalion and company leaders, Marines filed past the memorial of boots, rifle, 

helmet, and dog tags to offer their final respects. Tears were shed by some; 

others maintained a steel-faced composure. But, it was obvious that everyone was thinking about death, justice, and survival, and I wanted to do my 

part to make sure that they had the resources to face each of those issues in 

constructive ways.

At the end of March, I was reflecting on where I was and what I was 

doing. A year earlier, I had felt like it was time for my family to leave our 

parish in Coquille, but I did not know where we would go. I never imagined that a year later I would be in Iraq with Marines, providing spiritual 

care for young men in combat. In fact, if someone had told any of my high 

school, college, or seminary classmates that I would someday be serving 

with Marines in combat as a chaplain, none of them would have believed 

it. I was not known for being the adventuresome type, not prone to taking 

substantial risks, and not known for hanging out with “rough” people. But, 

4

 LCpl Dang of 1st Combat Engineer Battalion, 1st MarDiv, I MEF, was killed on 21 March 

2004 while on patrol near ar-Ramadi. Associated Press, “Marine Lance Cpl Andrew S. Dang,” 

Military Times, Honor the Fallen database. 

The Bastards’ Shepherd | 107
here I was, and I was loving it, even though it was the most difficult thing 

I had ever pursued. It was a strange mixture of complete vulnerability and 

complete confidence. This was the place I needed to be.

Our second Marine was killed on 30 March.5 I was there when we told 

his squad that he had been killed while on a walking patrol. His closest 

friend stormed out of the room in tears, and I followed him. He turned 

around and embraced me. He wailed with grief through his sobbing tears. 

His body was shaking as he held on to me for a very long time. I stood 

there like a sponge soaking up his pain, letting him express it all knowing 

that I would in turn give it to God. Receiving the pain of broken hearts was 

my job, and it was an incredible privilege to do so. But it did take a toll on 

me. On Saturday night, when I made my weekly telephone call home from 

the AT&T trailer, my own tears flowed as I shared with Rosslyn the events 

of the week. It was the first time that I had let my tears out since arriving in 

Iraq. And the next day, we had two more deaths.6

Early Monday morning, 5 April, Father Devine and Religious Program 

Specialist Third Class Edmond Garrett joined Plaisted and me on the 

convoy to Combat Outpost. Father Devine travelled a lot throughout the 

area of responsibility (AOR) since he was one of the few Catholic chaplains in Iraq. This was his first visit with us since we had left Kuwait. We 

had a good day with the Marines. When we arrived, we served breakfast 

to Echo and Golf Companies. Entering the metal building used as a dining 

facility, the Marines were expressionless but smiled when they saw us. We 

greeted them with warm words, kind smiles, and powdered eggs. Before 

Father Devine visited us, I had established the pattern of serving breakfast 

on Monday mornings when the logistics convoy brought hot food from 

5

 LCpl William J. Wiscowiche of 1st Combat Engineer Battalion, 1st MarDiv, I MEF, was killed 

30 March 2004 in al-Anbar Province. Associated Press, “Marine Lance Cpl William J. Wiscowiche,” Military Times, Honor the Fallen database. 6

 Cpl Tyler R. Fey of 1st Combat Engineer Battalion, 1st MarDiv, I MEF, and PFC Geoffrey S. 

Morris of 2d Battalion, 4th Marines, 1st MarDiv, I MEF, were killed on 4 April 2004 by hostile 

fire in al-Anbar Province. Associated Press, “Marine Cpl. Tyler R. Fey,” Military Times, Honor the 

Fallen database; and Associated Press, “Marine Pfc. Geoffery S. Morris,” Military Times, Honor 

the Fallen database.

108 | Commander Brian D. Weigelt
the U.S. Army base across town. Because of my predictable routine (something Father Devine had recommended), the Marines knew it was Monday 

because I was there serving breakfast. “Chaplain, is it Monday already?” 

they would ask in astonishment. Every day seemed the same, but my 

regular visits were visible signs that time was actually passing by. 

I usually went back to Hurricane Point on Tuesday evening with the 

afternoon convoy, but Father Devine and Garrett needed to get back early, 

so we headed back on the Tuesday morning convoy. By the time we got 

close to Hurricane Point, we gathered that something bad had happened. 

When we got to the battalion command post, we went into the combat 

operations center (COC) and learned that a squad of Marines from Echo 

Company had been ambushed just east of Combat Outpost. That was the 

beginning of a series of events that resulted in our worst day in Iraq. By 

that evening, 12 men were dead, including the platoon commander whose 

Marine committed suicide in Kuwait.7 Father Devine and I spent the day 

bouncing between my office and the COC. When we were outside, we saw 

smoke rising over the city, and we knew that our Marines were in the thick 

of intense fighting. We paused often to pray and to share our concerns 

with each other. Things eventually quieted down, and Lieutenant Colonel 

Kennedy, who had been out in the middle of the fray all day, came back to 

Hurricane Point. The three of us sat down in the ballroom that served as 

our battalion conference room. Lieutenant Colonel Kennedy started telling 

stories of the incredible bravery and heroism demonstrated by the Marines 

throughout the day. It was undoubtedly the most intense day of fighting 

that most of the men had ever experienced, and yet they revealed their true 

characters when the bullets started flying. Kennedy was justifiably proud 

of his men, and it was a privilege to hear him recount the tales of courage.

On Wednesday morning, 7 April, the four of us headed back out to 

Combat Outpost. Echo and Golf Companies had sustained the most casualties, and we felt that those Marines needed our support more than anyone 

7

 On 6 April 2004, 12 Marines of 2d Battalion, 4th Marines, died in an urban firefight with 

insurgents. LtCol Kenneth W. Estes (Ret), U.S. Marines in Iraq, 2004–2005: Into the Fray (Washington, DC: Marine Corps History Division, 2011).

The Bastards’ Shepherd | 109
else in the battalion. Father Devine cancelled his other travel arrangements, 

and we made our way through the eerily quiet streets. When we got to 

Combat Outpost, everything was very calm. The Marines were exhausted from the previous day’s fighting, and they were still trying to process 

their thoughts that 12 men had been killed. We made our way through the 

various places where the Marines were living, checking on their states of 

mind and offering encouragement when necessary.

Early the next morning, the entire battalion conducted a citywide 

sweep. I wandered into our dining facility at dawn and observed a bizarre 

sight. Cereal bowls and milk boxes were left on tables, some half-eaten. It 

appeared as though Marines had been eating and then left suddenly. Later, 

I realized that security for the FOB had been left to several dozen Marine 

cooks and Navy corpsmen. I believed those Marines could handle it. I 

knew that force protection was the primary job for the corpsmen, and I recognized that the FOB had a large perimeter with a fairly low wall. When 

I pulled all of that together, I suddenly became anxious about my own 

personal safety. I calmed myself by acknowledging that Father Devine did 

not seem particularly concerned. An hour later, Father Devine found me 

in the BAS. “Brian, I just realized that we’re pretty vulnerable right now. 

What do you think?” I agreed with him and then went to my rack and 

started praying. About 30 minutes later, a second lieutenant from the Truck 

Company walked into the BAS, calling out, “Where are the chaplains? I’m 

taking them back to Hurricane Point.”

The Marines of Truck Company had driven a convoy to Combat 

Outpost with hot food for the Marines when they got back from the sweep. 

Battalion leadership also realized that both their chaplain and the division 

chaplain were waiting at the vulnerable FOB. Someone decided that we 

should probably be taken to a safer location. Needless to say, I was incredibly relieved. I packed up my belongings and headed out to the trucks. As 

I walked out of the BAS, the corpsmen lined up along with Lieutenant Son. 

Suddenly, I was overwhelmed with emotion. I was being whisked away 

to safety, but these men had to stay. They were just as vulnerable as I had 

been minutes before. Would they survive? Would there be an attack on the 

110 | Commander Brian D. Weigelt
FOB? I said my farewells and hugged them. When I gave my farewell to 

Lieutenant Son, my tears started to flow. He assured me that the Marines 

would be okay and told me to get out to the convoy. One Marine died that 

day, but not at Combat Outpost. 

Sunday morning dawned, and it was Easter. On 11 April 2004, Plaisted and I had a short sunrise service at Hurricane Point before we went to 

Combat Outpost for a memorial service. A normal Easter Sunday would 

consist of worship services filled with joyful songs celebrating the Resurrection. This was not a normal Sunday morning. We would get to the 

celebration of the Resurrection, but first we had to acknowledge the pain 

caused by death. Sixteen men died that week—15 Marines and 1 Navy 

corpsman. We did our best to honor them that Sunday morning, digging 

deeply into our spiritual and emotional resources so we could keep pressing on. There was no other option. After the memorial service, we went 

back to Hurricane Point. Two Marines had requested baptism, and so 

we concluded our Easter worship with the sacrament of holy baptism. A 

shallow pit was dug in the grove of trees beyond the main building, and 

then the pit was lined with heavy plastic and filled with water. The symbolism of being buried with Christ and raised to new life was particularly 

vivid as onlookers actually saw the baptized Marines come up out of a pit 

that looked much like a shallow grave. It was a fitting way to conclude a 

day of mixed emotions.

The battalion continued experiencing death throughout the deployment, but never on the scale of that first week, Holy Week, in April 2004. 

We held memorial services for everyone who was killed, but we started 

having them every two to three weeks instead of after each single death. 

We had grown weary, and it was difficult for everyone when we had a 

memorial service followed by another several days later. At each event, I 

would craft new words, but I used the same theme of recommitment: after 

such a tragic loss, we must recommit ourselves to the mission, to each 

other, and to God. I noticed that I was busiest after dark. When the sun 

went down, Marines wanted to talk. They wanted to discuss the pain they 

had experienced, the whys about what they were doing, and their relationThe Bastards’ Shepherd | 111
ships with God and others. I developed a deep bond with Father Devine 

through our times together as we laughed, prayed, and cried. I had learned 

to put my full confidence in God, especially on the days when I did not 

think I could get out of my rack and face the pain that I found in the lives 

of the Marines. 

Sergeant Major Booker and I worked together to help Marines who were 

feeling overwhelmed by their experiences. We pulled individuals back to 

Hurricane Point and gave them several days to collect their thoughts and get 

a sense of renewal. I gave them writing assignments, and then we discussed 

them. Sergeant Major Booker sat on the back terrace and talked with the 

young Marines for hours. I am convinced that it was this focused time with 

the sergeant major that helped the Marines regain a sense of their identity 

and initiative. 

At one point toward the end of summer, I was in Lieutenant Colonel 

Kennedy’s office. Kennedy was sitting at his desk working, and he looked 

up at me and said, “Brian, you were exactly the right chaplain for this deployment. And you know that nothing will ever compare to this experience. 

You will compare every assignment to this one.” I had a strange sense that 

he was absolutely correct.

By the end of the first week of September, we were getting ready to turn 

over authority to the next battalion, 2d Battalion, 5th Marines. As companies 

were turned over to Marines from 2d Battalion, 5th Marines, we went to 

Camp Junction City, the large U.S. Army base southwest of ar-Ramadi. Plaisted and I went over with the first wave of Marines to prepare for the warrior 

transition briefs (WTB). Before returning home, everyone was required to go 

through the WTB. It was a fairly basic concept. Help the men think through 

their experiences, crafting narratives that provide some structure to their 

time away. Then, help them understand what will be different when they 

return, how to cope with it, and what to do when they realize it is time to get 

help. There was specific guidance on how this was to be done, and it was a 

participatory exercise. I prepared to do this brief with every platoon as they 

arrived at Junction City. Over the course of 10 days, I conducted 30 sessions, 

each lasting 90 minutes. It was intense. The Marines had been through so 

112 | Commander Brian D. Weigelt
much, and they knew that things would be challenging when they got home. 

The heaviest emotional time in each brief was when we acknowledged those 

friends who had been killed. Invariably, there were tears as the men were 

confronted again with the terrible cost of freedom. 

Finally, on Wednesday, 22 September 2004, the battalion convoyed to 

al-Asad Air Base and flew to Kuwait. We were back at Camp Victory. We left 

Kuwait on Saturday, 25 September. Our first stop in the United States was 

in Bangor, Maine. It was an early morning fuel stop at about 0300, and we 

got off the plane to stretch our legs. As we made our way into the terminal, 

crowds of ordinary American citizens lined the corridor cheering for us. They 

would stop us to shake our hands and greet us. An elderly lady with white 

hair stopped me, looked into my eyes, and said, “Thank you,” and then proceeded to put her arms around my neck and hug me. I was overcome with 

tears, and to this day, more than nine years later, I still get teary-eyed when 

I think about it. It was a practical expression of gratitude for what we had 

experienced from someone who seemed to appreciate the horrible price that 

had been paid. It had been 217 days since Clari took me to Camp Pendleton.

BEING HOME

Rosslyn, Eliza, Clari, and Sue were at Camp Pendleton to greet me. I cannot 

describe the joy, the gratitude, and the love I experienced at that moment. 

Eliza had learned how to walk while I was away, and she seemed fascinated 

by all the commotion in her serious sort of way. I hugged my girls and did 

not want to let go. I woke up on Sunday morning, 26 September, in Temecula. 

Since my family had given up our home in Oregon, we needed a new home, 

and Rosslyn and Eliza moved into our new house the day after I left for Iraq. 

The first thing I noticed was how quiet it was at home. The Marines at the 

battalion took a month of leave, and I enjoyed every moment I had to reacclimatize to the surreal world of peaceful suburban existence. We travelled a bit, 

explored our new community, and celebrated all that God had done for us. 

The month went by much too quickly, and I returned to work in late October.

Everything had changed. Some Marines had transferred. Every company 

had a different training schedule. During the deployment, I had access to 

The Bastards’ Shepherd | 113
everyone in the battalion. I knew what my role was, and I had felt necessary. 

Now, everyone was scattered. There were men I never saw again. Everyone 

was reestablishing support networks. I felt unnecessary. Of course, I was 

glad to be home with my family, but I was experiencing existential boredom, 

and that was very confusing to me. I felt guilty for wanting more satisfaction 

in my work, but I certainly did not want to go back to Iraq any time soon. 

There was one significant task on my plate: I had to coordinate another 

memorial service. The battalion had conducted services in Iraq for everyone who had been killed, but now we were going to have one for every 

fallen Marine in the unit and allow family members to attend. It was my 

task to not only design the service but contact the families of all 34 men 

who had been killed. During the course of a week in early November, I 

called each family, praying each time before I picked up the telephone. It 

was an emotionally draining experience, once again exposing myself to 

the pain of those suffering. And I do not think I handled that exposure as 

well at home as I did while in Iraq. When I was deployed, I knew that the 

absence of normalcy required additional emotional and spiritual resources. 

While at home, I had a false sense of stability, and I did not access the resources necessary to cope with the pain. 

During one evening at dinner in early December, Rosslyn asked me, 

“Is this PTSD?”8 I was at the table, but it seemed like I was a million miles 

away. No, I did not have PTSD, but I certainly was dealing with the aftereffects of experiencing war—both the pain and the sense of professional 

satisfaction, which now seemed absent. Thankfully, Father Devine realized 

that the chaplains from the 1st Marine Division, who had deployed to Iraq, 

needed time to process their experiences. On 15 December, he sponsored 

a day of reflection at a monastery in Oceanside, California. A senior chaplain from another command led us through a series of conversations that 

provided opportunities for us to express and own our emotions. It was a 

powerful time of sharing and resulted in some relief.

By February 2005, I was reassigned to another battalion in 1st Marine 

Division. It was standard practice to shift chaplains after a deployment. My 

8

 Post-traumatic stress disorder.

114 | Commander Brian D. Weigelt
new unit, 3d Assault Amphibian Battalion, did not deploy as a battalion. 

We sent out platoons to Iraq, and my experiences with the 2d Battalion, 

4th Marines, proved invaluable as I did preparatory work with the Marines 

and their families. Additionally, I worked with the Marines and their families upon the platoon’s return from Iraq. Because I had been there with an 

infantry battalion, my guidance had some authority. Then, in July 2006, my 

family and I left California and moved to Norfolk, Virginia, where I was 

assigned to the USS Vella Gulf (CG 72). Life and ministry with Marines had 

become familiar to me, and I was very comfortable in that role. Now, I was 

going to the “blue side,” working with the Navy for the first time. It took 

some recalibration as I faced new kinds of stressors and a different culture. 

And Lieutenant Colonel Kennedy was correct; I compared everything 

to my time with the Magnificent Bastards. I had a deep sense of solemn 

gratitude as we left for the East Coast—gratitude for the selflessness of the 

Marines who gave everything to their nation and to their fellow Marines 

and gratitude to those who shaped me as a person and a chaplain.

If I had words of encouragement for the men and women of the Marine 

Corps after reflecting on these experiences, I would say that Marines 

should never give up the culture of concern for the individual that they 

have developed over the centuries. Having served with other branches of 

the military, I know that no one understands care for the individual like the 

Marine Corps. I pray that the Corps will never lose that distinction.

REFLECTION POINTS

• Some Marines and soldiers suffer crises of faith. How does having a 

chaplain in the unit help those who need support and guidance?

• Chaplain Weigelt mentions how the core values and traditions differ 

among the various branches of the military. What values did the chaplain 

witness? Can you compare how basic values in your life or from your 

service have helped you?

The Bastards’ Shepherd | 115
• As policy makers adjust budgets to meet the needs of a nation, what 

funds need to be allocated to the military? What kinds of programs do 

servicemen and -women need during and after deployments to balance 

the experiences of war with life at home?

• Chaplain Weigelt’s use of the words we, they, and our throughout the 

essay is a reflection of Weigelt’s own connection to the battalion as a cohesive unit. Why would it be important for a servicemember and unit 

leadership to recognize that mentality before, during, and after a combat 

deployment? 

116 | Commander Brian D. Weigelt
CHAPTER SIX

TRUST AMONG . . . ALLIES?

STAFF SERGEANT MICHAEL R. MOYER

Staff Sergeant Michael R. Moyer has served nine years on active duty in the U.S. 

Marine Corps infantry. He deployed in support of OIF and OEF. He served with 

the 1st Battalion, 2d Marines, the Marine Corps Security Cooperation Group, and 

the School of Infantry-East as a combat instructor with the Infantry Training Battalion and will serve with the 1st Battalion, 7th Marines. Moyer was meritoriously promoted to staff sergeant on 2 January 2016. The following story focuses on 

his time as a squad leader with 1st Battalion, 2d Marines, in Afghanistan in 2010, 

how the Marine Corps’ training prepared him, some of the challenges of his deployment, and the transition home with his Marines.

I grew up hearing stories about the U.S. Army in World War II and the 

Marine Corps in Korea, and then, while I was in the seventh grade, on 11 

September 2001, the United States was attacked. My father was supposed to 

be at a meeting at the World Trade Center complex when the towers were 

117
118 | Staff Sergeant Michael R. Moyer

hit, but he had decided to stay home to watch me play a sports game that 

afternoon. I felt that my family and I had a lot to be thankful for and that I 

owed it to the country and those who went abroad to defend the nation. At 

age 17, between my junior and senior years of high school, I enlisted in the 

Marine Corps, initially under a Reserve contract with the intent of going to 

college. As my senior year progressed, I realized that I did not know what 

I wanted to do with my life, and I was not about to put myself into debt 

paying for college when the plan for my future was unclear. I switched my 

contract from Reserve to active duty and then left for Marine Corps Recruit 

Depot Parris Island, South Carolina, two days after graduating from high 

school in 2007. 

In 2008, I deployed as a lance corporal to al-Anbar Province, Iraq, a 

place known as the Sunni Death Triangle.1 While my Marine unit at the 

time (1st Platoon, Charlie Company, 1st Battalion, 2d Marines) sustained 

no casualties, many of us witnessed some of the horrors of war—young 

men given suicide vests and sent to Iraqi Army or police bases and checkpoints. While in Iraq, I worked extensively with both Iraqi Army and police 

on raids, quick reaction missions, and interdiction operations catching 

smugglers near the Syrian border.2 My experiences during this deployment 

proved to be extremely valuable when, a few years later, I worked to train 

my Marines and then led a squad through combat in the Helmand Province, 

Afghanistan, in 2010.

For one year, from March 2009 to March 2010, the 1st Battalion, 2d 

Marines, at MCB Camp Lejeune, North Carolina, conducted predeployment 

training for Afghanistan. At that time, the standard rotation of personnel 

and leaders continued to occur. What remained constant throughout this 

period, however, was anticipation of a rough deployment. Knowing that the 

enemy was already battle tested and waiting only stressed how important it 

was to develop well-trained and extremely disciplined Marines. To accom1

 Insurgency activities operated throughout cities within the Sunni Triangle, which was located 

from ar-Ramadi to Baghdad to Mosul. Estes, U.S. Marines in Iraq, 2004–2005. 2

 International news coverage at the time mentioned issues with smugglers of foreign fighters into 

Iraq along the Syrian border. 
plish this, the unit’s training focused on brilliance in the basics, a concept 

that originally did not seem high speed or sexy enough, but proved to be 

vital for the success of our mission and to minimize Marine casualties.

Our preparation for the deployment in Afghanistan began with a battalion-level team leaders course for the young Marines, many who would 

become squad leaders. The focus of this course was nothing more than 

getting back to the basics of the orders process, defense, patrolling, squad 

organic weapons, offensive fundamentals, and sound field craft.3 The course 

culminated with a one-week defensive training operation including IEDs, 

ambushes, reconnaissance patrols, security patrols, 9-line medevac requests, and call for fire training.4

 After two weeks of written evaluations, 

performance-based evaluations, and a conditioning hike, each Marine was 

sent back to his company and platoon well prepared for the battalion’s first 

major field operation.

Charlie Company, my company, dug in a defensive position that we 

maintained for a week while conducting patrolling operations. The company 

had to make sure that all Marines understood the priorities of operating 

in the defense and would conduct themselves accordingly. Digging proper 

fighting positions, performing tactical resupplies, patrolling, operating listening and observation posts, and utilizing proper radio procedures were 

stressed at every level. Up to this point, we had only heard of “training to a 

standard,” but none of us had ever been rewarded for achieving that standard. When our position was inspected by the battalion commander and 

found to be satisfactory, 7-ton trucks were sent out to us, and we were taken 

back to the barracks. After that experience anytime the standard was not 

met, we all knew that we had to reset and hit it again until we got it right. 

Tactical decision-making games were a significant component of our 

training for both squad and team leaders. Nearly 50 percent of Charlie 

Company was young as far as leadership and experience were concerned. 

3 Organic weapons refer to those assigned to the unit, such as an M16 rifle, a 40mm M203 grenade launcher, a squad automatic weapon, and K-bar or bayonet knives.

4

 A 9-line casualty medevac request is a casualty reporting method whereby Marines relay nine 

points of information for a medical evacuation.

Trust Among . . . Allies? | 119
In 1st Platoon, we only had three noncommissioned officers when we deployed. To balance for this lack of experienced Marines, we had to develop 

extremely knowledgeable and competent individuals at every level. In addition, in many cases team leaders were rack mates with members of their 

teams during recruit training, and so extra emphasis was placed on training 

the team leaders tactically and developing their abilities to make tough decisions under pressure. Our objective was to enable the young Marines in 

leadership billets to stand out from their peers.

In October 2009, the battalion went to Marine Corps Air Station (MCAS) 

Yuma, Arizona, to conduct a monthlong training exercise. The U.S. Army 

Yuma Proving Ground is the home of an advanced aviation school. At 

Yuma, we were able to focus on everything from basic riflemen tasks, such 

as proper employment of grenades, to company-level heliborne night raids. 

In Yuma, the company could train at the lowest level of buddy rush and 

work all the way through company raids.5 Squad leaders used white-space 

training to show their Marines the effects of terrain on different formations.6

Platoons were able to work internally training on fire and maneuver, and as 

a result, each Marine developed a firm understanding of final coordination 

lines and what the weapons attachments could add that the platoon did not 

already have.7 When thinking about the logistics and the many challenges 

that take place while conducting a company-level night raid that uses helicopters, there is a lot that can go wrong. Company leaders, however, did 

an excellent job of breaking down each part of the order and the mission. 

By the time the order was briefed to team leaders, it was simple for the 

Marines to understand “go here, move here, shoot here, and make sure that 

the correct Marines are near me.” This large-scale raid, when broken down 

5

 Buddy rush is a strategic movement where one Marine provides cover fire, enabling a second 

Marine to run forward before stopping and providing similar coverage to allow the first Marine 

to move forward as well.

6 White-space training refers to the use of realistic training areas, scenarios, weapons, and equipment that a unit will fight with.

7

 Fire and maneuver is a tactic that uses suppressive fire to increase a unit’s ability to move forward 

by decreasing an enemy’s ability to return fire. The final coordination line is used to coordinate 

the shifting of support fire and movement as troops move into a final formation just prior to a 

unit’s assault on a target. 

120 | Staff Sergeant Michael R. Moyer
properly, was as simple as “shoot, move, communicate,” a philosophy that 

all infantrymen are familiar with. Our brilliance at the basics motto was 

evident in the performance evaluation checklists that were handed out from 

the company to appropriate leaders. The Marines were equally evaluated, 

while all leaders were fully aware of the training standards to be achieved. 

In Yuma, the Marines learned each other’s strengths and weaknesses and 

how to work together.

The next large exercise was held at Marine Corps Air Ground Combat 

Center Twentynine Palms, California. Exercise Enhanced Mojave Viper was 

the culminating event for the battalion prior to the deployment to Afghanistan. The purpose of Mojave Viper is to evaluate a battalion as a whole 

from squad-level tasks up to company-level live-fire evolutions. While at 

Twentynine Palms, we received additional training on Afghan culture. We 

were briefed on Pashtunwali, the lifestyle of Afghan people, and we were 

also given the opportunity to interact with several Afghans who live in the 

United States.8 The cultural education, however, was rather general and 

broad and did not delve into the specifics of Pashtun or other tribal lifestyles. At Twentynine Palms, we conducted several live-fire exercises, which 

were the apex of all we had trained for, including platoon assaults, company 

assaults, mechanized operations and attacks, and patrol base operations at 

both company and platoon levels. Most of our training focused on assaults 

and attacks, how to react to an IED, and other fairly clear-cut scenarios. 

After the Mojave Viper exercise, we knew there was not much more 

we would do prior to deploying. Our weapons platoon sergeant went to 

a course to become proficient in the process of requesting and utilizing air 

support in a combat environment. Upon his return, he immediately began 

working with the company squad leaders to give Marines a solid understanding of how close air support (CAS) works. It was a much-needed training because many of us had never spoken to pilots or called in air support 

in combat. The close air support training was helpful because of all the 

8

 Pashtunwali is a way of life and system of customary laws that stress honor above all else. See 

Maj David W. Kummer, comp., U.S. Marines in Afghanistan, 2001–2009: Anthology and Annotated Bibliography (Quantico, VA: Marine Corps History Division, 2015).

Trust Among . . . Allies? | 121
different terminologies used when speaking with pilots. However, besides 

CAS training, we were mainly taking care of paperwork, updating our wills, 

checking on everyone’s emergency contacts, and submitting our predeployment leave requests.

