A MARINE'S JOURNAL, PART 4

A MARINE'S JOURNAL
Liberation Day
Part 4 of a frontline account of Iraq's liberation.
(Back To PART 1)

BY BRIAN TAYLOR
Friday, February 13, 2004 12:01 a.m.

(Editor's note: Mr. Taylor joined the Marine Corps Reserves in 1996 and was called up for service in February 2002. His enlistment expired in November 2003. He kept this journal while deployed with Fox Company, Second Battalion, 23rd Marines in Kuwait and Iraq. Comments in italics were added after his return to clarify and expand his account and to define military terminology for the benefit of civilian readers. Four-digit numbers followed by "Z" are time codes in Greenwich Mean Time; codes of the format "38RQU 29141756" are 8-digit MGRS grid coordinates indicating his location at the time. This is the fourth of five parts; click to read Part 1, Part 2 or Part 3.)

9 Apr 03 0354Z

Spent the night on the roof of some house in the Al Mathana neighborhood of Baghdad. We stopped our foot patrol around 1300Z yesterday afternoon and began looking for a building to stay in. My team was on the third floor of a shell of a structure when the fight began. I stood up and looked out the window across an intersection and a dirt field to the northwest.

I monitored radio traffic on the individual squad radio between Sgt. Ewert, First squad's leader, and Cpl. Houschouer, one of his team leaders. The sergeant was irate because it wasn't immediately obvious to Houschouer how to control a large five-way intersection with only four Marines. I thought to myself that it wasn't at all obvious to me either.

I saw a man step out from behind the southwest corner of an Iraqi security compound. He was 180 meters away and looked like an unarmed civilian, although the sun made him just a silhouette. Then he fired a RPG, which streaked into the Marines standing near the intersection. Cpl. Scott Lee and Lance Cpl. Roger Anderson, members of my own squad, were hit and sustained minor head and arm wounds, a miracle since it hit right by them.

I began firing 5.56mm rifle rounds and 203 grenades at the man. The machine guns began. He did the strangest arms-flying-in-air jig when he realized he was being shot at. He ducked behind the wall and machine guns followed. I lobbed 203s over the wall, and they landed with great clapping noise.

Iraqi fighters began firing from within the compound itself. Capt. Schoenfeld had forbidden us from entering and clearing that place just a few minutes earlier.

The highway between the Iraqis and us was the "limit of advance," so we could go no farther. Staff Sgt. Ivers had presented Capt. Schoenfeld with some alternatives to establishing an entry control point (ECP). First we could clear the small compound, a dicey maneuver given the open avenue between it and us. Second, we could pull back a block and choose better defensive positions for the night. Both were rejected in favor of doing nothing to make our present tactical situation better.

Marines were ordered to set up another ECP at the intersection and begin controlling traffic. I believe this was the result of operational habit after doing ECP ops for days on end. Standing in the road and controlling traffic is a very bad idea if you don't control the immediate terrain, particularly in an urban environment.

Cpl. Vidaña, our company radio operator, took a round through the head. It passed through, we are told, but somehow he is living.

I later learned details of Cpl. Jesus Vidaña's injury. A bullet pierced his Kevlar helmet. He was initially presumed dead, but then showed life signs. He was evacuated to a battalion aid station. The gravity of his injury was obvious, but there was no neurosurgeon nearby to treat him. Additionally, air transport to a suitable facility was unavailable. CNN's medical correspondent, Sanjay Gupta, a neurosurgeon, was covering medical operations at the same facility to which Cpl. Vidaña had been taken. After stating that Cpl. Vidaña would not survive the night without surgery, he requested and received permission to perform the operation himself.

I've since seen Dr. Gupta on CNN. He states that he performed five operations during his time as a journalist in Iraq. A CNN reporter saved Cpl. Vidaña's life. Amazing.

First Squad displaced from their positions on the northeast corner of the intersection facing the near compound so mortars could shell it. They hit an apartment building 400 meters beyond. It burned and the mortars were ordered to quit.

