Over the years, we as Americans have had a cultural war on the roles of men and women. "Women are the same as men in all aspects of life." "Women are better than men are at all things." These are the ideas that progressives and liberals want everyone to accept. This is just another attempt at the feminization of our society.
You see it in commercials on TV, and the shows they now play. It is a constant bombardment on how men are just stupid and it takes a woman to fix his mistakes. We see shows that have goofy men who can’t make decisions without a woman. Shows like modern family where a beta male is dominated by his wife, and two men are flamboyantly going through life as weak and as feminine as possible.
You would think that men can't even tie their shoes without the direct supervision of a woman.
Well the next round of this assault on equality has started, and of course, they have chosen my beloved corps to use as the battleground. Now that gays can be open in the Marines, why can’t women serve in the infantry?
First, let me throw out this disclaimer: I am not a sexist; I do not see women as lower class citizens. I truly believe that we are equals in the world. The difference is that our strengths and roles are very different. My wife is my partner in all things but we are very different in our skill sets and tasks. Women do things men could never do, and vise versa. To say though, that we are the same in all things is simply ignorant.
I would like to pose a question: Women, would you really want to serve as an infantryman on the front lines of a war zone? Also, do you really want to be seen in that light?
Now let’s break this down. Women are already in the Marines, and they think that they seen live action, face serious danger, and do everything men do. This is why females think they can be infantrymen. But let me clarify. They are not, and have never been close to anything an infantryman has done or experienced. A pop shot or IED is not combat. Sorry ladies, that’s why females were not even permitted on my "Combat Out Post" on the last deployment.
Let’s start with Physical Ability:
Women are truly good at many things and equals as humans but we are not equally created in all things. Women are not equal physically. Yes some women can run fast, far, or lift mass amounts of weight. There are also men who can't do these things. This doesn't change things. A single woman who can run three miles in 18 minutes doesn't mean all women should be allowed to fight. Please read this artical on women and physical abilities: Israel Defense.
Even in today’s corps, women think they have achieved equality through joining the Marines. The reality is, they are held to a lesser standard. For me to achieve a perfect physical fitness test, I have to do 20 dead hang pull-ups, 100 crunches, and run 3 miles in 18 minutes. Females have to do a 70 second flexed arm hang (their arms have to stay bent on a pull up bar), 100 crunches, and 3 miles in 21 minutes. Does that sound equal? If females are equal then why did we have to change the test for her?
Now, infantrymen have to be able to walk 15+ miles at a 3 mile an hour pace with 70+ pounds. Women have never been subjected to this because they struggle to keep pace with only 30 pounds and 10 miles. I don’t want to have to carry the weight of a female in combat when she cannot carry her own.
I’m not even going to touch on the physical exertion expected in actual combat. It is more than most typical men can bear.
Emotional Capability:
I truly believe that women can bear a huge burden of emotional turmoil. Women excel in this area. They can handle a certain amount of mental stress that is immeasurable. The problem is that women have difficulty making decisions separate from their emotions. Emotions are tied directly the thought process of a woman. On the battlefield, decisions need to be made with a split second judgment call. The calls a person makes will directly affect the lives of the men under your command. These decisions have to be processed logically and separate from emotional consequence. The men under you, and over you count on this approach to decision making.
There is a second point to this subject. A woman on the battlefield would emotionally compromise a man. When men deal with death or danger to themselves or other men, they can process it quite well. When a woman comes into play, it changes the thought process. We as men are wired from birth to protect women. It is in our nature and design. This is how men become compromised mentally when women are around in war. We would compromise the mission at hand, and the safety of other troops, just to protect a woman.
I will leave out how it would destroy good moral, and unit cohesion, but the reality is, it would be a distraction to men in training, preparation, and battle. This is already happening with women in logistical units.
Purpose:
I will wrap this up with one final point. Women are not the lesser sex; they just have diffirant roles then men. Females cultivate, nurture and provide life. This is a strength and gift of a woman. Men are the providers, protectors, and warriors. Why would a woman want this role? Especially since it is antithetical to her designed purpose.
In war men have always gone off to fight. They fight for their families, and way of life. Women have always been at home during this time to continue the work the man has left. Her work is diligent, and honorable. She has a purpose and men hold this in high esteem.
The system and ideas we use now work. In over 230 years the United States Marine Corps has not been defeated. The corps is without question, a force that the world fears. Why are people so desperate to change it? The military is not a political playground.
A true warrior, General Robert Barrow says it best!
