Category sponsored by Rosemarie Fitzsimmons

1st Place: SSgt. Ethan Rocke, Los Angeles Public Affairs
His first place awards in three other writing categories earned him this top award for the second year In a row. His work also earned him two top writing awards in this year’s Department of Defense Thomas Jefferson competition.

2nd Place: Cpl. Nicole A. Lavine, Air Ground Combat Center, Twentynine Palms

Honorable Mention: GySgt. Bill Lisbon, MCAS Yuma

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Scars are not forever

It was an ideal. A mantra. One of those romantic assertions that grabs hold the heart and muses in the soul the question: What if? “Scars are not forever” was conceived for one Marine in the months of rehabilitation that followed an IED blast in Iraq, which left him badly burned and disfigured. Since then, the spirit of that ideal has evolved into an innovative partnership between military and civilian medicine that is actualizing, for some, that once rhetorical question: What if?

Aaron Mankin lay still on an operating table, bright halogen bulbs spilling light over every bit of his fire-scarred face: closed eyes placid with unconsciousness, relaxed jaw peeking out from the fissure between rich, disfigured lip tissue, an incision on the right side of his nose stretching the length of it.

The ordered bustle of the operating room lay outside, far above the anesthesia.

There, Dr. Timothy Miller, chief of reconstructive and plastic surgery at the University of California, Los Angeles Medical Center, looks down at Mankin’s face and focuses.

Coolly marking Mankin’s face with a pen earlier, Miller had described the goals of the procedure, Mankin acknowledging with a characteristic smile and nod – a gesture of enduring trust in the man whose scalpel has been to Mankin’s face what da Vinci’s brush was to his Mona Lisa.
“I take your pictures home with me, ya’ know?” Miller said during the examination, referring to the dozens of photos he uses to track and plot the evolution of Mankin’s face before and after operating on it a dozen times.

Mankin reached to his throat to close the airway of his tracheostomy and push the air from his lungs up through his damaged vocal chords. 
“Oh yeah?” he said, his soft, raspy voice contrasting smiling, wide eyes.

“Oh yeah,” Miller said, looking to Mankin’s mother, Diana Phelps, and nodding with a smile. “I do, really.”

This is Mankin’s twelfth surgery under Miller’s hands – “magic hands,” say some of his coworkers and patients. The lofty, soothing melody of Frank Sinatra’s “Fly Me to the Moon” wafts in the operating room as Miller makes a precise and gentle sawing motion with his tiny scalpel, a handful of doctors and nurses looking on. He trims away unnecessary flesh from beneath Mankin’s nose – the nose he built with cranial bone and skin from Mankin’s forehead.

That was the first step. Now Miller needs to thin it out, make it better resemble Mankin’s old nose, the one he had before an explosion in Iraq left him badly burned about his arms and face – the nose from the pictures of the handsome, slender Arkansas boy with that coy twinkle of charisma. Miller takes to the task with the enthusiasm of an inspired artist.

“(These service members) have given a tremendous amount of their lives to me and my family,” Miller says. “If I can give something back to them, it’s very gratifying.”

The thin, boyish features Mankin inherited were supplanted May 11, 2005. Then Lance Cpl. Mankin was a Marine combat correspondent assigned to cover Operation Matador, a roughly weeklong mission to root out insurgents near the Syrian border north of the Euphrates River. Mankin was riding in an amphibious assault vehicle when a massive explosion from a roadside bomb rocked the 26-ton vehicle.

The violent blast threw Mankin down inside the vehicle. When the instant haze of chaos and concussion cleared, Mankin opened his eyes. He was on fire.

“The instinctive reaction at that point is to just gasp,” recalls the 26-year-old father of two. “That’s how I sustained most of my trachea injuries. I saw light at the back of the vehicle and just dove toward this dry, crusted earth. I rolled trying to get the fire out but couldn’t do it. I was exhausted, and I just closed my eyes and was ready to die. That’s when I heard the shouts of my fellow Marines saying ‘Put him out! Put him out!’”

The incident left Mankin with 25 percent of his body burned. His genetic predisposition to generate unusually high amounts of scar tissue caused his facial features to gradually contort, eventually twisting and fusing his nose and mouth area so much that his mouth shrank to a tiny, taut opening about an inch below an asymmetrical half-nose that, without its natural tip, displayed irregularly large nostrils and an upturned look.  
“Initially, Aaron’s face looked normal,” says his mother. “There were no visible wounds. And then it began to draw in and tighten up. I had to use a small funnel to feed him.”

Phelps helped care for her son for the first eight months he was a patient at Brooke Army Medical Center at Fort Sam Houston, Texas, where all of the U.S. military’s burn victims go for treatment. “BAM-C,” to which it is often affectionately referred, is one of the nation’s premiere trauma centers for burn victims, both military and civilian.

The hospital has cared for more than 4,043 service members wounded in the War on Terror, and the Army Burn Center there has treated 731 of those, according to hospital officials.

Mankin underwent about 40 surgeries at BAMC, including myriad skin grafts and an operation to open his mouth back up so he could eat normally.

But, according to Phelps, the limits of the medical center’s capabilities became apparent when the care required became a matter of aesthetics rather than physical rehabilitation.

“The doctors at Brooke are fantastic, but their focus is on function, not aesthetics,” she says.

President Bush has expanded the Defense Department’s healthcare funding by more than 200 percent since 2001, and the military has made many advances in military medicine and healthcare infrastructure since the War on Terror began. But until recently, the military could not provide extensive reconstructive surgeries to its members.

General James F. Amos, assistant commandant of the Marine Corps, is among senior leadership at the Pentagon that has been at the forefront of the military’s recent efforts to address the shortfall.

“We’ve made great gains in recent years in expanding our continuity of care for wounded warriors, but change comes slow,” Amos says.
But in October 2007, the military’s slow, steady trend in healthcare advancement got sent into overdrive in the field of reconstructive surgery. The catalyst was an injection into the system from outside the government.

The prospect was revolutionary: One of the nation’s top hospitals offering up the services of its world-class, plastic reconstructive surgeons – no charge. It was exactly what the military needed to quickly bridge the gap between function and aesthetics for its disfigured warriors.

The man carrying the torch to the military was philanthropist Ronald A. Katz, a successful inventor and UCLA Medical Center board member.
“The concept was simple,” Katz says. “Why couldn’t we provide to these wounded service members not only the best medical care the military had to offer but the best the country could offer?”

Military leadership at BAMC and the Pentagon agreed, and a partnership was forged between the military and UCLA Medical Center, which U.S. News & World Report ranks as one of the top three hospitals in the nation and the top hospital in the western U.S. The partnership has since become known as Operation Mend.

In October 2007, Mankin became Operation Mend’s first patient. He was also, in large part, the inspiration for the program, according to Katz.
Katz and his wife, Madelyn, became involved with BAMC in 2006 when fundraiser and avid proponent of military and veterans’ causes Bill White invited the Katzes to San Antonio. Katz donated the lead gift at that time to a privately-funded project that brought to Fort Sam Houston in January 2007 two new Fisher Houses, which house families of wounded service members receiving treatment at BAMC.

“My wife and I visited the burn ward at Brooke, and we were particularly distressed by the number of facially disfigured service members,” Katz says.

A pivotal moment in Operation Mend’s conception occurred when Katz and his wife watched Mankin, whose charismatic personality and affinity for public speaking has attracted media attention and thrust Mankin into the limelight, on CNN in an interview with Lou Dobbs in November 2006.

“Lou asked Aaron, ‘What’s next for you?’” says Katz. “And Aaron said, ‘They’ve gotta’ fix the beautiful part … get me back to good looking.’ That really struck us.”

Katz says Mankin’s image and words that day were the beginning, but a final call to action came when the Katzes attended in January 2007 the opening ceremony for the Center for the Intrepid, a state-of-the-art physical rehabilitation center for amputees and burn victims adjacent to BAMC, and the new Fisher Houses, which Katz’s donations helped build. There were many disfigured service members at the ceremony. 

“Seeing Aaron planted the seed, but seeing how many Aarons there are was the key,” Katz says. “At that point, we decided we should connect military commanders and my connections at UCLA.”

Katz says it took about six months to marry up the bureaucracies of BAMC and UCLA, and as the details of the partnership were worked out, Katz’s resolve and passion for the program became infectious within UCLA’s medical community.

“Once the program was announced, the byproduct was a wellspring of enthusiasm from people within the hospital to do something extraordinary for these service members,” he says. “The program is really two parts: medical care and personal care.”

