BROTHERS
FOREVER
Copyright © 2014 by Tom Sileo and Thomas Manion
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without the prior written permission of the publisher. For information, address Da Capo Press, 44 Farnsworth Street, 3rd Floor, Boston, MA 02210.
Designed by Trish Wilkinson
Set in 11.5 point Goudy Oldstyle by The Perseus Books Group
First Da Capo Press edition 2014
Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data
Sileo, Tom.
Brothers forever : the enduring bond between a Marine and a Navy SEAL that transcended their ultimate sacrifice / Tom Sileo and Col. Tom Manion, USMCR (Ret.) ; foreword by Gen. John Allen, USMC (Ret.).
pages cm
Includes bibliographical references and index.
ISBN 978-0-306-82237-7 (hardcover)—ISBN 978-0-306-82238-4 (e-book) 1. Manion, Travis, 1980-2007. 2. Looney, Brendan, 1981-2010. 3. Iraq War, 2003-2011—Casualties—United States. 4. Iraq War, 2003-2011—Campaigns—Iraq—Fallujah. 5. Afghan War, 2001—Casualties—United States. 6. United States. Marine Corps— Biography 7. United States. Navy. SEALs—Biography. 8. United States Naval Academy—Alumni and alumnae—Biography. I. Title.
DS79.766.M36S55 2014
956.7044’34509730922—dc23
[B]
2013043846
Published by Da Capo Press
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10 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1
For Brendan, Travis, and all the selfless patriots
of yesterday, today, and tomorrow
who define the “If not me, then who . . .” spirit.
Contents
Foreword by General John Allen, USMC (Ret.)
Prologue: Just Another Day
1Call to Arms
2Earn It
3Taking a Stand
4“If Not Me, Then Who . . . ”
5No Greater Honor
6The Pizza Slice
7The War Comes Home
8Live Forever
9Honor Man
10Maggie’s Prayer
11Moving Forward
12Mission 59
13No Regrets
14Warriors for Freedom
Epilogue: Maggie and Honor’s Pledge
Acknowledgments by Colonel Tom Manion, USMC (Ret.)
Notes
Index
Foreword
“Sir, casualties are inbound. One of the MiTTs [military transition teams] has been hit hard, and we have casualties headed to ‘Fallujah surgical.’” My head snapped up from my work; I quickly strapped on my 9mm and headed off to “Fallujah surgical,” the Level Two trauma and surgical facility on Camp Fallujah servicing the casualty and medical needs of the eastern portion of the Al Anbar Province in Iraq. I had made a habit of going to the operating rooms to see and encourage the wounded whenever I was in the command post of II Marine Expeditionary Force (MEF) (Fwd) at Fallujah.
As my aide, Ben Carruthers, and I made our way through the maze of buildings and walls of the camp, something told me to hurry. I quickened my pace, then began to run. I hadn’t done this before, and I’m sure my aide was wondering what was up. As we rounded the corner of the hospital I could see the up-armored HMMWVs (Humvees) of the MiTT team and the Marines themselves, standing near the entrance. They had their hands on their hips, and their heads were down. “This is bad,” I thought. One of the Marines was lifting a set of body armor from the floor of a HMMWV, and it was covered with and dripping blood.
I quickly cleared my weapon at the clearing barrel and stepped into the facility. The medical personnel had become accustomed to my presence on these occasions and quickly briefed me on the situation: several wounded, one very seriously, and the survivors were down the corridor in an office. I hustled down to the office and quickly got a situation report from the team leader and others, one of whom was wounded and awaiting treatment. It had been a bad ambush, and the Marines had fought for their lives alongside the Iraqi troops they were advising. Then, looking up at me with an anguish you can only find in combat, the team leader said to me in a hushed tone: “We think Travis is dead.” I didn’t immediately connect the name, but knew I needed to get down the corridor right away to the ORs where the incredible surgical teams were working frantically on the wounded.
As I stepped into the first OR the surgical team were just finishing their work. One of the nurses was crying openly. They’d been unable to save this Marine, and he had died just seconds before I stepped into the OR. As I walked to the end of the gurney, I was stunned to see Travis Manion, the wonderful youngster I’d known as one of my midshipmen while I was commandant at the Naval Academy. I had known his family: his dad, Tom, a Marine colonel himself, and his mom, Janet, a stalwart of the family. Travis had selected the Corps from Annapolis, and though I had not seen him during this tour in Fallujah, I’d heard repeatedly of his courage and bravery as an advisor. One by one the doctors and nurses left the OR, leaving me alone with Travis. I don’t think I had ever prayed so hard for anyone or anything in my life as I did while alone with him in that empty OR. His loss was very personal to me.
Three years later, while I was deputy commander at CENTCOM and headed ultimately to command the US forces in Afghanistan, I learned of an incident the previous night that had taken the lives of some of our magnificent special operators, SEALs from SEAL Team 3. They had been operating in the Zabul Province south of the Hindu Kush in Afghanistan and had generally made the lives of the Taliban miserable the entire time they had served there. One of the finest of the young leaders in this SEAL Team, Brendan Looney, looked and lived every aspect of the ethos of being a SEAL, this now-legendary strata of the American special ops community. That night we lost Brendan Looney. As with Travis, Brendan’s death was not simply a loss to their respective units and missions. Losing them was a terrible blow to America, which would now never benefit from the extraordinary qualities of these two men.