Wednesday, May 23, 2012
Thursday, May 10, 2012
My War Story! part III
As I had stated before, we were in a very arid valley, surrounding us was desert landscape and barren mountains. For the most part, it was 115+ F. during the day and 80ish at night. To us this was freezing!
The most important part of this whole story would be the fact that it had not rained there in over 10 years!
As I said before in "My War Story: part II" this town would fall, come hell or high water!
Water is what God chose to give us.
Part III
The sun was setting, and the engines were running. The cool air was setting in, and it was all quiet along the screen line. We were waiting for the word: Go.
Then... Boom! Followed by more, lighting. Then the cloud cover drifted over us and the bottom fell out. The order came down: mission would be pushed back a day. The mud would stick the vehicles. The lightning got so bad we had to turn off the radios to prevent the lightning from striking our antennas.
It was quiet that night. I thought it to be one last gift from God to sleep in the rain, my favorite thing to do. Nothing beats the smell of rain in the desert, but we were all baffled by the rain. It never rains in this place, and there was none predicted. This really came out of nowhere.
The next day went without notice. It was time again, and the rain was gone. The word came, "Go". The sight was amazing. To see 60+ vehicles begin a movement to the objective. We were spread out as far as the eye could see, on line moving into a column.
As soon as the sun set you could see in the distance the air strikes taking place. Bright lights would flash in the mountains followed by the echoes of rumbling. This sent fear and terror into the hearts of these villains. It was nice to know they wouldn't sleep tonight as we drove to deliver their judgment.
Then, sometime in the middle of the night, it started to sprinkle again. The cold set in. My rifle was so cold, it hurt to touch. I couldn't feel my fingers, and the wind from driving was shooting a chill to my bones. This is when a helicopter contacted us on the radio to inform us that we just drove over an IED. He could see it because our tire had un-earthed it, making it visible to thermal optics. Then the next LAV hit it, and the next. We all kept driving over more and more. We drove over all of them. They didn't explode! We kept asking ourselves, how are we still alive?
The next call came in from the helicopter, "I've got a guy squatting on a hillside, frantically trying to detonate a trigger device." That's when the answer came. The rain. Since it hadn't rained in 10 years the Taliban never water-proofed the wires, there was no need to. The rain had short circuited all of the IEDs!
Don't worry about the guy on the hill, he found his 77 virgins.
In astonishment, we all kept driving towards the target. Not one IED went off that night, not even the minefield. The air took out any enemy mortar positions, and we never encountered machine gun fire. It was amazing! When the IEDs didn't stop us, the enemy lost the will to fight. At least until we rolled into town.
God gave us a gift. It wasn't our time. It was as simple as that. To this day, I don't know what for. I have never earned his love, his protection. I am not a good man, nor am I significant in the scheme of his grand design. Nevertheless, he spared me. This was a realization of all the Marines around me. To this day we will all tell you it was divine intervention.
The rest of the story goes off without a hitch. We showed up, and as expected, encountered immediate gun fire. Red platoon jumped to the assault and persecuted the threat while a breacher team went to work on a defused minefield.
As my vehicle rolled into this soon-to-be cemetery, a warthog strafed the town, and bunkers went up into a beautiful ball of fire. I had received a front row ticket to the biggest fireworks show in town, and a show it was!
For the next 40+ hours we laid waste to sections of this town with only a close call or two.
(A special thanks to you Cpl Ginther, for your superb gunner skills, and cat-like reflexes. You know why! I trusted no one more than you to keep our vehicle safe with your 25mm Bushmaster!)
Throughout the hours, more and more Taliban started to show up in the distance but would not dare enter our city. We owned that town!
The mission was done, and the word came to pull out. That in itself was a close call. Our engine went out, and we stopped in tall grass. We couldn't see more that three feet in any direction, and the Taliban reinforcements began to trickle into the area. Thanks to Lcpl Keehner's desperate actions, we got that vehicle out of the area.
It was over. We drove back to the start point and had a celebration. The mission was succesful, we had captured a year supply of IED making materials, ammo, left our mark, and didn't take a single casualty in the battalion. The next morning we made the two-day trip back to base, and I was on a plane in a week heading home.
I had survived a promised death because God made it known that my days were not out.
Therefore, my promise from that day was when this story is told that the rain would be the center of it. The battle itself was just another mission, no different from any other. To this day, I will always see a rainy day as my gift, and it will always bring me back to that night. The night that we were ready to die.