Katz donated the first $1 million to fund Operation Mend and helped raise more than $10 million more. The private funds cover the costs of the surgeries as well as travel expenses for patients and their families, lodging, a living allowance and any extra medical expenses. The military’s health insurance provider, Tricare, covers the cost of hospitalization for patients. 

“Although it’s expensive at our end, it’s a blessing to be able to use these funds to make such a difference in the lives of these soldiers and Marines,” Katz says. 

Volunteers within UCLA’s medical community also provide patients with what Katz calls “buddy families.” Katz’s son Todd, his wife Dana and their children are the premier buddy family, providing friendship and support to Mankin, his wife Diana and their children during Mankin’s 12 trips to UCLA. Dana also oversees and coordinates the buddy family program.

“Everyone is compelled by the cause,” Dana says. “The CEO of UCLA Medical Center, called us and said, ‘Can we be a buddy family?’ When the CEO wants to be a buddy family, that’s not your typical bureaucracy.”

UCLA nurse Priscilla “Patti” Taylor, a retired Army nurse, also leads a community group of military veterans who sew “quilts of valor” for incoming patients.

Army Vice Chief of Staff Gen. Peter W. Chiarelli and Gen. Amos, the Corps’ second in command, have both visited Katz and other UCLA officials in recent months to talk about expanding Operation Mend. 

“Programs like Operation Mend have shown us that sometimes the private sector can inject a capability into the system that we don’t have,” Amos says.

Katz says it is his hope that Operation Mend will expand beyond plastic reconstructive surgery.

“Fortunately, UCLA has extraordinary talents in many areas,” he says. “Our hope is that we will involve ourselves with other DoD hospitals that care for patients other than burn victims. If they need certain expertise that we can provide, we think UCLA has a lot to offer.”
In the meantime, Katz says Operation Mend currently has the funding and resources to continue providing reconstructive surgeries to any service members who need them, and he hopes to see other hospitals follow UCLA’s lead.

“We’re not the only place in the world that has extraordinary capabilities and talents,” he says. “I think in the next year or so, there is a possibility that this could expand to other medical centers of excellence, and if they need guidance, we can transport that to them.”
Amos says if other hospitals in the private sector are willing to further expand the care the military can provide, “We are more than ready to embrace that willingness and build a partnership.

“The Marine Corps and the DoD are fully committed to providing world-class care to our wounded warriors, but there is always room for improvement, and there may, in certain areas, be limitations to what military medicine can provide.” 
Operation Mend has provided 43 surgeries to seven soldiers and Marines since October 2007, and 10 more patients are currently scheduled to undergo surgery in 2009, according to UCLA officials.

Mankin and his mother tried to express what those numbers mean to the people whose lives they affect.

“Early on in my recovery I adopted the notion that ‘scars are not forever’ as a mindset,” Mankin says. “It was an articulation of my acceptance that this is the way I’m going to look for the rest of my life, and, with that, I’m not going to let my physical appearance keep me from being who I am and reaching the goals I set for myself. 

“That mindset evolved when individuals from the other side of the nation opened up their hearts and their homes and said to me, ‘This is a reality we can give to you.’ And for them to seek me out and ask, ‘Can we do this for you?’ is an overwhelming blessing and I think speaks to the true spirit of the American people.”

Choking up, Phelps echoed her son’s sentiment, “There’s not a deep enough place inside me that could explain the gratitude for what they’ve given and what they’ve done and what they’re doing, not just for Aaron, but for everyone. There’s not a deep enough place.”

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(To see the story as it ran click here: http://www.marines.mil/units/hqmc/divpa/lapa/Pages/ScarsAreNotForever.aspx)

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The Untouchables

Part I
In the spring of 2006, a tight platoon of motor transportation Marines from Okinawa were torn apart by a tragedy that left one of them horribly wounded. Last month, the Marines reunited here. This is the first chapter of the story.

The last time Tim Jeffers was on Okinawa, he had legs.

That was in February 2006 when Jeffers, then a corporal assigned to 3rd Transportation Support Battalion, 3rd Marine Logistics Group, as a motor transport operator, left the island for Iraq’s Anbar Province.

Jeffers was three months into a seven-month deployment the day he dismounted the lead security vehicle in a convoy, took a few steps off the road during a security sweep and had his life changed forever.

His platoon mates watched from the ground that day – the haze of dust and smoke still permeating the battlefield – as a medevac helicopter gulped up their friend, shot back in the direction the convoy came from and disappeared over the horizon.

It was the beginning of a long journey for Tim Jeffers – one that, more than two years later, brought him back here. He came back, he says, for family – the family he was taken from that day in Anbar.

BEFORE IRAQ
Jeffers arrived on Okinawa in August 2005 and was assigned to 2nd Platoon, Motor Transportation Company, 3rd TSB (the battalion has since been redesignated as Combat Logistics Battalion 4).

He joined the Marines in 2002 as a reservist but volunteered for active duty in 2005. He was 18 when service in the Corps attracted his interest.
“I wanted a challenge, and the poster looked cool,” Jeffers says with a chuckle.

Jeffers is a smart ass. It is, his friends say, his biting wit for which they know and love him, and his charismatic personality helped forge the tight bonds that defined the Marines of 2nd Platoon.

“His personality is just awesome,” said Cpl. Jason O’Hearn, who befriended Jeffers on Okinawa. “He was the life of the party. He was a ladies man. He was like my little brother.”

Fraternal bonds run deep in 2nd Platoon, which goes by the moniker “Scorpions.” The Scorpions are fiercely proud of the glory days before Iraq when they reigned as the all-star platoon of Motor T Company. They trained hard and “played” even harder. They exercised together, went to the field together, smoked and drank together and traded tales of life back home. They did all the things Marines do to become units, to become family. They felt, as one member put it, “untouchable.”

“We were taught that if there was ever going to be anything or anyone better than us, they better be untouchable,” said Sgt. Charles Trask, the tough kid from a broken home in Kansas City, Mo., who goes by the call sign “Spartan” and wears a matching tattoo of a Spartan warrior on his left pectoral.

Trask calls the Marines of 2nd Platoon “my Marines,” and he reveres them like a proud father. His fervent pride and loyalty to his Marine family is prevalent in 2nd Platoon.

Many of them came from broken homes or dysfunctional families and found in the platoon a kinship they had never known. That kinship was at the heart of the “unbreakable chain” the platoon formed before they went to war together in 2006.

 
“Our belief and trust in each other always got us through,” said Sgt. Joseph Tocci, a Boston native and mellower complement to Trask’s hard-edged disposition. “Our leaders always instilled in us to be the best, and we always were.”

Before they left for Iraq, 2nd Platoon, Tocci says, had the highest physical fitness test average in the company, and the platoon won every unit competition that came along.

They were untouchable.

‘YOU EITHER FIND ‘EM, OR YOU HIT ‘EM’
When the Scorpions went to Iraq in 2006, they were assigned the mission of security platoon and worked out of Al Asad Air Base, the biggest base in Anbar Province, supporting convoys that supplied forward operating bases in the area. The mission was arduous, nerve-racking and never-ending.

The battalion the Scorpions supported lost eight Marines within the first six weeks they were on the ground, and the harsh realities of war quickly set in for them.

“It was definitely a culture shock,” Tocci says. “We were like, ‘It’s no joke over here.’”

With improvised explosive devices and snipers the two biggest threats in Iraq, the Scorpions’ mission was to find and protect against those threats during convoy operations.

“You either find ‘em or you hit ‘em,” Tocci said about the stark reality they faced either spotting IEDs or triggering them. “We were the ones right in front looking out. You have to really have that eagle’s eye to see them.”

The platoon was attacked with IEDs continuously. Trask was hit with an IED himself but suffered only minor injuries and returned to duty.
“It was IED after IED after IED,” he said. “I expected the enemy to be right in my face like a football game. It wasn’t like that. It was an enemy that was right there in our face that we couldn’t see.”

The invisible enemy loomed constantly under roadside rocks and rubble. The Marines regarded every object with suspicion and contempt.

‘YOU TELL THEM WHAT THEY NEED TO KNOW’ 
Marines have an informal doctrine for mourning. A Marine’s mourning process is often abbreviated and stored away, to be indulged in some time later when it isn’t a battlefield liability. It is a very unnatural act to swallow a heart full of sorrow, but it is a necessary sacrifice Marines make for the sake of the mission.

“You tell them what they need to know,” Trask said, describing the process. “You give them the least bit of information to carry on, and when the mission is accomplished, you give them some time to mourn. Then you get them focused again.”