Then two cars zoomed into the intersection and were destroyed by machine-gun fire. The machine-gun section began shooting every car that came within 300 meters. One car smashed through a sandbag bunker left by Iraqis on the southeast corner of the intersection sending Marines diving clear. Machine guns peppered the car. It was a taxi with a family in it. Soon there were six or so shot-up hulks with dead and wounded. Marines on the streets organized a rescue effort to save those we now recognized as innocents. A group of eight or so Marines ran across about 150 meters of open ground and began herding people back when they all came under AK fire from the compound. We (those of us in upper windows, or forward positions on the street) successfully returned and suppressed that fire. Then as the rescue party returned with howling wounded civilians, we shouted "Tabeeb!" (doctor) out the window and pointed to the corpsmen's position.

More RPGs came whizzing in and across our position from the much larger intelligence complex on the southwest corner of the intersection. By now battalion snipers were on the roof of the building I was in, and a machine-gun team had found my floor and was up and running. It was beginning to get dark.

We began to take fire from the mosque behind us and to the south, and from side streets. I left the building with my fire team and we consolidated in a side street with Second Squad and a few Marines from Third Platoon. We sheltered there and watched rooflines and windows like hawks. A couple of bursts of AK-47 fire flew by, but that was all.

For all the shooting I had done, and all the spectacle I had witnessed from the windows on the third story, I was suddenly aware of the comparative calamity of life on the street compared to life on the third story of my building. Where I felt I had seen more enemy activity and had a freer time returning fire, Marines who spent the first two hours on the street were certainly exposed to very much more hazard. In the weeks that followed this produced an irrational guilt in me.

My journal also omits the aerial bombardment of the larger compound on the southwest corner of the intersection. The compound actually sat 150 meters or so west of the road and behind an open dirt field. The fighting had nearly died as it became dark and we got the word that an air strike was incoming. Lance Cpl. Garrard, Cpl. Siggard, Cpl. Christensen and I were standing with our backs against the steel rolling overhead door of someone's small shop. We heard the terrific, screeching, decelerating noise of an unseen F-18 followed by two enormous concussive blasts in the heart of the compound 400 to 500 meters away. The shockwave of the 1,000-pound bombs moved through the buildings and our bodies. It pushed the air out of my lungs and caused the door to buck outward pushing us away from the building.

Iraqis fighters in those Republican Guard compounds had already been silenced before the arrival of the planes. The Marines were dealing with threats from the neighborhood all around them. But the blasts, or nightfall, seemed to discourage very much more fighting.

Later we learned that air support had been requested early that afternoon, but the only planes on station were equipped with 2,000-pound bombs. They returned to base, rearmed with 1,000-pound bombs, and delivered their ordnance several hours late. I reflected that getting air support four hours late is a lot like getting no air support at all.

During the fighting I remember four RPG impacts from three directions. Other Marines said the could recall six or more, but I always suspected they were compounding the number by duplicating each other's accounts.

By now it was dark. We kicked in some doors and found some flat rooftops for the whole company. We stood a fifty percent watch staring down the streets with NVGs (night vision goggles) and SAWs (squad automatic weapons). We decided that vehicles that got too close would get two or three tracer warning shots from an M16 and then a burst of SAW fire to stop them, but none came after dark. It is generally considered that Iraqi fighters don't operate at night, or at least elect not to operate against us at night.

When the morning came an artillery barrage began to reduce the compound. Then tanks began pounding it. I don't know if there was any return firing anymore. Golf Company swept through and cleared the buildings with apparent ease.

10 Apr 0250Z

We spent the night in the captured/shattered intelligence compound. The building I am in is a barracks of sorts. I swept the glass out of the demolished kitchen and slept like a log on the floor.

Yesterday we patrolled on foot some 800 meters down a main street into the city to set up another ECP at a main intersection. We began taking fire from a security tower to the southeast. Second Squad began to maneuver against it, but the RCT's (regimental combat team's) Sgt. Maj. Leal said 7th Marines were somewhere over there and we should leave it to them. Fine. We left.

I was surprised to see the sergeant major in our area. He was just watching Marines on the sidewalk. After we started taking sporadic fire, potshots really, we took cover and Sgt. McMullen began organizing our movement. We were preparing to move when the sergeant major strolled up and waved us off. He wasn't taking cover. He was just slowly ambling down the sidewalk saying hello to Marines.