May God continue to bless the Marines that worked diligently, courageously, and without hesitation. Keep them safe, were ever they may be tonight.
To the warriors of second platoon: thank you for your action.
The most important part of this whole story would be the fact that it had not rained there in over 10 years!
As I said before in "My War Story: part II" this town would fall, come hell or high water!
Water is what God chose to give us.
Part III
The sun was setting, and the engines were running. The cool air was setting in, and it was all quiet along the screen line. We were waiting for the word: Go.
Then... Boom! Followed by more, lighting. Then the cloud cover drifted over us and the bottom fell out. The order came down: mission would be pushed back a day. The mud would stick the vehicles. The lightning got so bad we had to turn off the radios to prevent the lightning from striking our antennas.
It was quiet that night. I thought it to be one last gift from God to sleep in the rain, my favorite thing to do. Nothing beats the smell of rain in the desert, but we were all baffled by the rain. It never rains in this place, and there was none predicted. This really came out of nowhere.
The next day went without notice. It was time again, and the rain was gone. The word came, "Go". The sight was amazing. To see 60+ vehicles begin a movement to the objective. We were spread out as far as the eye could see, on line moving into a column.
As soon as the sun set you could see in the distance the air strikes taking place. Bright lights would flash in the mountains followed by the echoes of rumbling. This sent fear and terror into the hearts of these villains. It was nice to know they wouldn't sleep tonight as we drove to deliver their judgment.
Then, sometime in the middle of the night, it started to sprinkle again. The cold set in. My rifle was so cold, it hurt to touch. I couldn't feel my fingers, and the wind from driving was shooting a chill to my bones. This is when a helicopter contacted us on the radio to inform us that we just drove over an IED. He could see it because our tire had un-earthed it, making it visible to thermal optics. Then the next LAV hit it, and the next. We all kept driving over more and more. We drove over all of them. They didn't explode! We kept asking ourselves, how are we still alive?
The next call came in from the helicopter, "I've got a guy squatting on a hillside, frantically trying to detonate a trigger device." That's when the answer came. The rain. Since it hadn't rained in 10 years the Taliban never water-proofed the wires, there was no need to. The rain had short circuited all of the IEDs!
Don't worry about the guy on the hill, he found his 77 virgins.
In astonishment, we all kept driving towards the target. Not one IED went off that night, not even the minefield. The air took out any enemy mortar positions, and we never encountered machine gun fire. It was amazing! When the IEDs didn't stop us, the enemy lost the will to fight. At least until we rolled into town.
God gave us a gift. It wasn't our time. It was as simple as that. To this day, I don't know what for. I have never earned his love, his protection. I am not a good man, nor am I significant in the scheme of his grand design. Nevertheless, he spared me. This was a realization of all the Marines around me. To this day we will all tell you it was divine intervention.
The rest of the story goes off without a hitch. We showed up, and as expected, encountered immediate gun fire. Red platoon jumped to the assault and persecuted the threat while a breacher team went to work on a defused minefield.
As my vehicle rolled into this soon-to-be cemetery, a warthog strafed the town, and bunkers went up into a beautiful ball of fire. I had received a front row ticket to the biggest fireworks show in town, and a show it was!
For the next 40+ hours we laid waste to sections of this town with only a close call or two.
(A special thanks to you Cpl Ginther, for your superb gunner skills, and cat-like reflexes. You know why! I trusted no one more than you to keep our vehicle safe with your 25mm Bushmaster!)
Throughout the hours, more and more Taliban started to show up in the distance but would not dare enter our city. We owned that town!
The mission was done, and the word came to pull out. That in itself was a close call. Our engine went out, and we stopped in tall grass. We couldn't see more that three feet in any direction, and the Taliban reinforcements began to trickle into the area. Thanks to Lcpl Keehner's desperate actions, we got that vehicle out of the area.
It was over. We drove back to the start point and had a celebration. The mission was succesful, we had captured a year supply of IED making materials, ammo, left our mark, and didn't take a single casualty in the battalion. The next morning we made the two-day trip back to base, and I was on a plane in a week heading home.
I had survived a promised death because God made it known that my days were not out.
Therefore, my promise from that day was when this story is told that the rain would be the center of it. The battle itself was just another mission, no different from any other. To this day, I will always see a rainy day as my gift, and it will always bring me back to that night. The night that we were ready to die.
May God continue to bless the Marines that worked diligently, courageously, and without hesitation. Keep them safe, were ever they may be tonight.
To the warriors of second platoon: thank you for your action.
