“It’s nice to finally get the chance to do something like this,” Travis said to Petty, the Marine who was handing him sandbags to stack around polling stations.
“Yes, sir,” Petty said. “It’s great to get outside the wire once in a while.”
“I hear that, Staff Sergeant Petty,” Travis said. “Where’d you say you’re from again?”
“Texas, sir,” Petty said.
“That’s right,” Travis said. “We went to Texas a few times for wrestling tournaments. I liked it a lot down there.”
Though everything was going according to plan, Travis, like almost any US service member out on patrol in Iraq that day, was on edge. He was keenly aware that an explosion or firefight could erupt at any moment, and he reminded his Marines to stay alert.
For the most part, the violence never occurred. American news outlets reported isolated attacks in Baghdad, but the voting on October 15, 2005, was mostly peaceful. Almost ten million Iraqis cast ballots, with just under 80 percent voting to adopt the Constitution. In Al Anbar province, the Sunni stronghold where Travis was deployed, an incredible 97 percent voted against the constitution, which underscored the huge challenges American forces still faced in western Iraq. The overall vote, however, paved way for Iraq’s historic national election on December 15, 2005, which Travis and his fellow Marines also played a big role in protecting.
During one late evening convoy through Fallujah, the deafening thunder of an IED shattered the relative tranquility of the 1st Reconnaissance Battalion patrol. The group of Marines had been attacked before, but this was the first time that Travis was with them during a hostile incident. Keeping his composure while following the orders of the more experienced officers, Travis, his heart pumping and his ears ringing, helped evacuate a Marine who was wounded in the attack.
It was Travis’s first encounter with IEDs, which were killing and maiming troops and civilians all over Iraq and Afghanistan. Despite the seriousness of the threat, the budding battlefield leader was in his element while helping ensure that a brother in arms survived.
Later that night Travis, looking to burn off some tension from his first experience with a roadside bomb, went over to a makeshift gym he had been instrumental in helping build for Marines on Camp Fallujah. While financial constraints made the project a tough sell, Travis, with extra time on his hands after finishing his duties each day, kept pushing his superiors about the importance of staying in shape, especially since an exercise regimen centered on running was sometimes difficult to maintain in Iraq’s scorching heat. Without Brendan there to challenge him during grueling workouts, Travis pressured himself to stay in good physical condition.
As he changed out of his fatigues and walked into the tiny weight room wearing a politically incorrect “Infidel” T-shirt, which had been mailed to him by Brendan, he saw a familiar face under the bench press bar. It was the 1st Reconnaissance Battalion surgeon, Reagan Anderson, a US Navy physician attached to the battalion.
“Lieutenant Manion, how are you?” Anderson inquired.
“Hey, sir, I’m doing alright,” Travis replied. “Just gonna lift and get rid of some of the day’s stress, you know?”
“I hear that,” Anderson said.
Travis was about to start his bench press workout, then turned back to Anderson.
“Hey, sir,” Travis asked. “How are you holding up?”
Anderson stopped his reps to answer the Marine’s question. Despite having a tough day, Travis genuinely cared about how Anderson was doing.
“You know what, that’s the first time anyone’s asked me that in a really long time,” Anderson said. “I’m doing well, Lieutenant, and thanks for asking.”
“Do you want a spotter?” said Travis, who moved behind the doctor to support the bar he was lifting in case it became too heavy to control.
“That would be great,” Anderson said.
While out on a convoy mission a few nights later, Travis spotted First Lieutenant Croft Young. Surrounded by palm trees under the bright desert moon, the deployed Marines were far from enjoying cold glasses of beer while watching television, as they often had done at Twentynine Palms after the day’s training concluded. Instead, they were fueling up Humvees under cover of night in an ancient, mysterious place.
Even though Young’s job was often filthy, exhausting, and dangerous, Travis would have given almost anything to join him.
“It must be great to be outside the wire so much,” Travis remarked to Young.
“I’m not sure ‘great’ is the word I would use,” Young said. “I haven’t taken a shower in two weeks.”
