Tom Sileo

by Brothers Forever

  After saying “hello” and quickly realizing it was Brendan calling, not Sarver, Amy began trying to coax an explanation out of her boyfriend, who had become hysterical. Even after five years of dating, Amy was shocked to hear him crying.

  “It’s . . . Trav . . . ,” he gasped. “He’s gone.”

  “What?” asked Amy, confused and having trouble understanding Brendan’s words. “What are you talking about?”

  “He’s gone,” Brendan repeated. “He’s gone.”

  “Who?” Amy said. “Brendan, you have to tell me what happened.”

  After another deep breath and a long, painful pause, Brendan said it: “Travis is dead.”

  As confusion turned to heartbreak, Amy listened helplessly to the man she loved crying uncontrollably three thousand miles away. She was crying, too, thinking about Travis and the agony the Manions must be experiencing.

  The rest of the conversation didn’t make much sense, but Amy longed to hold Brendan on the eve of his long journey to become a Navy SEAL.

  “I love you,” she said as the painful call concluded.

  “I love you, too,” Brendan said. “I’ll see you later.”

  “See you later,” Amy said.

  After Sarver informed the BUD/S class leader that an Annapolis classmate and dear friend had been killed in Iraq, he and Brendan were excused for the next few days and permitted to leave the base. A few minutes later the aspiring SEAL retreated to the house they had been sharing on San Diego County’s picturesque Imperial Beach.

  Back in Doylestown, the number of people inside the Manion house had quadrupled since the Gardners and young Marine first arrived on their doorstep. As the sun set on the worst day of Tom, Janet, and Ryan’s lives, neighbors were bringing over trays of food, while close friends and relatives were pouring in to offer condolences and hugs and to ask Tom and Janet if there was anything they could do.

  As Travis’s dad sat on the deck surrounded by concerned friends, Gardner stepped out the front door to dial Papak, who was sitting with his wife in the Louis Armstrong New Orleans International Airport, where they were waiting to board their flight to Philadelphia. They had spoken briefly after the notification, but Gardner hadn’t reached Papak to tell him how Tom and Janet were doing.

  “Dave, things are still rough here,” Gardner said. “Tom, Janet, and Ryan are taking it very hard, but Renee and I are here, and we’ll make sure to take good care of them.”

  “Thanks, Corky,” Papak said. “Please just tell Tom we’ll be there as soon as we can.”

  Janet was still in the bedroom, lying motionless on her bed and crying into her pillow. She couldn’t stop thinking about the first time she had held her little boy in the hospital at Camp Lejeune. Baby Travis was so sweet, innocent, and helpless, and all Janet wanted was the chance to hold him one more time.

  Ryan sat in the hallway bathroom, makeup smeared on her face. Ever since she had collapsed in the driveway, she was barely aware of her surroundings. This has to be a bad dream.

  The Manions’ phone had been ringing off the hook since the news began to spread. The official casualty notice had been released to the public shortly after the family was notified, prompting calls from some Philadelphia TV stations and area newspapers. Most of the calls, however, were from relatives and friends, who spoke to Janet’s sister, Annette.

  When the phone rang for what had to be the hundredth time, Tom picked up the cordless, which was sitting next to him on the patio table.

  “Hello,” he said in a subdued monotone.

  “Mr. Manion, sir, is that you?” a young man said on the other end of the line.

  “Yes, it is,” Tom said.

  “This is Brendan. I’m so sorry.”

  Getting up from his chair, Tom walked inside the house and toward the bedroom as he thanked Brendan for calling and told him there were still no details about what had happened. All they knew was that Travis was killed in action in Al Anbar province.

  “Janet,” Tom said, opening the door. “Brendan is on the phone.”

  Tom and Janet shared the phone as they listened to the emotions of Travis’s former roommate on the other line. For the first time all day, Janet and Tom were the ones lending comfort.

  “Brendan, we love you,” Janet said, her voice shaking. “You are such a good friend.”

  “I love you, too,” Brendan said. “I am coming out there to be with all of you.”

  Tom knew Brendan was about to start BUD/S training and realized it wasn’t something an aspiring Navy SEAL could simply leave and return to.