In March 2010, as a lance corporal, I deployed with the battalion to 

Helmand Province.9 Musa Qal’ah was the district where our battalion set 

up its Combat Operations Center. Our area of operation (AO) was mainly 

desert with canals used by the locals to irrigate their fields. Less than half a 

mile from the irrigated fields, vegetation ended and the land turned into a 

flat desert. In the desert, there were a few sparse small villages or towns, established around wells that provided water to irrigate the surrounding fields. 

This environment was rather different from Iraq. Towns and villages were 

smaller; the fields farmed by the locals were also considerably smaller than 

in Iraq. The al-Anbar Province in Iraq was more technologically advanced 

than Helmand Province, Afghanistan. There were plenty of paved roads in 

Iraq, while I did not see even one gravel road in Afghanistan; the only exception were the roads on our bases built by the Coalition forces.10 Electricity 

was generally unavailable in Afghanistan, and an entire village took turns 

irrigating fields from a single canal or stream, while the Iraqis I worked with 

could rely on the TharThar Canal and Euphrates River for water. 

In Afghanistan, the battalion’s mission was to conduct counterinsurgency (COIN) operations. We did this by befriending the local populace, 

working with and training the Afghan National Security Force (ANSF), 

and neutralizing the enemy either by detaining them or by, when necessary, killing them. Engaging members of the local population, getting to 

know them, and talking with them was something that many of us Marines 

had already experienced in Iraq. We found that the people in Afghanistan 

were tired of the Coalition’s unfulfilled promises and ideas. To address and 

change this negative attitude, the battalion used Afghan money and workers 

9

 Moyer received a combat meritorious promotion to corporal in May 2010 during his deployment to Iraq.

10 The International Security Assistance Force (ISAF) in Afghanistan, commonly referred to as 

the Coalition, at this time was under the direction of the North Atlantic Treaty Organization 

(NATO).

122 | Staff Sergeant Michael R. Moyer
to boost the economy in the villages and towns, helping everyone with projects, such as mosque renovations, electrical line repairs, and establishment 

of new water wells. 

The members of the ANSF that we worked with were Pashtun, and 

many of them were either from the same tribe or from an equally respected 

and powerful tribe.11 I remember one Afghan Army lieutenant who was motivated, eager to learn, and enthusiastic about working with us, but who was 

not helpful because he was of a different or less powerful tribe than all of his 

soldiers, and so he was not listened to. The majority of the ANSF troops we 

worked with were from the local area. This had both positive and negative 

implications. On the positive side, they knew the area extremely well and 

were invested in the safety and success of the battalion’s missions. On the 

negative side, occasionally they would lead a patrol and just go to their families’ homes and sit and drink tea instead of patrolling the AO or moving to 

areas that lacked protection from the battalion’s patrols and posts. We conducted a few joint operations with soldiers of the ANSF in which they took 

on leadership roles while U.S. Marines only provided support. The intent 

of these operations was to increase the ANSF confidence and experience in 

leading missions while building and improving relations between them and 

the local people. The outcome of these operations was mixed. Often the soldiers did not appear to be very effective, while others were great and made 

a positive impact on both the ANSF and the locals. 

Working with the ANSF, both Afghan National Army (ANA) and 

Afghan National Police (ANP), was not easy and presented many challenges. It happened that some ANSF members stole from Marines. Most of 

the ANSF members smoked marijuana and showed up for post or patrol 

high. At one point, I informed the Afghan Army senior enlisted that his 

soldiers had been growing weed in our landing zone. Following that incident, we had fewer cases of intoxicated ANSF on post or patrol, but when it 

did happen, the Marines were extremely uneasy about having ANSF with 

weapons anywhere near us. 

11 Pashtun is a tribal or ethnic group located mostly in the mountainous regions of eastern and 

southern Afghanistan and in Pakistan.

Trust Among . . . Allies? | 123
Punctuality was definitely not a priority to the ANSF troops, and that 

was extremely frustrating to all of us. Marines would get up after only three 

or four hours of sleep so that they were ready and on time for patrol, only to 

sit around for an additional 20 minutes, on a good day, waiting for members 

of the ANA or ANP. We were willing to trade 20 minutes of sleep in exchange for a meal or even mail from home on some days, so to waste it 

sitting around waiting was very frustrating and contributed to bad feelings 

between Marines and members of ANSF.

Not all ANSF interactions were poor, and every opinion will vary from 

Marine to Marine even within the same AO. I was fortunate enough to have 

been friends with an ANP commander who was quick to the fight, eager 

to keep his AO safe for both Afghans and Coalition forces, and extremely 

helpful to work with. He shared intelligence and local rumors with us and 

supported us in any way possible. His example inspired the policemen in 

his unit, other ANP units, and the locals of that village. He was so effective 

in his operations and working with the Marines that the Taliban targeted 

and killed him while he was traveling to the patrol base (PB) where I had 

been operating out of for a meeting. Fortunately, his replacement was just as 

enthusiastic and committed as he was and picked up right where the previous commander left off. I remember standing on the roof of the compound 

these commanders ran, analyzing their security to see if they had missed 

any avenues of approach, and they pointed out their homes to me. This 

proximity to home was the center of gravity for each of these commanders. 

They were close to home, and they wanted to raise their children in a safe 

and good environment. This is why they were so successful, yet this was 

also the reason why the Taliban targeted them.

One evening while standing sergeant of the guard with my Marines 

on post, I heard a single shot fired from our southern entry control point.12

I immediately called down to ECP South to ask what was happening and 

was informed that the ANA just started shooting. I found our interpreter 

and went to ask the ANA why their soldiers were shooting. The response I 

12 Sergeant of the guard is the supervising noncommissioned officer (NCO) of enlisted servicemembers pulling guard duty.

124 | Staff Sergeant Michael R. Moyer
received astounded me: “The post to our south is not answering their radio. 

So we shoot to wake them up.” At the time, this was both frightening and 

hilarious all at once. The fact that the Afghan soldiers might have been 

sleeping on post did not seem to concern them, while the most efficient 

way to wake the soldiers, instead of patrolling or driving out to them, was 

simply to shoot in their direction. Perhaps some of the humor came from 

sleep deprivation, but at the time, keeping a straight face while explaining to 

the ANA soldiers that perhaps that was not the best idea was very difficult.

What I found truly disturbing in Afghanistan, even more than in Iraq, 

was the complete disregard for human life displayed by the Taliban. In Iraq, 

it was not uncommon to hear a Marine telling his junior servicemembers 

that if children were around, you knew you would be okay. While conducting the relief in place with the next battalion in Afghanistan, I had to warn 

the newly arrived Marines that they would get killed if they relied on that 

belief.13 Open areas where children played, houses, fields, and roads or 

bridges were all fair game for direct fire and IEDs. I remember responding 

to an IED strike where the Taliban had targeted the ANA because they set 

their checkpoints up in the same spot every day and did not have electronic 

countermeasures (ECMs) like the Marine battalion did. Unfortunately, on 

that day, a child was running up to the ANA soldier when the Taliban detonated the IED. It was not a pressure plate or timer but a remote-controlled 

IED, which means that someone was watching as that child approached the 

soldier and made a conscious decision to detonate at that time. 

This callousness struck even the hardest and coldest of us Marines, even 

those who had been in battles with large numbers of casualties. I remember 

talking with a fellow Marine, a good friend of mine, who was extremely 

upset about the situation. He just looked at me and said, “Nobody wants 

to see dead kids, man. F——g nobody.” After treating small children or 

keeping our ECP open so that families could bury their dead, every man 

was ready and itching to find the Taliban and kill them, but the inspiration and anger we felt those days were not worth the weight of the sights, 

sounds, and smells that we were left with.

13 Relief in place is when all or part of a unit is replaced by an incoming unit.

Trust Among . . . Allies? | 125
Toward the middle of the deployment, the relationship between Marines 

and ANA became very strained. Several things played into the stress felt by 

both sides. While on post, an Afghan soldier and Marine got into a fistfight over mere trash talk, but both sides felt slighted and were not entirely 

happy even after the issue was resolved between the two individuals. Additionally, the ANA senior enlisted soldier, affectionately known as the “Sergeant Major” had been killed by an IED. This was hard particularly for the 

ANA but also for the Marines, because if the Marines had a problem with 

an Afghan soldier, we could always go to the Sergeant Major, and he would 

take care of it. He was a good soldier and one of the best ANSF leaders I 

worked with. The Sergeant Major was a middleman between the ANA and 

the Marines, though he did it without compromising his position as a leader. 

His soldiers did not look at him as merely the mouth of the Marines or their 

commanding officer; they looked to him as the guy who had been there and 

done that and respected him. He had the ability to take what we, as Marines, 

were asking of him or trying to teach him, and adapt it to the Afghan way of 

doing things, in a manner that got nearly the same results. After his death, 

one ANA soldier tried to kill himself with rat poison. Following that event, 

we were briefed that some of the other soldiers may attempt “death by 

Marine” where they would point their weapons at us so that we would kill 

them. Such a possibility added more stress to an already tense relation.

Corruption was a problem among the Afghan security force while the 

loyalty of some of its members was questionable. In a number of cases, 

ANSF members were caught or killed while emplacing IEDs or conducting 

attacks on Coalition forces. These types of scenarios were not uncommon 

and truly biased all of us Marines toward ANSF prior to setting foot in Afghanistan, which made the following event a difficult one. One morning, at 

0300, my squad and I began a patrol to establish a listening and observation 

post (LP/OP) near a route that we knew was used by the Taliban. We were 

in place by about 0345 and settled in for what we hoped would be a quiet 

night. We displaced to return to base (RTB) at about 0500, just before the sun 

rose.14 On the way back, the day transitioned into dawn, that hour when 

14 RTB is an order, either displayed or verbal, to proceed to another point or site.

126 | Staff Sergeant Michael R. Moyer
everything is gray but visibility is good and getting better, so we were able 

to lift our NVGs up, which was important for spotting small IED indicators 

on the ground. While walking on a tree branch acting as a bridge over a 

canal and exiting the vegetated zone of our AO, we took contact. Most of 

the squad had made it across the bridge already, but we had a team that had 

not crossed yet. Automatic-weapon fire hit in between the second and third 

fireteam from a compound to the southeast of our squad. We immediately 

dove into the canal for cover and oriented ourselves in the direction the fire 

was coming from. 

When I looked up at the compound, I noticed a flag flying over it and 

a square structure on the corner, very similar to the posts we built on our 

PB manned by the ANSF. When under fire, many thoughts go through a 

person’s mind. It is impossible to describe the fear you experience thinking that friends, the men you are responsible for, might be hurt or killed. 

It is the kind of thing you cannot imagine until you have lived through it. 

In addition, some people experience outrage and a desire to respond in a 

forceful way to those attempting to kill them, especially when the shooters 

are supposed to be allies. I found myself in a dilemma. Do we return fire 

and enter the compound? Or, do I stop this before it becomes a massacre of 

ANSF and an international incident with my squad and I at the center of an 

investigation? 

We had received only one burst of fire, and I was able to establish that 

none of my Marines were injured. I immediately called for my Marines to 

hold their fire. I then called out to the post that we were Marines. After a 

few seconds of strained silence waiting for a reply, we got a “sorry” from 

the ANA soldier standing post who merely put his hands up and shrugged 

his shoulders. Naturally, my Marines were upset and started yelling at the 

ANA and making their way toward the compound as if they were about to 

make entry. I quickly got their attention and tasked my team leaders out and 

got everyone on the road again. Once in the PB, the squad was extremely 

frustrated and wondered why we get shot at and why we did not go into 

the compound. Before I could explain myself, however, we had a rotation 

on post from 0600 to 1200. I told them that we would sit and talk through it 

Trust Among . . . Allies? | 127
after post. When our rotation was over, I explained to them everything that 

I had been thinking and my reasoning for not going in. After several cigarettes, some grumbling, and some more explaining to ensure that everyone 

understood the reasoning instead of just hearing it, we were all in agreement 

and carried on with our day. 

That is just one example of the stresses of combat. The doubt, fear, confusion, lack of intelligence on the enemy, or knowledge about the safety of 

friends is what we call the “fog of war.” At times, it is thick and we find 

the simplest tasks to be difficult, and at other times, we feel as if we are 

merely away from home for a while. Dealing with all these factors that 

make a major impact on us as human beings—while still trying to locate, 

close with, and destroy an enemy—is a significant task. Additionally, each 

Marine reacts to combat differently, so all Marines have to know where their 

buddies are and pay attention to ensure that the Marines are physically and 

mentally okay while they are still doing their jobs. Throw into the mix a 

group of undisciplined, possibly disloyal “allies,” and combat can become 

overwhelming. Those feelings, doubts, and emotions take a toll on those 

in battle, and as so many veterans and their families have seen, the consequences do not always present themselves immediately.

A few months after the shooting incident, our unit left Afghanistan. Returning home from that environment was exhilarating. It was like finally 

having a weight lifted from my chest. At the same time, however, it was 

frustrating and awkward. People changed and so did the homes and lives 

that we left when we deployed. For Marines on deployment, it is as if life 

at home is just put on pause, and we expect to see it the way it was when 

we return. Accepting those changes is just part of the transition of coming 

home, realizing that everyone kept moving and their lives continued and 

changed. For some, it feels as if everything is moving in fast-forward while 

trying to catch up on all the changes that took place. Many Marines become 

frustrated from trying to keep up with everything. 

Most servicemembers spend a great deal of time thinking about their 

homecoming. When we loaded up the trucks for the last patrol or boarded 

the airplane for the trip home, it felt like being on the top of a roller coaster 

128 | Staff Sergeant Michael R. Moyer
about to take a huge drop. All the excitement and emotions that we had 

bottled up for the last several months were all present, and we felt like 

bursting.

The most defining moment for me was when my Marines flew out, but 

I had to stay behind for one additional week to conduct the relief in place. 

One of our explosive ordnance disposal Marines, who had been working 

with me throughout the deployment, looked at me and said, “Mike, you 

look so relaxed.” I was so relieved that my squad of Marines was safe and 

on their way home that I felt as if I were done. It was the most significant 

catharsis I have ever felt in my life. Of course, I still had patrols to conduct, 

and I was still in danger, but it felt as if that hardly mattered because my 

squad was safe.

For me, getting home was more about adjusting than just feeling relieved. How was I supposed to deal with the fear of waking up and not 

being able to find my rifle or not knowing where the guys I spent the last 

seven months with were? Most of us just did everything we could to relax 

and adjust to being with family again. We had to become accustomed again 

to someone touching us constantly when wives and girlfriends wanted to 

hug and hold hands. Patience was the best tool for the families and the 

Marines coming home—patience in understanding that it might not feel 

right for a little while and we might have to make some sacrifices on both 

sides to make it work.

When you are taken to a place where there is no running water or electricity, often not enough or no good food and little chance to get a good 

night’s sleep, the day-to-day things you are used to no longer matter. Which 

new phone or music is coming out this month? Who is dating or getting 

married? Often Marines get angry because we do not care about the little 

problems that people will complain about not realizing how nice their lives 

really are. Go up to someone who has never deployed and ask him or her 

to imagine seven months without a day off and no reliable communications 

with home. The reactions are usually along the lines of “Why?” But, that is 

the reality for us coming home. The real struggle is letting go of the bitterness we feel for others simply because “they haven’t done it.” Wives with 

Trust Among . . . Allies? | 129
children did not get a day off, and I have yet to meet a mother or father who 

did not worry while a child was deployed. And it is nobody else’s fault that 

we enlisted in the Marine Corps during a war and then went to war! All of 

this reasoning, however, is hard to accept for someone who has seen friends 

be killed and had to pick up their body parts.

In addition to the adjustment from deployment to home life, Marines 

must adjust again as their friends, leaders, and juniors move on either in 

the Marine Corps or in their lives. Many Marines will move to other duty 

stations or be sent to another battalion while others will get out of the Corps 

and move back home. New Marines arrive at the battalion, and everyone 

must start the cycle of preparing for a deployment again. Restarting this 

cycle is particularly frustrating due to the high level of proficiency most 

squads gain toward the end of a deployment. The Marines begin again at 

the lowest level of training, and even that does not work smoothly due to 

the new members in the unit.

Many Marines feel anxiety about returning home. The routine and 

cycle of life that we lived with every day for seven months or longer change 

drastically. The personal issues that had been put aside for the past several 

months reappear again, in addition to any new concerns that may be 

brought home from deployment. Anxiety about moving to a new area of 

the country, starting a new job with a different command, or taking on extra 

responsibility in a higher billet are all in the back of many Marines’ minds. 

When I returned home, I felt lost, out of place, and as if I did not belong 

there. I had been in charge of a squad for seven months, and then, when I 

came home, those Marines were no longer around. Instead of living with my 

squad of Marines 24/7, I saw them for a couple hours, and then we went 

our separate ways for the night. Even when I was with my wife or staying 

at a friend’s house, I felt alone. While my Marines and my friends took their 

postdeployment leave, I checked out of the battalion and moved to Virginia. 

For 30 days, I had no responsibility for anyone except myself, and I did not 

know how to spend my time or what to do with myself. That emptiness was 

akin to boredom and restlessness. Not knowing how to spend free time or 

what to do with oneself is why a lot of Marines fall into dangerous habits, 

130 | Staff Sergeant Michael R. Moyer
such as alcohol abuse, reckless driving, or drug use. Spending time with 

friends and family was what kept me going and really allowed me to start 

to move forward with my life. 

Isolation, confusion, loneliness, and feelings of being lost are not the 

only things felt. There was the excitement of seeing loved ones again or 

sharing the joy of a new child in the family with your friends. Many of 

us who served in different platoons and did not see each other much over 

the deployment later got together to drink and laugh about the different 

things that happened. Many of our friends who did not deploy with us, or 

got sent home early, were waiting for us with coolers of beer and chicken 

to throw on the grill eager for everyone to catch up on what was missed 

both at home and abroad. For many of us, the support we received from 

family and friends was extremely important, yet the support we received 

from fellow Marines—who picked us up when they saw us falling after we 

came home or just drank with us in silence and then made us get up and do 

something or drove us home to our families—made a significant difference. 

The Marines who take care of each other after getting home are the ones 

who have a successful transition home; those are the guys that veterans stay 

in touch with.

These are just examples of the bond Marines have with each other. 

Anyone who has ever been there knows the feeling of being at the bottom 

of the barrel and then coming to terms with the situation. A buddy will say, 

“Now stop crying, p——y,” and both of you have a laugh about it. It is not 

a disparaging comment, not when it is coming from the guy who just sat 

with you until you worked out whatever was bothering you. Or maybe, 

he is the guy you do not want to let down, so you try to suck it up until he 

pulls you aside and asks what is going on. The bond we Marines have is 

not about shared tattoos or drinking stories; it is that level of comfort we 

have because we have seen people at their very best and very worst, when 

they have looked like they could not do anymore, and then we have looked 

around and realized everyone else is in the same boat, so we keep pushing 

on. Together, we have tested our limits morally, physically, and emotionally. 

We have seen the entire spectrum of each other and that is a closeness that 

Trust Among . . . Allies? | 131
some married couples do not even experience. The stress of our work and 

our feelings and the pain that comes along with our job is the foundation 

of a strong bond. It is the mortar that holds us together and the reason the 

Marine Corps is known for brotherhood and esprit de corps. 

Looking back, I have realized that I did not make much progress with 

the ANSF members who I worked with. I did not teach them much, and I 

do not feel that they contributed much to our success on deployment. The 

next time I deploy, regardless of the time or location, I will spend some time 

focusing on working with members of a foreign military—understanding 

how to teach them and how the rapport I will have with them will affect 

our mission. The Marine Corps spent money on instruction for cultural differences, provided COIN classes, and sent us on operations that focused 

almost entirely on the local populace of Afghanistan. If training time had 

been spent with the host nation counterparts and Marines had been given 

more time to focus on that aspect of COIN, our operations would have been 

quicker and the success of those operations more substantial. The United 

States is in the process of turning over Afghanistan to the Afghans, and that 

transition as well as the success of the ANSF would be more defined if every 

Marine battalion had focused on that mission instead of leaving this to the 

military and police transition teams.

More than just providing the classes and getting the information out, 

military leaders need to instill these mission values in their subordinates. 

Just like showing a PowerPoint presentation on alcohol abuse will not keep 

anyone from drinking too much, slamming information into Marines with 

a fire hose will not stick. Marines who understand and are invested in the 

mission need to be identified and given responsibility. If all of the Marines 

are mature and invested in the mission, anything will be possible.

To the Marines preparing to deploy, I would say, “It’s on you.” The time 

is there for training; it is on individuals and the leadership to think of and 

schedule events and to always put out and get the most out of every training 

evolution. Leaders need to connect with their Marines, make them want to 

work for us. Ask any enlisted Marine which was more effective, the a——s 

chewing or the calm talk about disappointing performance, and they will 

132 | Staff Sergeant Michael R. Moyer
tell you that the calm talk made them feel worse and want to work harder. 

I believe that there are two things we cannot teach, no matter how good we 

are as an organization. We cannot teach leadership, and we cannot teach 

someone to care. If we connect with each other, if we bring brotherhood into 

the picture during training, then we could bring more Marines home.

REFLECTION POINTS

• Not all Marines or other personnel experience PTSD, but all have to 

come to terms with returning home and the changes that come with that 

return. Did you go through this process? Was your experience more like 

the chaplain’s experience or like Staff Sergeant Moyer’s?

• Both Lieutenant Colonel Beyer and Staff Sergeant Moyer mention the 

brotherhood felt by Marines. How do you define the Marine Corps 

brotherhood? Do their definitions differ in concept or just expression? 

• Trust is an underlying theme of Staff Sergeant Moyer’s recollections. 

How did the Marines’ lack of trust toward the Afghan soldiers potentially damage the battalion’s mission? How could leaders have addressed 

these concerns?

Trust Among . . . Allies? | 133
CHAPTER SEVEN

A WOMAN IN CHARGE: A CIVIL AFFAIRS MARINE 

TEAM LEADER EXPERIENCE IN AFGHANISTAN

MAJOR ANIELA K. SZYMANSKI, USMCR

Aniela K. Szymanski is a major in the U.S. Marine Corps Reserve and a judge advocate/civil affairs officer. Currently assistant counsel at Judge Advocate Division, 

Civil and Administrative Law Branch, she was the rule of law advisor for 2d Civil 

Affairs Group, and served as Civil Affairs Detachment commander leading four 

civil affairs teams. From February to September 2011, she was a civil affairs team 

leader attached to 3d Battalion, 2d Marines, as part of Regimental Combat Team 8 

in Now Zad District, Helmand Province, Afghanistan. In this chapter, Major Szymanski shares the challenges she faced as a team leader during that deployment.

. . . AND HOW GENDER IS NOT ALWAYS WHAT YOU 

MAKE OF IT; SOMETIMES IT IS MORE

When I decided to join the Marine Corps in 1999, my mother thought I 

should be committed to a mental institution. She envisioned her little girl 

134
being either eaten alive by ruthless male Marines who would never have 

her best interests in mind or that I would transform into a grotesque hybrid 

of a man and woman. In the end, she supported my decision and continued to be my biggest fan. Even beyond my perhaps over-protective mother, 

some acquaintances and friends reacted very negatively to my choice. The 

best way I can characterize their general reactions is “Why would you ever 

want to do that?!” as if they could not understand any possible reason why 

a college-educated woman would make such a choice. Some attempted to 

rationalize my decision in their own minds by saying, “Well, the Marine 

Corps is paying for your law school, so that’s why you’re doing it.” When 

I corrected them that the Marine Corps did not pay for even one cent of 

my law school, they too were left utterly confused. For those who have not 

experienced it themselves, the call to serve and the desire to be a Marine is 

really beyond explanation. For that reason, I stopped trying to explain my 

choices to people.

The Marine Corps proved to be the most professional and respectful 

organization in which I have ever served. I am, by no means, a man-woman 

hybrid, and every Marine who I have ever had the pleasure of serving with 

has been exceedingly honorable in their actions and intentions. Throughout my Marine Corps career, my gender has never been an issue, that I am 

aware of, until my deployment to Afghanistan. 

I served seven years on active duty as a judge advocate after completing 

OCS and TBS. I eventually realized that I would need to establish myself as 

a civilian attorney-practitioner if I wanted to have a career outside of the 

Marine Corps, and decided to take a civilian job but stay in the Reserves as 

a major. As a part of the Reserves, I joined the 4th Civil Affairs Group (CAG) 

in Washington, DC, and was assigned as a civil affairs team leader. I knew 

nothing of civil affairs prior to joining the unit, but was told that my legal 

experience would be an asset. I quickly learned that civil affairs actually 

had nothing to do with law and everything to do with human relations. In 

the Marine Corps, the term civil affairs covers such a large variety of civilmilitary operations, including displaced persons operations, humanitarian 

assistance, and relations with foreign national governments. Some of these 

A Woman in Charge | 135
136 | Major Aniela K. Szymanski

functions are not even interrelated, but for the fact that they all have the 

common denominator of, in some way, dealing with civilians. 

My detachment was assigned to deploy in support of OEF in 2011. I 

was tasked by my detachment commander with assembling a team of 11 

Marines who would be responsible for assisting an infantry battalion in 

Helmand Province, Afghanistan. Our deployment took place as part of the 

troop surge about which senior political and strategic leaders had a precise 

idea of its purpose. At the tactical level, our level of operations, the ISAF 

intended for us to support Afghan forces, to play a leading role, and to 

take responsibility for their nation, their people, their security, and their 

governance. I knew that, if this was going to happen, we were going to be 

the ones to do it. For that reason, I also knew that I needed the best team 

I could assemble. I decided to set some specific metrics about the type of 

Marines I was looking for. 

I determined that the qualities I was looking for in a Marine on my 

team would include good physical fitness (judged by their PFT and CFT 

scores), credibility within an infantry battalion (based on their past assignments, service, accomplishments, and occupational specialties), and some 

level of accomplishment in their careers (meritorious promotion, selection 

for special duty assignments, college degree).1 Team members also needed 

to demonstrate their willingness to go above and beyond the call of duty, 

and be individuals who expressed some level of humbleness in their communication skills. This last factor ended up being the most disqualifying 

among the Marines I considered. I would not compromise on this point. 

I firmly believed that I needed Marines who could be both solid team 

members to their fellow Marines and be compassionate to local civilians 

who had already endured nearly a decade of war with the United States 

and a lifetime of war overall. Our mission’s success depended entirely on 

their willingness to give of themselves for the sake of others whom they had 

never met and to be considered trustworthy. For anyone, this would be an 

extreme challenge; for Marines going into a war zone, this would be a rare 

gem. I also had my team chief, Gunnery Sergeant Earl Beatty, and my as1

 PFT stands for Physical Fitness Test; and CFT for Combat Fitness Test.
A Woman in Charge | 137

sistant team chief, Staff Sergeant Charles Frangis, review all of the potential 

team members’ Reserve qualification summaries to rank them. Their choices 

included Corporals Cody Banks, Travis Neal, and T. J. McCabe, all of whom 

were promoted to sergeant during our deployment. This ensured that my 

team chief and assistant team chief had some ownership in the process and 

the team. Besides that, I trusted their judgment as to who would be able to 

handle the demands of our mission.