The day Jeffers was wounded, Cpl. John Rockwell, Jeffers’ next-door neighbor in the barracks on Okinawa, was on a separate convoy. When the Marines reached their destination, a lieutenant pulled everyone together and passed the news.

“She told us one of our own got hit,” Rockwell said. “She didn’t tell us how bad until later, but they don’t tell us somebody got hit unless something bad happened.”

Rockwell and Jeffers, who both hail from Orange County in Southern California, forged a strong friendship on Okinawa.

“Me and Jeffers got really close,” Rockwell said. “We were a lot alike because we’re from the same area.”

When Rockwell learned what had happened to Jeffers it hit him hard.

“I can’t really explain the feeling,” he said. “It’s horrible. It’s just the worst feeling possible.”

O’Hearn, who was attached to an engineer unit, also got an initial vague report.

“At first, I thought, ‘he’s fine,’” he said. “I had to tell myself that. That’s like my brother. I had to tell myself that to stay sane.”
He found out the next day how bad Jeffers had been hit.

“I broke down,” O’Hearn said. “I was bawling. When I heard the extent of his injuries, I didn’t think he was going to make it. I thought ‘how could anyone live through that?’”

Cpl. Carl Drexler was in the convoy with Jeffers, but he was far back in the snaking procession of vehicles.

The convoy stopped when a vehicle in the rear was hit with an IED. Jeffers, who was the pace vehicle commander, did what he was trained to do. He got out to sweep the area around his vehicle for IEDs or insurgents.

Drexler heard the call come over the radio moments later: “We lost a man.”

He initially assumed it wasn’t anyone from 2nd Platoon. “We figured maybe it was a contractor or something because they didn’t say Marine.”
But when the convoy arrived at Al Qaim, Drexler saw someone else in Jeffers’ seat.

“As soon as I saw he wasn’t there, I knew it was bad,” he said. “I’d seen a lot of guys get hit, and they don’t get medevac’d. They just go in a different track.”

Drexler grabbed a Marine who had been close to the incident and demanded to know what happened. He asked three times before the Marine revealed his horrible secret.

“He told me both his legs got blown off.”

Drexler figured his friend was dead. He thought he would have bled to death on the chopper ride.

“I just wanted to stop,” he said “I didn’t want to go back out there.”

The platoon’s leaders knew the other Marines would have similar thoughts. They pulled the Marines together. 

“When you take that unbreakable chain you’ve built and then break it, the whole thing can fall apart,” Trask said. “Our staff sergeant brought us together and told us ‘no matter how much we want to quit, no matter how much we hate this situation, we can’t let it tear us apart.’”

And they didn’t let it tear them apart, but, as Drexler put it, none of them were the same after that.

“We were all just down for the next few weeks.”

While they were down, Jeffers was in a coma.  

(NOTE: If you would like to read the article as run, click here: http://www.okinawa.usmc.mil/OkiMar/PDFs/08/0411.pdf)

Part II
 A year had passed when Tim Jeffers finally caught up with his old platoon. He had spent the time rehabilitating and rebuilding his life. His friends were training to go back to Iraq.

“I just remember screaming and swearing a lot.”

That’s how Tim Jeffers recalls May 18, 2006 – the day an improvised explosive device claimed both his legs, one eye, nearly half his skull and his right ring finger.

Everything is dark for about a month after that – the frozen time when his world was eclipsed by coma – before he woke up at Bethesda Naval Medical Center in Maryland.

“I just remember waking up with my dad’s ugly face looking over me,” Jeffers says in his usual jocular tone. Bethesda was the third or fourth stop on his trip from that roadside in Anbar. There was the first stop at the field hospital at Al Asad, where, a lieutenant from his company tells him, he “got a little mouthy.”

He probably spent some time at the largest American hospital in Iraq at Balad Air Base before he left the country four days after he was hit, but Jeffers can’t be sure.

He was flown to Landstuhl Regional Medical Center in Germany – the standard go-between for wounded service members from Iraq to the U.S. – where Cpl. Chris Jeffers, a motor transport operator stationed on Camp Kinser at the time, was sent to be with his brother and take him home. Chris was dispatched there, Tim says, by order of then Commandant of the Marine Corps Gen. Michael W. Hagee.

“General Hagee asked if there was anything he could do,” Tim said. “And my dad said, ‘Send Chris to be with him.’” After Tim awoke at Bethesda, he was there for about two weeks before he moved to the Veterans Affairs Hospital in Palo Alto, Calif., one of the country’s premiere providers of the Polytrauma care required by people like Tim who have suffered multiple traumatic injuries.

He spent eight months in Palo Alto undergoing full-time rehabilitation. Every Monday through Friday, his days were packed. He underwent speech therapy and worked with a neuropsychologist to reacquire some of the cognitive skills he lost from his traumatic brain injury. He worked with occupational therapists to overcome the moderate paralysis he suffered in his right arm. He went through blind rehabilitation to adjust to the loss of depth perception that comes with having only one eye. And then there was the physical therapy and prosthetics training, which Tim did twice daily.

“I was the one in the worst condition at Palo Alto,” Tim said. “It was kind of depressing to see other patients coming in the door and then having to watch them go right back out a few weeks later. It sucked because I was there forever.”

But forever at Palo Alto came to end, and Tim was transferred to the Marines’ Wounded Warrior Battalion West at Balboa Naval Medical Center in San Diego, one of the top prosthetics training facilities in southern California. Tim was happy to be with a Marine unit again. There were formations and field days and cammies – not that he necessarily missed those things. It was the Marines he missed, the people.

Tim was exempted from most of the regimentation and formalities at Balboa, which were aimed primarily at the Marines who would return to duty.

“It’s not the same as the fleet because the primary mission is rehab,” Tim said, describing life at Balboa. “But a lot of Marines there aren’t getting out; they’re going back to the fleet. The environment is intended to set everyone up for success.”

Tim was on his way to a medical retirement, and he assumed a quiet, comfortable role in his new unit.

“If you’re a (noncommissioned officer), you act like an NCO out there. I was just Cpl. Jeffers, the funny crippled corporal,” he quipped.

While Tim was adjusting to life with his new unit at Balboa and preparing to leave active duty, his old unit was starting another deployment training cycle and preparing to leave for Iraq.  

ONE YEAR LATER
It was Iraq that fractured 2nd Platoon’s family, and it was Iraq that brought them back together.

Okinawa units deploying to Iraq have to travel to California or Arizona for desert training. That’s how Combat Logistics Battalion 4 came to be in the Mojave Desert almost one year from the day Jeffers was wounded. The unit deployed to Marine Corps Air Ground Combat Center Twenty-nine Palms, about a three-hour drive north from Balboa.

Tim’s 2nd Platoon brothers saw an opportunity to reunite with their friend. They piled in a van and made the trip to San Diego. It had been a yearlong fight for Tim – the wounds, the pain and suffering, the emotional turmoil, the struggle to retake control of his life. The Marines were nervous. What would Tim be like? How would he act? Would he still be Tim?

Cpl. Carl Drexler remembers waiting anxiously at the medical center to meet his friend. Tim saw Drexler first and called to him from a distance. For a moment, Drexler didn’t recognize the Marine he described as his “smoke break buddy” in Iraq.

“It was kind of hard to see him in that condition,” Drexler said. “It kind of took me back to the day it happened for a second. The last time I saw him, we were just smoking like it’s cool before a convoy.”

Drexler stood frozen as the other Marines flocked to Tim, exchanging handshakes and hugs. It was a moment before Drexler could see the friend he remembered.

“Once I saw he was the same old Jeffers, I was just glad he was still the great person I remembered,” Drexler said.

All the Marines had shared the same human hope in those anxious moments – that the way things were might still be within reach. As if anyone remains unchanged by a year’s passing. As if anyone is unchanged by the brutal lessons of combat.

“We were all remembering what he was like and thinking, ‘I hope he’s the same person,’” said Cpl. Jason O’Hearn. “I wanted to cry when I first saw him. I’d never seen anybody who’d been wounded like that before.”

But on the other side of the Marines’ anxiety and nervousness was a glowing Tim. The man who had been through hell and back had emerged with all the virtues and warmth of character that made his friends love him. Tim was still Tim.

“He’s still a wisecracker, the same joker as before,” O’Hearn said. “He’s still the same old Tim – my brother – just a little bit smaller.”

Without saying anything, Tim taught his friends a lesson that day – about looking forward, about being thankful for friends, for family, for life. And Tim felt, at the same time, the healing power of getting back some of that which was lost. The friends and memories, the handshakes and hugs, the smiles and laughter – those things had emerged unscathed from that violent flash in Anbar.