When we entered the compound where we slept last night, I found a supply room and liberated a bag of Iraqi Army socks. We sorted through the mountains of weapons left behind. These people could have fired RPGs at us all night if we had not scrambled so hard to suppress them. There were RPK machine guns (a 7.62mm Soviet light machine gun), hundreds of AK-47s, stacks of RPG rounds and launchers, and all manner of supplies and equipment.

We cleaned ourselves and sat in the shade sharing stories and details of the previous day's fight. The battle had a completely different face to those who were on the street corner, or in the buildings like me, or on a side street.

We marveled that our conflict had made the BBC and MSNBC, and had been reported as the largest ground conflict in the battle for Baghdad. Yesterday the news also reported that Baghdad has been secured. We hope it is true and that April 9 will be remembered as Iraqi Liberation Day.

After my homecoming one of the most frequent questions I initially received was, "Did you see Saddam's statue get pulled down?" That did occur on April 9, but I didn't see or hear about it until I got home. Another common question was, "Did you see Saddam's palaces?" I tell people that the statues and palaces were in the swanky quarter of town, which the Army assigned to itself.

I did not time our engagement two days ago, but the company says it lasted four hours. Second Platoon was the only element engaged that long. Third fought for about 90 minutes. First showed up later.

I don't know how I felt confident enough about the actions of other platoons to time their involvement. I only knew when I first saw members of those groups, not when they first joined the fighting. First Platoon had a running battle for several blocks in which Cpl. Vidaña was injured. Third Platoon rapidly reinforced Second (my platoon), but I didn't see them where I was until later. That doesn't mean they weren't on the street level fighting earlier, which in fact they were. Second Platoon became critically low of ammunition. Without Third's help, Second Platoon would have run been hard pressed to mount a sufficiently strong counterattack.

By the time the battle on April 8 ended, 12 Fox Marines had been wounded. Vidaña received the worst injuries. Several received concussions from being shot in the head. Their helmets absorbed the rounds and kept the Marines alive. A larger number were wounded by rocket blasts or RPG fragments. And a few had taken nasty falls while running through buildings.

It is now known that the Iraqis forced those civilians into their vehicles under threat of death and ordered them to speed into our positions. One of them was a dentist who speaks English. He explained it all. Some of the cars were driven by Iraqis in uniform but filled with civilians, Palestinians civilians reportedly. One such vehicle was a four-door Nissan truck, tan, that shot past our forward line into our depth at about 50 miles an hour. I shot about 10 rounds into the cab with about eight other Marines. The vehicle slammed into a power pole without having braked, the driver already dead. He was the only occupant in that vehicle.

In fact, the civilian vehicles shot that day could be grouped into three categories. The first were vehicles driven by Iraqi fighters at Marine targets, with or without civilian hostages onboard. Second, there were vehicles driven by civilians who were compelled by threats against their hostage families to do the same. One survivor indicated this. And third, there were civilians who innocently drove themselves into the crossfire.

"Caught in the crossfire" is the euphemism I have most frequently applied to that third category of victims, but it is misleading. It suggests we were shooting at something else. Those vehicles were targeted because they were believed to be threats. At the height of the suicide attacks there was no way to positively discriminate between attackers in cars and innocents in cars. The rules of engagement obliged us to positively identify targets. The only caveat was that nothing in the rules could be construed to curtail our ability to defend ourselves, which we did. My worst recollections of the war are connected to the people in those cars.

This is the unconventional war Saddam promised--losing tactics designed to raise the PR costs of U.S. efforts.

11 Apr 03 1052Z--United Nations Compound

This morning we left the intelligence compound where we spent two nights and a day. We moved about two kilometers to the U.N. compound to provide security to the battalion, which is now headquartered here. On the backside of the complex is the Iraqi Ministry of Tourism, some looted buildings that allow us to observe our sectors north and west. We found here foam mattresses, plastic furniture and U.N. rations. We have a hose outside from which we can supply water for the washing of bodies and clothing. We are living large.

I think the facility we stayed in behind the U.N. Headquarters building was a U.N. hosting facility. Calling it the Ministry of Tourism was a joke that only I missed.