I ended up with a team of all men, almost all infantry Marines, except 

for my assistant team leader, Captain Gregory Hudgins, who was a logistics 

specialist and had participated in the initial invasion of Iraq in 2003; a corpsman, Hospitalman Second Class Parker; and a communications specialist, 

Lance Corporal Jamal Lea. Only my team chief had performed a civil affairs 

mission previously, and none of us had been to Afghanistan yet. Thankfully, the Marine Corps had approximately a decade of lessons learned from 

Iraq and Afghanistan for us to study prior to deploying. For several months 

before our deployment, we studied after action reports for civil affairs relevant material; spoke with Marines who had recently returned from conducting civil affairs missions in Helmand Province; attended seminars and 

programs at the U.S. Institute of Peace in Washington, DC, and with other 

organizations about topics relevant to establishing economic and government stability in Afghanistan; and performed map studies of the region. 

We spent every drill weekend conducting some scenario-based training 

exercises, which turned out to be an excellent investment of our time. These 

exercises consisted of having Afghan role players and interpreters set up 

scenarios that Marines may encounter in Afghanistan (e.g., communicating with shuras, encountering farmers on patrol, interacting with local small 

business owners), and using an interpreter to communicate with Afghans.2

Mainly, the training scenarios were designed to get Marines familiar with 

using the District Stability Framework (DSF), and comfortable communicating through an interpreter.3

 As painstaking as this was for the Marines, 

2

 Shuras are meetings of the village elders. 

3

 The DSF is an assessment and management process to support improved stability operations 

in an area.
myself included, the level of comfort that the Marines felt once arriving in 

Afghanistan and using these skills, the repetitiveness and tedium that they 

felt during the training was well worth it.

Approximately two months prior to leaving for Afghanistan, my detachment commander informed me that there was an issue with me being the 

team leader. He said that the battalion commander was concerned that my 

gender could potentially jeopardize the mission. Basically, the concern was 

that with the sex-biased culture in Helmand Province, the local Afghan government officials and tribal elders would refuse to deal with me. The current 

battalion commander in charge of the area of operations had convinced him 

of this. The regimental commander supported the battalion commander’s 

position. My detachment commander said that he would do everything he 

could to ensure I was able to remain the team leader, but that he was not 

sure what could be done. 

Naturally, this caused a great amount of stress for me personally, and 

uncertainty for our team. I simultaneously prepared my assistant team 

leader to take over as the team leader, and conducted as much research as 

I could to determine whether the battalion commander’s concerns were legitimate. I wrote an e-mail message to a civil affairs team leader who had 

been in the district I was to be assigned to, and he stated that the Afghan 

governor had little respect for women and only saw them as sex objects. I 

spoke with two Afghan cultural advisors working for the Marine Corps, 

and they, in contrast, vehemently disagreed with the belief that a woman 

could not be successful as a civil affairs team leader in Afghanistan. They 

explained that the Afghans would have great respect for a woman and that 

I would likely be granted access to areas where men could not go because 

their culture requires them to be deferential to women. They did not agree 

at all that elders or government officials would refuse to work with me. I 

explained all of this to my detachment commander in support of my bid to 

remain as the leader of my team. 

My detachment commander arrived in Afghanistan more than a month 

before my team. He called me on the phone and explained to me that he had 

met with the battalion commander and regimental commander, and finally 

138 | Major Aniela K. Szymanski
with the general in charge of Regional Command-Southwest for ISAF. He 

told them that if they wanted a civil affairs team in the district, it would 

have to be with me as the team leader. If they refused to take the team with 

me as the leader then they would not be receiving a civil affairs team in 

that district at all. I was deeply touched by his confidence in me and by his 

support for me remaining in my position. 

When I arrived at Camp Leatherneck, Afghanistan, a few days in advance 

of my team, I was still uncertain about whether the battalion commander 

would coalesce with my detachment commander’s position. I was directed 

to report to the battalion commander, who was in the neighboring district 

to the one I was to be assigned to. I met with him and the operations officer, 

and they informed me of their thoughts on a woman leading a civil affairs 

team in their area of operations. They explained quite bluntly that their belief 

was that the Afghans would treat me with disrespect and perceive me as a 

slut or prostitute. They doubted the Afghan district governor would take me 

seriously or listen to my advice or guidance. My perception of the meeting 

was that, at best, they doubted that, as a woman, I could ever be successful 

and, at worst, my gender was jeopardizing the success of the entire COIN 

operation in the area. 

This would have been shocking to me had I not been aware of their thinking about a woman leading the civil affairs team. Thankfully, I had been able 

to prepare myself. I explained that, if at any point during the mission I, or 

anyone else, felt that my gender was creating an undue risk to the success 

of the mission, I would have no problem stepping aside and allowing my 

assistant team leader to take over. This apparently reassured the commander 

enough to allow me to proceed to the district I was supporting, with my team 

following a few days later.

We were assigned to the district of Now Zad (sometimes spelled 

Nawzad). It is a district consisting of a rural farming area at the southern 

foot of the Hindu Kush mountain range. It has a beautiful vista of the Hindu 

Kush and flat, desert landscape. Areas around the wadi, or underground 

river, were green with crops. At some point, UNICEF had been present to 

assist in schooling children, and USAID had been in the area to build wells 

A Woman in Charge | 139
for the local communities. An organization had also built a clinic in the district center. I was told that, in days long gone, this was the vacation spot for 

Helmand Province. There was a hotel, restaurants, and gardens. It became 

the rest and relaxation spot for insurgent fighters. 

Fierce fighting had taken place in Now Zad from 2006 to 2009, first with 

British and then with U.S. forces. On 4 December 2009, Marines launched 

a decisive offensive dubbed Operation Cobra’s Anger that lasted for three 

days. The fighting was so intense that Marines who were there at the time 

nicknamed the district “Apocalypse Now Zad.” In fact, a friend of mine, who 

was a Cobra pilot and participated in Cobra’s Anger, could not believe that 

there was anything left to go back to by the time it was my turn to go there. 

He was correct. The bazaar in the district center was absolutely obliterated. 

Partial brick walls remained in some portions of the bazaar, and twisted steel 

heaps scarred the remainder of it. The clinic had been shot so many times 

that there was a bullet hole every 8–12 inches throughout the entire building, 

except where a large portion had been blown away. The mud and clay houses 

that people used as their homes, along with the mud and clay walls around 

their compounds lay in ruins. The entire local population had fled as a result 

of the intense fighting during Operation Cobra’s Anger. By the time my team 

and I arrived, some individuals had returned to their homes and farms in an 

attempt to reestablish their lives. The governor had been installed and was 

working out of the former clinic, as it was being reconstructed part by part.

After completing the turn over with the civil affairs team in the district 

we were about to replace, I was able to establish a manpower distribution 

that could support the lines of operation within the mission and as part of the 

broader Helmand plan. We fell in on some important reconstruction projects, 

including rebuilding the school that had been operational, rehabilitating the 

bazaar, and fixing the roads that had been damaged during the fighting. 

The previous team had begun the projects that were designed to support 

the return of economic stability to the region as well as restore freedom of 

movement to the local populace. Some locals, however, would never return 

because they had established new lives for themselves in other districts, 

while some were seeking to return to reclaim their properties and livelihoods. 

140 | Major Aniela K. Szymanski
The civil affairs Marines embedded themselves on every patrol they 

could. Their objective was to gather information to assist in identifying 

sources of instability in the district and areas where the Afghan government 

needed to improve if they were to be perceived as legitimate and responsive 

to the locals. The district had essentially never had representation from the 

central government, as it had always been a tribally governed area, as much 

of Helmand Province was. Now Zad was inhabited entirely by the Pashtun 

tribe, with the subtribes consisting of Alizai, Barakzai, and Noorzai. Attempting to get local buy-in to a government that was unfamiliar to them was 

extremely challenging. 

The infantry battalion concentrated on establishing security. Their training was focused on fighting the enemy. That is what combat troops do, of 

course. The battle for Now Zad occurred in phases. I arrived when the district 

center was relatively secure, and the battalion was trying to recalibrate to 

working with the local population and the ineffective government. Yet, most 

of the district was in the hands of the Taliban and, with them, those tribes 

who remained hostile to a centralized district government. 

Civil affairs tasks concentrated on attempting to resolve disputes between 

local civilians, the Marines, and their own government, while trying to lower 

the tensions following major destruction caused by combat operations. My 

predecessor ran a very expensive “cash for work” project, paying men to 

perform unskilled labor such as filling in dirt roads to make them passable 

in order to show a positive role of the Marines. My challenge was to develop 

the local governance. There was a district governor who was regarded by 

the battalion as too corrupt to trust with some legitimate cause. They did, 

however, have tea with him daily, meanwhile controlling the district by force.

The civil affairs team had access to funding for local projects and this 

helped to create some leverage with the governor. I ran this relationship. I 

think the governor and his small number of officials found it puzzling to 

have a woman in this role. The battalion saw civil affairs as keeping peace 

with the locals, but not being part of the overall mission.

The center of Now Zad was mostly secure and, given our role and the 

nature of civil affairs, we wanted to improve our relations with the locals. 

A Woman in Charge | 141
Some were living just outside the gate of our forward operating base. We 

met with them at shuras, and they often came to the gate to ask for help, 

which often involved cash. Patrols went out from the base, always heavily 

armed and in big vehicles. Nothing could be less friendly to people who had 

lived their lives in those sandy lanes with unsupervised children running 

through the streets and who had ran small shops along the roads.

So, the civil affairs team tried to engage the locals just outside our base 

and during patrols. Initially, we walked out within sight of the observation 

posts on the base with just the basics—a uniform, a weapon, and a radio—

just as the team previous to us had done. The locals found us approachable and, without the protective gear, we seemed to make them less fearful 

of imminent attacks. Yet, battalion commanders changed their views and 

ordered that full protective gear be worn under all circumstances for personnel leaving the base. The locals were puzzled and did not act as friendly 

toward us, in some cases even refusing to shake our hands as we walked 

through the town. For me, it was disappointing that the battalion commander did not prioritize the effect on the local trust in making such a decision. 

The battalion provided excellent security for the district center and succeeded in expanding the security area significantly during the seven months 

that my team was there. This allowed the Afghan government representatives the opportunity to expand their influence by reaching out to those 

disenfranchised areas while demonstrating the government’s usefulness and 

responsiveness. The extent to which they were willing to do so, however, 

was limited initially. In order to accomplish this, it was necessary to get government officials in contact with the people. When I arrived in the district, 

the governor refused to leave his compound to go out into the community. 

His position was that if the people wanted something from the government, 

then they should come to him. Although he did not say so, he seemed also 

to be concerned about his security outside his compound—numerous times 

he attempted to convince me that he should be given a Marine Corps-issued 

pistol to carry for his own protection. Knowing this was no way to convince 

the locals that the government was on their side, I persuaded the governor 

to come out and meet the locals with me in shuras outside of the district 

142 | Major Aniela K. Szymanski
center and during walks through the bazaar. This is one time when my 

gender was an asset. Among other methods I attempted, I basically ended 

up shaming the governor into leaving his compound by telling him that if I 

could go out among the people, and I am a woman, then surely he could as 

well. I personally accompanied the governor to shuras with elders as well as 

during walks through the district center to check the progress of the bazaar 

reconstruction and other projects. I expressed my support for the government and its initiatives, and encouraged locals to bring their problems to the 

government so that the governor could address them. 

My civil affairs Marines located in different areas of the district were 

able to feed information back to me about what was going on where they 

were, how the government was being perceived and how effective the ANP 

and ANA were. I was then able to use the information to develop plans of 

action for the government. With the support of the battalion’s security, we 

could address the security needs of the locals, their concerns about employment opportunities, and problems caused by a significant level of corruption. In 2011, the population of the district increased dramatically. Although 

a census was never performed in the district, the number of shops in the 

bazaar increased from about 10 to more than 30, and the estimated number 

of occupied residences in the security area increased from about 25 percent 

to about 50 percent. The locals with whom I spoke stated that security, 

which used to be their primary concern, was now so good that they felt 

strongly encouraged to return to their homes.

After security, the locals’ next concern was the high level of unemployment. The Afghan people we spoke with during population engagement 

efforts said that the lack of jobs was their main nonsecurity-related problem. 

Farming was the major source of revenue in the district, yet local farmers 

could not grow the crops they needed to be profitable because of the lack 

of water. Karezes (ditches) that fed water to the crops were largely damaged 

or destroyed during Cobra’s Anger because insurgents used them to create 

a tunnel system to smuggle weapons and fighters. Without employment 

opportunities, some locals took jobs from the insurgents from whom they 

were tasked to build and emplace IEDs. The ANP in the district did not have 

A Woman in Charge | 143
enough manpower to establish a regular enough presence to identify these 

activities before they cost lives. The civil affairs team worked with the ANP 

advisor, a Marine captain, and developed a plan that, if a community provided a certain number of recruits for the ANP, the civil affairs team would 

build a well in the community. This plan resulted in only limited success, 

as some families did not want their sons joining the ANP because of its tarnished reputation of an abusive organization. 

Without enough water to grow crops that yielded a sufficient profit, 

farmers were easily persuaded by the insurgency to grow poppy. The insurgents paid the farmers a fee up front, provided them with a water 

pump and generator, and furnished the other supplies needed to grow the 

poppy. When the poppy was harvested, the farmers received the remainder of the fee and the insurgents took back the water pump and generator. Marines saw huge poppy fields during patrols and convoys, but were 

prohibited from disturbing them. We were instructed that poppy eradication was a Drug Enforcement Agency (DEA) role and that Marines would 

be disciplined if we invaded its jurisdiction. Attempting to convince these 

farmers to change from growing poppy to rice was almost akin to a comedy 

hour. The district in which we had seen an attempt at a poppy eradication 

program once during our deployment was an unmitigated failure. During 

my seven months in the district, I did not once see a DEA representative. 

Two fields were partially plowed before the plows were destroyed when the 

Afghan government attempted a poppy eradication program effort, and the 

ANP basically gave up within a matter of days. This likely had something to 

do with the fact that the ANP commander was growing poppy. 

As was the case everywhere in Afghanistan, corruption by Afghan government officials was pervasive. My civil affairs team was able to assess 

through our population engagement that the local government’s corruption 

had become a major source of instability. For the citizens of the district, corruption of the local government was indeed a major problem. The district 

stability team and the battalion commander were able to use various means 

to encourage local government officials to adjust their behavior, thereby 

leading to a change of the perception of the local people. This happened 

144 | Major Aniela K. Szymanski
through close mentoring by the civilian British stabilization advisor, Hans 

Swift, sent forward by the Provisional Reconstruction Team. In a very short 

time, the public perception began to improve.

Clearly, civil affairs was a vital tool in the success of transitioning 

control to the Afghan government and would have even been a greater force 

with effective interagency coordination. A COIN operation is most successful when it is “firing on all cylinders.” Based on what I observed in Now 

Zad, as security was being established, other operations should have been 

moving forward more aggressively than they were. Resources for locals 

to reestablish their agricultural livelihoods should have been immediately 

offered and put in place. Unfortunately, all resources that we tried to access 

had a long delay in delivery or could not be delivered at all. A program that 

provided solar-powered water pumps for wells to allow farmers to pump 

out water from their wells to irrigate crops was “not available in Helmand” 

because of “security concerns.” A wheat seed distribution program took 

more than six months to deliver the seed to the district. The civil affairs team 

was prohibited from buying wheat seed from a local source to distribute 

because that would compete with the formal seed distribution program that 

had been established. Our assistance to local farmers was basically limited 

to handing out shovels in exchange for attending a shura with the governor. In the meantime, insurgents were providing local farmers with free 

generator-powered water pumps, fuel to grow poppy, and payment in 

advance for the harvest. Essentially, we could not compete with what they 

had to offer in the agricultural livelihood respect. Regretfully, this resulted 

in critical lost momentum.

The Marine Corps was able to be adaptable and responsive to the situation within the district to get to our desired security end state; but without 

the same responsiveness and effort from other agencies, COIN was stymied. 

The insurgents clearly knew they could take advantage of this weakness, 

and they did so. Because of this, battalion commanders must decide on one 

course of action to follow through on COIN missions. Either they should 

focus more effort on coordinated operations with other agencies or they 

should give civil affairs leaders greater latitude and authority to communiA Woman in Charge | 145
cate directly with these agencies and tap their resources. The Marine Corps 

has stated that civil-military operations are “owned by” battalion commanders because it is their mission within their battlespace. Yet, often the Marine 

Corps is perceivably lacking in the way it supports civil affairs. Since the 

Vietnam War, the Marine Corps has known that civil-military operations 

will be an integral part of our future, but it has placed extremely low emphasis on this in its training and education of commanders, emphasizing 

instead other metrics of success. Regretfully such an approach is reflected in 

how poorly some battalion commanders view civil affairs. For example, our 

battalion commander had a daily, evening briefing. The brief had 60 slides, 

and many were the same every day. Out of the 60 slides, civil affairs was 

allotted one. I remember one briefing when the commander said a working 

dog was going back to the United States because of stress and then skipped 

over the civil affairs slide, as a result he failed to address any issue related 

to civil-military operations. 

Marines are effective at what they do. Yet, the transition from battle 

to peace remains a challenge. Allowing peacemakers into the battle spaces 

is uncomfortable. There is, however, no battle that cannot benefit from the 

remaining local civilians to create or resume some form of self-governance. 

As a general principle, the importance of having local support during COIN 

operations cannot be overstated. Once any foreign military force arrives 

“uninvited” into a country, the dynamic is against it and it is likely that the 

invaded has sided with the insurgents. The Marines who come in first, who 

have to fight the bloodiest of battles, are battle hardened and are not going 

to deeply engage in civil-military operations. Their replacements likely will 

not either, as they are conducting security operations to maintain the momentum of the battle and retain hard-fought gains. So, it is at about the third 

rotation when the fighters start to think about the future and peace. That is 

when I arrived in Now Zad.

The district was a textbook COIN “success,” as we transitioned governance back to the Afghans, complete with a functional police and army, 

while displaced people were returning to their homes. Yet, it could have 

been a greater success. If longer lasting success is to be had, the Marine 

146 | Major Aniela K. Szymanski
Corps must place more emphasis on civil-military operations driving the 

planning process at various stages, rather than the other way around. In 

addition, the interagency partners must deliver the outcomes of their missions as well. 

In my role as a civil affairs team leader, I was still a woman. At all of the 

shuras I spoke at and in each encounter I had with locals, my gender never 

seemed to be a problem for them, and indeed, at times it proved to be a 

great advantage. Elders approached me, shook my hand, and asked me for 

the things their communities needed (e.g., schools, mosques, and jobs) just 

as they would have with a man. I sat next to the governor during all official 

meetings and events to show my support for him and his government, and 

I was never excluded from any function. 

 As a woman, I had access to information from local women and children that would have been inaccessible to a male leader. When I visited the 

local clinic, which was where women of the community congregated, I was 

mobbed by women who told me how happy they were that I was there and 

explained to me what their husbands, brothers, and sons needed to bring 

stability to their lives, which not surprisingly was jobs. There I also found 

out that some families had moved back into the district center because the 

security had improved. I learned of this from an enthusiastic young lady 

who also wanted me to kiss her baby. Children approached me on patrols, 

called me their sister, and told me about their day in school. This information allowed me to determine whether the teachers we were supporting 

were indeed performing their duties as outlined by the Provisional Reconstruction Team partnership with the Afghan Ministry of Education. 

Even more fascinating, former Taliban fighters had no issue with my 

gender either. On one occasion, the Human Intelligence Exploitation Team 

had identified an insurgent willing to “reintegrate.”4 The Human Intelligence Exploitation Team, the psychological operations team, and I met with 

this individual as established by the local Afghan reintegration director. As 

part of my duties, I supported the reintegration program and offered any reintegration resources that may have been warranted based on the situation. 

4

 A formal process of leaving the insurgency and rejoining mainstream society.

A Woman in Charge | 147
The man was approximately 50 years old and identified himself as a midlevel leader. I did not offer my hand for him to shake, instead just bowed 

slightly as I greeted him, but he did not appear to be concerned about my 

presence at all. The meeting lasted about 45 minutes and, although he was 

understandably nervous the entire time, I sat across from him without any 

issue whatsoever. So, it appeared, my gender was not even a cause for 

concern to insurgents who generally held extremist views about gender.

Beyond what I added to the Marine Corps mission, including being a 

woman leader, my team added a new dimension to the situations we encountered in Afghanistan. Naturally, I will never know the views of all 

the locals about me and my gender. I do, however, have some anecdotal 

stories of how my gender may have planted a kernel of thought among 

some of the locals. One of these was from an Afghan man who worked 

with the civil affairs team performing local construction projects. He had 

two wives, neither of whom left the home to work and they covered themselves in public. He had sold one of his daughters into marriage when she 

was only two years old, although the daughter continued to live with him 

until she was old enough to join her husband. This man told my interpreter 

that it was good that I was a woman in a position of power in a place like 

Now Zad. He said that maybe some of the Afghan men would see that their 

women can do things that men can do too. 

Indeed, what initially seemed to be a liability proved, instead, to be an 

asset. I was able to communicate with the local women about their perceptions, needs, and challenges, and also with the local men about their women 

and children, something that male Marines would not have been able to 

do. I found the men were willing to speak with me about all subjects, but 

even more so about their own dreams and aspirations. A mullah, or religious leader, approached me for a microgrant to open a perfume shop in the 

bazaar and said that, because I am a woman, I can understand these “finer 

things.” A young man who sought to rebuild a mosque destroyed during an 

ISAF bombing also explained to me that his sister, who lived in a neighboring village, could not travel to get medical care for some burns she suffered 

to her face and that the village was in need of a doctor to visit. As a result, 

148 | Major Aniela K. Szymanski
civil affairs coordinated a visit to the area and organized a medical education program. The same young man, a military-aged male who could have 

been fighting in the insurgency, also came to me seeking assistance with the 

mosque restoration. His mother told him that he was to “work honest with 

the Marines” because we were “there to help.” Both he and the mullah came 

to the gate of the forward operating base and requested to speak with me 

about their needs. I thought this demonstrated ease about my gender and a 

willingness to not let that stand in the way of progress. 

 My experience as a woman deployed with an infantry unit in a remote, 

isolated combat zone was very positive. The Marines at the forward operating base were highly respectful, always professional, and never acted inappropriately. My team, comprised of almost all former infantry Marines who 

had never worked with or even for a woman before, performed superbly and 

I never once had reason to doubt their loyalty to me or the mission. While 

the examples I have set forth are anecdotal, it is indeed these seemingly 

small shifts in attitudes and behaviors that play an extremely important part 

in COIN success. Reaching the tipping point entails the culmination of many 

individual efforts and events that yield a disproportionate change. Indeed, 

three years after the end of my deployment, I spoke with an interpreter who 

worked for me and had remained in Afghanistan. She shared with me that 

Afghan women who used to be afraid to leave their homes and always wore 

burkas in public, in 2014, felt safe enough to walk through district centers 

without burkas, only wearing hijabs (scarves covering their hair) instead. She 

also stressed how much more competent the ANA was and how well they 

were doing. The collective persistence and dedication of every U.S. servicemember and American civilian who served in Afghanistan has resulted in 

changes that will continue to impact Afghanistan forever. 

There is no future conflict that will not involve civil-military operations. 

When the goal is defeating an insurgency, it is clear that one of the most 

important, probably the most important, centers of gravity in a COIN operation is the populace. And the Marine Corps would do well to use every 

resource at its disposal to gain the tactical advantage, including its women 

Marines. 

A Woman in Charge | 149
REFLECTION POINTS

• Considering the other chapters in the book that were written by men, 

how is Major Szymanski’s work and ethics different? How are they the 

same?

• The author has some pointed critiques about where the Marines and 

other American organizations failed to provide the support needed to 

secure the region. Does the weight of her criticism come from her position on a civil affairs team, a gender-based interpretation, or both? 

• How do you feel about women in combat zones? Did this account sway 

your opinion in any way?

150 | Major Aniela K. Szymanski
CHAPTER EIGHT

CROWD CONTROL

FIRST SERGEANT NICANOR A. GALVAN

First Sergeant Nicanor A. Galvan has served with the U.S. Marine Corps since 

March 1999. He deployed four times in support of OEF and OIF. His story takes 

place in 2003 when Galvan was a sergeant and infantry squad leader for India 

Company with the 3d Battalion, 5th Marines, during the OIF I invasion. Galvan 

focuses on how, with limited training, he worked with his Marines to unknowingly stumble through counterinsurgency operations. Galvan tells readers that there 

is nothing special about him, but he hopes this story serves to keep others from 

making the same mistakes he did.

Ignorant men raise questions that wise men answered a thousand years 

ago.

~Johann Wolfgang von Goethe

What you are about to read is my recollection of an event that occurred 

during my first combat experience while I was a squad leader with the 3d 

151
152 | First Sergeant Nicanor A. Galvan

Battalion, 5th Marines. I am a normal person, no one extraordinary. I am 

from a small suburb of Waco, Texas, called Elm Mott. I was born on Lackland 

Air Force Base in San Antonio, Texas, on 10 November 1979. My father is of 

Mexican-American ancestry, while my mother is Greek and was raised in 

Athens, Greece. Needless to say, I had an interesting upbringing. My father 

was in the U.S. Air Force and met my mother while stationed overseas in 

Greece. He retired from the Air Force in 1979, the year that I was born. I grew 

up going to military bases and dressing up in combat fatigues nearly every 

Halloween and watching the G.I. Joe cartoon. I would like to say G.I. Joe was 

the reason I joined the Marine Corps, but I think it goes deeper than that. 

When I was growing up, I had this burning feeling inside like I wanted 

to fight or do something great. I just did not have direction or know what 

to do. It was not until I was almost 19 years old when I realized what that 

something might be. My friend, Trinity Dove, returned from Marine boot 

camp, standing tall and confident. I was intrigued by his transformation 

and all the fanfare he received from our mutual friends. I knew then that I 

wanted to change the direction of my life and do something great. I went 

to the Marine recruiter shortly after and was laughed out the door. See, I 

weighed 225 pounds at five feet five inches, which is not proportionate at all. 

The recruiter gave me some pamphlets and shooed me out the door, saying 

good luck and call when I have lost about 60 pounds. 

Despite that, I still did not rush to lose the weight and began technical 

college that fall. By the winter quarter, I was tired of school and was determined to make a change. I woke up one morning in January and decided 

that I was going to lose the weight and join the Marine Corps. I ran and ate a 

can of tuna for lunch and a can of tuna for dinner every day for two months 

before I finally lost the weight. After reaching my goal, I walked into my 

recruiter’s office and told him that I wanted to join the Marine Corps and be 

in the infantry. Shortly thereafter, I went to boot camp. Fast-forward about 

four years, and that is where this war story begins.