Those things were still untouchable.

 (NOTE: If you would like to read the article as run, click here: http://www.okinawa.usmc.mil/OkiMar/PDFs/08/0418.pdf)

Part III
 They were there; then they were gone again. It was a short reunion for Tim and his 2nd Platoon family. There was some healing, some relief, some happiness. Then it was over. The family parted ways again. His friends looked toward another tour in Iraq, and Tim looked back toward his new life in San Diego.

Tim spent another year in rehabilitation. He made the transition from active duty and used his medical retirement income to buy a place in San Diego where he could be close to Balboa and continue his prosthetics training, the portion of his rehabilitation he has found particularly cumbersome.

“It’s very difficult for above-knee, bilateral amputees,” Tim says. “It’s agitating watching other amputees walk after three months. I mean, I’m happy for them, but I just wish I could do it as easily.”

Tim works hard at walking on his prosthetics. He makes the trip from his condominium in the east San Diego suburb of La Mesa to Balboa three or four times a week. Balancing without help of a cane is difficult. Walking is quite a chore without legs.

Getting around in general is an involved process these days. Tim’s Traumatic Brain Injury causes a seizure disorder that the California Department of Motor Vehicles deems a safety risk behind the wheel, and his driver’s license was suspended as a result.

Traumatic Brain Injury has many debilitating effects, but Tim stubbornly refuses to let the injury deter his quest for independence.

“I don’t like to admit I have as much TBI as I do,” he says. “I don’t feel I have a bad memory problem. I get brain farts here and there, but it’s not that bad.”

Tim lives alone in his two-bedroom condo, and he is, for the most part, independent. He likes having a place to himself, but he also appreciates having his new Marine family close by in San Diego.

He remains in contact with Marines at the Wounded Warrior Battalion, and despite having no official obligation, Tim’s gunny from Balboa provides him transportation whenever he needs it.

“I call him for rides, and he always comes, no questions asked,” Tim says.

Marines take care of Marines. That unofficial mantra is inherent among them. From the closest bonds fortified by war, to strangers in a bar whose only commonality is the title – there is a tendency among Marines to go out of their way to help one another.

While Tim sought to become independent, he leaned comfortably on that tendency.

A NEW FRIEND
When he made the transition to the Veterans Affairs health system, Tim added another member to his Marine family, one that he was connected to in more ways than he could have imagined.

Retired Master Sgt. Joe Sturdivant left Okinawa May 23, 2005, two days before Tim officially transferred from the reserves to active duty. The position Sturdivant left was motor transportation chief at Motor T Co., 3rd Transportation Support Battalion – the unit Tim joined a few months later.

Sturdivant moved on to his final duty station at Camp Pendleton, Calif., and deployed to Iraq a few months later. In Iraq, he worked out of Camp Korean Village, a forward operating base in Anbar that protected the Syrian and Jordanian borders from insurgent activity. Jeffers protected convoys that supplied the base.

Sturdivant returned from Iraq March 29, 2006 and retired from the Corps Sept. 30 of that year. He started working as an addiction therapist a few months later at the Veterans Affairs Hospital in La Jolla, the opulent, coastal suburb in San Diego.

When the secretary of the Department of Veterans Affairs mandated the establishment of Seamless Transition Teams to provide better continuity of care from the DoD health care system to the VA, Sturdivant became a Transition Patient Advocate. TPAs serve as caseworkers for vets like Tim, tracking progress and providing a constant arm of support within the system for everything from explaining entitlements to helping TBI sufferers make it to appointments.

The TPA concept, Sturdivant says, was to hire combat vets who could provide patients the one thing medical staff couldn’t: empathy through shared experience.

“A lot of clinic staff don’t know how to connect and communicate with these vets,” Sturdivant says. “That’s where we come in.” Their similar backgrounds helped Sturdivant and Tim connect easily, and their working relationship quickly blossomed into a friendship.
As his family in San Diego grew, Tim kept in touch with 2nd Platoon in Iraq. He watched the calendar, kept them in his prayers and looked forward to their safe return.

As the end of their deployment approached, Tim planned another reunion – one that wouldn’t be abbreviated and rushed. He asked Sturdivant to go back to Okinawa with him.

“At first, I was like ‘Are you serious?’” Sturdivant says. “I was flattered that he would ask me. I broached it with my program manager, and he absolutely supported it. This is a special case; this guy’s coming back here for closure.”

Tim dismisses the notion that the trip was about closure. He says it’s simpler than that.

“I wanted to keep in contact with these guys,” he said. “They’re the ones who kept me from dying, and I wanted to see them together before they all change duty stations and get scattered all over.”

He shrugged.

“It’s family; ya’ know?”

DIFFERENT IRAQ, DIFFERENT PLATOON
In the summer of 2007, 2nd Platoon returned to a much different Iraq than the one they left a year earlier. The tides had turned in Anbar Province. The area that was once one of the most volatile insurgent hotbeds in the country had become one of the most secure areas in Iraq.
Sunni tribal leaders in the region, tired of the brutality insurgents wielded against their people, turned against the insurgency and allied themselves with American forces, embracing the security the alliance provided.

And while the operational tempo on the ground had changed, so had the platoon dynamic. As platoon members were spread out to different areas and sections with different missions, the tightness the Marines had known before unraveled.

They enjoyed more security, but the Marines regarded the new calm with unease. Mostly, they missed the closeness they knew before.

As is often the case in war, the rigors they faced in 2006 had a galvanizing effect on the Scorpions.

“The situations we’re put in, having to depend on each other – you get used to it,” says Cpl. John Rockwell. “You don’t ever have to think about whether your brothers will have your back; you know they’re there. It’s a way of life.”

‘THAT MOMENT’
Combat Logistics Battalion 4 returned to Okinawa March 20. They filed off busses to meet friends and family at the Community Center on Camp Foster.

To most of the returning Marines, the small, spectacled young man in the wheelchair was a stranger. To a handful of seasoned Marines from Motor T Company, he was the missing man who had finally come home.

“There’s nothing I would ever trade in the world,” says Sgt. Charles Trask, “for that moment – when I saw Jeffers sitting there waiting for us, just waiting for us to say hi. To see our brother just waiting for us to come back and welcome us home …”

He tapered off.

‘THE HARDEST THING I EVER DID’
Trask and Tim were corporals together in Iraq. Tim slept in the bunk above Trask at Al Asad. Tim’s was usually the first face Trask saw every day when he woke up.

Trask was the turret gunner in a scout vehicle ahead of the convoy the day Tim was hit.

When the rear vehicle was hit with the first IED, Trask’s vehicle got the call to provide security. The crew made their way to the rear of the convoy. Mortars started impacting nearby, and one hit an oil tanker. The tanker erupted into a mass of flames and black, billowing smoke.
“I thought, ‘Oh f—,” Trask said. “This is a bad day.”

Then Trask heard the radio transmission that a man was down.

Again, the crew was redirected to provide security. Driving back toward the front of the convoy, Trask wondered who had been hit.

“I was thinking ‘who could it be?’” he said. “I thought it couldn’t be Jeffers because he’s the only Marine who was in church every Sunday.”
When Trask arrived, a Marine from Tim’s vehicle and a corpsman were treating the wounded Marine, scrambling to tie tourniquets on his legs and control the bleeding from his head.

The violent scene pulled Trask’s eyes from the direction of his gun toward his brother, now a bloody mess on the ground. He traced the trails. There was so much blood. His heart twisted in his chest. Adrenaline set his thoughts afire. His emotions shot through him like hot shrapnel from an artillery blast.

Trask felt the unrelenting force of instinct pulling him to Tim – the same unexplainable compulsion that causes Marines to lurch forward in battle when other men would shrink, the same compulsion that had already pulled Tim’s gunner, Sgt. Joshua Vee, out of his turret to immediately tie the tourniquets that saved Tim’s life.

“The hardest thing I ever did was have to sit in a gun turret and watch him laid out on the ground while other people fixed him,” he says. “All I wanted to do was be there next to him, but I had to stay right there in that gun turret, not because I wanted to, but because my staff sergeant told me to – to do my job and pull security.”

Trask scanned his sector, violent thoughts of retribution flooding his mind: “Let this be the day the enemy reveals himself – a trigger man, an ambush, anything.” Trask looked for a target on which to unleash his agony in those tortured moments as he called out to let Tim know he was with him.

“I love you, Jeffers!” he screamed at the top of his lungs from the turret. “I love you! You’re gonna be all right!”

He kept screaming. The medevac helicopter swooped in and grabbed Tim, and the convoy drove on.