  “No, buddy, you need to stay focused on what you’re doing out there,” Tom said. “You gotta do your training or they might never let you back in.”

  “Sir, I understand, and I’m not going to quit,” Brendan said. “But I have to fly east and be there for Travis. . . . I’m sure they’ll let me come back.”

  “Brendan,” Janet said in the most motherly, authoritative voice she could muster given the tragic circumstances. “You need to stay there and finish what you’ve started.”

  “I understand what you’re going through,” Tom said. “We haven’t even like . . . made sense of all this yet.”

  “But you’ve got to think about what Travis would want,” Janet said.

  Hanging up after one of the most difficult conversations of his life, Brendan told Sarver he was ready to head over to the house on Imperial Beach. As they left Naval Amphibious Base Coronado and crossed over the bay, it began to hit Brendan that he would never get to hang out on the island with Travis, as they had excitedly discussed via e-mail in February.

  As night fell in Pennsylvania, Janet and Tom lay next to one another in their bed. Silence filled the room, but both were still wide awake. For moments at a time, they each pondered the uncertainty of the next few days.

  When will Travis’s casket arrive at Dover?

  Will we get to see his body?

  What in God’s name happened to our son?

  Yet this was not a night for reasoning or logic. It was a time for grief.

  “Mom, Dad?” Ryan asked, slowly cracking open her parents’ door. “Is it okay if I sleep in here?”

  As April 29, 2007, came to a close, a married, twenty-seven-year-old mother lay between her parents, just like when she was a little girl. A single combat patrol in the notorious Pizza Slice of Fallujah, Iraq, had changed everything for Tom, Janet, and Ryan Manion.

  Sitting at the Imperial Beach house’s shared computer with an untouched beer that had been out of the refrigerator for hours, Brendan Looney thought about his fallen friend and his heartfelt conversation with the Manions. The house was quiet, except for the ocean waves and the barely audible sound of music playing on the kitchen radio.

  His eyes still red from crying, Brendan looked through the care package he had been preparing to send Travis, which included dozens of sports and fitness magazines. He then reread the last e-mail he had received from Travis, sent a week and a half before from Camp Fallujah:

  Friends and Family,

  We are a little over the halfway point of deployment. We have been pretty busy and working hard. It seems I have less free time than I did last year, but I do take the time to read all the e-mails and open all the packages sent. Thanks for all the support (my guys, the Iraqis, and I really appreciate the packages). Also, it’s been good to see a lot of familiar faces as new units are rotating in. My Battalion (Recon) has arrived and they’re ready to get to work-It was great to see them as well as some other Marines I know.

  Our Iraqi battalion has had some tough times lately but they are getting back on track. My company has really done well bouncing back and showing their dedication to the mission. I have attached some pictures from a recent operation.

  Again, it’s definitely been busy (and I apologize for the delay between updates), but the hard work definitely makes the time go by and keeps us all focused on the job at hand. I’m excited to see the deployment end strong and leave the Iraqi battalion a
t a higher level than when we arrived. I miss you guys and I’m looking forward to seeing you soon.

  Semper Fi,

  Travis

  Taking a deep breath, Brendan sat down on a couch across from where Sarver was studying his BUD/S training manual. Brendan hadn’t said a word in several hours. He suddenly spoke up, prompting Sarver to put down the manual and focus squarely on his roommate.

  “It hurts, man,” Brendan said. “But Trav would want us to go out there and get after it.”

  “Damn right,” Sarver said with a nod. “Let’s do this.”

  As the morning of Monday, April 30, dawned in Pennsylvania, the Pentagon issued one of the day’s ten press releases about US troops killed in Afghanistan and Iraq:

  The Department of Defense announced today the death of a Marine who was supporting Operation Iraqi Freedom.

  1st Lt. Travis L. Manion, 26, of Doylestown, PA., died April 29 while conducting combat operations in Al Anbar province, Iraq. Manion was assigned to 1st Reconnaissance Battalion, 1st Marine Division, I Marine Expeditionary Force, Camp Pendleton, Calif.