Prior to 11 September 2001, I had been in the Marine Corps for two years 

and was preparing to deploy with 3d Battalion, 5th Marines, to Okinawa, 

Japan, attached to the 31st MEU. I was a rifleman in India Company, and 
Crowd Control | 153

training was pretty normal. The unit trained in the hills and washes of the 

San Mateo area (often referred to by Marines as the “Backyard”), which 

is located on the north side of Camp Pendleton. We would train by doing 

buddy team rushes and going to the field for our MEU qualification exercises.1

 The mantra of the training was “brilliance in the basics,” although it was 

not called that back then. We also had a unit organized training course of 

nonlethal exercises, which consisted of basic crowd control techniques. The 

training consisted of forming a phalanx, pushing a crowd back, and using 

snatch squads/teams.2 This training was limited and probably only lasted 

about a week. I believe it is important to mention that no one in my platoon 

had any combat experience except for my platoon sergeant, who had seen 

combat during the Gulf War. 

After the devastating terrorist attacks of 9/11, training did not change at 

all, and the battalion continued to prepare for the deployment to Okinawa. 

We deployed between January and February 2002 and executed a normal 

unit deployment program (UDP).3 Upon return from this deployment in 

July 2002, Operation Enduring Freedom was well underway. The battalion 

began to break up with Marines executing permanent change of duty stations and Marines getting out of the Marine Corps. I, on the other hand, still 

had eight months before I was to leave the unit, so I continued to train with 

what remained of the skeleton battalion. The battalion maintained the same 

routine of training, did buddy rushes in the Backyard, and made a trip to 

Marine Corps Air Ground Combat Center Twentynine Palms, California, 

to conduct something termed by the battalion as Desert Palm exercise. All 

that meant was that each company in the battalion ran through the Range 

400 series of exercises and then went home.4 This training only lasted for a 

1

 These exercises are part of a MEU’s work-up period prior to deployments. The various training 

and exercises are intended to integrate the separate units to operate effectively together.

2 Snatch squad refers to a crowd control tactic of rushing into a crowd of people with the intent of 

snatching one or more individuals who are attempting to control or lead a riot. 

3

 The author’s use of UDP is intended as a generic term for the unit’s deployment to Okinawa 

at the time. 

4

 Range 400 is a live-fire range at Twentynine Palms used to train rifle companies in the techniques and procedures for attacking fortified areas.
week to a week and half. From July to December 2002, this was the largest 

training event conducted prior to the unit getting the call in January 2003 to 

deploy to Iraq.

In December 2002, I, as a sergeant, had actually made the decision to 

get out of the Marine Corps but had a change of heart in the middle of the 

month just prior to going on Christmas leave. At that time, there was still 

no indication that I might deploy to Iraq. I decided one morning that I was 

not ready to be a regular civilian, and I wanted to remain in the Corps. That 

day, I immediately went to the career planner who drew up the paperwork, 

and I reenlisted. The plan was to go to the School of Infantry to be an instructor, and my orders were for February 2003. I went on leave and came back 

around 3 January. I picked up my checkout sheet that day and hurriedly got 

all of the signatures needed to leave the unit. While getting all the signatures, 

I remember rumors flying around the battalion that the unit was going to 

Iraq. I did not pay much attention, but when I saw my fellow India Company 

Marines getting tricolor desert cammies, I knew it had to be real. I had only 

one signature left to get before I was officially checked out of the unit and 

that was my first sergeant’s signature. All the Marines in the company were 

at the battalion aid station getting their shots in preparation for the deployment. At that point, I did not know what to do. Was I going to volunteer to 

stay with the unit and go to war with the battalion or execute my orders? I 

found the first sergeant and said to him, “First sergeant, I have one signature 

left on my checkout sheet, and once you sign this, I am gone.” I must have 

said it in a way that seemed like I wanted him to tell me to stay, but instead 

he asked, “Well, what do you want to do, Galvan?” I looked at him and 

said, “I will go.” He immediately took me to the personnel office and had 

the Marines push my orders back as far as they could. Then, I immediately 

reported back to 1st Platoon, India Company.

As soon as I was back in 1st Platoon, I was issued my desert cammies 

and received my shots. Later that day, while back in the barracks, my staff 

sergeant called me into his office. He asked me, “Do you want to be the 3d 

Squad leader?” I immediately said, “Yes.” I was really surprised. I had been 

a squad leader before, but I quit because the old platoon commander and I 

154 | First Sergeant Nicanor A. Galvan
had not gotten along. It was different now; the staff sergeant and I got along 

well, and he was now the platoon commander. I had always told myself 

that if I ever had the opportunity to be a squad leader again, I would do it 

differently. Either that same day or the next, the platoon commander called 

all of the squad leaders together, and we had a draft to select our squads. At 

this point, the platoon, companies, and battalion were scrambling to prepare. 

The following week, the unit got a small drop of new joins from the School 

of Infantry, and I received four new Marines, which brought my squad total 

to nine. I had no time to waste training the squad because it was already the 

second week of January, and we would leave in early February 2003. Every 

morning, my squad was up at 0500 to conduct physical training. Because the 

days were so condensed with administrative preparation, there was hardly 

any time to schedule in training. I do not remember conducting Backyard 

training—just getting up early, doing physical training, and fitting classes 

in between inspections.

There was a lot going on, and I decided to make it even more complicated by proposing to my wonderful girlfriend, Beth, and marrying 

her just before leaving for war. The battalion then deployed in early February, went to Kuwait, and set up in a large tent city somewhere in the 

Kuwaiti desert. Once there, the Marines trained quite a bit. We often left 

the tent city and went to the middle of the desert in Kuwait to practice 

setting in the defense (e.g., digging fighting holes, setting sectors of fire, 

etc.). Usually, after setting in the defense, we practiced fire and movement 

and also conducted maneuvers with our amphibious assault vehicle attachments. This included some live-fire exercises. I remember doing our 

battlesight zeros and throwing live grenades. Still, the live-fire exercises 

were few and far between, and we mostly concentrated on practicing fire 

maneuver and fire movement, setting the defense, and integrating with 

our vehicle attachments.5 We did, however, do extensive nuclear, biological, and chemical (NBC) warfare training. This consisted of spending hours 

5

 For more information on the range of military missions that deployed infantry companies train 

for, see Infantry Company Operations, MCWP 3-11.1 (Washington, DC: Headquarters Marine 

Corps, 2014).

Crowd Control | 155
on MOPP training along with decontamination exercises. Lastly, we received limited language and culture training prior to executing the push 

to Bagdad, Iraq. Retrospectively, that training would have served the unit 

better in the later occupation stages. These types of training and maneuvers went on for about a month, and some Marines in my company, including myself, started to doubt if we would even go into Iraq. This was pretty 

naïve considering the amount of money that was spent getting so many 

military units to Kuwait. 

Despite our doubts, our unit crossed into Iraq and began the Iraq invasion in mid-March. The invasion went well. We were constantly on the 

move, and my squad did an excellent job fighting our way to Bagdad, 

having one casualty. Looking back, I feel that my squad was trained well 

and prepared for the job required of it during the invasion. The mission 

was pretty simple. We drove in, set the defense, and if we took contact, 

we conducted our immediate action drill, returned fire, and moved on the 

enemy. This is exactly what we had trained to do. Unfortunately, the next 

challenge my squad faced had nothing to do with a majority of the training 

my squad had received leading up to the invasion. 

Once our battalion finished its mission in Bagdad, we moved up to 

Samarra, Iraq, where we stayed for a short time before finally being ordered 

to move the battalion south of Baghdad, down to al-Diwaniyah, in early 

May. Al-Diwaniyah was a decent size city, and my squad was immediately 

thrust into action and placed in a bank. The position was turned over to 

me by four U.S. Army soldiers, who I believe were with the 82d Airborne 

Division. I was briefed by a sergeant first class, which I found peculiar as 

he was only in charge of three other soldiers. Despite this, I took over the 

tactical position and began to set up an urban defense, which I had little 

knowledge of since most of my training was for desert and jungle warfare. 

Luckily, the platoon guide assigned to me had a wealth of knowledge in 

urban training because of time spent with the Special Operations Training 

Group. My squad set up the defense and was told to secure the building 

from looters and to conduct security patrols around the area. Other than 

that, there was little to no guidance on exactly what our mission was or 

156 | First Sergeant Nicanor A. Galvan
exactly what we had to do. Looking back on it, I feel like my company just 

improvised its entire effort in al-Diwaniyah and never really executed an 

organized plan. 

By mid-May 2003, the unit’s work became routine, yet the situation was more complicated than it seemed. Day-to-day operations in alDiwaniyah consisted mostly of guard rotations, security patrols, and crowd 

control. The crowds consisted of children and Iraqi people who wanted to 

see what we were doing. In our minds, the war was over for the most part, 

but we still treated everyone like a threat even though the locals smiled 

and waved every time we were on patrol. I remember seeing a group of 

Marines in town without their gear, each carrying just a weapon while 

roaming the streets in buddy pairs. I later found out that those Marines 

were part of a light armored reconnaissance unit that allowed them to 

hang out in town for some liberty. That did not last long; after about two 

hours, the Marines were recalled back to their unit. This is a prime example 

of how confused everyone was about exactly what the Marines were supposed to be doing. One unit of Marines thought it was safe in town, and so 

the unit’s Marines enjoyed some down time, while my unit believed that 

the local populace and situation could turn hostile at any moment. 

Even though there was confusion about my unit’s perspective on the 

state of the war, it was not long before the unit started to get direction as to 

what it needed to do. My squad was given a couple of Iraqi policemen to 

help guard the bank who were told that they would live downstairs in the 

bank, while my Marines lived upstairs. I found this scary because I was just 

getting shot at by the locals, and now I was supposed to trust these AK47-

toting policemen. To complicate the situation further, the Iraqi bank staff had 

returned to work, cleaned the place up, and planned to reopen the bank. Our 

role started to change from fighting a war to aiding the Iraqi community to 

restart local services.

The following events that unfolded in the bank mirrored the change 

in my unit’s role and how complicated the situation still was. I do not remember all of the details, but I believe my platoon commander told me that 

there would be some U.S. Army personnel coming to my bank to pay Iraqi 

Crowd Control | 157
teachers. One evening around the end of May, a Marine officer along with 

a couple of Army soldiers came to my bank to discuss the payment to these 

teachers. They brought thousands of American dollars and placed the money 

on a table. The Marine officer laid down my mission by simply stating that 

I was there to be security while the Army major and staff sergeant worked 

with the Iraqi bank personnel to pay the Iraqi teachers. From my understanding, this meant that I would have the usual security checks at the door, and 

the Iraqi teachers would be coming in and out. That night, I passed the word 

to the Marines in my squad, and everyone was tracking on what was going 

to happen in the morning. Nothing could have prepared me for what I was 

going to wake up to on the following day.

It was about 0800 when I woke up to what sounded like a huge crowd 

of people downstairs. I walked to the rail of the second deck where the 

Marines were located and peered down to the first deck where 100–150 

people crowded together in a small foyer area screaming at the bank tellers, 

who were separated from the crowd by an extra-long wooden podium that 

the tellers had brought in days before. I immediately got my gear and told 

everyone who was not already downstairs to get their gear on and head 

down to the first deck. Once at the bottom, I saw the Army staff sergeant 

sitting at a desk near the counter, doing nothing. Then, I saw the Army major 

using my interpreter to try to calm the crowd down. I went straight to the 

major and asked him what was going on. He said that the people just rushed 

in once they opened the place. I pushed my way outside to the front of 

the building where I met up with two of my Marines on that post. I asked 

them why the hell they allowed all those people to come in, and they said 

the major told them to. I also asked why they did not wake me up when it 

got out of hand. The answers they gave did not make me happy, but then I 

noticed that there was also a significant crowd on the outside of the security 

perimeter set with concertina wire. The Iraqis outside of the perimeter were 

in the middle of the road blocking traffic. 

Once I had the situation completely assessed, I went back inside to the 

major to ask him what he wanted us to do since he had caused this ridiculous 

situation. He said that since the crowd was being so unruly, that we should 

158 | First Sergeant Nicanor A. Galvan
just kick them all out. Immediately, I got all the Marines in my squad that 

were not on post and formed a line between the counter and the staff sergeant’s desk. I instructed my interpreter to tell the people to move back. The 

plan was to keep five Marines in a fairly tight phalanx and to push the crowd 

out the door one step at a time. I began to yell my commands. “Ready! Step! 

Ready! Step!” It was not long before the crowd started to squeeze out the 

door. Just as we began to gain momentum, the major yelled to me and said 

to stop and allow them to come back in. I was a little confused but complied, 

and the crowd immediately engulfed my Marines and me as we reopened 

the floodgates. Within another few minutes, the major found me and said to 

push all the people out again. I reorganized my small Spartan-like phalanx 

and began my commands again. “Ready! Step! Ready! Step!” Again, just 

as we began to make headway in pushing the unruly crowd out, the major 

again gave the order to let them back in. Again, I complied, and again, my 

Marines and I were engulfed by the Iraqi crowd. Minutes later, again, the 

major said to push the crowd out, and just like the two times before, we 

repeated the same process. 

When engulfed by the crowd for the third time, one of my lance corporals turned to me frustrated and said, “Sergeant, these people are starting to 

not respect us because we keep allowing them to come back.” I was already 

upset, but now that my Marine had said out loud what I knew, I was enraged 

and knew I had to take action. I turned around and jumped over the staff 

sergeant’s desk and began screaming at him. “Look, I am tired of this. You 

need to stick to one plan, if you want them out then send them out. If you 

want them inside, sitting down in rows, then we can do that too.” After this 

verbal tongue lashing from me, the major said, “That sounds fine.” I did not 

wait to decipher which plan he wanted, so immediately I began to tell my 

Marines to get this crowd to sit down and shut up. The Marines followed my 

lead and along with the interpreter began to verbally and physically get everyone in the building to sit down. The Marines and I achieved this in about 

five minutes, and the Army soldiers were stunned. They could not believe 

how ferociously and quickly five Marines and an interpreter got a 100-plussize crowd to sit down and shut up. Things were now calm inside, and the 

Crowd Control | 159
major tried along with the Iraqi bank staff to begin paying the teachers. On 

that day, the Army soldiers were only able to pay 30 teachers and planned 

to pay the rest the next day. 

When the day was over, the major told me that I did a good job, but I 

made sure to tell him that this was not going to happen again. I stated that I 

would organize the security for the next day and direct who would come in 

and who would not. He had no problem with that. That evening, I sat with 

my Marines, and we devised the security plan for the next day. We decided 

that there would be two entrances to the bank on the security perimeter. One 

line of people would go into an alleyway along the wall of the bank, and the 

other line would form along the sidewalk on the other side of the bank. In 

addition, two Marines would stand watch outside the bank to ensure that 

the Iraqis stayed in line and no one crowded the street as they had the day 

before. My squad also planned to wake up early and be set in place before 

the crowd of teachers arrived. The following morning, we set in place and 

aggressively directed the Iraqi foot traffic. Throughout this whole process, 

we were, what might be considered, mean to the populace, but that is how 

we had been conditioned throughout all of our training. That day, the Army 

major and his staff sergeant were able to pay approximately 200 Iraqi teachers. This was an enormous difference from the previous day. The major left 

that evening thoroughly impressed by the tenacity of my Marines, and I was 

satisfied that we were able to improve on what had been a complete debacle 

the first day. I wish I could say that was the last time I dealt with crowds, 

but it was only one of many times when I would have to deal with crowd 

control in the city of al-Diwaniyah. 

Not only did my squad continue working crowd control, this was also 

only the beginning of many incidents that involved distributing money to 

the Iraqi populace. After the initial payment at my bank, the Army soldiers 

came by on a regular basis. Before long, my squad eventually moved out of 

the bank and consolidated with the entire company outside the city in an 

old military camp. The 1st Marine Division had been camped there with a 

few other infantry battalions, but those units were soon gone, and it was 

just my company located at this particular spot. Despite being pulled from 

160 | First Sergeant Nicanor A. Galvan
al-Diwaniyah, we were not relieved from conducting patrols in the city or 

rotating back into the bank to pull more security details. In between the rotations in and out of the bank and conducting patrols outside of the military 

compound, my squad was called from time to time to do quick reaction 

missions to quell crowds from forming in different areas on numerous occasions. This was hard work that put Marines face to face with the local people 

and often times, in attempts to keep the peace, ended with a lot of Marine 

aggression toward the locals. 

About a month had passed since the first time the Army soldiers had 

come to my bank to pay civilians. It was about the first or second week of 

June 2003, and there had been several changes to the company. The main 

changes were that the Marines who were issued stop-loss orders had been 

sent home and replaced by new joins fresh from the School of Infantry.6 The 

Marines showed up on white buses that had been driven across the desert, 

from Kuwait to al-Diwaniyah. Looking back, I cannot believe how naïve we 

were to have allowed an unescorted white bus to drive across Iraq. In any 

case, the Marines who replaced my squad members were well-trained, disciplined, and hungry for action. I told them that the squad had been doing 

mostly crowd control and that it was hard work. I believe crowd control is, 

in some ways, harder than pulling a trigger, so I tried to explain how they 

would sometimes have to be overly aggressive with the local people to help 

them understand what was expected from them. The new Marines had been 

there for only a week when we were called to conduct a mission.

On one afternoon, we were rushed into 7-ton trucks to go from our camp 

to a bank in the city. It was a different bank but only about three miles down 

from my old bank where my platoon’s 2d Squad was located. If I remember 

correctly, 2d Squad was there as a part of a squad rotation that was circulating through the platoon. Apparently, something very similar to what happened to my squad was occurring at 2d Squad’s location. The Army came 

in with money and was going to pay another group of people. As expected, 

6 Stop-loss refers to the president of the United States’ authority to extend an enlistment or period 

of obligated service or suspend eligibility for retirement of a member of the military during time 

of war.

Crowd Control | 161
the Iraqis flooded the compound, practically overrunning the bank area. The 

2d Squad called for more support and my 3d Squad and 1st Squad hurried 

to arrive and help them. The bank was a significant two-story building with 

a 10-foot-high courtyard wall surrounding it. The bank building was practically in the middle of the courtyard, and there was a lot of room to maneuver 

around the building. As we showed up at the bank’s courtyard gate, I could 

see the chaos, and people inside the courtyard were crowding around the 

right side of the building. My platoon commander ordered us to dismount 

the trucks and sent us inside to corral the people into a manageable crowd. 

As luck would have it, the commander then ordered my squad to occupy 

the most crowded area of the bank, which was on the right side. The reason 

for the excessive crowding on that side was because there were about five 

slits in the wall just big enough to exchange money through, and a crowd of 

100–200 people had assembled there, screaming and yelling to get paid. He 

gave me orders to spread my squad out across the right side of the bank and 

to push the people away from the slits. I grabbed four Marines for this job 

while my platoon commander took my other men to plug up a hole somewhere else. The small detachment with me then pushed through the crowd 

and spread out in front of the slits with about five meters between each of us. 

I pushed through the crowd first and was on the far end of the five-member 

detachment making it very hard to relay commands. 

Once we were in position, the situation became even worse. We were 

swarmed by Iraqis. It looked like one Marine surrounded by a sea of people. 

It was hot in the middle of the crowd and smelled horrible. I was pushed 

in every direction trying to hold my ground. I looked to my right and saw 

Lance Corporal Shane E. Kielion. He was one of the new joins, and I am not 

sure if he was even a private first class yet, but he looked at me and said, 

“Sergeant, what do we do?” Immediately, I did what I had done in every 

crowd control situation thus far. I swung my weapon around until I built 

a small perimeter around myself. As I did this, I looked over and saw that 

Kielion and the other Marines followed suit doing the same. This would 

only work for a short amount of time. I do not think this was my idea, but 

after what seemed like an eternity, we finally came up with a better plan. We 

162 | First Sergeant Nicanor A. Galvan
completely pulled out our detachment of five men and stood at one end of 

the crowd. The plan was to start at the end of the crowd with two Marines 

positioned in a small phalanx to push the crowd away from the wall and 

the slits. Then, we would post a Marine at each slit to keep the crowd back 

once we gained that separation. We executed this maneuver, and it worked 

perfectly. Even though the crowd was still unruly, at least it gave us the 

space we needed to keep the people from crowding the slits and confusing 

the bank tellers. 

Though my detachment had achieved our initial goal, the courtyard was 

still in great turmoil. There were people everywhere, and I remember being 

relieved at one point and walking around the bank building. I saw people 

urinating and defecating in one section of the compound. In one corner, I 

saw a woman crying and yelling at what seemed to be her father not to put 

a syringe in his arm. I am not sure what was in that syringe, but it was just 

one more situation that only added to the confusion. I even heard a story of 

a woman who was trying to get paid but could not because her husband’s 

other wife had already received the money for his family. As I walked and 

worked in the compound that day, I was disgusted with what was going on. 

Why did these people form a disorderly crowd, and what was the point of 

all this? Eventually, the day passed, and we received more reinforcements, 

and another platoon showed up to help. The decision was finally made to 

form a phalanx consisting of the two onsite platoons and to push everyone 

out through a large blast hole in the courtyard wall. The platoons executed 

this maneuver, and the crowd was finally out of the courtyard. It was a 

tough day, and my squad along with the whole platoon remained in place 

to prepare for the next day. 

As the units learned during the time at the first bank, we needed to 

have a plan for the next day. This time, we would be ready and have more 

control of the people who would be allowed to come into the courtyard. 

My squad was sent to the military compound to pick up five large spools 

of Iraqi concertina wire. These spools of wire were five to six feet long and 

three to four feet wide. We brought the spools back and organized them on 

four points to form a square with some separation between each large spool 

Crowd Control | 163
to allow people to walk through. This square was set in place outside the 

courtyard wall where the blast hole was located. The plan was to have the 

Iraqis line up between the spaces of the concertina wire, creating five paths 

that corresponded to the five slits in the bank wall. The paths represented 

different towns from which the locals would get paid. In addition, we would 

try to keep all the people separated in organized lines. Lastly, there would be 

a Marine in the front of every entry space in the concertina wire to control 

who came in and when. The plan was meant to bring order to chaos so that 

we did not have a repeat of the day before. 

When the next morning arrived, the platoon set in place and organized 

the lines of Iraqis to send them into the courtyard windows so the Army staff 

could pay them. We then let the people in, and the Army began paying. Unfortunately, the lines that we thought we would have outside turned into one 

big crowd. It was crazy on the outside of our square perimeter, just like the 

day before, but at least, it was outside of the courtyard instead of inside of it. 

People were being crushed and pressed up against the spools of concertina 

wire, and it was about 10 degrees hotter in the crowd. Eventually, I made 

my way to the square to relieve some of my Marines. There were no long 

breaks for anyone. Everyone was actively engaged and employed. I remember manning one of the entry paths when one Iraqi grabbed my weapon; 

I utilized my martial art training. I circled out of the grab and buttstroked 

him in the solar plexus, and he fell like a sack of potatoes. Emotionally, I 

felt nothing and immediately placed one of my Marines to secure the path. 

I needed to get away for a minute from the constant stress of continuously 

being angry and aggressive. 

I was in and out of the square all day, and each time I saw something 

new and shocking. One time, while in the center of the square supervising 

my Marines, a Marine from another squad jumped on top of the concertina 

spools with a stick and started to smack people in the heads to get them to 

back off of the wire so they would not crush other people. This captured 

my attention because, at that moment, I realized that we were here to help 

these people, but they were no longer people in our eyes. These people had 

stopped being mothers, fathers, and children but had become a faceless, cold 

164 | First Sergeant Nicanor A. Galvan
mob to be subdued. In that moment, I felt I had lost a piece of myself, a piece 

that I would not recover until years later. 

During one of my most significant visits to the square that day, a huge 

Iraqi was riling up the crowd and causing problems outside of the square. He 

stretched out his long arms practically crushing the people around him and 

causing many Iraqis to be pushed into the spools of sharp wire. My platoon 

commander was there and saw how agitated the man was making the crowd. 

So, the commander turned to me and said that he was going to open the 

path in front of him just long enough to get this big Iraqi man away from 

the defenseless people, so I could snatch him up and kick him out. I knew I 

was going to need some help. Luckily, two of my Marines were behind me. I 

looked at them and told them what the plan was and that I was going to need 

them to help me take this guy down. The platoon commander gave the order 

to open the floodgate, and Iraqis came rushing in. Finally, the big Iraqi made 

his way in, and I pushed his shoulders to the ground until he was on his 

hands and knees. I then grabbed him under his neck in a guillotine hold. Just 

then, the big, strong Iraqi man began to stand up, and I knew I was about 

to get some airtime, so I decided to drop all of my weight on him. He then 

collapsed back down, and somehow I turned him to his back. I dropped my 

knees on his stomach and heard the breath being knocked out of him. This 

was all done within sight and earshot of all the Iraqis in the crowd. As they 

saw me do this, the crowd became inflamed, and I knew I had to get this guy 

out of there. I quickly flipped him back over to his stomach, locked his hands 

together, picked him up off the ground, and walked him inside the courtyard. 

My platoon commander and the interpreter then talked to the man and 

told him he would be paid that day. With that done, I went back out into 

the square and asked my two fellow Marines, who were supposed to help 

me, where the hell they were when I was fighting with this huge Iraqi. One 

Marine said, “It looked like you had the situation handled just fine.” As the 

day came to a close, things calmed down, and we sent the crowd away to be 

paid another day. These crowd control situations were intense face-to-face 

confrontations with the people and were extremely difficult to deal with. I 

know these Marine units and tactics created a lot of enemies for future CoaliCrowd Control | 165
tion forces to deal with, but we did our best with the training, guidance, and 

knowledge we had at the time.

The combat stories mentioned above were written to the best of my 

knowledge. Many years have passed from when these experiences occurred. 

These situations were not conducted under enemy fire but were an integral 

part of the mission of the Marine Corps, and a lot can be learned. When 

reflecting on these events, three things come to mind: counterinsurgency, 

cultural awareness, and the transition from combat to peacekeeping operations. Over the years, I have reflected on those moments and wish I would 

have known more about these topics before going to Iraq.

Prior to 2004, little was discussed in my Marine company regarding 

counterinsurgency. I have only begun to get a true grasp about what is expected of a Marine in a counterinsurgency fight. I wish I had been exposed to 

counterinsurgency doctrine and directed to read books, such as those written 

by Mao Tse-tung or Ernesto Che Guevara, that discuss guerrilla warfare.7 I 

also wish someone would have directed me to read about previous counterinsurgencies of other eras, such as Robert Taber’s book War of the Flea (1965). 

I understand that it is hard to prepare for everything, but most of my training was strictly focused on patrols, fire maneuver, and fire and movement, 

and no time was spent on counterinsurgency. Everything in my training, up 

until that point, was centralized on killing the enemy and treating everyone 

with a heavy hand. One of the Marine Corps’ standard operating procedures 

in training prior to Operation Iraqi Freedom was that, after conducting an 

ambush, we would sweep the kill zone and kill anyone who was still alive. 