“We delivered the goods and got home,” Trask says. “That’s our sacrifice.”

GETTING BACK
When 2nd Platoon returned from Iraq last month, there was much to celebrate. Everyone had made it back alive and in one piece, and the only man who was missing from the return flight to Okinawa the first time was finally back with his family.

About a half dozen of the original Scorpions planned a celebratory weekend getaway at the Okuma Recreation Facility on Okinawa’s northwestern coast March 28-30. It was the perfect setting to have the reunion they had wanted to have for so long.

They spent the weekend getting back – back to Okinawa, back to family, where they had been before. They went jet skiing, talked about girls, smoked and drank, talked about life, cracked jokes, razzed each other endlessly.

“This is probably the best weekend I’ve had on Okinawa,” said Cpl. Jason O’Hearn. “This is about family, about relaxing after a deployment. It’s a calming therapeutic feeling – being out here with the crew. I couldn’t ask for anything more.”

Trask says the Marines who gathered that weekend had bound themselves to one another long ago in the untouchable days before Iraq.
“Before or after what happened to Tim, any one of us would give our life for each other,” he says.

Sgt. Joseph Tocci says it’s a feeling that can’t be articulated to outsiders.

“These guys are the best people in the world,” he said. “You think you have friends back home, but those friendships don’t compare to this. There’s no better feeling.”

IN THE DISTANCE
That Sunday afternoon at Okuma, the Marines packed their things and went back home. Tim flew back to California the next day. It was probably the last time they’ll all get together that way.

Trask, O’Hearn, and Cpl. Daniel Lopez all reenlisted to stay in the Corps at least a few more years. Tocci, Rockwell and Drexler are all getting out.
Life will propel them all forward, further into the uncertain depths of tomorrow. And when it does, they’ll look over their shoulders from time to time and glance back at the days of youth when the world was theirs, when the only thing they needed was each other – the days when they were untouchable.

And someday they’ll meet again, and they’ll say, “Remember when …”

(NOTE: If you would like to read the article as run, click here:  http://www.okinawa.usmc.mil/OkiMar/PDFs/08/0425.pdf)

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Death of the Marksman

New rifle qualification aggregate scoring system elevates mediocre shooters, lowers Corps’ standards
Say goodbye to the Marine Corps marksman.

From now on, all Marines will be either sharpshooters or experts.

Those lines may as well be written into the new Marine Corps Combat Marksmanship Program order, which has effectively lowered the Corps’ standard for excellence in rifle marksmanship.

That may just be my humble opinion, but I am predicting, and hoping, that once Corps officials run the numbers and analyze the statistical evidence of how many Marines are earning a classification of sharpshooter or expert now compared to before our rifle qualification standards changed, they will come to the same conclusion.

The problem is that the new aggregate scoring system combines a shooter’s scores from the fundamental marksmanship portion, Table 1, and the combat marksmanship portion, Table 2, and that aggregate score now determines a shooter’s badge classification.

The new system eliminates, on the fundamental marksmanship course, the minimum score a shooter must receive to earn a classification above marksman. Shooters used to have to obtain a minimum score of 210 or 220 (out of a possible 250) on the fundamental course to earn a classification of sharpshooter or expert respectively. Those days are no more.

The aggregate score minimums are now 305-350 for expert, 280-304 for sharpshooter, and 250-279 for marksman.

Under the new system, a Marine can leave the fundamental course a marksman, shooting anywhere from 205 to 209, and still elevate his classification straight past sharpshooter to expert by shooting anywhere from a 96 to the maximum score of 100.

I completed my annual rifle qualification a few weeks ago, and I was highly disappointed by the droves of Marines who were giddy over the fact that they were able to make up for a mediocre performance on Table 1 with a decent performance on Table 2.

Two Marines from my office were on the range with me. Both had never qualified above marksman. Both shot below a 210 on the fundamental course. Both left the range sharpshooters. This type of outcome was rampant across the entire range detail.

One Marine on my detail shot a 193 on Table 1, just three points above the minimum score needed to pass the table, and still walked away from Table 2 with a brand new shiny sharpshooter badge. This amused him, just like it amused all the other Marines who walked away from the range this year with a new notion of what is average, excellent or outstanding when it comes to a Marine’s ability with a rifle. The fact that Marines are literally laughing at this new system speaks volumes about its impact on our standards.

I collected data on 176 shooters who qualified with the new system on Okinawa. Of those 176 shooters, 93 qualified as experts, 53 qualified sharpshooter and seven qualified marksman. Twenty did not qualify, either because they did not meet minimum standards or because they were dropped from their range details for other reasons such as faulty weapons.

I don’t have older data to compare those numbers against, but I’m betting, based on strong anecdotal evidence, that experts were not always in the strong majority, and marksman were not always a virtually nonexistent minority.

The new Marine Corps Combat Marksmanship order articulates the reason behind the implementation of Table 2 into annual qualification training: “Combat ready Marines must be … highly proficient in the use of firearms. Well-trained Marines have the confidence required to deliver accurate fire under the most adverse battle conditions. The rifle is the primary means by which Marines accomplish their mission … The objective of marksmanship training is to develop, sustain, and improve individual combat shooting skills.”

I agree 100 percent with all that and am glad the Corps has implemented Table 2 into annual qualification. It is valuable training.
What I don’t agree with is the way the aggregate scoring system has degraded the distinction of what an expert shooter is by Marine standards.
Under these new standards, the Corps has opened the doors and welcomed everyone to the party: “Chips and dip to the right, sharpshooter and expert badges to the left. Please check any sense of what excellence is at the door.”

If the aggregate system is here to stay, it needs to be revised, and the standard needs to be raised. The Table 1 minimum scores for each classification need to come back at the least. That alone might be enough, but we should also consider the fact that a shooter’s proficiency with a rifle should be measured consistently. We used to require 84 percent hits for sharpshooter and 88 percent hits for expert on Table 1. Maybe we need to require the same minimums on both tables.

Some Marines might shudder at that elevated standard, which would mean a bad day of combat marksmanship shooting could mean the loss of a higher badge classification. What those Marines should shudder at is that right now we have a system that has drastically lowered our standards.

Last time I checked, lowering standards is something Marines don’t do.

(To see the story as it ran click here: http://www.okinawa.usmc.mil/OkiMar/PDFs/08/0509.pdf)

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War Photographer Shows Iraq Through the Lens

Ashley Gilbertson had heard the trivial radio transmission dozens of times in Iraq, but he didn’t learn its true meaning until leaving the country in 2006 after nearly four years as a war photographer there.

Apparently, he thought the transmission’s coded meaning was a fitting title for a photo book about war.

“Whiskey Tango Foxtrot” is a visual journey across Iraq’s war-torn landscape. For roughly four years, Australian photojournalist Ashley Gilbertson covered the conflict, starting in 2002.

Gilbertson’s account of the war is painted on a vast canvas that stretches from Iraq’s northern territory of Kurdistan – where Gilbertson began his work in Iraq as a freelance journalist – south to Baghdad and into American offensives in Karbala and Fallujah.

Gilbertson picked up a contract with the New York Times along the way and went on to make some of the most harrowing images of the war.
The book is organized into five collections of images, and Gilbertson introduces each part with a few pages of text to add context to his pictures.

Gilbertson is an exceptional photographer and his powerful photos, coupled with his insightful prose, come to life and immerse you in the volatile world Gilbertson lay witness to for four years.

His work offers an intimate, multi-dimensional view of the conflict that transcends the episodic reporting we consume in daily newspapers, magazines or nightly newscasts. Perhaps one of the book’s greatest strengths is Gilbertson’s subjective voice – a raw narrative of the world he documents delivered with sobering honesty.

Gilbertson’s coverage of the Marines’ offensive to take the insurgent stronghold of Fallujah in November 2005 makes up the book’s fourth chapter, and it is, without question, the best collection. As one critic put it, “The Fallujah shots alone are worth the price of the book.”

Maybe. But the book’s real strength is its much broader view of Iraq. Beyond the expected scenes of combat, Gilbertson captures the character of Iraq and its people – their triumphs and their suffering, their virtues and their vices. At the same time, he illuminates the endless challenges American forces face in securing and rebuilding a country marred by a tumultuous past and an uncertain future.

Among the book’s subtler triumphs are the questions Gilbertson raises about the American model of journalistic objectivity and the ethics involved in contemporary war reporting.