Wednesday, May 9, 2012
My War Story! part II
I would like to start this next part of "My War Story" with another gravity check by illustrating a little more on the "defense in depth" set up by the enemy.
In our briefing, we were informed that the two routes leading into this town were consumed with a plethora of IEDs for miles out. Once the battalion passed most of them, we would be forced into a channeled area for quite a while. This would allow the enemy time to see us in advance. They had the gift of elevation. With this, the enemy could set up in bunkers and call for indirect mortar fire. Then, once the distance was closed, the enemy could start with heavy and medium machine gun fire from extreme cliff faces and elevations that would be unreachable by foot or motor. Lastly, our arrival to the entry point into the valley of this town was speculated to have a small minefield, and we would be faced with immediate small arms fire.
What would get us through this route of progressively perilous obstacles would be our determination, intestinal fortitude, and some extreme acts of superior air power. However, planes and helicopters can only do so much.
Part 2:
I had just found out that my platoon would be the first platoon out of the battalion to lead us all there, and Sgt Platz would guide us with Gunny and Flow Following in trace. Up to this moment, I couldn't have been happier to get this mission. Now I was a little more reserved knowing what we were going to face.
More and more intel kept flowing in as we rehearsed, along with changes to the plan. We, for sure, knew this was a town filled to the brim with Taliban ready to fight, and they may have had an inkling that we were coming.
I spent the next day updating myself with the auto-grenade launcher, SMAW rocket launcher, and teaching my Marines the same. This is when the Gunner informed me that the enemy was confirmed to be in the mountains, in caves with no way out. They were going to fight to the death, and take as many of us with them as they could. This is when my long time friend and true war seasoned confidant, Brian Oberschmid, turned to me and said "good luck!"
The day was set to leave the COP. We all loaded up in our vehicles and started the full two-day journey south. We crossed the Helmand River and traversed the dunes. There was absolutely nothing for miles but heat and sand.
After two days of driving, we arrived at our staging/ screen line point. This area was a dry valley about thirteen hours outside of the town. We set in security for the night and went to sleep.
The next morning the battalion had arrived, we were all set into a 360-degree circle that was bigger than most towns in rural areas. We spent that whole day doing final rehearsals, weapons checks, and any updates to planning needed. Also, we used this area to intercept any traffic in or out of the town as people made their way north. This was to keep the town in the dark on what was about to happen.
We had a couple hours to ourselves before we launched into this. Most of us took this time to get our mind right. I personally listened to some music to pump me up and wrote a letter to my wife; a letter stating my goodbyes and final will for her and my son. I have never done this in the past. I have never felt the need. Now I did.
It was almost time to go. My platoon commander got the call to come into the company area for final revisions to the plan. I went with him since I was on his vehicle and I usually need to know if there is going to be any changes to what the scouts will do.
Upon arriving at the company area, I stepped out of my vehicle and two other Marines that I have know for a while, Oberschmid (Company Chief Scout), and Mendiaz (CO's gunner), came straight over to me and gave me big hugs. They too knew what my platoon was up against. It was our moment of respect, good luck, and goodbyes.
The plan was to start driving towards the town in the middle of the night. We would arrive around 3 am. We would use the cover of darkness, and hours of artillery and air support bombarding the enemy as we approach. This would stop the enemy from sleeping so they would be delirious and scared when we showed up on thier front door.
Part of the plan was, once the first few vehicles were hit with IEDs (my platoon), we would pull over if possible and allow the battalion to pass us. Medical would eventually show up and help. No matter what, the battalion wasn't stopping.
I had already planned to get out, if alive, and jump on the next vehicle. I wasn't going to miss this.
Now the time had come! We were loaded up. The hour had struck, and I had made my peace with God. I had written my final words to my family, since I hadn't talked to them in a month. Engines were running and radio checks were done. Every moment of our military career had lead us to this point.
We had trained for everything. Some of us seasoned, some of us ready to experience organized chaos for the first time. Come hell or high water, this town would fall at the hands of U.S. Marines.
Then the rains came...
Part III, God's intervention and the conclusion coming next.
In our briefing, we were informed that the two routes leading into this town were consumed with a plethora of IEDs for miles out. Once the battalion passed most of them, we would be forced into a channeled area for quite a while. This would allow the enemy time to see us in advance. They had the gift of elevation. With this, the enemy could set up in bunkers and call for indirect mortar fire. Then, once the distance was closed, the enemy could start with heavy and medium machine gun fire from extreme cliff faces and elevations that would be unreachable by foot or motor. Lastly, our arrival to the entry point into the valley of this town was speculated to have a small minefield, and we would be faced with immediate small arms fire.