A mentality like that is not very good for someone conducting a counterinsurgency operation. I still think many Marines are confused about what 

exactly is expected of them in a counterinsurgency fight. I saw this when I 

was teaching at the Staff Noncommissioned Officer Academy in 2009–13, and 

the war had been going on for almost 10 years. I believe that if I was at least 

exposed to counterinsurgency earlier, then I might have been more tuned in 

7

 Mao, who was a Chinese Communist revolutionary, wrote On Guerrilla Warfare (1937). Guevara was an Argentine Marxist revolutionary and guerrilla leader, who wrote Guerrilla Warfare

(1961).

166 | First Sergeant Nicanor A. Galvan
to what the people needed and might have created fewer enemies for future 

forces. I am almost positive that many of my actions as well as my Marines’ 

actions created more enemies.8

In addition to counterinsurgency training, I would have wanted more 

cultural awareness training. This also ties in with counterinsurgency. Often, 

I felt like my squad and I were lost and had no idea how we were supposed 

to engage the people in a “win the hearts and minds” fashion. Even if I 

did, I would not have known whom to communicate with in the populace. 

Throughout my deployment, I knew nothing of what a sheikh or an imam 

was and had no knowledge that Iraqi towns had city councils. I also did not 

know what part each, the sheikh and the council, played in the city. I did 

not learn any of that until I went back to Iraq on my second tour in 2007, 

which was three years later. I believe that if everyone had understood the 

culture and the roles these people played, things would have operated a lot 

smoother during my 2003 deployment. We could have already conducted 

leadership engagements and streamlined everything along the line of operation/line of effort (LOO/LOE).9

 Knowing the culture and roles of key 

individuals would have given my unit and its leadership some direction on 

the tactical level, while the operational and strategic planners were working 

hard to solidify a final LOO/LOE. At least, I would have been engaging the 

right people and known who to maintain relations with to keep the peace 

in my assigned areas.

8

 The problems noted by 1stSgt Galvan are the subject of many scholarly publications and are 

part of a larger historical trend. The Cold War ended an era (1945–89) in which the United 

States had one clear, identifiable enemy—Soviet Russia. After the 9/11 terrorist attacks, American 

citizens and the nation’s leadership became aware of a new enemy that was in fact an unknowable conglomeration of enemies. Violent nonstate actors do not have the political and territorial 

constraints of nations, nor are they easily identifiable. What Galvan experienced on the ground 

is the same struggle that upper-level military leadership faced as the nation shifted from the Cold 

War to the Global War on Terrorism (GWOT). At both levels, the military had to identify the 

new enemies and, thus, also try to distinguish the new allies. Mao, Guevara, and Taber examined 

different eras when the line between the good guys and bad guys was indistinct and leaders had 

to be more creative about how to fight a nation’s enemies without creating new ones.

9

 According to the U.S. Department of Defense, LOO is a line that defines the interior or exterior 

orientation of a force in relation to the enemy, and LOE uses the mission’s purpose to focus efforts 

toward establishing operational and strategic conditions.

Crowd Control | 167
Lastly, in my opinion, transitioning from major combat operations to 

becoming a peacekeeping force was the most important and difficult objective to obtain. In my training, I only knew how to close with and destroy 

the enemy. I did not know how to switch that mentality off and go into a 

hearts-and-minds mind-set. I also did not understand what that meant. I had 

been told about the three-block war concept coined by General Charles C. 

Krulak, but I did not understand what it meant.10 I only knew how to be aggressive and mean to everyone, no matter friend or foe. I wish I would have 

understood how to transition better from a combat force to a peacekeepingtype force. The three-block war concept, to my understanding at that time, 

was that I would be handing out food on one block, performing more kinetic 

operations on another block, and then engaging in full-on combat on the 

next block. I did not understand that my attitude also had to change from 

block to block; I should not have had the same attitude when I was in the 

combat block that I had when handing out food on a different block. In my 

case, during the time of these incidents, I had the combat mind-set the whole 

time. I can see why that is good for a Marine to have that ability, but once 

things turn to stability and counterinsurgency operations, that attitude can 

also cost a unit a lot in the short term and create more enemies to fight in 

the long term.

The experiences that I described were difficult. I remember my hands 

bleeding from holding my weapon at port arms for hours while I performed 

crowd control security.11 I remember aggressively hitting people of all ages 

and sexes with my rifle to push them back and calm the rioting crowds. 

These experiences have been the hardest to deal with, even harder than when 

I had to pull the trigger against the enemy. I was inexperienced and had 

to make it up as I went along. I discussed this situation with my former 

company commander, and he agreed that squads like mine were not given 

10 Krulak coined the phrase three-block war in a January 1999 Marine Corps Gazette article, “The 

Strategic Corporal: Leadership in the Three Block War.” Krulak referred to the mounting expectation of the Marine Corps to face conflicts in which Marines would confront the entire spectrum 

of tactical challenges in a short amount of time and within the space of three city blocks.

11 Port arms describes a position in the manual of arms in which the rifle is held diagonally in 

front of the body with the muzzle pointing upward to the left.

168 | First Sergeant Nicanor A. Galvan
a lot of direction. Not much was discussed about stability and counterinsurgency at the time of these operations; however, he was proud of what 

our company of Marines did in the streets and the results gained from the 

aggression we showed. My commander and I agreed that we did not know 

any better because all we knew was how to locate, close with, and destroy 

the enemy. We survived on improvisation and small-unit leadership, which 

sometimes proved to be great and sometimes proved to be dangerous. I can 

only hope that people who read this story understand the importance of 

training and educating military personnel on appropriate mission-oriented 

operations. A leader cannot plan for every contingency, but a Marine without 

direction can be extremely dangerous. 

REFLECTION POINTS

• First Sergeant Galvan provides an honest portrayal of his experiences 

during a period of transition for the U.S. military. How have U.S. forces 

and other militaries been hampered by fighting wars based on the 

lessons learned from previous wars? Is there value in the lessons-learned 

approach? How can military leaders adjust training and education to 

overcome the unknowns of future wars?

• Using the experiences of the author, how is it possible for a Marine, 

soldier, or sailor to succeed and fail at the same time during a military 

operation?

• If you have served, how have you dealt with conflicting emotions or objectives during operations?

Crowd Control | 169
CHAPTER NINE

THE ADVISOR

COLONEL DANIEL L. YAROSLASKI

Colonel Daniel L. Yaroslaski is an amphibious assault vehicle (AAV) officer who 

has spent his entire Marine Corps career planning and conducting military operations. He has spent an extensive amount of time working with foreign military personnel from more than 20 countries. Beyond his unit deployments, Colonel 

Yaroslaski has had the opportunity to spend nearly three years of his career in 

formal education, including the U.S. Army’s Armor Officer Advanced Course and 

the Marine Corps University’s Command and Staff College, School of Advanced 

Warfighting, and Marine Corps War College. This time has allowed Colonel Yaroslaski to reflect on his experiences and make sense of complex issues, including 

leadership, ethics, and operational design. He served as a leader at various levels 

for the U.S. military and his combat experiences include tours in Iraq and Afghanistan. He coauthored two book chapters on the topics of ethics, spirituality, 

and sense making in complex situations. In this chapter, Colonel Yaroslaski discusses his experience as an advisor in Afghanistan and the ethical challenges he 

encountered.

170
From November 2008 to August 2009, as a lieutenant colonel, I had the pleasure and challenge of being an embedded training team (ETT) leader for an 

Afghan National Army (ANA) kandak (the term for a battalion). An ANA 

kandak is organized along similar lines with a Marine Corps or U.S. Army 

battalion with about the same number of personnel: three infantry companies, 

one weapons company, and a headquarters company. The standard tour for 

an advisor team was nine months as opposed to the normal seven months 

for most Marines; my assumption was that the longer period allowed for 

a more familiar working relationship with the ANA. Additionally, Marine 

Corps advisor teams in Regional Command-East (RC-East) were paired with 

ANA kandaks, but RC-East was manned with U.S. Army maneuver battalions 

(infantry, artillery, and aviation). This essentially placed the Marines Corps 

advisors in a completely new culture—a mix of Afghan and U.S. Army. 

Every deployment is stressful not only for the servicemember but also on 

the servicemember’s family, and this deployment was no different. Some of 

the unique stresses of this deployment in particular, though, stemmed from 

the fact that I was the commanding officer of Combat Assault Battalion, 3d 

Marine Division, in Okinawa, Japan, in addition to being the ETT leader. This 

meant that I was not the only one with commanding officer responsibilities, 

and my spouse was also now going to be highly involved with the deployment as an informal leader of Marine families. Normally, entire units deploy, 

but this time, things worked out a bit differently. In preparation for a deployment, military units are structured to allow for a large family support structure for the spouses and children during the deployment. Taking 21 members 

of the battalion with me meant that the family support structure was completely different and did not include as many spouses and children to form a 

large cohesive group. While the families of our small team bonded, my spouse 

still had a leadership role in the overall family support network while also 

working through the separation issues in our family. For the nine months that 

I was gone, she had to help the family readiness officer plan events and hold 

family support meetings for families who were “complete” while hers was 

The Advisor | 171
not.1

 I know that added to her stress and the stress of our children, and I will 

be eternally grateful for the strength I felt from her as I served in Afghanistan.

This deployment was also different for me because I was not taking my 

entire unit; in fact, I was largely giving up command to my executive officer. 

This transition of authority did not necessarily translate to a transition of the 

responsibility I felt for the Marines and sailors of the Combat Assault Battalion. I had spent my career earning the opportunity to serve as a battalion 

commander, and the responsibility that comes with selection, while never 

a burden, is often times overwhelming.2 I now had to come to grips with 

leaving the battalion behind and focusing on the mission I was assigned, 

which was to help make our kandak the finest fighting unit in the Afghan 

Army so that the United States and NATO could bring our forces home and 

Afghanistan could stand as an independent and viable country.

Perhaps the final stressor was the loss of a friend of the Marine Corps 

community in Okinawa suffered a few months before the deployment. A 

good friend of my family, Lieutenant Colonel Max A. Galeai, was killed in 

Iraq while participating in a town hall meeting.3 A suicide bomber dressed as 

an Iraqi policeman infiltrated the meeting, moved close to Max and the official party, and detonated a suicide vest, killing Max and the town leadership. 

Max and his family had been neighbors in base housing on Okinawa; our 

spouses were good friends, our children were good friends, and my spouse 

taught Max’s children piano. His death, particularly the manner in which he 

died, sent a shockwave through the ETT families. The ETT Marines knew that 

we were going to be in town hall meetings in Afghanistan, just like Max was 

in Iraq. We knew that if we were going to be successful in our mission, we 

would have to take the same risks he did, sitting at the head table without 

1

 The FRO for a unit is responsible for the Unit, Personal, and Family Readiness Program 

(UPFRP), which includes disseminating command information, resources and referral 

information, deployment support, and volunteer management for Marines and their families.

2

 The term selection means that a board of senior Marine Corps leaders conducts a review of all 

candidates and selects the most highly qualified for command.

3

 Galeai was commander of the 2d Battalion, 3d Marines, out of MCB Hawaii when he was killed 

on 26 June 2008 in al-Anbar Province. Mary Vorsino, “Marine Lt. Col. Max A. Galeai,” Military 

Times, Honor the Fallen database.

172 | Colonel Daniel L. Yaroslaski
our helmets, weapons, and body armor, prepared to give our lives for the 

mission. Normally, those types of bold thoughts were simply concepts, but 

as we deployed to Afghanistan for our nine-month mission, those concepts 

became a harsh reality for the team, and more importantly, for the families 

we left behind in Okinawa. 

THE PEOPLE, THE KANDAK, AND THE U.S. ARMY

The kandak initially operated out of three company-size FOBs in Kunar Province. The FOBs were within an hour-and-a-half drive from each other and 

were strategically positioned to allow Afghan and Coalition (in this specific 

case U.S. Army) forces to interdict insurgent activity and movement from 

Pakistan through five main valleys, across the Kunar River, and then onward 

into the other Afghan provinces. Each of the company FOBs was within six 

to eight kilometers of the Pakistani border and also sat at the foot of the 

Hindu Kush mountain range. Therefore, the Taliban could cross over the 

border using old goat paths and smuggling routes that enabled them to defeat 

some of the most sophisticated observation technology. Almost daily during 

the spring and summer and into the late fall, the Taliban crossed the border 

in either direction, and from the high ground, they fired 108mm rockets at 

Pakistani or Afghan/Coalition bases. Their movements were undetectable, 

and their ability to cross the border limited the ability of either military force 

to respond with gunfire. In other words, the insurgents had found a weakness in the political and military boundaries, and they exploited that seam 

with great skill. 

The history of the Kunar River valley, both ancient and more recent, was 

a vivid part of the ETT members’ daily lives. The local residents were fiercely 

proud about many things. In particular, they provided crops and hardwood 

to the rest of Afghanistan, and they had played a major role in defeating 

every invader from the British to the Russians. Their long history that included both intermittent periods of wealth and continuous conflict seemed 

to have developed a people with opportunistic loyalty and a desire to amass 

wealth to help carry them through the more common lean times. They had 

not developed a mercenary mentality; on the contrary, there were countless 

The Advisor | 173
numbers of people in our area committed to building their villages and, by 

extension, Afghanistan into a resilient country with a sustainable future. 

Figuring out how to help, who to support, and how to ensure money and 

humanitarian supplies went to those who really needed them was a source 

of ethical dilemmas. While in training, and even in daily planning, the missions we conducted and our interactions with the local populace seemed 

ethically straightforward, but actually doing what I thought was right was 

far more challenging. I had to shift from my Western way of interacting and 

attempt to learn to do business in an extremely foreign manner. I constantly 

balanced efficacy and ethics, and at times, no matter what choice I made I had 

to live with the uneasiness that came with the compromise of fundamental 

personal principles. 

In contrast to the local village and family nature of the population, the 

ANA kandak, advised by our team of 21 Marines and U.S. Navy corpsmen, 

was a veritable pickup organization from every Afghan province and ethnicity. The kandak had been trained in Kabul by a previous team and deployed 

to the Kunar Province in early 2008. By November 2008, the members of the 

ANA kandak, and particularly its leaders, understood the local population, 

developed a local intelligence/information source network, and were well on 

the way to independent operations and a full readiness rating. As impressive 

as the kandak and its members were, there was a constant sense that they 

were barely able to operate, due mainly to logistical challenges. More than 

any other factor, the feast or famine mentality described above was alive and 

well in the ANA and presented the ETT with its greatest ethical challenges. 

I was keyed into the importance of the cultural issues with the kandak 

because of my USMC training and experiences. Early on in my career, I 

learned a perspective that put me in the proper mind-set and framed my time 

with the Afghans and really every culture and foreign person I have met. 

I have been extremely fortunate to have received outstanding training and 

educational opportunities while serving as a Marine. The formal training, 

designed to develop my ability to effectively operate in different cultures, 

has served me well, but one event in my life made a major impact on my 

mind-set, ethics, and approach to dealing with others. While I was a second 

174 | Colonel Daniel L. Yaroslaski
lieutenant at The Basic School, I shared a four-person room and experienced 

all the personality conflicts that go along with having four type A personalities crammed into a small living space. In particular, two of my roommates 

developed a rocky relationship because one (an American Marine) seemed to 

feel a sense of superiority over the other (a Mexican officer) and did nothing 

to disguise his feelings.4 Our Mexican roommate was trying his best to keep 

up with the course, but command of the English language was clearly a 

problem for him. After a while, the Mexican officer jokingly announced he 

was going to stop reading his assignments and only read the dictionary since 

he spent so much time doing that already. The roommate with the superiority complex immediately missed the joke and began making condescending 

comments. Our Mexican Marine Corps roommate, without skipping a beat, 

then said something that I found to be very insightful and that would be 

helpful to me in the future: “Just because I speak with an accent doesn’t 

mean I think with one.” Those words gave me great pause and have been 

my guiding thought as I encounter new cultures and people. 

Armed with an understanding of the Afghan people and their army, 

and with my predisposition for approaching new people as intelligent and 

worthy of engagement, I started my tour as an advisor. During my time, two 

particular incidents stood out as tests of my ability to maneuver the murky 

waters of ethical decision making. First, I had to sort through the internal 

divisions of a village and how to identify the leadership and conflicts within 

those groups based on a number of cultural variables. Second, I often found 

myself mediating between the Afghan and American commanders and had 

to learn how to balance each group’s goals and concerns.

BARCOLAY AND KUSKALAY: 

A QUESTION OF ETHICS AND EMPOWERMENT

The road that ran from Jalalabad, the capital of the Nangarhar Province, 

Afghanistan, through Asadabad, the capital of Kunar Province, and into 

4

 This was an officer from the Mexican Naval Infantry Force, Mexico’s Marine Corps. TBS classes 

at Quantico often have international students from foreign militaries who attend alongside the 

students from the U.S. Marine Corps.

The Advisor | 175
Nuristan Province is a strategic line of communication, and the paving of 

the road with funding from the U.S. government greatly improved the quality 

of life for the Afghan people. Once paved, the road had an immediate economic benefit. Small businesses developed along the roadside, and farmers 

were able to move crops to market in the provincial capitals, even in Kabul, 

in what could be considered record time for that part of Afghanistan. Unfortunately, when the road was built, money was not included for the quartermile stretch of road from the main highway to the bridge over the Kunar 

River. Coalition and Afghan forces had to pass over that quarter-mile stretch 

multiple times every day, directly through the thriving village that had made 

the key intersection into its commercial center. The increased traffic quickly 

gouged the dirt road surface and created large potholes where standing water 

formed, making the conditions even worse. To the credit of the villagers, the 

unit was never once attacked from any of the buildings that lined the road, 

despite the narrow passage and high volume of Coalition and Afghan Army 

vehicles. My fear, however, was that good grace would quickly be eroded if 

we overturned a vehicle, hit a building, or, worst of all, struck a child with a 

vehicle that was attempting to avoid a large pothole. So my personal mission 

became the paving of the road.

I worked with the regional USAID representative to secure a $10,000 

grant that could be used to repair the road if, and only if, it was done through 

local labor and for the improvement of the community and, most importantly, administered by village leadership. To meet those conditions, I asked my 

ANA counterpart to request a meeting (known as a shura) with the village 

elders. The kandak commander and I had a superb relationship, and I found 

him to be an extremely thoughtful and well-respected leader. During the 

Soviet-Afghan War (1979–89), he had been one of Ahmad Shah Massoud’s 

principle lieutenants and was trusted with the defense of Kabul against the 

subsequent Taliban invasion.5 Once summoned by the ETT and ANA kandak 

in December 2008, the elders eagerly responded, and as the village leaders 

arrived, one elder in particular, “Dr. Ali” who was in charge of the local vil5

 Massoud was a military and political leader of the Northern Alliance in Afghanistan, which 

opposed the Taliban, when he was killed in a terrorist attack in the country on 9 September 2001. 

176 | Colonel Daniel L. Yaroslaski
lage’s young men’s association, struck me as the kind of person who could 

take charge and provide some much needed work and income for the same 

demographic the Taliban was recruiting from.

I believe over the years I have become a relatively good judge of character, and in the stress of the shura and the desire to make the project happen 

quickly, I too quickly became focused on working with Dr. Ali and the young 

men’s association. Unfortunately, however, by empowering Dr. Ali over the 

other elders, I had forgotten my guiding principle—just because someone 

speaks with an accent, it does not mean he thinks with one—a mistake I 

was definitely going to pay for. In Dr. Ali, I found someone who was ready 

to do business, who seemed to be a logical choice, and who, I believed, represented the village. Yet, in hindsight, I realize there were signals coming 

from the other elders that perhaps I was moving too quickly and putting 

too much power in the hands of one person. After the second meeting with 

Dr. Ali, the ethical dilemma started building. I had ignored the other elders 

and Dr. Ali knew it. So, he behaved in the feast or famine manner I described 

earlier, asking for more money and attempting to reduce the scale and labor 

involved with the project. Dr. Ali could see that this project would be a boost 

to his power and influence, which he could use to increase his wealth and 

standing so that when the project ended, he could be in a better condition 

to use that wealth and standing to survive less prosperous times. For my 

part, I had committed my reputation to this project and had secured the first 

payment from the $10,000 grant for supplies, so there was no turning back. 

Initially, I wanted the ANA kandak commander to be involved with the 

project so the ANA would get credit for the road as opposed to someone 

from the United States receiving the recognition. Unfortunately, the first 

report I got from Dr. Ali was that ANA members had asked him for half of 

the money since they brought him the business opportunity. Dr. Ali would 

not say who asked, but I quickly realized that as much as I wanted to bring 

credit to the ANA, the actions of its members were making it impossible. I 

brought it up to the commander, and he suggested that I exclude them from 

the project to prevent any further problems. Once the ANA was excluded 

though, I was on my own in dealing with Dr. Ali. After about a month of 

The Advisor | 177
delay from Dr. Ali, I met him at his pharmacy and pointed out nothing had 

been done. He reminded me that things took time and that he actually had 

to use a significant percentage of the first installment of the grant to pay 

off other village elders before they would allow their sons to participate in 

the project. As angry as that made me, I realized that I was dealing with a 

different culture, a different mind-set, and most of all a different economic 

system. With Dr. Ali’s assurance that he would now start the project, I reasoned that although I felt it was unethical to make payments like that, the 

overall benefit of the road would outweigh the corruption. 

As I was dealing with Dr. Ali and his questionable ethics, the other 

members of the original group of elders I had assembled visited me. I learned 

that Dr. Ali did not exactly represent the entire village. Dr. Ali was from the 

commercial center business shura, yet there were two other shuras—one 

from the upper village of Barcolay, and one from the lower village of Kuskalay. Members of those shuras also told me that Dr. Ali was excluding them 

from the project and that they did not want the road project to continue 

unless there were going to be more projects for them. Despite what seemed 

like blackmail, I was able to convince them that the USAID grant program 

funding the road project could fund lots of other village improvements too; 

they just needed to bring their projects to me, and I would work with them. 

One elder in particular seemed extremely hostile, and my instinct told me 

that he was a member of the Taliban. Unfortunately, he was also the elder 

who the others chose to be in charge of the next project. I had a lot of background work to do before I felt I could really trust him to receive U.S. financial support. By the end of the meeting, the elders were satisfied, but I was 

stuck in the position of potentially working with the enemy, which I was 

definitely not prepared for or willing to do.

Shortly after the meeting with the other elders, I received a call from Dr. 

Ali who said that the road had been graded, and the much-needed drainage had been dug. Yet, he had run out of money and was unable to pave the 

road. I made a call to a local road building company, and they confirmed 

that even they would not have been able to do the entire project for $10,000. 

That information helped relieve my conscience, and in fact, I even began 

178 | Colonel Daniel L. Yaroslaski
a second project. The problems were not quite over yet, though. The ANA 

had again threatened Dr. Ali, this time for more money than the project was 

actually worth. As much as I wanted to confront the commander with this 

news, I realized it would only bring bigger problems. Thus, I decided to tell 

the kandak commander that the project was over and that the grant money 

given to Dr. Ali had been spent. I believe the commander understood what 

I was saying, but I certainly felt like I had taken the easy way out instead of 

righting the ethical wrong of the situation. Shortly after the conversation, 

Dr. Ali confirmed the threats had stopped.

To finish the road, I then had to have additional meetings with the village 

elder who I suspected was with the Taliban. I had to figure out who he was 

and what he really wanted. Thanks to the hard work of my interpreter, I 

learned that he was actually an honest individual, but just to make sure, 

I allowed him to administer the next $10,000 while I handled the actual 

payment distribution to the road construction company. Fortunately, the 

construction company agreed to hire local workers, which met the USAID 

requirements for the grant. 

The overall road improvement and paving project took six months, cost 

$20,000, and required an enormous amount of time and energy. I learned 

some valuable lessons though. First and foremost, I needed to listen carefully and adapt to the local process. It may have seemed unethical, but in 

the context of the village elder system, it was effective and ensured peace. I 

also learned that I had to live with the ANA and its use of power for profit, 

which either meant I could be complicit with the ANA members or work 

around them, but what I could not do—no matter how much I wanted to—

was change them. Finally, I relearned that by not “thinking in English” and 

not assuming my assessments of who was intelligent and effective were naturally correct, I would have more chances to succeed. 

DISPROPORTIONATE RISK—AN ETHICAL CHALLENGE

While my team and I were working through the ethical challenges presented by the people of Afghanistan and the relationship with our ANA counterparts, we also had to deal with the challenges presented by the advisor 

The Advisor | 179
mission and the Taliban. During the training and preparation for our mission, 

I often told the team that our job was not to rush in and lead the fight. Our 

job was to step back, assess, and help bring order during a fight and to 

figure out what support we could bring to bear from the Coalition forces. As 

members of the U.S. military who are subject to overall International Security 

Assistance Force (ISAF) rules, moving with and supporting the ANA when it 

needed us was sometimes challenging.6 Rules like minimum numbers of vehicles in a convoy and minimum numbers of ISAF personnel in a particular 

location for any extended period of time were nearly impossible to comply 

with. Our team was only 21 members strong. Even with six extra personnel 

from National Guard units, in order to cover four separate FOBs, the team 

was spread extremely thin and had to make tough choices. Just accepting 

risk in the name of mission accomplishment would have been the easy solution, but it was not always the right solution.

The value of an ETT was the access to additional support it could bring 

to bear from the Coalition forces (air support, artillery support, and medical 

support were the most common requests). The burden of an Embedded 

Training Team on the ANA was an extremely heavy vehicle that the ETTs operated that, if disabled by enemy action or mechanical failure, was beyond 

the capacity of the ANA to recover. Additionally, the ISAF vehicles carried 

a bigger bull’s-eye than an ANA Ford Ranger pickup truck. Explaining why 

I could not send ETTs on a mission was difficult, considering the chances 

the ANA members were prepared to take, with or without the team’s assistance. Often times, it seemed like I was making excuses as to why the lives of 

my ETTs were more valuable than the soldiers of the kandak, and no matter 

how many good and operationally sound reasons I may have come up with, 

it just felt like a betrayal of what was right.

6

 ISAF was a NATO-led security mission in Afghanistan established by the United Nations 

Security Council in December 2001.

180 | Colonel Daniel L. Yaroslaski
This risk calculation was similar to the law of armed conflict principle of proportionality in war.7

 Just as a military action that causes collateral 

damage must be proportional to the military value gained, the amount of risk 

an ETT took on a daily basis had to be calculated against the amount of risk 

the ANA would incur if the team was not there. Also, if the ANA stopped 

seeing the ETTs as valuable for anything other than a source of funding and 

fuel, our ability to influence real change would rapidly evaporate. Interestingly, a number of the older ANA officers had served on different sides of 

the conflict during the Soviet occupation. The ones who had been mujahideen were much more willing to risk their lives and the lives of their soldiers 

and had an expectation that the ETTs would do the same. The former Soviettrained officers were more willing to exercise tactical patience but were also 

more than happy to let U.S. forces take the lead.