From his criticism of a Fox News correspondent claiming to be on the front lines while reporting from the darkness of his hotel room, to Gilbertson’s rebuke of his Kurdish guide and translator, who breaks the code of journalistic neutrality when he ignites a painting of Saddam Hussein in Mosul and celebrates – Gilbertson reminds us that war reporting is anything but simple, and conventional criticisms of the craft are often oversimplified.

The anecdote about his Kurdish guide, or “fixer,” poignantly illustrates the internal conflict correspondents often struggle with: “I grabbed him and said that as my fixer, he was a neutral observer – he could not be involved. Jaff instantly sobered. ‘Ashley,’ he said, ‘first I am an Iraqi. Second, I am a journalist.’”

But Gilbertson’s most sobering experience comes toward the end of the fighting in Fallujah when his presence on the battlefield and his need to tell a complete story of the battle results in tragic consequences – consequences that he has to live with long after leaving Iraq.

In the end, the book is two parts journalism, one part entertainment and one part therapy for the author, who – like so many who have seen war – carries burdensome memories and, with them, some of the same demons that beleaguer the conflict he covered.

At first glance, Whiskey Tango Foxtrot looks like another coffee table photo book. It is much more. A provocative tale of the chaotic blur of war seen through one man’s eyes with polished clarity, Gilbertson’s portrait of Iraq is an intense and passionate piece of work.

(To see the story as it ran click here: http://www.okinawa.usmc.mil/OkiMar/PDFs/08/0118.pdf)

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Giants win, sweet for bitter Raiders fan

Wow. What a game.

Professional sports are not always about your team; oftentimes, particularly when your team does not make the playoffs or the big game, the entertainment value of an event like the Super Bowl is more about the story behind the game than it is who comes out on top.

And what a story it was in Super Bowl XLII. Set amidst a backdrop of buzz hyping one of the oldest clichés in sports – “David vs. Goliath” – the game was supposed to tell the story of the greatest team in football history. It was supposed to be nothing more than a punctuation mark for that story, which virtually everyone in the media had already written.

But the Giants had another story to tell, and the sports writers and media pundits were caught scratching their heads for a moment as they put away the pre-written template from the last three New England championships and quickly embraced the unlikely story of greatest upset in Super Bowl history.

And while there were plenty of fans rooting for the underdogs and anxious to see the less likely of the two historic conclusions, perhaps no group of fans (aside from loyal Giants fans) felt the sweet romance of the Giants’ story quite the way we Oakland Raiders fans did.

For a lot of Raiders fans, the Giants story is connected to a story of our own. It is the story of a fierce grudge.

It all started in 2002. The Patriots unholy dynasty, as I like to call it, started at my team’s expense with a now infamous play in the 2001- 2002 AFC Divisional Playoff game at the Patriots’ Foxboro Stadium.

With the Raiders leading 13-10 with less than two minutes remaining in regulation, Raiders defensive back Charles Woodson came on a cornerback blitz and drilled Patriots quarterback Tom Brady, knocking the ball out of Brady’s hands just after he pump faked a pass. The Raiders recovered the fumbled ball.

After reviewing the play, the officials overturned the call on the field, citing a new, poorly written rule, now infamously known as “The Tuck rule.”

I lack the space here to make the case for why that moment is one of the gravest injustices in sports history, but anyone who’s interested can watch the replay on YouTube and read the actual tuck rule word for word on Wikipedia.

I say those two sites are all anyone needs to see that the Patriots stole a victory in that game – a victory that was the sports-world equivalent of a criminal going free on a legal loophole. And that moment was, arguably, the beginning of the trend that came to define the Patriots as the team that always finds a way to win. That was, after all, the year the Patriots went on to defeat the St. Louis Rams in Super Bowl XXXVI and secure the first of three championship seasons in five years.

Of course, no Patriots fan will ever see the Tuck as the grave injustice it is. Patriots fans will forever defend the call. They love to point to everything that happened after the play and say the Raiders had plenty more chances to stop the Patriots (who won 16-13 in overtime). Irrelevant.

Perhaps I wouldn’t hate the Patriots so much if they hadn’t gone on to poke a finger in my eye in three super bowls, always dashing my hopes of a New England defeat – in dramatic fashion – with some last-minute heroics by Brady or placekicker Adam Vinatieri.

Year after year, I’ve watched the Patriots build on their unholy dynasty, and year after year, I’ve cursed them and despised them for their greatness. Every Brady two-minute drill and every Vinatieri field goal has been just another Tuck in my mind. Every victory, every championship and every record broken by the Patriots since 2002 has been like pouring lemon juice in a paper cut for me.

This season was no different as the Patriots taunted me endlessly, narrowly escaping defeat on several occasions to stay perfect.

For a moment in Super Bowl XLII, I thought the Patriots would do it again.

When the Giants punted the ball away on 4th and 1 about midway through the fourth quarter, I imagined Brady and Bill Belichick cutting lemons on the sideline. When the Patriots drove the length of the field to go ahead 14-10 late in the fourth, I started to get that sick feeling I get whenever Brady stages a late drive.

But when the Giants got the ball back with 2:42 remaining, I started to believe. I said aloud, “Come on Eli; be a hero.”

Anyone who cares enough about sports to read this knows that Manning answered my call, and, in doing so, gave me and the rest of the world one of the greatest finishes in Super Bowl history. He also threw in one of the Bowl’s greatest plays (Manning narrowly scrambling away from a horde of defenders and hitting David Tyree for a miraculous 32-yard reception).

In the end, the Giants gave everyone not pulling for the Pats a great story. We Raiders fans just got an added bonus: hope that New England’s unholy dynasty can be broken.

I won’t go so far as to say God was watching this game, but I know there was some force at work, be it karma or just good old-fashioned justice. After all, it can’t be pure coincidence that two of the Giants defense’s five sacks on Brady came from one of the game’s top performers, a guy named Justin Tuck.

(To see the story as it ran click here: http://www.mcbh.usmc.mil/news/Feb8C8.pdf)

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SSgt. Ethan Rocke

Staff Sgt. Ethan E. Rocke currently serves at the Marine Corps Motion Picture and Television Liaison Office in Los Angeles, where he is one of four public affairs Marines who facilitate support requests from the entertainment industry. 
Rocke, an Ione, Calif. native, enlisted in the Army in January 1998 and completed basic training and infantry school at Fort Benning, Ga., graduating as a Private E-2.
In May 1998, Rocke was stationed at Fort Campbell, Ky., as a rifleman in 1st Battalion, 187th Infantry Regiment, 101st Airborne Division (Air Assault).
While assigned to the 101st, Rocke was promoted to the rank of specialist, and he deployed to Kosovo in support of Operation Allied Force from February 2000 to October 2000. He was honorably discharged from the Army in January 2001.
He enlisted in the Marine Corps Sept. 24, 2001 and attended recruit training at Marine Corps Recruit Depot San Diego. He graduated Dec. 21, 2001 as company honor man and was meritoriously promoted to lance corporal. 
In January 2002, Rocke attended Marine Combat Training at Camp Pendleton, Calif., before reporting to the Defense Information School (DINFOS) at Fort George G. Meade, Md., in February 2002, where he attended the Basic Journalist and Basic Broadcaster Courses. He was distinguished honor graduate of his Broadcaster Course class.
In August 2002, Rocke reported for duty as a combat correspondent at the MCRD San Diego Public Affairs Office, and in November 2002, was promoted to corporal. He attended the Intermediate Photojournalism Course at DINFOS in spring 2003.
He was promoted to sergeant in January 2004, and a few months later, was selected to attend the Military Photojournalism Course at the S.I. Newhouse School of Public Communications at Syracuse University, from which he graduated in May 2005.
In June 2005, he reported to Marine Corps Base Camp Butler, Okinawa, Japan, for duty as central bureau chief in the Consolidated Public Affairs Office. He attended the Sergeants Course at Okinawa’s Staff Non-Commissioned Officers Academy in February 2006 and distinguished himself throughout the course, graduating with honors and also earning the Gung Ho award for motivation. After returning from Sergeants Course, he became editor of the Okinawa Marine, the command newspaper for the III Marine Expeditionary Force/Marine Corps Bases Japan Consolidated Public Affairs Office, where he served until June 2008.
Rocke’s personal decorations include two Army Achievement Medals, the Navy and Marine Corps Achievement Medal, the Kosovo Campaign Medal and the Kosovo NATO Medal.

2nd Place: Cpl. Nicole A. Lavine, Air Ground Combat Center, Twentynine Palms

Marine snipers train to wage war on enemy minds

MARINE CORPS AIR GROUND COMBAT CENTER TWENTYNINE PALMS, Calif. — A quick flash catches the eye of the Marine as he gazes through the sights of his Winchester Model 70 .30-06 Sniper Rifle at a cluster of bushes on the opposite side of a hill. He zeroes in on the target, releases a breath and takes his shot. The round explodes from his rifle and penetrates the scope of the hidden sniper’s rifle, killing the enemy instantly.