What would get us through this route of progressively perilous obstacles would be our determination, intestinal fortitude, and some extreme acts of superior air power. However, planes and helicopters can only do so much.
Part 2:
I had just found out that my platoon would be the first platoon out of the battalion to lead us all there, and Sgt Platz would guide us with Gunny and Flow Following in trace. Up to this moment, I couldn't have been happier to get this mission. Now I was a little more reserved knowing what we were going to face.
More and more intel kept flowing in as we rehearsed, along with changes to the plan. We, for sure, knew this was a town filled to the brim with Taliban ready to fight, and they may have had an inkling that we were coming.
I spent the next day updating myself with the auto-grenade launcher, SMAW rocket launcher, and teaching my Marines the same. This is when the Gunner informed me that the enemy was confirmed to be in the mountains, in caves with no way out. They were going to fight to the death, and take as many of us with them as they could. This is when my long time friend and true war seasoned confidant, Brian Oberschmid, turned to me and said "good luck!"
The day was set to leave the COP. We all loaded up in our vehicles and started the full two-day journey south. We crossed the Helmand River and traversed the dunes. There was absolutely nothing for miles but heat and sand.
After two days of driving, we arrived at our staging/ screen line point. This area was a dry valley about thirteen hours outside of the town. We set in security for the night and went to sleep.
The next morning the battalion had arrived, we were all set into a 360-degree circle that was bigger than most towns in rural areas. We spent that whole day doing final rehearsals, weapons checks, and any updates to planning needed. Also, we used this area to intercept any traffic in or out of the town as people made their way north. This was to keep the town in the dark on what was about to happen.
We had a couple hours to ourselves before we launched into this. Most of us took this time to get our mind right. I personally listened to some music to pump me up and wrote a letter to my wife; a letter stating my goodbyes and final will for her and my son. I have never done this in the past. I have never felt the need. Now I did.
It was almost time to go. My platoon commander got the call to come into the company area for final revisions to the plan. I went with him since I was on his vehicle and I usually need to know if there is going to be any changes to what the scouts will do.
Upon arriving at the company area, I stepped out of my vehicle and two other Marines that I have know for a while, Oberschmid (Company Chief Scout), and Mendiaz (CO's gunner), came straight over to me and gave me big hugs. They too knew what my platoon was up against. It was our moment of respect, good luck, and goodbyes.
The plan was to start driving towards the town in the middle of the night. We would arrive around 3 am. We would use the cover of darkness, and hours of artillery and air support bombarding the enemy as we approach. This would stop the enemy from sleeping so they would be delirious and scared when we showed up on thier front door.
Part of the plan was, once the first few vehicles were hit with IEDs (my platoon), we would pull over if possible and allow the battalion to pass us. Medical would eventually show up and help. No matter what, the battalion wasn't stopping.
I had already planned to get out, if alive, and jump on the next vehicle. I wasn't going to miss this.
Now the time had come! We were loaded up. The hour had struck, and I had made my peace with God. I had written my final words to my family, since I hadn't talked to them in a month. Engines were running and radio checks were done. Every moment of our military career had lead us to this point.
We had trained for everything. Some of us seasoned, some of us ready to experience organized chaos for the first time. Come hell or high water, this town would fall at the hands of U.S. Marines.
Then the rains came...
Part III, God's intervention and the conclusion coming next.
My War Story!
I was recently asked by a friend to tell my side of the story about a mission that we once participated in while in the Marine Corps. In my humble eight years in the corps, I have had many memorable missions. Some very cool stories to tell, and some life-clenching moments. The problem with all these stories is the lack of substance that can actually be translated to the typical person.
I find myself continuously struggling to relay the weight and impact of each of these memories. The dilemma is equivalent to describing the color red to someone that has been blind his whole life.
When people ask to hear our stories, they expect to hear Brave Heart heroics, and an orchestra of music belting out some patriotic tune, or a flag riding into combat. While the movies portray an epic battle seen with heartfelt masculinity, this is far from the truth. Our missions can be awesome, but there is no way to verbalize it.
When you attempt to tell the stories, and you tell them about how the enemy was shooting at you, they all just look at you with the same look. Wow, that's cool but I really have no idea what you are saying. How do you describe a gunfight, the sensory over load that comes? How do you describe that moment just before you kick in a door, and you turn to look at your buddy to see that he is ready for whatever is behind that door? How do you describe every action leading up to that very moment, that pause in time?