This tension associated with proportionality of risk also extended to the 

types of operations I recommended the kandak take part in. The U.S. Army 

forces in the Kunar Province were extremely well equipped, from the most 

modern mine-resistant ambush protected (MRAP) vehicles to thermal night 

vision goggles to highly effective cold weather gear and clothing. The ANA, 

on the other hand, mostly had one set of uniforms, a cotton field jacket, old 

sleeping bags or blankets, and more importantly no night vision devices. 

In fact, this lack of night vision equipment meant the ANA was reluctant 

to operate at night away from buildings or without the headlights of their 

Ranger pickups. The mismatch of capability led to numerous confrontations between desire for action by the Coalition force and the resistance of 

the ANA to embark on operations that the ANA soldiers were clearly not 

equipped for.

One of the main skills I quickly realized a good ETT required was that 

of interpreter—not of language, but of intent. Perhaps the skill could also 

be called mediation, and I always felt like a man trapped in the middle. The 

7

 On page 61 of the 2015 U.S. Department of Defense Law of War Manual the rule of 

proportionality during war is said to oblige a force to refrain from attacking when the “expected 

harm incidental to the attack would be excessive in relation to the military advantage anticipated 

to be gained.”

The Advisor | 181
182 | Colonel Daniel L. Yaroslaski

conflict generally occurred along a few familiar patterns. First, the U.S. forces 

would receive an intelligence report, often at night and always on very short 

notice. The intelligence was good and yet not good enough to send a patrol, 

so I would get the call to send the ANA. The first few times this happened, I 

immediately went to the kandak commander and told him, “We have to take 

action. The Coalition force needs us.” Often times on particularly dark and 

cold nights, he asked if Coalition forces would also be going. After awhile, 

I realized his question was code for “there is no way we can do this mission 

with the soldiers and equipment we have and get the results the Coalition 

wants from us.” As with the villagers in my earlier example, I did not hear 

the code right away, and I pushed to execute the Coalition requested operation. As you might expect, and as the kandak commander knew, the operation turned into a nighttime drive to nowhere, ending without the result the 

Coalition wanted. It was really an expression of exercising ego more than 

anything else. The ANA commander knew if he said no to the mission, he 

would look weak to the Coalition and reports would get back to ANA leadership that his kandak was of low quality.

With a few of these experiences under my belt, I finally learned to hear 

the code. I stopped the request from going to the ANA and then, on the next 

day, explained to the Coalition leaders why I did it. In actuality, I was taking 

the ANA code and interpreting it into U.S. Army code—language that a U.S. 

Army battalion commander could understand. The requests never really 

stopped, and I learned how to push the ANA commander to say “yes” to 

the ones that were simply impossible to refuse without harming the kandak’s reputation.

The second type of conflict arose, oddly enough, when the ANA wanted 

to conduct operations that the Coalition did not want to participate in. The 

ANA commander had a highly developed information source network in the 

Kunar Province. The problem for the Coalition, though, was that the sources 

were not vetted and, therefore, could not be considered reliable. This lack 

of reliability, particularly when a source called in the middle of the night in 

a remote location, caused the U.S. Army battalion to have to say “no.” This 

odd reversal of requests meant that a high number of ANA source reports 
The Advisor | 183

were never acted on. Again, my job was to interpret the code and translate 

for both sides in order to find a common ground. Generally, the kandak commander called my interpreter, or tajiman, who woke me up with the news 

of a source report. I went to the Coalition Command Operations Center and 

relayed the report to the battle captain or intelligence watch officer. Those 

individuals would check their validated reports and, when they did not find 

valid reports, would state they could not act on the ANA report. I then had 

to return to the kandak commander and tell him the Coalition could not 

act. Without him saying anything, I knew the kandak alone would not be 

able to act. By the end of my nine months, I had become adept at explaining both sides and, more importantly, reporting through the advisor chain 

that if properly equipped, the kandak showed every sign of being an outstanding organization.

The code often times required extra work on my part. This was particularly true when the camp came under fire from rockets and the ANA sources 

started giving rocket launch locations. Without two forms of positive identification (PID) from valid sources, counterfires could not be requested. The 

brigade commander had given the kandak commander explicit instructions 

that, if he knew where an attack was coming from via information from a 

reliable source, the kandak was to use its D-30 122mm howitzer artillery 

to return fire and defeat the attack. The first few times the kandak wanted 

to use the D-30s, the kandak commander seemed to be asking my permission; in reality though, he wanted me to clear the fires with the Coalition 

to ensure there was no fratricide. Again, before I learned the code on both 

sides, I asked the Coalition for clearance, but without PID, they could only 

say “no.” Once I figured out what was going on, we conducted gun drills five 

to six times per week, demonstrating the crew could hit a target consistently and with a high degree of accuracy. I also made sure the Coalition force 

leadership from the local battalion to the brigade had observed the crews 

and knew they were proficient. Finally, I asked the ANA brigade commander to talk to the Coalition commander and let him know that the crews were 

trained, that the intelligence was reliable, and that the D-30s would be used 

only against the enemy firing points that were known not to have civilian 
structures (such as the open area on the Hindu Kush that was perfect for 

launching rockets). More important, when the time came to fire, the ANA 

would ask if the area was clear but would not ask for permission to fire.

Once both sides learned each other’s code, and I learned how to listen 

and translate, the ANA and Coalition were able to execute in completely 

new ways.

We were not always successful, nor were we always operating smoothly, but we were always working together. 

From my time in Afghanistan as an advisor, I learned some new lessons 

and relearned some old ones. An advisor must balance proportionality 

between mission accomplishment and risk and be ready to take charge, 

but must first step back and assess the situation. Most important, though, 

whether dealing with the local population, the ANA, or the Coalition, the 

words of my TBS roommate have served me well in my role as an advisor. 

Just because someone speaks with a Dari, Pashtun, or even American accent, 

it does not mean he thinks with one.

REFLECTION POINTS

• How does the cultural bias among groups involved in war affect the interactions of military servicemembers and civilians? How can those perspectives be exploited?

• How can ethics be culturally and situationally based? Is compromising a 

leader’s ethics ever acceptable? In other words, can the ends justify the 

means, or are there other ways to obtain results?

• What benefits and challenges come with combining military forces nationally and internationally? Do the advantages of working with other 

agencies and military forces outweigh the problems caused by doing so?

184 | Colonel Daniel L. Yaroslaski
CHAPTER TEN

A LOGISTICIAN’S PREPARATION FOR COMBAT

LIEUTENANT COLONEL CLIFTON B. CARPENTER (RET)

Lieutenant Colonel Clifton B. Carpenter (Ret) served as a Marine Corps logistics 

officer from 1993 to 2013. His career included execution of the Lebanon noncombatant evacuation operation (NEO) in 2006 and a 10-month deployment to Helmand 

Province in southern Afghanistan with the 24th MEU, which commenced the 

Marine Corps’ transition from Iraq to Afghanistan in 2008. Lieutenant Colonel 

Carpenter also served as the primary operations briefer to the Commandant of the 

Marine Corps and commanded the Logistics Operations School at Camp Gilbert 

H. Johnson, North Carolina, from 2010 to 2012. Lieutenant Colonel Carpenter 

details his deployment experiences as a major with the 24th MEU.

Of our lost comrades in arms, President Ronald W. Reagan said, “They gave 

up two lives—the one they were living and the one they would have lived. 

When they died, they gave up their chance to be husbands and fathers and 

grandfathers.”1 We honor our lost comrades in many ways. One of those 

1

 Ronald Reagan, “Remarks by President Ronald Reagan at Veterans Day National Ceremony” 

(speech, Arlington National Cemetery, Arlington, VA, 11 November 1985).

185
186 | Lieutenant Colonel Clifton B. Carpenter

ways includes preparing the next generation of warriors by writing the 

lessons learned from previous generations. As I read the stories in this book 

and in other recollections of combat, I had a sense of awe for the human and 

American endurance seen in them. I am humbled by recounts of bravery and 

sacrifice for brothers and sisters in the heat of combat and by the scars of the 

mind and body our veterans endure. 

My own story includes no Purple Heart at the end. I have no tale of personal bravery or physical injury. I was rarely at risk of casualty during my 20 

years of service, including two combat deployments. I was a Marine logistics 

officer; this task, when done correctly, garners little appreciation and, when 

done poorly, becomes the scapegoat for mission failure. As Alexander the 

Great is attributed for saying, “My logisticians are a humorless lot . . . they 

know if my campaign fails, they are the first ones I will slay.”

PERSONAL BACKGROUND

Unlike many young officers who took their oaths of office after 9/11, I was 

a major with 14 years of service when my unit was directed to Afghanistan. 

My story began in 1992 when I attended OCS the summer before my senior 

year at the U.S. Naval Academy. Those six short weeks sold me on my Service 

selection choice, and I found myself wearing the Eagle, Globe, and Anchor 

on graduation day.2 To me, the Marine Corps was a team. Being a member 

of the Corps felt comfortable. As an athlete, I had learned the traits that the 

Marine Corps taught as sacrosanct ideals, including training for endurance to 

achieve a common purpose and upholding the virtues of honor, courage, and 

commitment. The logistician part was ancillary. I had wanted to be a grunt, 

like many young lieutenants. When my staff platoon commander read my 

future—logistics vocation—I was not sure what the word logistics meant. 

My new strategy for 1993 became “five and dive,” or in other words, I had 

to serve the five years that were required for Naval Academy graduates, and 

then, I planned to separate from the military for greener pastures. 

Fifteen years later, I was looking back at my tours, which began in 1994 

at Camp Lejeune. I had been sent to Pohang, South Korea, for a year in 1997 

2

 Eagle, Globe, and Anchor is the official Marine Corps emblem and insignia. 
and then to the Mountain Warfare Training Center in Bridgeport. I was at 

the Amphibious Warfare School (AWS) at MCB Quantico in 2002 and spent 

two years with the Marine Corps Systems Command.3 In 2005, I was at the 

Marine Corps Command and Staff College before my assignment to the 24th 

MEU.4 In 2006, the 24th MEU conducted an amphibious deployment and 

executed the Lebanon NEO.

So, there I was, having not five and dived, 15 years later. In January 2008, 

I found myself as a major on my second deployment as the logistics officer 

for the 24th MEU. I was rightly expected to know how to move the unit 

around the world and how to sustain it when it got there. Further, through 

two deployments, as with any MEU, I was surrounded by mid-grade, competent captains and staff NCOs, who knew their jobs. A MEU is a chaotic but 

elegant instrument made up of many parts that work as one. My story does 

not reflect on preparing for the horrors of war; other veterans are much more 

qualified to comment on that topic. Nor is this an after action report (AAR) 

for logistics support in southern Afghanistan; again, there are many versions 

of that. This book is about individual preparation for combat, not collective 

technical skills. With that perspective in mind, my goal in this chapter is to 

reinforce how three aspects of combat preparation help to prime Marines 

for war. From my view as a Marine leader and a logistician, I highlight three 

topics—combat laboratories, families during deployments, and a leader’s 

reliance on the team versus reliance on self in a combat organization—supported by my personal experiences and presented as topics that are typically 

less explored than others in collections of combat reflections.

COMBAT LABORATORIES

The Marine Corps’ most requested contribution to various combatant commander’s force requirements is the MEU. Prior to 9/11, six MEUs (three 

on the East Coast and three on the West Coast) trained for six months, 

3

 In 2002, AWS was renamed the Expeditionary Warfare School (EWS).

4

 A MEU combines a headquarters, commanded by a Marine colonel, with a reinforced infantry 

battalion, a composite aviation squadron consisting of helicopters and jets, and a logistics battalion. The unit traditionally deploys onboard U.S. Navy ships.

A Logistician’s Preparation for Combat | 187
deployed for six months, and rested for six months; the Okinawa MEU has 

a little different schedule but a no less challenging mission. For the first 

10 years of my career, the MEU was the organization everyone wanted to 

join because the unit’s training was well funded and it always deployed. 

Other units would count their most interesting adventure as a trip to the 

combined arms exercise (CAX) in Twentynine Palms. The attacks on 9/11 

changed that attitude because all combat formations had great training opportunities (e.g., Exercise Mojave Viper) and real-world combat deployments. As Marines look forward post-OIF and -OEF, I submit that a return 

to a MEU focus supports the Corps’ roots as an amphibious force, it returns 

to the mind-set of self-reliance in preparation for combat (as opposed to 

strategic deployment by the U.S. Air Force or contract aircraft or ships), 

and most importantly, the MEUs are the best peacetime training laboratory 

the Marine Corps has and must remain an integral part of the Corps to 

properly prepare Marines for deployment. 

The training a logistician receives at a MEU is irreplaceable because there 

is no way to simulate the cycle of deployment, sustainment, and redeployment. Logistics supports effective movement and support of combat formations, and like being able to do 20 pull-ups, success comes through doing it. 

Additionally, as a Marine air-ground task force (MAGTF) officer, I believe the 

integration of warfighting functions that occur in a MEU deployment cannot 

be replicated; this is why the MEU program remains essential to the Corps’ 

MAGTF identity and training. 

THE OTHER MAGTF ELEMENT: 

FAMILIES DURING DEPLOYMENTS

Combat tests the very limits of individual physical and mental preparation. 

The Corps has always been good at the physical preparation of Marines. From 

2001 to present, I believe we have improved significantly in the emotional 

preparation of Marines as well. No less critical is the preparation of Marine 

families. This process is less trainable and less measurable, and deployment 

complicates matters for families, especially since every family has different 

needs. I will talk about mental and physical preparations my family endured, 

188 | Lieutenant Colonel Clifton B. Carpenter
including the lessons my wife, also a Marine, and I learned while preparing for four combat deployments (two for me and two for her) and how we 

tried to incorporate those lessons into preparing our Marines’ families for 

combat as well. 

A LEADER’S RELIANCE ON TEAM 

VERSUS RELIANCE ON SELF

Finally, combat preparation requires what I call the “individual effort break 

point” for leaders. I propose that there exists, for every officer and staff 

NCO, an intersection where the efforts of the individual and the team meet 

to achieve the best outcome. In contrast, there is a point where individual 

hard work can no longer replace the effort of a functioning team, which is 

the break point. The sooner Marines and Marine leaders learn to trust their 

teammates, the more effective they will become when the true test comes in 

combat. So, training in the MEUs, preparing families, and acknowledging 

individual effort break points, as well as how those things relate to individual 

preparation for combat, are the topics in explaining what it was like to go 

to war.

GOING TO AFGHANISTAN

It was 5 January 2008 in Camp Lejeune. The office was empty. Despite being 

only 20 days away from embarkation onboard amphibious ships for a sevenmonth float, or tour of duty, everyone was enjoying the last of a New Year’s 

holiday, and the 24th MEU was ready to go. The unit’s predeployment training plan was complete, except for one certification event, and the unit’s cargo 

was already embarked. This allowed the MEU commanding officer to send 

everyone home for the Christmas and New Year’s holidays except a few 

unlucky folks who were watching cargo in the holds of three ships. The MEU 

commander and I had grown on each other through the course of the predeployment work-up. He was a very intelligent officer with years of combat 

experience, the up-close and personal kind of experience that drives people 

to become very confident, but he was mostly quiet. What he did not have 

was a great deal of experience with the sequential machinations required to 

A Logistician’s Preparation for Combat | 189
move and sustain large units, nor did he have a great deal of patience for 

listening to staff officers talk about logistics. He liked to talk about operations 

with his operations officer and handguns with his artillery officer. Logistics 

nauseated him. In short, he was stuck with me. To his credit, he left me alone 

to do my job and he let me know when I did not do it well enough, without 

trying to tell me how to do it.

I was the MEU’s logistics officer (S-4) and was in the office on 5 January 

trying to move the piles of paper that had accumulated over the six-month 

predeployment work-up, when a previous commander called from the Pentagon. “Afghanistan,” I remember saying. “When?” Thus, the hardest 90 days 

of my 20-year career began. From the time I received that phone call until the 

day a reinforced Marine infantry battalion advanced on the enemy in a hot, 

uncomfortable spot in southern Afghanistan, these events tested all I had 

ever achieved, professionally and personally. As a point of pride, ultimately 

my commander and my unit were able to execute the mission. 

However, we collectively, and I personally, made plenty of mistakes. 

There were miscalculations that had to be rethought and fixed midstream. 

There were hundreds of questions with no answers, and like any good 

planner, I simply had to make assumptions and execute even though a lot 

of those assumptions were incorrect. I firmly believe that the flexibility shown 

by the MEU on this occasion, and by many other MEUs that have been 

asked to accomplish similar feats, rested on a cadre of Marines who knew 

how to move the MAGTF animal. It is one thing to say “send in a MEU” 

on a PowerPoint slide at the Pentagon. It is another thing entirely to watch 

all its pieces and parts slinging around the globe. Our ability to do this was 

possible because of the institutional knowledge retained by the Marines who 

had done it before.

TRAINING MEETS REALITY 

Studying the deployment of forces bore little resemblance to deploying them 

to Afghanistan in 2008. I clearly remember a classroom session in logistics 

school that listed a legion of requirements to get transportation resources 

to move a force—requirements like accurate equipment inventories and 

190 | Lieutenant Colonel Clifton B. Carpenter
passenger manifests 60 days prior to departure. In January 2008, the complete lack of an operational mission in Afghanistan compounded with a “hard 

date” for arrival and a unit configured for amphibious deployment instead of 

strategic airlift made for a dizzying nightmare. I will highlight two particular 

challenges: equipment transportation and money. The skills to manage these 

two areas are retained in the Corps by Marines with MEU experience.

EQUIPMENT TRANSPORTATION

A MEU’s equipment configured for amphibious deployment does not look 

like a MEU’s equipment for Iraq or Afghanistan missions. An amphibious 

MEU is constrained by the space available on three ships and prepared for 

a wide range of missions. A MEU going to Iraq or Afghanistan will conduct 

counterinsurgency operations and try not to get blown up by IEDs. The latter 

MEU is also much heavier with twice as many vehicles. And, by 2008, the 

MRAP vehicles were beginning to come off the assembly line, and none of 

these types of vehicles could fit on a ship. Furthermore, on an amphibious 

deployment, the ship itself houses all the intermediate maintenance capabilities for the aircraft, including tons of heavy stuff, electronic stuff, and stuff 

that needs power, water, hydraulic pressure, and more. Once apart from the 

ship, a MEU’s aviation contingent must replace that capability. The unit did 

not possess any of these items. In addition, we had to provide the strategic 

transporters that were trying to meet the hard date for the unit’s arrival, 

with the exact dimensional data for all the equipment to be sent to a still 

unknown location.

Were it not for the previous 24 months of history in my unit, I think 

success in this misadventure would have been unlikely. In the 24 months 

leading up to this scenario, my unit had deployed previously on amphibious ships. It had used rail transportation during training and strategic air 

in support of Hurricane Katrina humanitarian relief efforts. The unit had 

trucked itself, driven itself, and moved by contracted shipping. Each and 

every one of these methods was used previously, and each method had 

unique challenges. As I advocate for a return to a MEU-focused Marine Corps, 

I submit that another type of unit would not have succeeded in executing an 

A Logistician’s Preparation for Combat | 191
unplanned, impromptu deployment for combat operations in a landlocked 

country. My unit’s familiarity with all the transportation methods required 

to ultimately get us to Afghanistan came from having used them training 

and having the unique cultural flexibility that a MEU retains because it is a 

unit designed to be ready for an array of contingencies and is not focused 

on a single mission. 

MONEY 

How do young officers learn to spend the government’s money? It is an 

intimidating topic because every young officer knows a horror story about 

a peer who was reprimanded, fired, or relieved for some fiscal blunder. Budgeting and spending money is another area where the staff and subordinate 

leaders learn by actually doing rather than from their training. A MEU has 

real money to spend similar to a division, wing, or group. Learning to spend 

money in the right way is no different than learning to fire a weapon or 

command an infantry company or fire a battalion’s worth of artillery. To train 

for the technical skills normally associated with Marine units (e.g., shooting 

weapons, talking on radios, etc.), we learn incrementally. In a training setting 

like a rifle range, we control the learning environment so that mistakes are 

not dangerous, and we build experience. Unfortunately, there is no similar, 

controlled situation for learning to spend money. Often, officers are 20-year 

veterans and battalion commanders before they ever have any budget authority. Experience in the MEU is the closest thing young officers have for a 

money-spending laboratory. Each of the three components of a MEU—the 

infantry battalion, the aviation squadron, and the logistics battalion—have 

opportunities to spend money. Buying tools, fixing vehicles, and arranging 

for food contracts and garbage pick-up are all experiences young officers 

have in the MEU, which in another unit (a division, wing, or group) would 

be handled by a more senior officer.

My own experience with money as a logistics officer in the MEU prepared me for a very difficult experience in Afghanistan, one that tied the 

operational employment of the MEU directly to money. We were scheduled 

to enter Helmand Province in early 2008 before any other conventional U.S. 

192 | Lieutenant Colonel Clifton B. Carpenter
forces were operating there. Further, the pace of operational level change 

(the shift of focus from Iraq to Afghanistan) clouded the mission for which 

the unit would be employed when it arrived. Bottom line: we knew we were 

going somewhere in southern Afghanistan, but the theater commander was 

not yet ready to commit us to a particular location. For a logistician, this 

nightmare meant building infrastructure for the arrival of 3,000 Marines on 

a very short timeline without actually knowing where to build it. I distinctly 

remember a class discussion on how commanders validate requirements 

based on specific requests for forces that are justified by a combat mission. 

In January 2008, the unit’s mission was shown as a giant pitchfork on a 

PowerPoint slide positioned over an area the size of Georgia. In other words, 

we could be expected to be employed in finding the enemy—for which little 

information existed concerning an exact location or activity—in a huge area, 

in a featureless desert of fine sand, and in well-over 100 degree temperatures: 

a logistician’s nightmare (as well as an infantryman’s or an aviator’s). From 

a logistics perspective, in lieu of anything more definitive, the object became 

to provide options to the commander in hopes that clarity would come later. 

For a logistician, flexibility and making options for the commander 

means buying your way out. My unit was still in the United States preparing 

to deploy, so my commander sent me with a group of planners to Afghanistan 

to make preparations for our arrival. I needed contracts for erecting buildings 

and engineering work so that aviation units could park and operate aircraft, 

and I needed contracts for services to feed and clean up after 3,000 Marines, 

fuel, air conditioning, hospital services, etc. The key question was where. 

Nobody could tell us whether the unit would be near Kandahar, Afghanistan, 

in flat sand, in the mountains of Uruzgan Province, or as far west as Herat 

all seemed to be distinct possibilities. With that perspective, I had to answer 

simple questions with nonsensical responses. For example, a simple bean 

counter question inspired the following frustrating conversation: 

“Will the unit operate from location X?” 

“Yes.” 

“Will the unit operate from location Y?” 

“Also, yes.”

A Logistician’s Preparation for Combat | 193
“How will the unit (including aircraft and fuel and ammunition stores) 

be distributed among locations X, Y, and Z?” 

“The entire unit including aircraft will operate from locations X, Y, and 

Z all the time.”

“But, that’s impossible.” 

“Again, yes.”

Without operational guidance on where the commander in Afghanistan 

would employ the unit, there was no choice but to plan (and pay for) employment in multiple locations. Outfitting 3,000 Marines and their equipment to 

operate in one desolate place is an exorbitant proposition. Buying options for 

the commander is a function of understanding contract structure, the scope 

of the operation, and other options, as well as not being afraid of someone 

asking how much it will cost. In my unit, with the support of the commander 

and with two-and-a-half years of experience spending a lot of government 

money as part of a MEU, my team and I were at the confluence of these circumstances. Like the equipment transportation example discussed above, 

if we had not had the MEU fiscal experience to both understand contract 

specifics and gain the confidence to answer for the commander 100 unique 

and expensive questions, I believe the Afghanistan deployment would have 

been wrought with additional problems. In peacetime, the MEUs provide 

the only practical application of the wisdom contained in many books of 

doctrine.5 The MEU is the cheapest MAGTF school the Corps runs with the 

highest output of confident officers and staff NCOs, and it is a capability 

liked and understood by the joint community. 

Technical skills, such as transportation and finance, have to be practiced 

just like those more commonly associated with combat, such as shooting 

weapons and talking on radios. Flying an entire unit to Twentynine Palms 

to operate equipment that is already there has its efficiencies. It does not 

train unit mobility, and when the perfect storm hits, the Corps needs units 

that know how to prepare for movement and execute it instead of relying on 

other means for getting to the fight. One way to do this is to deploy units to 

5

 Marine Corps doctrinal publications contain the Corps’ fundamental and enduring beliefs on 

warfighting and the guiding doctrine for the conduct of major warfighting activities.

194 | Lieutenant Colonel Clifton B. Carpenter
their training opportunities. By this, I mean that there are multiple ways to 

take a unit from North Carolina to Virginia for training. 

The easiest is to have contractors put all the equipment on trucks and the 

Marines on buses. Everything gets to Virginia in a couple of days with little 

chance of equipment damage. The other way is to prepare the equipment 

and have the Marines drive from North Carolina to Virginia in a convoy. 

This has all the inherent risks of drivers getting lost, having accidents with 

civilian vehicles, losing communication with a convoy, being overweight for 

particular bridges along the highway, and multiple other potential problems. 

I submit that these are the same problems my unit faced in traveling from 

Kandahar to Helmand Province in Afghanistan, and I also submit that my 

unit was prepared for this trip because my commander was willing to consider administrative movement to training sites as training. Likewise, with 

money, if Marines want a Corps that can do impossible things quickly, we 

need Marines who can efficiently buy options. In other words, mid-grade 

Marine logisticians in conjunction with mid-grade combat arms officers and 

aviators must have the confidence to spend a scary amount of money legally 

to maximize and retain options for the commander; this skill is learned, no 

differently than firing a weapon. Young officers need more rigorous exposure to contracting education and contracting options and less crucifixion 

when they make honest, unintentional mistakes (excluding gross negligence), 

because experience is the only true teacher. 

The opportunity to practice these and other critical MAGTF logistics 

skills, at any rank from lieutenant to colonel, are in the MEUs. I recommend 

that all young logistics officers, who are preparing for combat, take advantage 

of opportunities to deploy with MEUs as many times as possible in as many 

different billets as they can. Any other job they will have in their careers will 

be less challenging as a result.

PREPARING FAMILIES

I move away now from the means by which we hope to train the next generation of individual Marines and the unit’s they belong to for combat. My 

second topic is about Marine families. Advice for preparing physically 

A Logistician’s Preparation for Combat | 195
and mentally for combat can be found in publications on combat histories. 

However, to date, the very difficult but critical process of preparing families 

has received less attention.

 Regardless of MOS, actual combat tests servicemembers’ physical and 

mental limits. This is a truism available in every published narrative regarding combat. I share nothing new, and I share nothing contradictory to those 

narratives. The only difference between this story and the others is that this 

one is mine. Preparation falls in three categories in my view: physical, professional, and emotional. For those who joined the Marines after 2001 but 

before 2013, I likely have nothing new to tell you about physical challenges. 