The irony of their relationship and their seemingly unrelated deaths was nearly as tragic. They had been roommates at the United States Naval Academy, growing up together at this most hallowed institution of our naval service. They had faced the challenges of Navy and had emerged committed in ways few can understand without experiencing the powerful formative forces of Annapolis. And in their intense sense of duty and their desire to serve, one sought to be a Marine, the other a SEAL. Remembering the times, it didn’t take a fortune-teller to guess where this would lead them both: to war in Iraq, or Afghanistan, or both. And to war it did lead them, extracting from them long separations from their families as they grew into the full realization of their roles as combat leaders. But it also extracted from them their last full measure—their young lives—willingly sacrificed for their country and these causes.
Tom Manion has done us a great service in initiating the effort to tell this story. Yes, it’s about war, but it’s less a history of two wars than it is about the human experience of war and what this newest generation of American warriors has experienced. It ties together these precious young lives and their growth together as warriors, as leaders, and . . . as brothers. This book celebrates what we hear more and more frequently: that these young Americans, on who
se broad, strong shoulders we have fought two wars and who have kept the wolf from the door in innumerable other places, are the new “Greatest Generation.” The reader sees all of this unfold in the maturing of these young lives, their interactions with their Annapolis classmates, and in the units in which they served, but very importantly as well in their interaction with their loving families, and in Brendan’s case his wonderful young wife, Amy. Then the authors, Tom Sileo and Tom Manion, bring these two wars home for all Americans to understand what this country has really sacrificed in these causes. With less than 1 percent of our population in uniform, fewer and fewer Americans bear the brunt of the responsibility for military service, and fewer and fewer understand the sacrifices made by men like Travis and Brendan and their precious troops. In that context, we are given a glimpse of the impact of that sacrifice as the authors describe in heart-wrenching detail how two families navigate the grief and pain of losing their sons and a husband.
All of us who fought in these wars now pray that in the end the outcomes will justify the cost to America and its allies. Those of us left behind must ensure these sacrifices were not in vain, and that these lives lost will have meaning and purpose, now and in the future.
Within Arlington National Cemetery there is a portion, Section 60, which has taken on an iconic meaning, for here in this very small spot can be found the entire sweep of American sacrifice in the modern wars of the Republic. One can find the graves of the World War II generation and those of our Korean and Vietnam war veterans, but now, and poignantly, Section 60 is the final resting place of our most recent honored dead, those young American warriors who have perished in Iraq and Afghanistan. It should come as no surprise, then, that the families decided to inter Travis and Brendan side by side in Section 60. And there they lie. Roommates at Annapolis, they shared so much . . . their sense of duty . . . their courage . . . their willingness to give their all for something bigger than themselves. And beneath this hallowed ground they lie shoulder to shoulder, the ultimate symbol of American selfless sacrifice and the ultimate emblem of the courage of their age. In virtually every sense, they had become brothers in life, and now in death they rest together . . . brothers forever. No regrets.
—General John Allen, USMC (Ret.)
Prologue
JUST ANOTHER DAY
Around every corner was a possible ambush. Beneath every roadway or garbage pile was a potential roadside bomb. Atop every roof or mosque tower was a possible sniper. In April 2007, Fallujah, Iraq, was arguably the most dangerous city in the world.
Stationed on a small forward operating base inside the war-ravaged terrorist haven was Travis Manion, a US Marine officer from Doylestown, Pennsylvania, near Philadelphia. At twenty-six, Travis was already on his second deployment to Fallujah, where American troops had fought some of the bloodiest battles since Vietnam.
Before heading out for another perilous patrol aimed at capturing and killing members of al Qaeda in Iraq, Travis, the son of a Marine Corps colonel, was finishing an e-mail to his friends and family back home. Eagerly awaiting his updates from the front lines was his close friend and US Naval Academy roommate, Brendan Looney, who was about to start training to become a Navy SEAL.
“We are a little over the halfway point of deployment,” Travis began. “We have been pretty busy and working hard.”
After explaining that times were tough in Fallujah, Travis, who was leading American and Iraqi troops into battle on a daily basis, closed his e-mail on an upbeat note.
“I’m excited to see the deployment end strong and leave the Iraqi battalion at a higher level than when we arrived,” the Marine Corps first lieutenant wrote. “I miss you guys and I’m looking forward to seeing you soon.”
Just a few days after sending the e-mail, Travis wasn’t sure if he’d ever see his friends or family again. Surrounded by earsplitting rocket-propelled grenade (RPG) explosions and machine gun fire from enemy insurgents, a joint combat patrol on April 23, 2007, was quickly becoming a disaster for US and Iraqi forces. If the patrol couldn’t quickly mount an effective counterattack, every US Marine and Iraqi Army soldier was in danger of not making it out of Fallujah’s notorious industrial sector.