Fox relieved Echo at this security detail, and they told us that the compound takes occasional sniper fire from the north, but we haven't received any today. We are currently manning a couple of machine-gun posts on the roof but otherwise sleeping and eating French humanitarian rations. Menu No. 2 includes a thick bar of chocolate. The label proclaims in contains a minimum of 43% cocoa. The French are manic about chocolate, its bureaucratic definition and regulation. I recall they once tangled with the Hershey people in an effort to disallow the Hershey bar from being called chocolate.

On Tuesday the 8th, the day of our engagement here, we patrolled on foot for a few kilometers through town. We walked through residential and commercial streets. Crowds of people came out to see us. They were curious and happy. The areas were closely packed with two-story buildings on narrow streets.

I talked to several men who spoke a little English. I asked them where the men with weapons were hiding and if they could point out the houses of Saddam's men. One man named Moustafe was typical. He said that his neighborhood was clean but that we should be concerned about bad men who shoot at us from passing cars. Indeed the first RPG shots at our vehicles--one ripped the canvas off one of our 7-ton trucks, and another destroyed a CAAT (combined anti-armor team) vehicle--came from a passing yellow Volkswagen Passat. I later stopped and searched a yellow Passat at gunpoint before realizing that they were all over and belonged to the local cab company. Moustafe said he and his fellows (he had about 12 men with him) were all my friends. I asked him what he thought about Saddam Hussein. The men agreed that they were glad to be rid of him. I indicated that Saddam had most likely been blown to bits. They disagreed and said he had fled to Syria. It is one thing to be grateful for U.S. intervention, but perhaps another to accept that the U.S. had rubbed out his own sovereign leader. Fled to Syria is fine.

Of course, Moustafe and I were both wrong about Saddam the despot. He was neither in Syria nor blown to bits, as we had hoped. But I think the reaction in the Middle East to Saddam's eventual ignominious capture supports my speculation about Moustafe's thinking.

About searching the Passat: I severely scared three male occupants in that vehicle. As it rounded a nearby corner into view I charged at it with my rifle up and ordered everyone out. Then I made a turning key gesture and had the driver open the trunk--empty. I scanned the cabin, which was also empty. About the time I was finishing I saw another one and realized my mistake. All I can say is that urban operations are very difficult.

We moved on. While stopped in front of someone's house, I noticed a family looking at me and commenting on something. They had a scared but curious four-year-old boy. I moved across to them and gestured to his parents for permission to give the boy a Tootsie Roll. The father said "OK" and smiled. I took my ID case out and showed them the pictures of Jane and Keith with their shining blond hair. The father beamed and seized my hand. He kissed the pictures and gestured to heaven. Mother came out and took the pictures inside to show the other women and children who all gathered inside the house. I had just given, or had taken from me, my wallet with my military ID, $80 in U.S. currency and the pictures of my family to strangers, who took it inside. When I looked apprehensive the man laughed at me. The wallet came back complete. Smiles all around.

In another neighborhood we halted to listen to the sounds of First Platoon engaged two blocks away. Unknown to us they were taking heavy RPG fire. I assumed the explosions were our rockets being fired, not inbound RPGs. A gate opened and a girl Jane's age and a boy Keith's age came out. She herded her brother about, in the same way Jane would do Keith, while they delivered rose blossoms to Marines kneeling or prone. HM2 (Hospital Corpsman Second Class) Tony Parks got three for some reason. The children's parents stood in their courtyard smiling and waving.

We moved on again and within an hour were committed to battle.

12 Apr 03 38SMB 50568847 (U.N. Compound)

Yesterday I stood watch on the roof of this place for two hours between 1400 and 1600Z. I stared north at the highway and watched for trouble. I watched a squad from Echo Company on a westbound foot patrol. I was staring right at them when a blast occurred right in the middle of their tactical column. The Marine closest fell, rose again, hopped a few steps away and then went down. There was no sign of a nearby enemy and there had been no familiar screech of RPGs. It didn't look like a mortar blast. It was a landmine.

I radioed it in with a direction and a distance from my post. I used my GPS to project the grid of the incident and radioed that in too. Two civilians nearby threw up white flags and were detained but released. A few minutes went by while we watched from our roof and tried to get info about who, how bad, etc. A CAAT Humvee appeared with a .50-caliber rifle and provided security for the Humvee ambulance and the seven-ton that appeared. They carted off the wounded man and the foot patrol continued. The patrol moved northwest away from the road.