For anyone who joined after 2013 and wonder what combat will be like, 

believe all you have heard, all that you have been taught, and all that you 

can imagine about discomfort, sleep deprivation, and exposure to the elements. Wearing all your gear in brutal heat (or cold) and sleeping little will 

drain the energy out of the strongest and most committed Marines. The 

effects of discomfort, fatigue, and sleep loss can be offset by good physical fitness. Likewise, regarding professional preparation for combat, a Marine’s knowledge about his or her job will be stretched to new levels when 

the unit is actually leaving for a combat zone. These conditions are difficult enough without considering the emotional energy needed to deal with 

family concerns.

Emotional preparation for combat, unlike physical and professional 

preparation, is more difficult to quantify. Success in emotional preparation is 

likewise difficult to measure and impossible to know when it can be categorized as completed. However, lack of adequate attention in this area manifests quickly in combat conditions. Deployed Marines in emotional stress 

due to conditions at home are a wreck in battle. A sick child, a depressed 

or disloyal spouse, or financial distress will take a Marine out of the fight 

as fast as an enemy bullet. Leaders need to consider the situations that they 

leave at home when they deploy and the situations their Marines leave at 

home as equally important parts of combat preparation.

In 2008, when I left for Afghanistan, I was a mid-grade major married 

to a mid-grade major intelligence officer. My wife and I have four children; 

196 | Lieutenant Colonel Clifton B. Carpenter
at the time, two were very young. My wife had access to my unit’s classified website, so she knew essentially what was happening while I was 

deployed and when and where bad things happened in real time. She knew 

that things on a day-to-day basis were not fine. I knew that the home front 

was also a long, long way from being fine. But, our Sunday afternoon conversations often did not go too deep and typically went something like this: 

Wife: “How’s everything over there?”

Me: “Fine . . . Yeah, great—we’re doing great. How’s everything at 

home? How are the girls’ and the boys’ grades? Okay?”

Wife: “Fine. We are all doing great. We miss you. Talk next week, okay?”

She was living the life of a Marine officer while getting two children to 

daycare and supporting the extracurricular grind of two high-school-age 

boys. She had more than just the day-to-day struggles of single-parent life; 

one of our daughters was in and out of the hospital four times. We had our 

house on the market for four months with no offers and a different rental 

house without tenants for three months. She executed permanent change of 

station (PCS) orders from Camp Lejeune to Washington, DC, with the whole 

family lash-up while I remained forwardly deployed.

Every family, on some level, has similar or more challenging circumstances. My wife and I were able to cope for several reasons. As two majors, 

we were never in real financial trouble. We had been in a loving and mutually supporting relationship for eight years, and my parents lived fairly close 

by to help when things got really out of control. Without any one of those 

support pillars (money, relationship, helpful family), we would have had a 

much less durable emotional situation for getting through the deployment. 

Take away all three pillars, and we would have had the family instability 

and emotional roller coaster that makes Marines of any rank susceptible to 

combat stress. In my experience, I saw many Marines lacking one or all three 

pillars. That tenuous family situations are extremely common in Marine 

families should not be surprising. The majority are newly married parents 

with combined incomes in the lowest third range for Americans as a whole. 

How then does a leader address this aspect of combat preparation? 

I am not suggesting a checklist approach or a recipe. I encourage young 

A Logistician’s Preparation for Combat | 197
leaders to seek the advice of leaders who have, over the course of more 

than 10 years, prepared themselves, their families, and their Marines and 

their families for combat several times. Additionally, I would add one tool 

that helped my wife and me, which was the use of family war games. We 

tried to consider different chaotic events that might occur while one of us 

was gone. You might be laughing, imagining two Marine officers applying the Marine Corps planning process to family readiness. Laugh away. 

We took a chapter right out of Marine Corps Warfighting Publication 

(MCWP) 5-1 and played out what the parent at home and the deployed 

parent would do.6 Our scenarios ranged from personal to logistical, including dealing with a sick child or death of one of our parents or considering a 

$20,000 maintenance issue for the car or home. We talked through what we 

would do, how we would pay the bills, and if and how we would travel 

as well as other aspects of how to handle the crisis. Then, we talked to our 

extended families about the same. For example, if one of my parents had 

died, I would have had to come home. However, we let everybody know 

that if one of my in-laws died, that I would not be there. 

When my wife deployed to Afghanistan a year later and I stayed home 

with the kids, we dusted off the war games and reviewed them again. This 

activity forced us to do other things, such as update our will, powers of attorney, medical powers of attorney, and child custodial considerations in 

the event of catastrophe.

One additional benefit of these rehearsals was that I felt better prepared 

to do the same for my Marines who needed to have these discussions with 

their spouses and extended families. Addressing the family in a meaningful way (not just checking off the boxes on a predeployment checklist) is, in 

my view, equally critical for good preparation as physical and professional 

readiness is for combat. In the best case, this preparation might prevent 

a situation from escalating by addressing it before the Marine deploys. 

Maybe it keeps a Marine in the fight instead of disrupting the individual 

6

 This publication details how Marine units should prepare to execute a range of military operations. See Marine Corps Planning Process, MCWP 5-1 (Washington, DC: Headquarters Marine 

Corps, 2010).

198 | Lieutenant Colonel Clifton B. Carpenter
and that individual’s small unit. At the very least, this family war game 

preparation equips a leader with the background knowledge to deal with 

the emotional trauma faced by his or her Marines.

BALANCING INDIVIDUAL VERSUS TEAM EFFORTS

Finally, I will address what I called the individual effort break point for 

leaders. I have always been a hard worker. Pure effort is the universal 

equalizer for those of us granted less than a full scoop of talent. As a lieutenant, I could overcome my own weaknesses, and sometimes the weaknesses of others, by putting enough effort into any exercise or project. By 

simply coming in earlier and going home later, I could control and fix 

almost anything. As a first lieutenant and captain, I honed my skills of micromanagement until I could just about personally supervise everything in 

my sight picture.

My fitness reports were good because, not only was my performance 

good, but my bosses could clearly see I was committed. Pleased with 

myself, I went to AWS and then worked for two years at Marine Corps 

Systems Command. As an individual project officer and a small team 

leader, I was again able to overachieve on pure effort. Then, I attended 

Command and Staff College as a major before arriving at the MEU, certain 

I knew it all. This inflated vision of my own abilities was about to unravel. 

As a MEU logistics officer, I became responsible for multiple functional 

areas (transportation, supply, fiscal accounting, equipment maintenance, 

and health services), the collective material readiness of three different subunits, and the management of training while planning three to six months 

in advance. The MEU was too big for me to succeed by working harder. 

In less than two weeks, as a major with 12 years of service, I was forced 

to accept what pilots culturally learn at their training squadron during the 

first week: pilots do not know anything about fixing airplanes; they have 

to trust their maintenance crew. Infantrymen learn the same basic lesson 

the first time they take a platoon to the field: they cannot be everywhere 

at once and have to trust their subordinates to act in their absence. The 

individual effort break point, where one realizes that only the team will 

A Logistician’s Preparation for Combat | 199
succeed and no amount of individual effort can overcome the situation, 

requires a feeling of complete dependence. Once the break point lesson is 

learned, officers focus on the skills of coordinating the efforts of subordinates and working with peers.

For me, this understanding came very late. I was a major on my first 

deployment with the MEU in 2006. This was the first time that the conditions of pure breadth and scope of responsibility in a MEU combined 

with the degree to which logistical functional areas were actually practiced 

instead of studied, and the extremely rapid exposure of one’s folly when 

he or she talks without knowing taught me the lesson of the individual 

break point. The lesson unfolded for me through interaction with my subordinates in various areas of responsibility. I remember three conversations 

in particular that shaped my realization about the individual effort break 

point. 

The first conversation was with my ammunition chief. Real ammunition, and a lot of it, had to be shipped to a specific location, stored, issued, 

fired, recovered, returned, and accounted for. A gunnery sergeant explained to me how this would work. I realized he was speaking in a language of ammunition acronyms that I did not know, and I did not have 

time to learn them even if I stayed in the office for a week straight. I had to 

trust that he knew what he was doing. The second enlightening conversation was with my MEU supply officer. He briefed me on all the stuff we, 

as a command element, had to buy for the attaching subordinate units. I 

asked, “Why don’t they buy it for themselves?” He then showed me the 

comparison of the cost as it would affect an infantry battalion’s annual 

budget. Thus, I got my introduction to contracting. Again, I felt completely 

helpless that an officer who was junior to me by three or four years seemed 

three or four years ahead of me in this particular critical function. Finally, 

I had a conversation with a limited duty officer 0430, or mobility officer, 

who is generally the most valuable player of every MEU in my opinion. 

During this conversation, she used so many acronyms so quickly that the 

only thing I understood was “and so that’s why, sir.” Now, whether or not I 

should have been more capable when I took that job is a valid question, but 

200 | Lieutenant Colonel Clifton B. Carpenter
irrelevant to my point. For the first time in my career, I was responsible for 

things that I did not know thoroughly. Furthermore, if those things were 

not handled professionally, methodically, and completely, the poor results 

would impact 2,000 people and be on view immediately and tangibly for 

all onlookers. No amount of effort or long work hours can replace the years 

of experience represented by the senior Marines in particular disciplines on 

a MEU staff. 

These were watershed events for me. Humbling. True, but more importantly, I had to quickly reevaluate how I approached my relationship 

with others up the chain, especially my commander, and how I understood 

the relationships I had with 40 Marines on a MEU S-4 (logistics) staff. The 

hardest part for me was going to the boss with a plan created by subordinates, because they were the ones with the technical competence to come 

up with the plan, and then selling it to him without completely understanding how all the pieces would fit together and if the plan would actually work. And sometimes, the plan did not work out; what then?

Well, a leader can blame his subordinate and keep himself or herself 

looking shiny. As much as every leadership school Marines have ever attended teaches exactly the opposite, too often I have seen and have been 

tempted to blame the Marine whose job it was to know that discipline to 

reduce my exposure to the wrath of the commander. However, that only 

works once. The next time a subordinate ensures that whatever plan goes 

forward belongs to someone above him to shift the blame if the plan goes 

south. If a leader wants a team that works, he has to take all the blame and 

none of the credit and avoid that mistake in the future. Repeating that cycle 

as often as possible, he will soon find his folks have done everything in 

new ways and made fewer mistakes. Furthermore, as the leader’s competence increases, his role as translator to the commanding officer and subordinate unit is revealed. 

If a logistics officer with 12 years of experience does not know much 

about the details of ammunition, purchasing/contracting, and strategic 

mobility, is it reasonable to assume your peers in other MOSs will? In deploying the force to Afghanistan, very experienced and, in my opinion, 

A Logistician’s Preparation for Combat | 201
competent logistics staff members were pushed in their particular fields to 

the very limits of their own professional expertise. Additionally, we were 

geographically separated, but we had to work together; we had to perform 

as an orchestra trying to play a tune everyone recognized even though the 

musicians were in different venues. Clearly, any attempt to micromanage this effort would have resulted in abject failure. The trick, then, was 

to learn the control lesson early in one’s career as I described pilots and 

grunts do inherently. For logisticians, some do learn it inherently, especially truck platoon commanders and engineers. However, droves of logistics 

and supply officers spend their formative years learning the very specific 

tools of their technical trades, and we rightly laud these officers for being 

experts in their niche fields (e.g., accounting, supply administration, maintenance operations, food service, etc.). Rightly so, the Marine Corps needs 

officers who understand these fields. The dilemma is that, in the years required to become a technical expert, the general skills of leadership and 

dependence on others atrophy. 

In addition to spending time in operational jobs that train technical 

skills like supply, finance, and maintenance management, these officers 

must seek the opportunity to be in charge of something that requires dependence on other Marines in separate geographical locations. You can be 

a port-a-john platoon commander if that is what it takes (before taking the 

rank of captain). Being in charge of an indoor MOS section, such as a maintenance manager or an assistant logistics officer, is not the same thing. 

I learned to trust and coordinate efforts of Marines who knew their disciplines better than I did. And like all skills, the ability to coordinate disparate technical efforts without being an expert in any of them is painful to 

learn the more senior a leader becomes. The earlier the lesson takes root, 

the better an officer is prepared for the ranks of major and beyond when 

technical skills are less important than an ability to derive the most from a 

team. Logistics discussions, even within combat experiences, are often as 

interesting as watching a herd of turtles run the steeplechase. My own experiences—less than revealing some previously undiscovered truism about 

combat—go far to reinforce the lessons of the generation that preceded 

202 | Lieutenant Colonel Clifton B. Carpenter
mine. First, to be expeditionary, we have to practice movement and sustainment. During peacetime, the MEUs are the only tangible and funded 

laboratory for this training, which is so critical to our service identity. 

Furthermore, Marines need to train by actually operating while remaining small enough that real warfighting function integration happens even 

at the lieutenant and captain levels. Second, it does not matter what job a 

Marine does, combat will demand the very limits of his or her mental and 

physical capacity in all regards. So be ready. In my opinion, the trickiest of 

these personal preparations is the hardest one to measure and the easiest 

one to take a Marine out of the fight. Pay particular attention to family. 

Finally, mission success is based on teamwork. Effective teamwork is built 

on trust and personal relationships. No amount of hard work or PowerPoint slides or computer system monitoring will replace the dynamic of 

people trusting you and you trusting people.

REFLECTION POINTS

• How important is real-world training for Marines and servicemembers 

in the administrative or logistics MOSs? How important is it for a leader 

in those MOSs to understand how expectations change once units are deployed to combat zones? 

• How can military units use Marines’ prior deployment experiences to 

better prepare military families for future deployment cycles? How could 

Lieutenant Colonel Carpenter’s war game suggestion be integrated into 

units’ deployment checklists for families?

• Lieutenant Colonel Carpenter sums up his experience with the 24th 

MEU as being reliant on trust in his subordinates’ abilities to accomplish 

the unit’s mission. How important is the element of trust for a military 

officer during a combat deployment? How might the leadership’s management style cause a unit’s mission to succeed or to suffer? 

A Logistician’s Preparation for Combat | 203
CHAPTER ELEVEN

A PERSPECTIVE ON LEADERSHIP 

ATTRIBUTES IN COMBAT

MAJOR BENJAMIN P. WAGNER 

Major Benjamin P. Wagner is a career infantry Marine. He enlisted in 1995 and 

was commissioned as an officer in 2002. Upon graduation from TBS and IOC in 

2003, he was assigned to 2d Battalion, 1st Marines; he deployed twice with the 

unit to Iraq in 2004 and 2005 as a rifle platoon and mortar platoon commander. 

From 2006 to 2009, Major Wagner served as an instructor at TBS and IOC. Upon 

graduation from EWS in 2010, then-Captain Wagner deployed to Afghanistan 

as the commanding officer of Charlie Company, 1st Battalion, 8th Marines. Following company command, Major Wagner served as the operations officer for 2d 

Battalion, 2d Marines, and Special Purpose MAGTF-Black Sea Rotational Force 

before reporting to EWS as a faculty advisor.

In the opening pages of A Moveable Feast, Ernest Hemingway states, “After 

writing a story, I was always empty and both sad and happy . . . and I 

was sure this was a very good story although I would not know truly how 

204
A Perspective on Leadership Attributes in Combat | 205

good until I read it over the next day.”1 For me, when I am alone with my 

experiences and memories, this sentiment evokes the emotions associated 

with leading Marines in combat. I sincerely believe that any warrior who 

has faced the challenges of combat—the uncertainty, the confidence, the 

elation of success, and the dark, secret mistakes of which only he or she is 

aware—understands the conflicting emotions that Hemingway described. 

Yet, combat is real, it is not a story or fiction, but my memories of leading 

Marines into harm’s way and making decisions that directly impacted their 

very existence have left me both happy and sad at the same time. And 

while we pound our chests and like to believe we did things right, combat 

and the price paid to win our nation’s battles can leave honest warriors 

empty and reliant on the hope that when someone reads about our endeavors, that person will say that they were truly very good. Much has been 

written over the last decade about the fighting in Iraq and Afghanistan. I 

wonder, even now, why it is important or even necessary to write about 

my preparation for and experiences in combat. Perhaps, it is because I need 

to convince myself that what we have done is truly good. The reality is that 

only time will tell. 

As a young enlisted Marine in the mid-1990s, I grew up in the shadow 

of Operation Desert Storm in Iraq and Operation Restore Hope in Somalia.2

 My squad leaders and platoon sergeants had combat action ribbons 

and stories of fighting in the desert of Kuwait and the streets of Mogadishu, Somalia. I also studied historical accounts of American involvement 

in World War II and Vietnam. I dreamed of the opportunity to test myself 

against opponents who would challenge me on the battlefield in the most 

visceral ways. I had no idea what it would really be like to deploy and 

fight, but I wanted to know. I wanted to feel it. It took almost 10 years 

before I had the opportunity. 

1

 Ernest Hemingway, A Moveable Feast (New York: Scribner, 1964), chapter 1. 2

 Operation Restore Hope was the code name for the U.S. initiative, or United Task ForceSomalia, which carried out the United Nation’s resolution for intervention in Somalia (1992–

93). See Col Dennis P. Mroczkowski (USMCR, Ret), Restoring Hope: In Somalia with the United 

Task Force, 1992–1993 (Washington, DC: Marine Corps History Division, 2005). 
In 2003, while I was a student at the IOC, the U.S.-led Coalition invaded 

Iraq and so began more than eight years of Operation Iraqi Freedom. Those 

of us fighting the Centralians in the Quantico highlands sincerely believed 

that we had missed the big one.3 We believed that we had missed the opportunity to test ourselves in a true maneuver warfare experience.4

 What 

we did not know then, but is obvious now, was that each one of us would 

get a chance to share in the truly sacred honor of leading America’s chosen 

children into harm’s way. 

In September 2010, as commander of Charlie Company, 1st Battalion, 

8th Marines, beginning my third combat deployment, my Marines, sailors, 

and I inserted into Now Zad District in Helmand Province, Afghanistan, to 

conduct a relief in place operation with a company from 1st Battalion, 2d 

Marines. We flew in from Camp Leatherneck on Sikorsky CH-53 Sea Stallion 

helicopters in the early morning hours just as the sun was rising over the 

high desert peaks surrounding Now Zad valley.5 This district had seen very 

heavy fighting in 2008 –9 when Marines from 2d Battalion, 7th Marines; 3d 

Battalion, 8th Marines; 3d Battalion, 4th Marines; and 2d Battalion, 3d Marines, had wrested control away from the Taliban and helped to reinstall the 

district governor and his team. Throughout 2010, the Marines of 1st Battalion, 2d Marines, worked hard to transition the district from one dominated 

by kinetic fighting to one of reconstruction and growth. Our mission was, 

as stated to me personally by the commanding general of 1st MarDiv (Forward), Brigadier General Joseph L. Osterman, to provide a hard shoulder 

against the Taliban strongholds to the north and to facilitate growth in the 

district and to tie its government and economy to the provincial capital in 

Lashkar Gah, Afghanistan. 

3

 The Centralian Revolutionary Force is a fictional opponent used in field exercises at MCB 

Quantico. 

4

 Maneuver warfare is explained in Warfighting, Marine Corps Doctrinal Publication 1 (MCDP 

1), and is described as an attack on the enemy’s system instead of killing enough of the enemy 

through attrition to force an end to the war.

5

 Camp Leatherneck, located in Helmand Province, was the base for Marine Corps operations 

in Afghanistan.

206 | Major Benjamin P. Wagner
As a captain with fewer than 10 years in service as an officer, I was 

charged with leading more than 275 Marines, sailors, soldiers, and State 

Department civilians spread across more than 140 square kilometers with 

13 fixed positions. Additionally, I was responsible for partnering with and 

training an Afghan National Army company as well as a district police force 

of more than 60 policemen. Finally, I was the principal liaison, coach, and 

advisor for the district governor and his team of government officials responsible for the daily leadership of the population in the district. While 

this may seem to some as a daunting task, I was fully prepared and able to 

handle these complex challenges because of the training and education I 

received in both formal schooling and, more importantly, from the lessons I 

had learned from my peers and senior leaders. 

The challenges of leadership and command in combat are dynamic and 

complex. It is impossible to write one book or one chapter that captures 

all the lessons one can learn in combat. Truth be told, the lessons observed 

in combat do not truly become lessons learned until one has the opportunity to put them into practice while holding positions of leadership and 

responsibility in the future when one can apply those lessons. My personal 

experiences afforded me the opportunity to lead, teach, train, and prepare 

Marines for three combat deployments to both Iraq and Afghanistan. Additionally, I had the distinct honor and privilege to teach Marine lieutenants 

at TBS and the IOC as they prepared for combat deployments. From 2003 

to 2013, my sole focus as a professional infantry officer was on training and 

preparing for and executing combat operations at the tactical level. My peers 

and I studied, discussed, and practiced doctrine and tactics, techniques, and 

procedures that we knew to work in the complex environments in which 

we would deploy and fight. We used both formal and informal methods 

of sharing ideas, lessons, and experiences in a constant effort to refine our 

ability to make sound decisions that would accomplish our assigned tasks 

and give our subordinate Marines and sailors the greatest chances to return 

home safely. We learned from one another and challenged ourselves mentally and physically to reach the highest levels of preparation for success in 

combat.

A Perspective on Leadership Attributes in Combat | 207
Now that I was being sent to Now Zad, I had a chance to bring all that 

experience to Afghanistan. As I would be reminded time and again during 

my seven months in Now Zad, the lessons I had learned—while fighting in 

Iraq as a lieutenant, teaching as a young captain and instructor at TBS, and 

studying as a student at EWS—prepared me for the challenges of company 

command and the decisions I would have to make in Now Zad. Those 

lessons learned through personal experience in combat, however, proved to 

be the most valuable when making tactical decisions. I needed to lead with 

the compassion required to inspire and motivate subordinates so they could 

overcome challenges and obstacles on a daily basis while continually being 

faced with the threat of enemy fire and IEDs.

Preparing for combat is what we do as Marines. We are constantly 

honing our skills and attempting to build training opportunities that test 

our brains and bodies to handle the rigors of combat. It is our obligation, 

as leaders, to draw on the experiences with which we are faced to develop 

an ability to replicate these myriad challenges in training to prepare the 

minds and bodies of our Marines for future situations. During the next few 

years, it will be a great responsibility for the Corps to capture the lessons we 

have learned in the last decade and to codify them into doctrine, to instill 

them in our junior Marines, and to ensure that we do not forget the valuable 

knowledge we have gained as individuals and as an institution to be highly 

capable in the complex and dynamic environments of modern-day conflict.

Preparing for the next war is not going to be easy. Unfortunately, for 

most Marines, this means fighting the last war. Buried in a small clearing on 

MCB Quantico, one can still see the remnants of a mock village established 

to teach Marine lieutenants how to operate in Vietnam. Urban training 

centers built in the 1980s are modeled after European towns. Our bases and 

stations today are filled with training venues, which mimic Middle Eastern 

environments. While funding is available during a conflict, our institution 

focuses on training where it knows we are going to fight. It is rare to find a 

unit, no matter how large or small, that is properly oriented on the what-ifs 

of a future battlefield. Analysts at think tanks like to put together working 

groups and host conferences focused on future strategies or operations, but 

208 | Major Benjamin P. Wagner
at the tactical level, the vast majority of Marines draw from past experiences 

to build scenarios and environments with which they are comfortable. As an 

enlisted Marine in the 1990s, this meant patrolling for days on end because 

that was what my platoon sergeants had been taught by their platoon sergeants. Since the straight-leg infantrymen did very little face-to-face fighting during Desert Storm, there was also the mind-set that smart weapons 

and stealth aircraft were going to win our battles as they had there and in 

Kosovo at the end of the 1990s. Moreover, the lessons of Mogadishu did 

not adequately make their way into the battle drills and standard operating 

procedures of the Marine Corps infantry platoon. We cannot let the lessons 

we have learned fall by the wayside as the United States draws down from 

combat operations in Afghanistan. As leaders, we are compelled to ensure 

the retention of that knowledge and experience to continue refining our 

warfighting capability to maintain our edge as we continually prepare for 

future conflict. 

As I reflect on my experiences, the lessons I have learned and those I 

have been taught, I have come to the opinion that there are four basic attributes a leader must provide in combat. The first, and to me the most important, is technical and tactical competency. There is no excuse for mediocrity 

in the professional application of warrior skills. Far too many leaders let 

their warfighting prowess atrophy in favor of thinking big thoughts, and 

they simply do not study and practice the most basic and fundamental skills 

we expect junior Marines and sailors to learn. If I failed to continue refining 

my abilities to apply the full range of current and valid tactics, techniques, 

and procedures, I believe that I would not fully employ my subordinates to 

the maximum extent possible. Our junior leaders will only properly apply 

the art and science of warfare if held accountable by their experienced and 

proven senior leaders. Those leaders who most positively influenced me in 

combat were those who demonstrated the abilities to both think at levels 

appropriate to their ranks and to understand what their subordinates were 

doing and when they were tactically wrong. 

While serving in Afghanistan, my battalion commander regularly 

gathered the company commanders together once a month to discuss 

A Perspective on Leadership Attributes in Combat | 209
tactics employed and possible lessons to ensure that we were learning from 

one another and taking full advantage of every opportunity to win. After 

approximately three months in-country, he gathered us together at his 

command post to discuss search and attack tactics. The period of instruction he gave, along with numerous examples from history and our current 

operations, demonstrated a keen understanding of the battlefield and the 

responses of the enemy to our operations. He provided several examples 

of how best to employ scout snipers, observation platforms, information 

sensors, and boots on the ground to stay ahead of the enemy and make him 

react to our maneuvers. His desire to ensure we learned from one another 

and that we understood what he was seeing proved incredibly important 

to me as a company commander. I was able to better shape the battlefield, 

setting conditions in favor of my Marines on patrol. I ensured my company 

command post was reporting better, thereby keeping my higher headquarters aware of the tactical situation so that the full weight of the battalion 

could be brought to bear in a particular situation. This example of a technically and tactically proficient commander who knew his craft left a lasting 

impression on me and helped me develop as a company commander.

The other three attributes that I believe a leader must provide in 

combat are more ethereal: grace, dignity, and good judgment. I will never 

claim, however, that these are original thoughts of mine. Over time and 

through a multitude of personal experiences, I have come to value these 

attributes above others as vital to my success as a combat leader. I believe 

these characteristics are often not adequately understood by those preparing to lead and fight in combat. I did not fully understand how these attributes summarized the role and responsibilities of a combat leader until 

after my deployment as a company commander in Afghanistan. I came to 

realize that I needed to be a combat leader who served as a role model, 

a teacher, an inspiration, and a judicious decision maker to my fellow 

Marines and sailors in my company. At no other time would I have such 

complete influence over the bodies, souls, and minds of those serving with 

me in combat. The weight of the responsibility and the impact I had on my 

210 | Major Benjamin P. Wagner
subordinates in combat demanded that, at all times, my thoughts, words, 

and actions were tempered by grace, dignity, and good judgment. 