  From Doylestown, Pennsylvania, all the way to Wichita, Kansas—the hometown of twenty-one-year-old US Army Sergeant Alex Funcheon, who was killed in a Baghdad IED attack alongside two fellow soldiers on the same day as Travis—the horrors of war transported a multitude of American families to desolate islands of confusion, anger, and grief.

  As the Manions lay in bed without having slept a single wink, birds started to chirp outside the master bedroom window and the local paper boy was making his early morning rounds. Without knowing it was his day’s most significant toss, he flung a newspaper into the driveway of Tom and Janet Manion’s home. On the front page was Travis’s smiling face.

  8

  LIVE FOREVER

  Except for stirring sounds of bagpipes and occasional gusts of wind, Hangar 680 of Naval Air Station Joint Reserve Base Willow Grove was silent on May 3, 2007. On this sad Thursday afternoon during one of the Iraq war’s most violent chapters, the flag-draped casket of First Lieutenant Travis Manion was coming home to Pennsylvania. Hundreds joined Tom, Janet, Ryan, and Dave for the ceremony, and all could feel its mixture of trepidation, sorrow, and pride.

  It was a different atmosphere than earlier in the week at Dover Air Force Base in Delaware, when the grief-stricken Manion family had first welcomed Travis to American soil. Rather than being surrounded by loved ones, the Manions had stood alone in a massive hangar as six US Marines slowly carried Travis out of a large military jet. In 2007, no media coverage of these solemn ceremonies was allowed at Dover. The fallen hero’s return to eastern Pennsylvania, the Manions decided, would be different.

  Four days after the death of his only son, Tom stood in the front row of a large, hushed crowd in his clean, crisp Marine Corps uniform. Wearing his dress blue pants, white hat, and Navy blue jacket, Tom would have gladly traded his colonel’s rank and every medal on his uniform to have one last conversation with Travis. The father’s anguish was matched only by his determination to honor Travis the right way, while showing the world that no sniper could ever gash the vein of his son’s fighting spirit.

  Tom’s hand was clasping Janet’s, who stood to his right with her head bowed. Wearing all black except for a Marine-colored scarf and a pair of gold earrings shaped like the Corps’ distinctive Eagle, Globe, and Anchor, she had barely slept since the Gardners had arrived on her front doorstep with the nervous young Marine. Still, she shared her husband’s resolve to honor Travis, even if seeing her son’s casket for the first time in Dover had been the most painful moment of her life. All Janet wanted to do was hug her little boy, and hopefully, someone would soon let her.

  Ryan, wearing a turquoise blouse and black skirt with dark sunglasses, held a small American flag in her right hand and her mom’s hand in her left. Travis’s older sister was also looking down as she awaited his return home, but she occasionally looked up with her tearful eyes at the many signs guests had made to honor Travis. One bright poster, held by Ryan and Travis’s cousin Lauren Gretz said “Welcome home Travis!” in red cursive handwriting.

  The warm messages of support helped replace the cold feeling Ryan had felt in Dover. She also noticed reporters from every major Philadelphia-area television station and newspaper, which helped the audience appreciate the significance of the heartrending moment they were about to witness.

  Dave, who wore an American flag pin on his dark suit, thought again of what his brother-in-law had said after the Eagles game in December—“If not me, then who . . .”—and marveled at the quote’s unmistakable meaning. Though Travis had said it in passing, without the slightest hint of bravado, he had backed up his words with decisive, selfless actions.

  Nobody in the packed hangar knew what to expect as an anxious calm blended with what would have been an ordinary, comfortable spring day. From eastern Pennsylvania to Iraq, where the Marines of 3-2-1 MiTT and their Iraqi counterparts were holding a memorial service for their brother in arms, this was a time of utter uncertainty.

  Janet heard the faint sound of helicopters approaching, gasping as she looked toward the partly cloudy skies. She squeezed her husband’s arm in anticipation.

  Tom also looked up at the sky, which he had shouted at in anger four days earlier after realizing Travis was dead. Ever since that excruciating moment, however, he had been determined to hold the family together.

  When the sound of the choppers grew louder, Tom stood at attention and tried not to cry as the helicopters appeared over the distant treetops. Janet gripped both her husband’s and daughter’s arms. In a few agonizing moments, Travis would finally be home.