Travis realized the inconveniences that came with the territory, but still wanted to be part of the main combat effort in Al Anbar province.
During the deployment, Travis sent an e-mail to Marine Captain Ryan Gilchrist, who had taught and mentored Travis at TBS:
As far as the deployment, we’ve been really busy with the referendum lately. There were a lot of moving parts associated with the whole operation as I’m sure you’d understand. It’s also been tough on the Bn [Battalion] as we are usually assigned tasks that would suit an infantry Bn, and don’t really fit our task organization.
In terms of my role, I’m really excited to be out here affecting change where I can, but I’d be lying if I said I was pleased with my situation.
Other than that, I also wanted to thank you again for the guidance you gave in Quantico, I think about the things you taught us every day I’ve been out here (and not just what you told, but by your actions too).
In his reply, Gilchrist offered encouragement and probably the highest praise that could be bestowed upon a junior Marine Corps officer.
“Keep after it,” Gilchrist wrote. “I see stars on your collar in twenty-five years.”
Travis helped make history as proud Iraqis waved their ink-soaked fingers after voting in two democratic elections to help determine their country’s future. In between the momentous votes, Travis celebrated his twenty-fifth birthday.
4
“IF NOT ME, THEN WHO . . .”
Iraq changed newly promoted First Lieutenant Travis Manion for the better. As the Marine’s mom, dad, sister, and several Naval Academy buddies all noticed, he was still the same Travis who had willingly traded Doylestown for one of the world’s most dangerous places. But after returning to the United States, Travis carried with him an aura of seriousness and quiet self-confidence that was unfamiliar to some of his closest friends and loved ones.
When Travis talked about life, he acknowledged its fragility, having felt the pulse of an IED blast and seen dead bodies in the streets. When he dated, he was cautious, knowing that he would probably deploy to Iraq again soon. When he had fun, he knew when to call it quits, even more so than in his Naval Academy days.
For a young Marine who had just spent eight months in Fallujah, it was almost impossible not to mature. No matter what Travis was doing, he was acutely aware that every single day Americans, Iraqis, and Afghans were fighting and often dying. He had already lost too many fellow midshipmen and Marines to violence and could still picture their flag-draped coffins.
As Travis wrapped up his first combat tour in the spring of 2006, Brendan was deployed to Chinhae (now Jinhae), South Korea, where he worked as a Navy intelligence officer. He was proud of Travis and his many classmates serving in harm’s way, but as the former roommates corresponded, Brendan was also frustrated that he couldn’t be part of America’s efforts in Iraq or Afghanistan.
He also missed his girlfriend, Amy, and would often send her postcards from the Korean peninsula:
These last couple months have been tough, not much fun w/ out you. I get very bored here and miss you like crazy. I don’t like not having you around. Life is better with you in it. One day though, right?
Love, Brendan
Despite his desire to shield his girlfriend from the realities of serving during wartime, Brendan would frequently tell Amy how much he wanted to transfer
from Navy intelligence to Special Operations, which would almost certainly give him the chance to deploy to Iraq or Afghanistan.
“Amy, I’ve got to do more,” Brendan said during a late-night phone conversation. “Travis is there, my other buddies are there, and I want to be there with them.”
When Amy reminded him of the dangers his friends, like Travis, were facing, Brendan was undeterred.
“I should be in the fight,” he insisted.
Brendan wanted to be a Navy SEAL. But every time he couldn’t distinguish the colors of two shirts in his drawer, he was reminded that the SEALs did not accept colorblind candidates. Though anything was possible, the odds of Brendan ever risking his life in top secret SEAL missions were extremely low.
Still, the concept Brendan’s father had instilled in him and his brothers since childhood—being selfless and always doing the right thing—was firmly planted in the back of Brendan’s mind. If there was any chance of serving in combat or becoming a SEAL, Brendan was going to do everything in his power to find a way.
