Thirty-Four
“Each man's death diminishes me,
For I am involved in mankind.
Therefore, send not to know
For whom the bell tolls,
It tolls for thee.”
John Donne
The
Marines of TBS were surprised, but thankful, even if a bit disappointed they
wouldn’t get the chance to deploy for the effort. While the outcome of the war
was never in doubt, this had been one of the most lopsided victories in history.
While even one American death is too many, the action had resulted in 147 US
military combat losses, a low number given the massive presence in the area of
operations. Iraqi military deaths were thought to be at least 20,000 (5),
possibly many more. I felt bittersweet relief. Tennyson’s poem had ended a
stanza short. There would be no gallant charge for me, no glory, or chance to
prove my courage in combat. This feeling was immediately and greatly outweighed
by the fact that the horror of the war was over. I wouldn’t write letters home
to grieving parents or identify charred remains of men I had known. I wouldn’t
visit my men in the hospital, then walk outside, shaking with grief over their
suffering and debilitating injuries. I wouldn’t go to funerals and watch as
valiant spouses struggled to hold back tears as their young children tried to
figure out what happened. I couldn’t help but also think about the Iraqis. Just
a few years earlier, they had fought bravely against our foes, the Iranians.
Most of them were probably good men, born into an impossibly difficult
situation living under the regime of the dictator Hussein.
With
all sincerity, I was overjoyed the dirty business was over quickly with a
minimum of American casualties. I knew that large wars in American history tended
to come roughly in twenty-year cycles, just long enough for the public to
forget how expensive they were in blood and treasure. The US had deployed half
a million men to the theater of operations, the largest combat deployment since
WWII. It would be a long time before military action of this magnitude happened
again.
Now
that the threat of a mass extinction of Lieutenants had passed, we wouldn’t all
be going to the infantry. It was time for us to make decisions regarding our
future. In addition to becoming qualified as a leader capable of directing the combat
activities of a unit of Marines in the field, every officer is assigned a
primary Military Occupational Specialty (MOS). A young Lieutenant could
continue on to the infantry (The Queen of Battle), or choose other combat arms
specialties such as tanks, combat engineering, amphibious assault, or artillery
(The King of Battle). Other options were not considered as glamorous but were
critical to the mission of the Corps. Additional fields such as intelligence,
logistics, financial management, supply, communications, and motor transport
were available. The choice of MOS had huge implications for future career paths
and duty assignments, and the needs of the Corps at the time would dictate how
many of each MOS was available. The process was straightforward. Lieutenants
would submit a list ranked in order by preference, and a formula that included
class rank and staff input was used to make the assignment. In order to ensure
a quality spread among fields, the unit was divided into thirds. The top Marine
in every third would get his first choice, and so on down the line to the last
Marine at the bottom of the last third. I was somewhere in the middle of the
pack. Like most Marines, I was initially attracted to the Infantry, but as I
learned about other paths my interest grew in combat engineers (building things
and blowing things up), and tanks (leading a platoon of tanks that blew things
up). As the US was the sole remaining superpower in the world and had just
trounced Iraq in a lesson surely watched by other nations, I thought the near-term
prospects for high intensity conflict had vanished. News commenters talked
extensively about a dramatic reduction in military spending and staffing, with
the expected savings known as a “peace dividend”. I expanded my list to include
one MOS choice that might better translate into a civilian career. I figured I
would put it on the list and trust the Lord to lead the process in the right
direction. One of the instructors for our company was a First Lieutenant, and
he had told me about his MOS of Data Systems, designated as 4002. He explained
how the Marine Corps was doing innovative things with computers in the field as
well as in garrison. Every unit, including infantry divisions, now had
computers, and they were becoming critical to operations. The Corps needed
officers who could figure them out and make them work. I thought back to the
contents of the plain brown box that had once spread out over the kitchen table
in the Badin apartment years before. I printed 4002 on the third line of my
choices. In an example of how small the Marine Corps is, many years later I
would find myself saluting that same former instructor during a change of
command ceremony as I took over from him as CO of a unit that would deploy for
the second invasion of Iraq. His wise advice had changed the course of my life
in ways I couldn’t comprehend at the time.
Data
Systems Officers course consisted of three months of immersion into computer
systems. We learned basic components and architecture of systems, programming,
and how to network groups of computers together. Much like I had taken to
Scouting earlier, I took to computers. While I didn’t care much for programming
or working with the large mainframe systems, the small systems used by
deployable units captivated me. One additional choice was needed before I
joined the Fleet Marine Force (FMF), and that was where I preferred to be
stationed. That was an easy choice, I wanted to stay in North Carolina and be
stationed at Camp Lejeune. By this time, I was travelling to Chapel Hill to see
Elizabeth as often as possible. From the very beginning, there was something
special and familiar about her, like I had known her all my life. After meeting
her a few times, my family universally approved. Ashford pulled me aside once
and advised, “She is a good-looking young lady, but she is going to be a
beautiful woman.”
Axel Rose
My
first choice of Camp Lejeune housed one of the three active duty Marine
Expeditionary Forces (MEFs). The three MEFs were designated by Roman numerals.
I MEF was based at my birthplace of Camp Pendleton, II MEF was a couple of
hours east of Raleigh at Camp Lejeune, and III MEF was forward deployed on the
far side of the Pacific and stationed on the island of Okinawa, Japan. Elements
of each MEF would regularly pack up and deploy for training and real-world
missions, but they would always return to their permanent home. Each MEF
included subordinate Marine Expeditionary Units (MEUs) that would deploy on
Navy ships or planes to hotspots around the globe. The MEFs were part of the
Fleet Marine Force (FMF), which is the warfighting, deploying part of the Corps
as opposed to the administrative, planning, training, and logistical support
elements that don’t typically deploy. Operating in the FMF was said to be the
most challenging, exciting, and rewarding part of a Marine’s career. A few
weeks later the Lieutenants of Hotel Company learned their assignments. I was
headed to the FMF. On my next visit to Chapel Hill, Elizabeth and I discussed
my assignment, and how it would impact our relationship. I left her apartment a
little earlier than usual that Sunday afternoon. Instead of heading directly to
Quantico, I drove to campus on a mission.
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