  The audience’s heartache was palpable as the helicopter carrying Travis flew over the treetops, descended slowly, and landed gently on the warm Pennsylvania concrete.

  To Tom and Janet, the helicopter was carrying a beloved son. To Ryan and Dave, it was carrying a trusted brother. To Travis’s relatives, it was carrying a grandson, nephew, or cousin. To the Marines standing at attention, it was carrying a brother in arms. To everyone else, the chopper was bringing home a young man who was willing to sacrifice everything to protect others.

  When the helicopter’s rear hatch opened and six Marines carried Travis back to the place where most of his formative years had been spent, onlookers saw a young man’s casket covered with the flag that so many heroes of current and prior generations have fought to preserve.

  Major Steve Cantrell, who had taken Travis to the Rescue One firehouse in lower Manhattan and comforted the twenty-six-year-old Marine after the first time he struck down an enemy fighter on the battlefield, rode in the back of the helicopter that brought Travis back to Pennsylvania. He had spent the previous night guarding Travis and even slept in front of his casket. From Fallujah to Doylestown, the fallen Marine was never alone.

  As Cantrell watched his fellow Marines march Travis toward his loved ones, a bagpipe played the first, dramatic notes of “Amazing Grace.” The timeless hymn echoed through the hangar, causing Tom, Janet, Ryan, Dave, and almost everyone else in the audience to weep.

  Many who watched in person and on Philadelphia-area television sets were shocked to see such an emotionally visceral ceremony. Since Vietnam, the public had been largely sheltered from seeing the toll of war unfold before their eyes. But as Tom and Janet often said, Americans had to see war’s consequences in order to grasp the burden military families were enduring. While Ryan and Dave chose to shield Maggie from the confusion of seeing her uncle’s coffin being carried off the helicopter, older children in attendance got their first glimpse of the military community’s enormous sacrifices.

  Brigadier General Dave Papak, who had immersed himself in every detail of Travis’s homecoming since first receiving the devastating e-mail from his commanding officer in New Orleans, summed up the ceremony’s meaning in three words: “Welcome home, warrior.”

  The Manion family was exhausted by the time they collapsed into a limousine to follow t
he hearse to the funeral home. That’s when Krista Brown, a close family friend who had grown up with Ryan and Travis, looked up with a blank expression after receiving a shocking text message.

  “Colby Umbrell was killed today in Iraq,” she said.

  “Oh, my God,” Ryan said. “We went to high school with him.”

  “What?” Janet said, covering her mouth with both hands. “Oh no, it can’t be . . . that poor family.”

  After a moment of silence, Janet took Ryan’s and Krista’s hands.

  “Let’s all lower our heads and say a prayer,” she said.

  Twenty-six-year-old US Army First Lieutenant Colby Umbrell was killed in action on May 3, 2007, by an enemy IED in Musayyib, just south of Baghdad. In a cruel twist of fate, two sons of the small community of Doylestown serving in Iraq were killed just four days apart.

  “Two in one week,” Tom said before rephrasing his sentence as a question. “Two in one week?”

  Shock and disbelief gripped Bucks County, Pennsylvania, during the difficult days that followed. But as stores sold out of American flags and schoolteachers brought children outside during both funeral processions, there was a sense of pride and patriotism not seen in the Philadelphia area since the entire nation rallied in unison on September 12, 2001.

  The day after learning of Umbrell’s death, Ryan, who had never met her onetime classmate’s parents, went with her Uncle Chris to the family’s house to pay her respects. They exchanged hugs, tears, and stories about their loved ones.

  For US Marine Captain Brian Stann, who had seen the horrors of war up close on the bloody, bombed-out streets of Iraq, Travis’s death was another devastating blow.

  From May 8–14, 2005, then Second Lieutenant Stann was instrumental in holding down a bridge after his unit was ambushed by enemy fighters using IEDs, machine guns, and rocket-propelled grenades. The Scranton, Pennsylvania, native had also directed casualty evacuations that helped save the lives of several wounded Marines.

  “Inspired by his leadership and endurance, 2nd Lt. Stann’s platoon held the battle position on the Euphrates River for six days protecting the Task Force flank and isolating foreign fighters and insurgents north of the river,” read Stann’s Silver Star citation.