This is not the plot of a high-action film. This is the true story of a legendary former Marine Corps scout sniper named Gunnery Sgt. Carlos N. Hathcock, who holds a service record of 93 confirmed kills and more than 300 probable kills during the Vietnam War.

Sgt. Jeremiah B. Johnson, chief scout sniper of Scout Sniper Platoon, 1st Battalion, 7th Marine Regiment, said he believes legendary Marine Corps snipers like Hathcock blazed a path on which all Marine Corps snipers strive to tred on. 

“When you look at Marine Corps snipers, you see they’re well known in history for their skills,” said Johnson, a Hemet, Calif., native. “We live off those legends and hope to become those ourselves. People come into scout sniper platoons for multiple reasons – they are one of the most elite services, are held at such an incredibly high standard and hold the utmost level of responsibility.”

 The definition of a Marine Corps scout sniper outlines the most sacred role of a sniper: “A Marine highly skilled in field craft and marksmanship who delivers long-range, precision fire at selected targets from concealed positions in support of combat operations.”

 What this definition does not reveal is the level of training Marines endure before they are even eligible to step foot on the ground of one of the four scout sniper schools in the Marine Corps.

 In addition to being proficient in the swim qualification, physical fitness test and firing an expert score in the known-distance rifle range, Marines pulling for a position in a scout sniper platoon need to show mental fortitude, patience and a whole lot of heart, said Johnson.

 Although many weapon and technology systems today use assistance elements like GPS, Marine snipers are given only what they need to survive when tasked with a mission, he added.

 “We take our Marines back to the days of bows and arrows,” he said. “For instance, when they do their land nav [navigation], we give them a map, a compass and a mission. Then we start the time on our watches and say ‘go.’”

Sniper training can be summed up in five categories; stalking, or moving tactically toward a target, the shooting package, observation, range estimation, and academics, added Johnson.

 Those Marines who attend a scout sniper school are dubbed Hunters of Gunmen, or HOGs, while Marines being trained in scout sniper platoons prior to receiving school instruction are called Professionally Instructed Gunmen, or PIGs, said Johnson.

 1st Sgt. Roger F. Griffith, Company A first sergeant, 1/7, who served four years as a scout sniper with 2nd Battalion, 2nd Marine Regiment, and 2nd Battalion, 6th Marine Regiment, said being selected to train with a sniper platoon is in itself a tremendous accomplishment.

 “The company submits a list of names of Marines who volunteer to be in a sniper platoon,” explained Griffith. “As the training carries out, Marines are weeded out and narrowed down to those who really want to be there. By the end of the training, you have the cream of the crop.”

  From that small group, individual Marines are selected to attend a sniper school to enhancing the skills they have already learned, added Griffith.

 Johnson agreed, saying basic skills are taken care of long before a Marine is hand-picked to attend a sniper school at Marine Corps Base Quantico, Va.; Marine Corps Base Camp Pendleton, Calif.; Marine Corps Base Hawaii; or Marine Corps Base Camp Lejeune, N.C.

Scout snipers are also trained in medical assistance, rules of low visibility, ballistic physics, weapon systems, security, gathering intelligence, target assessment, land navigation, communication and more, added Johnson.

Traditionally, Marine Corps snipers work in two-man teams consisting of a shooter and a spotter, said Johnson. The solitary nature of being a sniper or spotter demands tireless patience and focus.

“Snipers are used to being completely self-contained,” he explained. “They can carry as much as 20 quarts of water and an 80-pound full combat load of mission-essential gear on them for a three-day mission.”

Griffith also reiterated the importance of a sniper’s individual performance.

“Snipers have to be able to think, react and run quickly,” said Griffith. “They don’t have that backup an infantry battalion has. The easiest way for a sniper to survive is to not be compromised.”

Cpl. Ronald P. Lashley, 1/7 scout sniper, said he takes great pride in his title as a sniper.

“Scout sniper platoons are the only reconnaissance and surveillance asset organic to an infantry battalion,” said Lashley, a Great Falls, Mont., native. “I like the small team operations and knowing what we can do to the enemy psychologically. For them it’s like fighting an invisible foe. We don’t have to kill someone to take them out of the fight.”

Hathcock quoted a well-known passage written by President Theodore Roosevelt called “The Man in Arena” that expresses the challenge and valor that comes to those who are brave enough to fight. In these lines, those who have not sacrificed or bled for a cause may understand the motivation that drives courageous men like Hathcock and those who strive to become just as legendary.

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1st Tanks rumble with the Aussies

MARINE CORPS AIR GROUND COMBAT CENTER TWENTYNINE PALMS, Calif. — As Marines dashed across the desert terrain toward their first concrete building of the mock city, four fully-loaded tanks rumbled up the dusty streets, sweeping the area for targets with its 17-foot main gun. Suddenly, the barrel on one of the tank’s main guns locks into place. The ground trembles and dust and smoke swirl where a 122 mm round has just blasted from the nozzle of the steal tank Marines and sailors of Company C, 1st Tank Battalion, underwent an infantry and tank integration training evolution with Australian soldiers Oct. 23.

Australian soldiers of Squadron A, 1st Armoured Regiment, trained side-by side with Marines and sailors of Scout Platoon and Company C, along with Marines of the Tactical Training Exercise Control Group at Range 210, a live-fire range in the Combat Center’s training area, said Maj. Michael Del Palazzo, 1st Tanks operations officer.

The exercise, which takes place about once every two years, is called Exercise Gold Eagle, said Del Palazzo.

“Gold Eagle is an exchange of training between Australian defense forces and us,” said Del Palazzo, a Marlton, N.J., native. “They’ll be learning from us about the Abrams Tanks [M1A1 Abrams Main Battle Tank], and we will be learning about how they operate. It’s a great exercise.”
The exercise combined an organic reconnaissance element which served as dismounted infantry and tanks infiltration of a mock city to assure procedures and execution were conducted properly, said Del Palazzo.

The entire process was videotaped in order to make a training video that will be seen by units that undergo Mojave Viper, a month-long pre-deployment training evolution here.

“The ultimate goal of this training is to document and show units who come here in the future how to conduct infantry and tank operations properly,” said Del Palazzo.

Maj. Sean Benporath, commanding officer of Squadron A, said he looked forward to learning from 1st Tanks Marines in their element.

“We’re here in a coalition setting to try and cross-pollinate with Tanks [1st Tank Battalion] on our work,” said Benporath, a Perth, Australia, native.

Benporath added after the squadron’s return to its home base in Darwin, Australia, on Nov. 1, they will have taken valuable knowledge for their own tank crews in Australia.

Australian defense forces received their own Abrams Tanks in 2006, said Del Palazzo.

Although this was the first time soldiers of 1st Armoured Regiment have trained with Marines at the Combat Center, Australian defense forces have been training with Marines here for years, he added.

In addition to Australian soldiers training here, Marines and sailors have also traveled to Australia and conducted exercises there, said Capt. Peter M. Rummler, the commanding officer of Company C, 1st Tanks.

“We had an operation last month where we went to Australia and did some operation training in their tanks,” said Rummler, an Oscar, La., native.
Rummler explained the tank company and Australian unit trained with tanks in the outback near Mount Bundy in the northern territory.

That exercise, like Exercise Gold Eagle, allowed U.S. and Australian forces to exchange information on standard tank operations and procedures.
“We hoped they learned as much from us as we did from them,” said Rummler.

Australian Cpl. Adam Lea, a combat clerk with Squadron A, said he took a lot from the experience, especially it being his first time training here with Marines.

“These facilities are a lot better than the ones we’ve used,” sad Lea, a Perth, Australia, native. “We did a lot of operations and infiltration with targets all around us. It also helped that we did a few dry rounds first.”

The next Gold Eagle training period is expected to take place sometime in 2010, said Del Palazzo.

After Marines, sailors and Australian soldiers spent more than eight hours conducting tank and infantry drills, they packed up their humvees and Tanks in preparation for the next training series of evolutions called Force-on-Force, said Gunnery Sgt. Jason Villasana, 1st Tanks master gunner.

The Force-on-Force training, also referred to as black-top training, will allow Marines of 1st Tanks to show Australian soldiers first-hand how they engage enemy targets with individual weapons, said Villasana, a Sabinal, Texas, native. The final black-top training exercise concludes today.