This mission I am about to tell you is not special in the grand scheme of things as far as missions go. It is not the most epic battle to be had, nor is it a pivotal moment in my Marine Corps experience. None of the epic air support actions or magnificent work by all the marines is what make this story so great. What makes this story great is the actual evidence of Gods hand in all things.
This is my attempt to bring gravity to the situation that 2nd platoon faced and how God's intervention is the only reason my friends and I are here today to tell you this story.
Part 1:
It was the summer of 2010 in the southern part of Afghanistan. Our unit was the farthest south of any major military installation. This had already been cause for logistical concerns. Our medivac times were longer than most, and our supplies were far between. For the most part the summer had been relatively quiet. We had one bad incident that was felt by all the brave men of Arthur Co.
One day my platoon commander came to me and said " I'm about to tell you something but you can't tell anyone." I was excited! I knew this was the moment that I would hear about an upcoming mission with the potential to be awesome. He said, "We are about to go south, way south and take on a town." A couple weeks later we found ourselves in a combat out post (COP) when the official order dropped that we would be going on a mission. This mission was to be planned and executed over the next three weeks.
Certain details will be left out of this intentionally but let me just tell you, it was not easy to get this mission approved!
Once the "OK" was given, the battalion was gathered around a basketball court-sized terrain model where the official step-by-step plan was laid out. This was it for us; it was really going to happen. We learned in the operations order that a certain town was filled with only fighting aged males all known to be enemy combatants. There was not a woman or child in sight and we were weapons free. There were to be few rules of engagement applied. However, the most important part to this is the fact that this town was set up to take on a conventional fight, and was outside of the "golden hour". The phones and computers were shut off after this point. No one was to know what was about to happen outside of that meeting.
Conventional warfare is a term meaning the enemy was dug in and had a well planned defense should someone try to take the town. The "golden hour" refers to the time it should take to fly a wounded Marine back to a hospital in time to save his life.
The next two weeks were carried out in typical Marine fashion: rehearsal after rehearsal, after rehearsal. We rehearsed everything from KIA to a flat tire.
Then the ordinance came. We were given enough ammo to take on the Chi-comms in the next great war. This was the moment that it set in, we might be in for a fight. The moment was surreal, a true calm in the funny antics of Marines. Reality was starting to set in.
For a lot of us this was not our first major operation, but each one has a different set of rules, outcomes, and stipulations. For me, this was my first major operation as a husband with a pregnant wife at home, and I just found out that of all the battalion's platoons, our platoon was the first ones to go. We were to lead the way into a town that had IEDs riddled along the entire route, and enemy mortars set all along our path.
I was just told that we were about to take extreme casualties to my platoon, and the possibility of not coming back was very high.
I find myself continuously struggling to relay the weight and impact of each of these memories. The dilemma is equivalent to describing the color red to someone that has been blind his whole life.
When people ask to hear our stories, they expect to hear Brave Heart heroics, and an orchestra of music belting out some patriotic tune, or a flag riding into combat. While the movies portray an epic battle seen with heartfelt masculinity, this is far from the truth. Our missions can be awesome, but there is no way to verbalize it.
When you attempt to tell the stories, and you tell them about how the enemy was shooting at you, they all just look at you with the same look. Wow, that's cool but I really have no idea what you are saying. How do you describe a gunfight, the sensory over load that comes? How do you describe that moment just before you kick in a door, and you turn to look at your buddy to see that he is ready for whatever is behind that door? How do you describe every action leading up to that very moment, that pause in time?
This mission I am about to tell you is not special in the grand scheme of things as far as missions go. It is not the most epic battle to be had, nor is it a pivotal moment in my Marine Corps experience. None of the epic air support actions or magnificent work by all the marines is what make this story so great. What makes this story great is the actual evidence of Gods hand in all things.
This is my attempt to bring gravity to the situation that 2nd platoon faced and how God's intervention is the only reason my friends and I are here today to tell you this story.
Part 1:
It was the summer of 2010 in the southern part of Afghanistan. Our unit was the farthest south of any major military installation. This had already been cause for logistical concerns. Our medivac times were longer than most, and our supplies were far between. For the most part the summer had been relatively quiet. We had one bad incident that was felt by all the brave men of Arthur Co.