While Brendan finished his first overseas deployment, Travis was often surfing near his West Coast base or playing pool and drinking beer on the lower level of his parents’ new house during visits back east. He was also anxious to lead Marines into battle the next time he was called upon to serve in combat. Just before he had left Iraq, the February 2006 shrine bombing in Samarra, north of Baghdad, had ignited a firestorm of sectarian violence that few had envisioned before the war.
Despite the sacrifices made by some of America’s bravest men and women, Fallujah was still a top destination for terrorists yearning to kill Americans. To the dismay of Travis and many other Marines he had served alongside in Al Anbar province, conditions in the heavily Sunni city seemed to be worsening.
One indisputably positive development in the ongoing war effort was the death of Abu Musab al-Zarqawi, the Jordanian-born al Qaeda terrorist who had spent years murdering US troops and civilians. His victims included American contractor Nick Berg, who the CIA said al-Zarqawi had beheaded in a horrifying videotaped execution. After a massive manhunt, the terrorist leader was finally killed in a June 2006 bombing raid near the northern Iraqi city of Baqubah.
Later that summer, an extraordinary terror alert originating from Britain rocked the Western world. Authorities announced that al Qaeda was once again targeting commercial air travel, this time through the use of liquid explosives. From Europe to the United States, putting toothpaste or perfume through X-ray machines in clear plastic bags, along with throwing out water and soda bottles, became the norm while trying to navigate the post-9/11 airport security albatross. Five years after the terrorist attacks, Americans were still living in a new, evolving world.
By fall 2006, the image of Saddam Hussein as a uniform-donning dictator was replaced by his fiery rants as a defendant standing trial for crimes against humanity. Saddam was hanged shortly after Christmas, and the video of his execution was subsequently leaked on the Internet. While political divisions over the Iraq war were still deepening at home and around the world, few mourned the demise of a brutal despot who had used chemical weapons on his own people.
In the United States, President Bush, nearing the midpoint of his second term, was steadfast in his commitment to the war effort, although the resignation of Defense Secretary Donald Rumsfeld in November signaled the commander-in-chief’s apparent willingness to consider tactical adjustments. Public opinion polls on the Iraq war fluctuated throughout 2006, often depending on the latest developments on the ground. But the 2006 midterm elections, in which the GOP lost thirty-one House and five Senate seats, were a clear sign of the American public’s growing frustration with the three-and-a-half-year-long conflict.
Although ignoring the political debate over the war was virtually impossible, Travis, Brendan, and thousands of their fellow US troops had an uncanny ability to focus on the big picture. Where terrorists wreaked havoc, with Fallujah serving as a prime example, warriors like Travis and Brendan wanted to bring them to justice. Travis’s previous encounters with the enemy’s cruel tactics, coupled with the fact that his fellow Marines were being killed and wounded in Iraq and Afghanistan, made his desire to hunt down those responsible even more urgent. Nearly a thousand American families lost their loved ones to war in 2006, a fact that was not lost on Travis or his former Naval Academy roommate.
Brendan, who was back in Virginia Beach after returning from Korea, called his girlfriend in Maryland to have what initially seemed like a casual conversation. Amy was at work and fairly busy, but would always make time to take a call from her boyfriend. As the conversation progressed, though, Amy sensed that Brendan was about to share something she probably didn’t want to hear.
“So I should probably tell you something,” Brendan finally said, then paused. “Somebody talked to me today about going to Iraq. I’d be leaving really soon, but I think this is something I need to do.”
Brendan then told Amy that he would be heading to Camp Fallujah for a few months.
“Do you promise to be careful?” Amy asked.
“Of course,” Brendan replied.
“That’s all I can ask,” Amy said.
After exchanging “I love yous,” Brendan and Amy ended their phone call as they always did. Since Brendan’s Korean deployment, the word “good-bye” had been banned from the young couple’s vocabulary.
“See you later,” Amy said.
“See you later,” said Brendan.