Most of the industrial area’s streets were narrow and strewn with trash. Low-hanging electrical wires were everywhere, making it difficult to see rooftops, where the enemy would usually hide. On these joint patrols, the question wasn’t if American and Iraqi troops would be attacked, but when.
Everyone, including Travis, was sweating and breathing heavily as the fierce battle’s intensifying chaos exacerbated Iraq’s already brutal heat. Enemy gunfire was raining down from multiple rooftops, making it difficult to hear and even harder to see. Bullets were smashing into buildings, creating a choking mixture of dust and concrete in the air as debris fell all around Travis’s endangered patrol.
Several months into his second deployment, Travis knew Fallujah’s streets almost as well as Philadelphia’s. Shouting over enemy AK-47 and RPG fire, he told his Marines and their Iraqi partners where to go and how to get there. If the patrol was going to survive this attack, it was imperative that they get into proper fighting position.
Two Marines had already been wounded during the firefight, which made the situation even more urgent. They were lying behind a nearby Humvee, and Travis’s first priority was reaching them. Braving enemy gunfire, Travis and his Marines made a beeline toward their injured comrades.
As Travis reached the most severely wounded American, he knelt over the Marine while continuing to direct his teammates.
“Keep moving!” Travis shouted to his men. “I’ve got to help this guy, or we’re going to lose him.”
After taking out his first aid kit, Travis pressed down and tried to stop the Marine’s bleeding.
“You’re going to be alright, brother,” Travis said. “Just breathe.”
Travis was still keeping tabs on his Marines. When he saw one teammate take a step in the wrong direction, he yelled out “LEFT!” to make sure the Marine stayed out of enemy crosshairs.
After a few minutes, the wounded Marine’s bleeding was under control. Travis was confident he would survive and passed him off to a Marine from an adjacent unit before turning back toward the bullet-riddled street.
Like a lion let out of its cage, Travis burst onto the street and began firing at enemy positions with his M-4 rifle and attached M-203 grenade launcher. Punishing gunfire from Travis and his Marines quickly silenced one rooftop, and in just a few moments, the momentum was with the Americans.
Then a massive blast rocked the city’s industrial sector. The force shook buildings and sent a huge cloud of dust billowing above Fallujah’s buildings and electrical wires. Travis had been encountering roadside bombs since his first deployment, but this was the loudest explosion he had ever heard.
Travis and his fellow Marines watched as—in what seemed like slow motion—two Americans flew out of an armored Humvee and landed on the street. The US vehicle from the adjacent unit had struck an improvised explosive device (IED) while trying to move out of the kill zone, sending pieces of the Humvee flying so high into the air that Marines stationed several blocks away could see the blast’s terrifying impact.
“MOVE!” Travis yelled as he took off running toward the two wounded Americans.
Upon arriving at what was left of the devastated Humvee, Travis found the first Marine pinned under a piece of the damaged vehicle. He asked a teammate to work on freeing the man while he ran toward the Humvee’s turret gunner, who was the second casualty.
During the explosion, a huge piece of the vehicle had hit the Marine’s head. The heavy chunk of metal had shattered his jaw and made it nearly impossible for him to breathe. He lay motionless in the street while Travis lifted a piece of the turret off his face and lifted him up.
“I’ve got you!” Travis said, carrying the Marine to safety. Travis and his teammates had already eliminated enemy gunfire from one rooftop, but sporadic shots
were still ringing out from another.
Quickly recognizing that the gagging Marine’s airway was blocked, Travis reached into his first aid kit and pulled out a nasopharyngeal tube. Pushing the device into the Marine’s bloody nose, Travis comforted the frightened young American as he struggled to breathe.
“You’re going to make it,” Travis said. “I’m with you, man.”
After a few tense moments, the wounded Marine’s gasps for air became normal breaths, which allowed Travis to turn his attention to helping the adjacent unit organize a medevac to transport the wounded to hospitals on nearby bases. Eventually it became clear that all the injured Americans would survive.
For Travis, the day wasn’t over when the medevac was complete or the enemy gunfire subsequently died down. Furious after seeing fellow Marines shot and nearly crushed by debris, Travis ran toward the crater left by the massive IED and found the command wire that enemy forces had used to detonate it. He organized a team, which carefully followed the wire to the inside of a nearby building, then rounded up several suspected terrorists and took them in for questioning.
Less than a week later, that harrowing patrol would pale in comparison to another vicious battle on the war-torn streets of Iraq’s Al Anbar province. For the warriors of Fallujah, April 23, 2007, was just another day.
1
CALL TO ARMS
Brendan Looney was heading out to football practice at the US Naval Academy in the spring of 2001 when he heard the quiet strumming of a guitar as he walked by a room. Travis Manion was playing the opening chords to the Dave Matthews Band song “What Would You Say.”
“Hey, man, that’s pretty good,” Brendan said. “I saw them at Nissan Pavilion—it was one hell of a show.”
“That’s in Virginia, right?” Travis asked, laying the guitar on his lap while looking up at Brendan. “You from around here?”
“Yep, Owings, Maryland, and now Silver Spring,” Brendan said. “What about you?”
Tom Sileo Page 1