One day my platoon commander came to me and said " I'm about to tell you something but you can't tell anyone." I was excited! I knew this was the moment that I would hear about an upcoming mission with the potential to be awesome. He said, "We are about to go south, way south and take on a town." A couple weeks later we found ourselves in a combat out post (COP) when the official order dropped that we would be going on a mission. This mission was to be planned and executed over the next three weeks.
Certain details will be left out of this intentionally but let me just tell you, it was not easy to get this mission approved!
Once the "OK" was given, the battalion was gathered around a basketball court-sized terrain model where the official step-by-step plan was laid out. This was it for us; it was really going to happen. We learned in the operations order that a certain town was filled with only fighting aged males all known to be enemy combatants. There was not a woman or child in sight and we were weapons free. There were to be few rules of engagement applied. However, the most important part to this is the fact that this town was set up to take on a conventional fight, and was outside of the "golden hour". The phones and computers were shut off after this point. No one was to know what was about to happen outside of that meeting.
Conventional warfare is a term meaning the enemy was dug in and had a well planned defense should someone try to take the town. The "golden hour" refers to the time it should take to fly a wounded Marine back to a hospital in time to save his life.
The next two weeks were carried out in typical Marine fashion: rehearsal after rehearsal, after rehearsal. We rehearsed everything from KIA to a flat tire.
Then the ordinance came. We were given enough ammo to take on the Chi-comms in the next great war. This was the moment that it set in, we might be in for a fight. The moment was surreal, a true calm in the funny antics of Marines. Reality was starting to set in.
For a lot of us this was not our first major operation, but each one has a different set of rules, outcomes, and stipulations. For me, this was my first major operation as a husband with a pregnant wife at home, and I just found out that of all the battalion's platoons, our platoon was the first ones to go. We were to lead the way into a town that had IEDs riddled along the entire route, and enemy mortars set all along our path.
I was just told that we were about to take extreme casualties to my platoon, and the possibility of not coming back was very high.
Thursday, May 3, 2012
Young Marriage
The year was 2004, I was 20 and my bride to be was 18. We were young and dumb. Completely children in all senses. I am now 28 with a one year old. I work, go to school full time, and father my son while being a husband to my wife. It is exhausting. I am juggling all I can just to keep things together. I now have 20/20 retrospect on my life leading up to this point of struggling through life with a full schedule, low income, and far from extended family. Eight years in the corps really put things off; things like my future with a family that I had established at a ridiculously young age.
Looking back with that 20/20 vision on how my life would turn out, and how things would develop as I got older, I have to ask, would I have changed things? Would I have waited until I was older and more established in life to marry? Should I have gone to college before I flirted with the idea of being a father? No. I wouldn't change a thing.
I have loved every day the Lord has blessed me with the most beautiful woman I have ever met. Some people thought, and think I am crazy when I tell them I have been married for eight years. What was I doing, they ask. Well these are my thoughts on marriage at a young age.
In my previous post, I had explaind why I thought myself a man at eighteen. I was ready to take on the world with a stick and beat it into submission. This is the point: God made woman for man so that he would have a helper, a mate. It wasn't good that man to be alone. I was a man and I needed a mate; a true woman by my side. It was not good for me to be alone.
I can now say after my very short eight years of marriage that it is good, good to have a wife to grow with. It is not good to grow, and then get married. When you marry young and start a family, you are growing with your family. You don't grow alone in your ways, and fantasize about what a wife and child should be like.
I have truly come into my own because I had a wife by my side. I have always told people, if you treat a male like a boy he will never grow up. He will shave but he will be a child. If you give a child man shoes, he will grow into them and become a man.
To the boys that say it's too early to marry, or I want a career first, or I want to experience life first, I say grow up. Nothing is stopping you from fulfilling your dreams. Why not grow with a woman while doing that? Have a partner with whom to do it.
It is only in recent years that society has made it taboo to marry before 30. Since the dawn of time, marriage has been something you do before you step out into the world. Don't fear marriage. It is not an end but a beginning; a freeing of the child as he grows into a man.
Life is short and God made it glorious to enjoy, so enjoy it as God meant it, with your favorite rib.
Looking back with that 20/20 vision on how my life would turn out, and how things would develop as I got older, I have to ask, would I have changed things? Would I have waited until I was older and more established in life to marry? Should I have gone to college before I flirted with the idea of being a father? No. I wouldn't change a thing.
I have loved every day the Lord has blessed me with the most beautiful woman I have ever met. Some people thought, and think I am crazy when I tell them I have been married for eight years. What was I doing, they ask. Well these are my thoughts on marriage at a young age.