Soon after hanging up, Brendan called Travis, who was making a short trip back east to unwind from his first deployment before heading back to California to await his next assignment. First he would drive down to Annapolis to meet up with Brendan, Amy, and other college friends. While his former roommate considered waiting until the weekend to share his big news, he couldn’t keep something this significant from Travis.
“Dude, get this,” Brendan said. “I’m going to Iraq.”
“No way,” Travis said, knowing how much Brendan wanted to get in the fight. “Congrats man. Where are you headed?”
“Doing intel at Camp Fallujah,” Brendan replied. “Your old stomping grounds.”
“That’s wild,” Travis said. “Well, Fallujah can be a crazy place, but just keep your eyes open and you’ll be fine.”
“I won’t be outside the wire very much,” Brendan said. “I’m just glad to finally be doing my part.”
“You have been doing your part,” Travis said. “But believe me, I know what you mean.”
Travis, Amy, Brendan, and Steve met up that weekend at the Dock Street Bar & Grill, which was close to the water and about two football fields away from the Manions’ Annapolis home.
Naturally the bar was packed on Saturday night, with hundreds of mids (as midshipmen are nicknamed), graduates, and thirsty locals packing the relatively small restaurant well beyond capacity. After showing the bouncer their IDs and walking inside, Brendan headed to the restroom, while Travis took Amy and Steve to the bar to order four drinks.
As he tried to get the busy bartender’s attention, a particularly intoxicated patron bumped into Amy so hard that she almost fell over.
“Um, excuse me . . . ,” Amy said as Steve made sure she was okay.
Travis yelled “hey” as the guy walked away, completely oblivious, and sat down at the crowded bar, where he had left a light spring jacket to hold his spot.
After checking with Steve to make sure Amy was alright, Travis went straight up to the drunk guy.
“You just bumped into my friend’s girlfriend right there,” Travis said, pointing in Amy’s direction. “You need to apologize.”
“I didn’t bump into nobody,” the guy said. “Go back over to your woman.”
“That’s not my girlfriend,” Travis said. “I already told you that’s my friend’s girl and you need to apologize to her.”
“Fuck off,” the guy said.
Shaking his head in incredulity, the Marine, who wasn’t the least bit intimidat
ed, cracked a wry smile.
“Look man, this is up to you,” Travis said. “This is your chance to do the right thing.”
Just as Brendan walked out of the bathroom, the drunk jumped up and slammed his beer bottle on the bar, startling many patrons, who could immediately tell that a brawl was about to erupt. Before Travis, Brendan, or Steve could do anything, however, a bouncer grabbed the guy from behind and dragged him out the front door. The unruly customer’s hand, cut by the broken glass, was bleeding profusely.
When Travis told Brendan what had happened, the concerned boyfriend immediately went over to Amy, who said she was fine. At the same moment the guy who had bumped into her was being kicked out of the loud, busy bar.
“Get the hell off me, man!” he yelled as security pulled him outside.
“You’re lucky we’re throwing you out,” the bouncer, who remembered Travis and Brendan from their academy days, said to the bleeding patron. “I know those guys, and you would have been in big trouble if you tried to mess with either of them. They would have torn you apart.” He then pushed the ejected patron toward the street.
When things calmed down, the three friends raised their glasses, much as they had done a couple of years earlier during the Battle of Fallujah, and said a toast with Steve to the men and women fighting overseas. After taking their respective sips, Brendan looked over at Travis with a nod and his famous grin.
“Thanks,” Brendan said.
In August 2006, Brendan deployed to Fallujah, where he gathered and analyzed intelligence for combat missions, including operations carried out by Navy SEALs. While working out after his shift ended was a foregone conclusion, Brendan also went to the gym before breakfast and even on most lunch breaks. With his application for a lateral transfer to the SEALs being processed, Brendan was not going to be caught off guard if he was accepted into the next training class. Sure, there was only one “restricted” candidate placed in each incoming group, and the likelihood of Brendan being the first formally colorblind Navy SEAL in American history was at best remote. But just in case, Brendan maintained a ferocious workout routine.
Tom Sileo Page 7