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Combat Center Mixed Martial Arts club kicks into gear

Marine Corps Air Ground Combat Center Twentynine Palms, Calif. —  The blaring noise of a buzzer filled the stuffy dojo, muffling the sound of leather-gloved fists pounding punching bags. Five sweaty men ceased their activities and shifted clockwise to a different striking station, continuing their vigorous workout.

These men are only a few members of the Combat Center Mixed Martial Arts team called Fight Club 29.

This club, which is managed by Mark M. Geletko, Headquarters Battalion sergeant major, is one that sharpens hand-to-hand combat skills of experienced fighters.

Members in the club have fighting experience ranging from wrestling and Ju Jitsu to boxing and Muay Thai, said Geletko, a Pittsburgh native.

“These guys all have some sort of fighting background,” he said. “We fight in all different types of tournaments.”

Geletko, the striking coach, competed in many boxing and Muay Thai tournaments before retiring from fighting in 2000.

The grappling coach, John Romero, Improvised Explosive Device defeat instructor with Marine Corps Tactics and Operations Group, is experienced in Brazilian Ju Jistu.

Both coaches enthusiastically train team members in anticipation of tournaments.

The Armed Forces Pankration Championships at Marine Corps Base Camp Pendleton, Calif., the most recent tournament Fight Club 29 participated in, took place May 17.

The tournament gave team members Jeff Perez and Omar Askew the chance to show their opponents what they are made of. Each walked away with a gold medal for his weight class – Perez in the welter weight class and Askew in the light-heavy weight class.

Other Fight Club 29 members brought home a silver medal and two bronze medals. Perez, a former team leader with Lima Company, 3rd Battalion, 4th Marine Regiment, finished his active duty service June 5. He spent his last day in the Marine Corps grappling Romero and taking away some last-minute guidance.

Perez, who attributes collegiate wrestling as his primary fighting background, said he plans on  returning to his hometown, Boston, and continue training to become a professional MMA cage fighter.

Askew, a paralegal clerk with Bravo Company, Headquarters Battalion, is training hard for an upcoming boxing tournament in Los Angeles June 29. Although Askew, an Atlanta native, has been a team member for only four months, he said he believes his experience and training from the team will give him the edge he needs to succeed in future tournaments.

“Sergeant major is a great leader on the matt and off the matt,” said Askew. “This is a great organization with great benefits and even greater Marines. They keep you out of trouble, give you something to do and train you for bigger, better competitions – mentally and physically.”
Geletko agrees, saying the members of the club are usually too busy training to get in trouble.

“They are tired at the end of the day,” he said. “I know I am.”

Geletko, who built the program from the ground up in 2005, is training Askew, as well as three others, for the upcoming boxing tournament. A second Pankration tournament is scheduled to take place in Santa Ana, Calif., sometime in July, said Geletko.

Geletko said he and Romero will cross-train their team members for that tournament to assure they have solid techniques and conditioning.

“We do the conditioning circuit course three times each practice period for three minutes each,” said Geletko. “Most of our guys have ground fighting backgrounds like wrestling, so we’re trying to bring them up to speed on striking.” The circuit course includes at least four striking stations and at least two grappling stations, he added.

Romero, a Phoenix native, said he believes coaching and improving the fighting skills of already advanced fighters is a task he takes pride in.

“This goes right along with the warrior ethos of the Marine Corps,” said Romero. “They are already warriors and we are just giving them better skills than they get in [the Marine Corps Martial Arts Program].”

Romero, who was a coach in Camp Pendleton since 2006 before transferring here in April, encourages any experienced fighters interested in advancing their training to come by the Marine Corps Communication- Electronics School dojo between 11:30 a.m. and 1:30 p.m. for a tryout practice period.

“Don’t let being stuck in the desert stop you from doing what you want to do,” said Romero.

Geletko said he is grateful for the support he has been given from other base organizations and personnel, specifically Skip Best from Marine Corps Community Services Sports.

Geletko said since he will be on station for two more years and live in the area after his retirement, he hopes the program will continue to grow and give service members with experience a chance to progress in their training and skills.

To learn more about Fight Club 29, call Geletko at 830-6330.

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Combat Center honors past warriors, battles in pageant

MARINE CORPS AIR GROUND COMBAT CENTER TWENTYNINE PALMS, Calif. —As more than 200 Marines, sailors, retirees and civilians sitting on the bleachers looked out onto the cold field, Marines marched out to take their places near state flags fluttering in the morning breeze. Some held antique government issue rifles with dull, chipped bayonets, while others wore old wool uniforms with shiny brass buttons and coattails. As the Marines, the Combat Center band and the assembled crowd waited, the narrator began speaking.

The Combat Center hosted the 2008 Marine Corps Birthday Pageant at Lance Cpl. Torrey L. Gray Field Wednesday. The annual pageant is an event held at Marine Corps installations worldwide with the purpose of honoring past Marines, battles fought an illustrious history while also recognizing the generation of Marines to come.

Marines and sailors dressed in uniforms of past eras marched from their positions to a point front and center one at a time as a biography was narrated about the era when the uniform was worn by Marines at the time.

After the pageant, a birthday cake was wheeled out on a cart to celebrate the birthday of the Corps which is actually Monday.

Pfc. Raleigh Collins, a student in Company A, Marine Corps Communications-Electronics School, was the youngest Marine present and played a role in the ceremony.

Collins, who was born in 1990, took a piece of cake from the oldest Marine present, Chief Warrant Officer 5 John Knipple, Traffic Management Officer officer-in-charge, who was born in 1957.

“I feel very lucky and honored,” said Collins about the ceremony. “I was very glad just to be a part of the ceremony.”

Brig. Gen. Charles M. Gurganus, the Combat Center commanding general, said during the ceremony that this day was about enlisted Marines.

“You heard earlier today that America does not need a Marine Corps, but America wants a Marine Corps,” said Gurganus, a Wilmington, N.C., native. “America is still counting on you and you are still delivering. Happy birthday, Marines.”

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Combat Center goes extreme at stunt show

MARINE CORPS AIR GROUND COMBAT CENTER TWENTYNINE PALMS, Calif. —An excited crowd pressed against the Bourke Street fence at Victory Field as the sound of screaming motorcycle engines and smell of hot rubber signified the first of the six stunt shows taking place April 26, 2008.

Motocross stunt teams performed free stunt shows for Combat Center patrons and guests at Victory Field.

The event, which was hosted by Marine Corps Community Services, featured a freestyle street bike stunt show complete with headstands, wheelies and acrobatic routines, as well as dirt bike stunt performances.

Although a street bike show took place during a safety stand down for proper riding techniques in November, this is the team’s first official stunt show performed on base, said Jef Groff, a professional freestyle rider of three years and the stunt coordinator for the event.

“This event is basically a spin off of what we did last November, but this time we don’t have most of the limitations,” he said.

Groff added he and the other riders heard about the great reaction they received from their performance last year and didn’t hesitate when the base called them back for another one.

“This is a way for us to give back to them in a worldly entertainment sort of way,” he said about military service members. “This is a demonstration of skilled stunt riding and shows what you can do if you are also safe.”

As a word of precaution, the street bikes used in the performances have been modified to make it possible to perform most of the stunts and would not work on a standard bike, said Heidi Hydar, representative of H6 promotions, a motorcycle event planning company.

After the street bike performance, the crowd migrated to the center of the field, where two large ramps occupied the middle of a fenced-off area. This is where the Freestyle Motocross team Riders for Christ, or R4C, awed the audience with flips, twists and other airborne acts.

Between the shows, crowds gathered in front of smoky barbecue pits, refreshment booths, clothing stands and booths where the riders gave away autographed posters.

Riders also brought their street bikes onto the field, giving the public a chance to ask questions about their bikes, gear and skills.

“I thought it was pretty cool how well they handled their bikes,” said Lance Cpl. Caleb Williams, Bravo Company, 1st Battalion, 7th Marine Regiment. “Safety is really important on bikes. And I’m sure everyone here really appreciates them taking time out of their busy schedule to entertain us. It shows people out there still support the troops.”

Pvt. Justin Symmes, Bravo Company, Marine Corps Communication-Electronics School, agreed.

“I loved the festivities today,” said the Anderson, Ind. native. “I liked the freestyle show more because maybe that’s some stuff I could learn how to do some day.”

The riders belong to multiplue teams and information can be found on their individual Web sites at http://www.jefgroff.com, http://www.edub32.com and http://www.alexstunts.com.

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1st Place: SSgt. Ethan Rocke, Los Angeles Public Affairs