Grace is not a commonly used word in the Marine Corps and, I would 

submit, rarely understood or applied to the actions of Marines. We pride 

ourselves on being aggressive. We seek ways to set ourselves apart from 

other Services by being harder. This is true and is in the very nature of who 

we are as Marines. Yet, as a leader in combat, I believe that I must comport 

myself with the attitude of gentility and favor that enable me to have the 

most positive and lasting impact on my subordinates. Grace connotes an 

attitude of clemency, of patience and understanding. It requires a leader 

to understand the challenges faced by fellow Marines and an ability to put 

oneself in the same shoes as those of his or her subordinates. A commonly 

used phrase, “grace under pressure,” implies an ability to smoothly handle 

complex challenges or to demonstrate maturity and calm in difficult situations. There are both secular and religious definitions of grace. I submit that 

a combat leader must be both aware of and able to apply both definitions. 

The ability of a combat leader to effectively connect with a subordinate 

when discussing complex or challenging events must be coupled with the 

ability to demonstrate patience and understanding. The concept of grace 

extends to those situations when a subordinate might not have earned 

the patience and understanding of the combat leader. These are perhaps 

the most challenging leadership opportunities. A combat leader can easily 

cause long-lasting damage to a subordinate by not seizing an opportunity 

to demonstrate grace, both in the ability to look at a situation through the 

lens of subordinates or to be patient and understanding of them.

Combat, as defined by military theorist Carl von Clausewitz and our 

own Marine Corps doctrine (MCDP 1) is chaotic. It is uncertain and ever 

changing and requires mental and emotional flexibility and adaptability. 

I believe that as a leader, I must learn to overcome initial responses and 

maintain a calm and collected attitude that will positively inspire my subordinates to ever-greater levels of achievement. This does not mean that 

I accept failure. It does not mean that I fail to hold my subordinates acA Perspective on Leadership Attributes in Combat | 211
countable for their actions in combat. It does mean, that as a combat leader, 

I look at every situation as unique and take into account the persons involved, the environment, the outside influences, and the challenges to a 

subordinate’s decision making. 

As a second lieutenant, I learned much about grace and leadership 

while serving under then-Captain Douglas Zembiec in Echo Company, 

2d Battalion, 1st Marines.6 We deployed to Fallujah, Iraq, and fought and 

served there from March through October 2004. We were taking part in 

Operation Vigilant Resolve in response to, among other things, the murder 

and mutilation of four Blackwater security contractors on 31 March. Our 

battalion, along with three others, pushed into the city to regain control 

and solidify the hold by the legitimate government of Iraq. Despite the political unrest and back and forth at the highest levels, we were in a fight 

and no cease-fire was honored by the insurgents in the city. During these 

formidable seven months, I learned some of the most heart-wrenching 

lessons through personal experience. 

On 26 April 2004, following a firefight during which a Marine in my 

platoon was killed, my company commander sought me out because he 

knew I was in need of some focused leadership. He knew that my virtual 

tank was running low and that I was frustrated with the continued losses 

in my platoon. It seemed as though my platoon in particular was continually getting into firefights that resulted in the wounding or death of wonderful, strong, young warriors. Due to the nature of urban fighting, the 

combat was close and personal; we could hear and see our enemies just 

feet away, at times, as they sought vantage points from which to fire on us. 

On this particular day, the fighting had been very heavy. The regimental operations officer told me, some time later, that he had seen more than 

100 insurgents move toward our platoon’s position while watching the 

fight on a live feed from an unmanned aerial vehicle. Two Marines held the 

enemy from breaching into our strongpoint by dropping hand grenades 

over the side of the roof. Another Marine used his M249 squad automatic weapon from an exposed position in the street to cut down insurgents 

6

 For more on Zembiec, see chapter 1.

212 | Major Benjamin P. Wagner
moving in the open. While evacuating several of our wounded comrades, 

two Marines used their automatic weapons and an M203 grenade launcher to devastate insurgents firing on us from an adjacent building. Personal heroic action in this firefight resulted in my Marines receiving three 

Silver Stars, four Bronze Stars, and numerous other valor awards. Of the 

24 Marines and corpsmen in my platoon, 11 were wounded on that day. It 

was a tough fight, and my brain and body were drained and tired. 

Several years later, when I was a staff platoon commander at TBS, I 

began to fully understand what my company commander did for me following that fight. At that time, one of the required readings for the lieutenants was Passion of Command by Colonel Bryan P. McCoy. A short book 

with many valuable leadership and training lessons, there was one particular passage that speaks directly to what Doug Zembiec did for me on 26 

April 2004. In the book, Colonel McCoy discusses the “well of fortitude.”7

Though he borrowed the idea, he did a very good job of explaining the role 

of a tactical leader to manage the well for his or her subordinates. My well 

was running dry, and I needed a more experienced leader to help me find a 

source of strength to overcome the challenges I was facing on a daily basis. 

Doug told me that aggressive first and second lieutenants needed to be 

tempered by experienced captains and that experienced captains needed 

to be tempered by judicious lieutenant colonels. He let me know that I was 

making the right decisions and that my Marines were doing exactly what 

they were supposed to be doing. Moreover, we had trained the men well, 

and they were taking the fight to the enemy and effectively killing them in 

every engagement. He told me that casualties happen, and as long as I was 

employing my Marines and their weapons appropriately, I must be proud 

of their sacrifices and rejoice in the efforts they put forth to fight and win 

with dignity and honor. I would not fully understand the lesson he taught 

me that day until it was my place to fortify junior Marines and sailors in 

future combat deployments. 

7

 Col Bryan P. McCoy, The Passion of Command: The Moral Imperative of Leadership (Quantico, 

VA: Marine Corps Association, 2007), 19.

A Perspective on Leadership Attributes in Combat | 213
Captain Zembiec demonstrated grace toward me in the attitude he 

took to understand the pressures I was facing and to reach out to me in 

a way that showed he could accurately grasp the complex challenges of 

being a young platoon commander. He did not tell me to suck it up or to 

be harder or that I was weak for worrying about casualties. He let me talk 

and he reinvigorated my soul, thereby making me a more effective combat 

leader. His example of grace instilled in me a greater confidence in his leadership and a better understanding of what he wanted from me. It made 

clear to me that his expectation was that I continue challenging the enemy, 

while pressuring the insurgents at each and every opportunity. He inspired 

me to continue pushing my Marines, but he did so with compassion and 

an understanding that communicated to me that he was fully aware of 

what we were doing and how that taxed our well of fortitude. Through his 

personal example, he inspired me to continue striving for greater levels of 

effectiveness and success in combat.

Another trait that I believe is vital for a combat leader is dignity. 

Dignity is a much more commonly used word in the Corps than grace, but 

I would submit it is not necessarily understood by all. I feel that I was able 

to demonstrate dignity as a combat leader by elevating my character and 

conducting myself in such a way as to clearly show an understanding for 

the gravity of a situation. As I have studied the concept of dignity and its 

many descriptions and definitions, I have come to believe that since there is 

a significant moral aspect of combat and the actions taken by combatants, 

I must also provide moral leadership to my subordinates. This is simple 

in its basic form, and I doubt that there is any member of the U.S. armed 

forces who would argue this point. It is important to recognize, though, 

that it is this moral aspect that requires dignity from a leader in combat. 

The concept of dignity that I propose a combat leader must demonstrate 

is tied to the constant awareness that subordinates, as humans and as the 

cherished children of our country, deserve a leader who never loses sight 

of their worth and value. As a leader in combat, I must understand that, at 

every moment of every day, there are Marines in my charge risking their 

lives to accomplish their assigned tasks. Every time Marines leave friendly 

214 | Major Benjamin P. Wagner
lines, they are prepared to make contact with the enemy. I must be a leader 

who demonstrates dignity when interacting with these young warriors. 

In so doing, I can and will have a lasting impact on their preparation for 

combat and the way in which they conduct themselves under fire. 

On 12 April 2004, my platoon was in a defensive position just inside 

the northern edge of Fallujah. On that particular evening, my platoon came 

under fire from insurgent forces to the south of our position. We were at 

stand to (ready for attack), just as I had been taught at the School of Infantry and TBS. The Marines were prepared for contact, and we got it. During 

the firefight, a friendly 81mm mortar round landed on my platoon’s position, killing two Marines and a U.S. Army interpreter and wounding 

several other Marines. Because we were in an urban environment, we were 

not able to spread out as we would have in open terrain, and the channelizing effect on the shrapnel caused many more casualties than would normally be expected. 

In 2004, I was a second lieutenant who had been in combat for just one 

month, and two of my Marines were dead. I can still recall the overwhelming pressure I felt that night. I can see the corpsmen and my platoon sergeant working on the wounded and still clearly feel one of the mortally 

wounded Marines squeezing my hand as I encouraged him to hold on. He 

pleaded with me to get him to the aid station. I remember what it was like 

to walk the lines that night after the fighting had died down. I remember 

what it was like to explain to the Marines on post that two of their brothers 

were dead. I remember what it felt like to sit in a dark room and put my 

head in my hands, to wonder what I could have done differently, replaying 

every detail over and over in my head and asking if I did anything wrong. 

My platoon sergeant saw me in the middle of the night and saw that 

my uniform was covered in blood. He told me to get changed and to clean 

myself up. I was so incredibly tired, and the only thing I wanted to do was 

to lie down and rest my brain and my body. He told me that the Marines 

would be looking to me for strength and that it was my job and role to 

inspire confidence and to let them feed off of me for the energy to go on 

and for the calmness of spirit not to lose sight of their mission. He told 

A Perspective on Leadership Attributes in Combat | 215
me that if they saw me clean and focused, conducting myself with dignity, 

they would understand what I expected of them. That experience not only 

made a significant impact on me, it also taught me a vital lesson about the 

fundamental role an experienced and capable staff NCO fills in teaching 

sound leadership; the wise platoon sergeant instructing the tired and emotionally drained lieutenant. I did not learn that in a lecture at TBS or in a 

field event at IOC. My platoon sergeant taught me because he understood 

what a leader in combat must provide to his or her subordinates. 

In 2010, as a company commander with 1st Battalion, 8th Marines, 

in Afghanistan, conducting myself with dignity meant demonstrating to 

my Marines and sailors that I understood what they were doing and the 

challenges they were facing each and every time they left the wire. I was 

not on every patrol, but it was my place to communicate to them through 

my actions that I was aware of what they were doing and did not take 

for granted the efforts they put forth to maintain security throughout the 

Now Zad District. I took every opportunity to see and talk to Marines 

before they left friendly lines to conduct patrols. I would observe the patrol 

leaders conducting their precombat checks and inspections; I would talk to 

the Marines, look them in the eye, and listen to their concerns.

I am convinced that leaders who demonstrate dignity in a combat situation sleep very little. I was constantly concerned that each and every decision I made was right, tempered by experience and knowledge and focused 

on providing my subordinates the greatest chance of success in each and 

every assigned task. It does not mean that I became averse to risk and was 

then unwilling to put my subordinates in harm’s way. Quite the opposite, 

it means that I was obligated to take the time to prepare, study, examine, 

and think deeply on how to employ my assigned people, weapons, and 

assets to the maximum extent possible to defeat the enemy soundly with 

the minimal cost possible. 

Regretfully, with great examples of leaders acting with dignity, I have 

also observed poor examples by leaders of all ranks in combat. Those 

who stay inside the wire do not share the challenges of their subordinates 

and do not walk the lines at night and talk to the Marines on post; they 

216 | Major Benjamin P. Wagner
all demonstrate a lack of dignity that is easily recognized by their subordinates. Those who carelessly order their subordinates to do foolish things 

in combat such as unnecessary movements, presence patrols, or other tactically unsound actions without a clear purpose communicate a lack of 

understanding for what our Marines and sailors do each day in combat. 

Additionally, those who cannot talk to their Marines, who cannot listen 

and communicate well the intent behind decisions, fail to conduct themselves with dignity. Perhaps one of the best books written on the human 

dimension of leading in combat, Anton Myrer’s epic novel, Once an Eagle 

(1968) perfectly captures the essence of a combat leader who personifies 

dignity in combat with the fictional character of Sam Damon who is contrasted with a leader who does not, in the character of Courtney Massengale. I strongly recommend that anyone interested in further examining the 

importance of a dignified combat leader read and reread this book. 

Finally, my Marines and sailors wanted a leader who made decisions. 

They wanted those decisions to be timely and wanted them to be clearly 

articulated. I could not waffle when making decisions or wait until I had 

every last piece of information as this would be slow and expose my 

subordinates to unnecessary risk. The ability to make effective decisions 

is not a trait with which leaders are born. The skill is learned over time 

and through experience. As a combat leader, I had the obligation to both 

make good decisions and also to teach my subordinates how to make 

good decisions. The ability to do both was a vital requirement for me to 

be a capable and effective combat leader. Failure to do so would inevitably 

result in causing friction among and harm to my subordinates. This adaptive decision-making style is frequently referenced in current leadership 

development studies and is recognized as a significantly challenging aspect 

to how the Marine Corps educates and trains future leaders.8 

8

 For more on training future military leaders, see U.S. Marine Corps Small Unit Decision Making: January 2011 Workshop Final Report (Quantico, VA: Marine Corps Training and Education 

Command, 2011); LtCol William J. Cojocar (USA, Ret), “Adaptive Leadership in the Military 

Decision Making Process,” in “Mission Command Symposium,” Military Review, special issue 

(June 2012); and Michael Useem, “Four Lessons in Adaptive Leadership,” Harvard Business Review, November 2010.

A Perspective on Leadership Attributes in Combat | 217
Like so many other Marines, I have observed both good and bad examples of decision making in combat. Due to the nature of combat, decisions 

are made constantly by leaders at all levels. As a company commander, I 

was proud to watch my lieutenants make excellent decisions on a regular 

basis in incredibly challenging and complex situations. Decision making in 

a counterinsurgency environment puts an incredible amount of stress on 

junior leaders and demands their constant situational awareness and focus. 

They must continually assess their environment and their understanding 

of commanders’ intent and make decisions that are adaptive in nature. 

They must recognize patterns and distinguish anomalies. They must make 

split-second judgments and be equally comfortable acting aggressively or 

demonstrating extreme patience as a situation develops. 

Two particular examples of effective and appropriate decision making 

stand out to me from my time as a company commander. One month after 

my unit’s arrival in Afghanistan, a mounted patrol was responding to the 

identification of an IED on a road in southern Now Zad. According to our 

approved procedures, the Marines on patrol appropriately established a 

cordon around the site to prevent the civilian population from wandering 

near the device while the explosive ordnance disposal team was prosecuting the IED. The patrol leader and all other small unit leaders were doing 

exactly as we had rehearsed time and again during our predeployment 

training. They knew what they were supposed to do tactically and did it 

very well. Before the device could be destroyed, however, a vehicle traveling at a high rate of speed was observed approaching the cordon from the 

north. A young lance corporal manning a vehicle-mounted machine gun 

observed the vehicle and reported its approach to his squad leader. We 

refer to this type of situation as an escalation of force event. It is perhaps 

one of the most challenging situations in which a young Marine can find 

himself or herself and requires split-second decision making, accuracy, and 

decisiveness. As the vehicle proceeded beyond the signs posted directing 

it to stay clear of the cordon and continued toward the lance corporal’s 

vehicle, the driver demonstrated no intention of stopping. In seconds, the 

Marine rapidly employed a flare and when the vehicle failed to slow or 

218 | Major Benjamin P. Wagner
stop he reached for his M4 carbine rifle (not the mounted machine gun in 

front of him) and fired a single, well-aimed shot into the engine block of 

the vehicle causing it to stop immediately just 150 feet from the cordon. 

This rapid and decisive example of a young Marine making a series 

of sound decisions is exactly what I hoped my Marines would do when 

placed in a challenging situation. The lance corporal made every attempt 

to stop the vehicle, and when he determined that fire was warranted, he 

chose to use his carbine instead of his heavier machine gun, thereby limiting collateral damage or unnecessary harm to potential innocent civilians. 

In fact, the car turned out to contain five unarmed civilians who had no 

intention to harm the Marines, but were simply unaware that their actions 

were perceived as a threat. The Marine’s actions that day gained the praise 

of the police chief and district governor. The Marine demonstrated dignity 

and sound decision-making in the appropriate application of force to accomplish his mission and secure the safety of his fellow Marines. Even 

today, this memory remains with me as an example of everything done 

exactly right by a young Marine. 

This was not, however, a skill with which the lance corporal was born. 

Through years of operating in a complex COIN environment, we have 

learned the dangers in causing collateral damage or unintended harm to 

civilians. We have learned that the cost of unnecessarily injuring a civilian 

(even one who is doing wrong) is significant and can cause serious secondand third-order effects. Because of this, we have developed detailed training 

events to challenge our young Marines in exactly this way—to train their 

minds and bodies to make hard and good decisions in a time-compressed 

environment. We practice this particular type of situation over and over to 

formulate conditions so our Marines will gain the ability to distinguish right 

from wrong under pressure and to recognize threats and patterns. Adaptive combat decision making includes demonstrating patience in the face of 

uncertainty. Being an effective leader in combat does not mean always being 

the first to decide to act. It means that the leader must act correctly and at the 

right time. A leader who rushes to decisions leads with his chin. The rushed 

and uninformed leader is like a boxer who expends all of his energy in the 

A Perspective on Leadership Attributes in Combat | 219
first round of a fight, swinging randomly with no plan for how to defeat his 

opponent. 

In the last week of my deployment to Afghanistan, I observed patient, 

adaptive decision making in one of my platoon commanders. We had recently 

helped establish a police checkpoint in a hotly contested portion of the district 

along a known enemy infiltration route. There were numerous indications 

that the enemy intended to challenge this new position, and in response, 

under the cover of darkness, the lieutenant led a patrol to reinforce the police 

position. He got his Marines to the checkpoint and immediately had them 

move inside the structure and remain under cover in an effort to hide their 

presence from any enemy observers. Nothing happened that night or on the 

next day. He and I spoke on the radio, and I asked him what he wanted to do. 

He spoke with his subordinate leaders and thought for a while before telling 

me that he wanted to stay at the position for another night. Near sundown, 

the enemy began firing on the police position. I anticipated that the Marines 

would return fire, but the lieutenant, demonstrating a keen understanding 

of the enemy tactics and excellent decision making, kept his Marines under 

cover. He recognized quickly that the enemy fire was a probing attack, an 

attempt to get the police to expend ammunition (which they readily did). 

The platoon commander sincerely believed that the enemy would attack in 

force later in the night when they assumed the police were at their lowest 

level of awareness and preparation. 

Just after midnight, the enemy did exactly what the lieutenant expected. 

They used RPGs and machine guns to conduct a coordinated assault on 

the police checkpoint. At this time, the lieutenant unmasked his Marines, 

and their fire devastated the enemy assault resulting in three enemies killed 

in action and no injuries for the Marines or Afghan police. The lieutenant 

demonstrated an adaptive decision-making ability, which is exactly what we 

must desire, develop, and expect of a combat leader. He recognized patterns, 

understood the enemy and the environment, correctly estimated the skills 

and capabilities of his subordinates, and knew what he could expect of his 

Marines. He was confident in his assessment and knew that I would trust him 

to carry out the decisions he made. He had learned how to think and make 

220 | Major Benjamin P. Wagner
decisions. He had created an environment where his subordinate Marines 

trusted his instincts and were confident that his decisions would carry the 

day. This climate of attitude, confidence, and trust takes time to foster and 

a significant amount of effort for a leader to create. It requires long hours of 

education and training and the support of senior leaders. A combat leader 

who can successfully balance both aggression and patience has a significantly 

higher chance to succeed than one who rushes to decisions or does not adequately take into account the various facets of each situation. 

Grace, dignity, and superior decision-making abilities take time and effort 

to develop. There are various means by which one can learn these traits, 

but above all, they take practice. None of these lessons are unique and none 

are different from what other leaders have observed in combat. They were, 

however, lessons that cannot be fully learned from a book or taught by an 

instructor at a formal school. They cannot be adequately taught in the field 

or in the lecture hall. These are the lessons that the combat leader is obliged 

to remember and for which he or she must prepare. These are the lessons 

that a leader with combat experience must ensure he or she teaches to future 

subordinates. I am convinced that a leader must spend vast amounts of time 

reflecting on those combat experiences, revisiting them time and again as he 

or she gets older to reflect on and allow them to continually refine his or her 

character. Combat leaves an indelible mark on one’s soul. The lessons and 

memories are, as Hemingway once called his reflections on his time in Paris, 

“a moveable feast.”9 The lessons and memories remain with good leaders 

for the rest of their lives wherever they go and feed them well as they work 

so hard to educate the next batch of men and women who will be thrown 

into the fray. 

REFLECTION POINTS

• Several authors have presented descriptions on the value of leadership 

as Major Wagner has done. Which approach toward leadership do you 

9

 Hemingway, A Moveable Feast.

A Perspective on Leadership Attributes in Combat | 221
think is the best? Why do you think each account offers different attributes for good leadership?

• Have you known a leader (military or civilian) who made an impact on 

you and others? What are the characteristics of that leader and how do 

those traits compare with those presented in this book?

• Would you agree or disagree with the author that grace is a key characteristic for a combat leader? Does this characteristic apply only to leadership in combat? 

222 | Major Benjamin P. Wagner
REFERENCES AND 

FURTHER READING

Armstrong, Keith, Suzanne Best, and Paula Domenici. Courage after Fire: 

Coping Strategies for Troops Returning from Iraq and Afghanistan and Their 

Families. Berkeley, CA: Ulysses, 2006.

Associated Press. “Marine Lance Cpl. Andrew S. Dang.” Military Times Honor 

the Fallen database.

Associated Press. “Marine Lance Cpl. William J. Wiscowiche.” Military Times

Honor the Fallen database.

Boudreau, Tyler E. Packing Inferno: The Unmaking of a Marine. Port Townsend, 

WA: Feral House, 2008.

Camp, Dick. Operation Phantom Fury: The Assault and Capture of Fallujah, Iraq. 

Minneapolis, MN: Zenith Press, 2009.

Campbell, Donovan. Joker One: A Marine Platoon’s Story of Courage, Sacrifice, 

and Brotherhood. New York: Random House, 2009.

223
224 | References and Further Reading

Caputo, Philip. A Rumor of War. New York: Owl Books, 1996.

Carroll, Andrew, ed. Operation Homecoming: Iraq, Afghanistan, and the Home 

Front, in the Words of U.S. Troops and Their Families. Updated ed. Chicago: 

University of Chicago Press, 2008.

Chan, Sewell. “U.S. Civilians Mutilated in Iraq Attack,” Washington Post, 

1 April 2004, https://www.washingtonpost.com/archive/politics

/2004/04/01/us-civilians-mutilated-in-iraq-attack/1c9a38a8-2570

-4814-9850-0e6e5a766922/.

Commander and Staff, Marine Wing Support Group 37. “No FARP Too 

Far!,” in U.S. Marines in Iraq, 2003: Anthology and Annotated Bibliography, comp. Maj Christopher M. Kennedy et al. Washington, DC: Marine 

Corps History Division, 2006.

Daly, Thomas P. Rage Company: A Marine’s Baptism by Fire. Hoboken, NJ: 

Wiley, 2010.

Estes, LtCol Kenneth W. (Ret). U.S. Marines in Iraq, 2004–2005: Into the Fray. 

Washington, DC: Marine Corps History Division, 2011.

Fick, Nathaniel. One Bullet Away: The Making of a Marine Officer. Boston: 

Houghton Mifflin, 2005.

Gray, J. Glenn. The Warriors: Reflections on Men in Battle. Lincoln, NE: Bison 

Books, 1998.

Gregson, LtGen Wallace C. “I Marine Expeditionary Force Summary of 

Action,” in U.S. Marines in Iraq, 2003: Anthology and Annotated Bibliography, comp. Maj Christopher M. Kennedy et al. Washington, DC: Marine 

Corps History Division, 2006.

Holmes, Richard. Acts of War: The Behavior of Men in Battle. New York: Free 

Press, 1985.
References and Further Reading | 225

Holmstedt, Kirsten. Band of Sisters: American Women at War in Iraq. Mechanicsburg, PA: Stackpole Books, 2007.

———. The Girls Come Marching Home: Stories of Women Warriors Returning 

from the War in Iraq. Mechanicsburg, PA: Stackpole Books, 2009.

Junger, Sebastian. War. New York: Twelve, 2011.

Kasal, Brad, and Nathaniel R. Helms. My Men Are My Heroes: The Brad Kasal 

Story. Des Moines, IA: Meredith Brooks, 2007.

Keener, Michelle. Shared Courage: A Marine Wife’s Story of Strength and Service. 

St. Paul, MN: Zenith Press, 2007.

Klay, Phil. Redeployment. New York: Penguin Press, 2014.

Kummer, Maj David W., comp. U.S. Marines in Afghanistan, 2001–2009: Anthology and Annotated Bibliography. Quantico, VA: Marine Corps History 

Division, 2015.

Livingston, Gary. Fallujah, with Honor: First Battalion, Eighth Marine’s Role in 

Operation Phantom Fury. North Topsail Beach, NC: Caisson Press, 2006.

Marine Corps. Leading Marines, MCWP 6-11. Washington, DC: Headquarters 

Marine Corps, 1995.

Marine Corps. Small Wars Manual, NAVNC 2890. Washington, DC: Headquarters Marine Corps, 1940.

Marlantes, Karl. What It Is Like to Go to War. New York: Atlantic Monthly 

Press, 2011.

McClellan, Maj Edwin N. The Unites States Marine Corps in the World War. 

Revised ed. Quantico, VA: Marine Corps History Division, 2014.

McCoy, Col B. P. The Passion of Command: The Moral Imperative of Leadership. 

Quantico, VA: Marine Corps Association, 2007.
McWilliams, Timothy S. U.S. Marines in Battle: Fallujah, November–December 

2004. With Nicholas J. Schlosser. Quantico, VA: Marine Corps History 

Division, 2014.

Mihocko, LtCol Melissa D. U.S. Marines in Iraq, 2003: Combat Service Support 

During Operation Iraqi Freedom. Washington, DC: Marine Corps History 

Division, 2011.

Morse, Dan. “Salute to a Memorable Marine,” Washington Post, 17 May 

2007, http://www.washingtonpost.com/wp-dyn/content/article/2007

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Myrer, Anton. Once an Eagle: A Novel. New York: Harper Collins, 2000.

O’Brien, Tim. The Things They Carried. New York: Broadway Books, 1998.

O’Donnell, Patrick K. We Were One: Shoulder to Shoulder with the Marines Who 

Took Fallujah. Cambridge, MA: Da Capo, 2006.

Pettegrew, John. Light It Up: The Marine Eye for Battle in the War for Iraq. Baltimore, MD: Johns Hopkins University Press, 2015.

Reynolds, Col Nicholas E. U.S. Marines in Iraq, 2003: Basrah, Baghdad, and 

Beyond. Washington, DC: Marine Corps History Division, 2007.

Stout, Jay A. Hammer from Above: Marine Air Combat Over Iraq. New York: 

Presidio Press, 2005.

West, Bing. No True Glory: A Frontline Account of the Battle for Fallujah. New 

York: Bantam Books, 2005.

226 | References and Further Reading