In my previous post, I had explaind why I thought myself a man at eighteen. I was ready to take on the world with a stick and beat it into submission. This is the point: God made woman for man so that he would have a helper, a mate. It wasn't good that man to be alone. I was a man and I needed a mate; a true woman by my side. It was not good for me to be alone.
I can now say after my very short eight years of marriage that it is good, good to have a wife to grow with. It is not good to grow, and then get married. When you marry young and start a family, you are growing with your family. You don't grow alone in your ways, and fantasize about what a wife and child should be like.
I have truly come into my own because I had a wife by my side. I have always told people, if you treat a male like a boy he will never grow up. He will shave but he will be a child. If you give a child man shoes, he will grow into them and become a man.
To the boys that say it's too early to marry, or I want a career first, or I want to experience life first, I say grow up. Nothing is stopping you from fulfilling your dreams. Why not grow with a woman while doing that? Have a partner with whom to do it.
It is only in recent years that society has made it taboo to marry before 30. Since the dawn of time, marriage has been something you do before you step out into the world. Don't fear marriage. It is not an end but a beginning; a freeing of the child as he grows into a man.
Life is short and God made it glorious to enjoy, so enjoy it as God meant it, with your favorite rib.
Tuesday, May 1, 2012
Sending your Kids to War!
For the longest time I never gave much thought to the notion that when we go to war, people see it as sending their kids to war. I know I didn't agree with it because I saw myself as a man, not a child. On the same token, I was leading Marines into combat that were 17 and 18 years old. You could still see the baby fat on their faces. I too looked like an adolescent on my first two or three of my five deployments.
This train of thought always bothered me, but I didn't know why. Then after watching a news commercial about it, my wife started spouting out angrily about how she must be married to a little boy then. We have been together through every deployment, starting back in 2003. She put it into words. Is she married to a child of someone, or a man that is her husband and father of her child? A man that has fought in two wars, led Marines (the biggest honor of all), and a man that works hard to feed his family.
I'm not tooting my own horn, but think about it. I'm not the only marine that has done this. So are we all just someone's child?
The answer to this is a resounding no. Once I was a child. Once I partook in childish ways. Then one day I put those childish ways behind me and I signed over my life as a sacrifice to my nation. I am one of many, but still few.
The moment I entered that legally binding contract, I was no longer a son. I was a man, a man that makes his own way, and earns his own breath. From that moment, I stood shoulder to shoulder in a long legacy of men that have fought, sacrificed, and sometimes died.
Is this the thought of someone's child? Those that now defend our way of life are young and still developing in life, but they defend us with their lives, and honor.
To call these men our nations children is to give great disrespect to their standing in society. These men answer to no father or mother. They now answer to their God, Sgt, and their conscience.
I have not answered to my mother or father since I turned 18. That day I was a man, making a man's decisions. I am a son to no one. I am a father to Isaac, and a husband to Jessi. We send our nation's best men to war, not our children.
To the Men I followed, and the Men I led, it was truly an honor.
Simper Fidelis.
This train of thought always bothered me, but I didn't know why. Then after watching a news commercial about it, my wife started spouting out angrily about how she must be married to a little boy then. We have been together through every deployment, starting back in 2003. She put it into words. Is she married to a child of someone, or a man that is her husband and father of her child? A man that has fought in two wars, led Marines (the biggest honor of all), and a man that works hard to feed his family.
I'm not tooting my own horn, but think about it. I'm not the only marine that has done this. So are we all just someone's child?
The answer to this is a resounding no. Once I was a child. Once I partook in childish ways. Then one day I put those childish ways behind me and I signed over my life as a sacrifice to my nation. I am one of many, but still few.
The moment I entered that legally binding contract, I was no longer a son. I was a man, a man that makes his own way, and earns his own breath. From that moment, I stood shoulder to shoulder in a long legacy of men that have fought, sacrificed, and sometimes died.
Is this the thought of someone's child? Those that now defend our way of life are young and still developing in life, but they defend us with their lives, and honor.
To call these men our nations children is to give great disrespect to their standing in society. These men answer to no father or mother. They now answer to their God, Sgt, and their conscience.
I have not answered to my mother or father since I turned 18. That day I was a man, making a man's decisions. I am a son to no one. I am a father to Isaac, and a husband to Jessi. We send our nation's best men to war, not our children.
To the Men I followed, and the Men I led, it was truly an honor.
Simper Fidelis.
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