Last night we learned that the injured Marine had picked up the mine and handled it. It detonated when he tossed it down. Stupid. The extent of his injuries is still unknown to us.

I stood watch again from 2230 to 0015Z. A quiet watch. Afterward I went into the U.N. building and used the phones to call home. I talked to Shari, who cried a little. She told me about the kids. According to Keith, he is no longer my "Little Guy," John is. John is now "Little Guy." Keith is the "Big Guy," as I used to be, and Keith says to John, "You're the Little Guy, I'm the Big Guy, but there is this other Big Guy, but he's huge!" So I'm the Huge Guy. I miss that boy.

Jane cried a little too. She is very tender. I received a letter from Shari yesterday and she reports that Jane said, "My heart misses Daddy so much my tummy hurts." I know a little about how she feels.

I tried to call home two days ago but I couldn't raise Shari. I did connect with Dad though. I told him the story about nabbing that general at my checkpoint. This morning I took a shower for the first time since leaving Camp Coyote. There are showers in this building, but no running water. I filled a steel bucket of cold water from a basin outside and took it into a questionable shower stall. I used a plastic pitcher, a bar of Lava soap (the official soap of Nascar) and a sponge to clean away nearly a month of impacted grime. The occasional wet-wipe has not been sufficient, but the cold shower was a delight. I put on clean underwear, shook the dust off my uniform, and I feel great.

The current rumor has it that we will be leaving this compound around noon today for the barracks we left two days ago. Then in two days we will begin moving back to Kuwait. Units will "leapfrog" or "bound" back, securing the route for each other as they go. But rumors are what they are, and word continually changes.
http://www.opinionjournal.com/columnists/btaylor/?id=110004677

(Feb. 23: Part 5--Mission Accomplished)
Go To: A Marine's Journal, Part 5 (parts 1-5)

Copyright © 2004 Dow Jones & Company, Inc. All Rights Reserved.



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This is...
Gunny G's...
GLOBE and ANCHOR
Marines Sites & Forums
By R.W. "Dick" Gaines
GySgt USMC (Ret.)
1952-72
Semper Fidelis
~~~~~~~~~~

GENERALS AND THE PRESIDENCY

February 13, 2004
OP-ED CONTRIBUTOR
Beware Generals Bearing a Grudge
By JEAN EDWARD SMITH

HUNTINGTON, W.Va.

In pulling out of the Democratic presidential race, Gen. Wesley Clark ended what was once a promising quest to join the long line of men who converted battlefield prominence into political victory. The military is one of the traditional springboards to the White House: 12 former generals have been president, six of them career military men (only lawyers have done better). Yet no general has ascended to the Oval Office for half a century.

So is the demise of the Clark campaign another sign that in the urban, affluent, white-collar America of today the armed forces no longer hold enough respect to sell their best and brightest to the electorate? Probably not. Wesley Clark was never an heir to the tradition of Andrew Jackson and Ulysses S. Grant. Rather, his military career and personality fit neatly into a different military category: generals who became political also-rans.

First, consider the qualities of the six career generals who won the White House. They were national icons swept into office on a tide of popular enthusiasm. George Washington was a unanimous choice of the Electoral College. Andrew Jackson, victor at New Orleans, led the crusade for democratic reform. William Henry Harrison won enduring fame at the Battle of Tippecanoe, as did Zachary Taylor at Buena Vista. Grant and Dwight Eisenhower led citizen armies to victory in the two greatest wars the nation has faced. In each case, the office sought the man, not vice versa.

Yet, surprisingly, these men shared a gift for managing men quietly. Their warm personalities cast a glow over their subordinates. They took their jobs seriously, but not themselves. Eisenhower, Taylor and Grant were ordinary men who did extraordinary jobs. They commanded unobtrusively, did not posture for the press or pronounce on matters of public policy. All were highly intelligent but resisted putting their intelligence on display. Their military dispatches were crisply written in unadorned English. And if given orders they disagreed with, they complied without complaint.

Taylor, "Old Rough and Ready," rarely wore a uniform. Grant was most at ease in the blouse of a private soldier. The Ike jacket of World War II was designed for comfort, not ceremony. All three identified with the citizen-soldiers they led, and each was adored by the armies they commanded. They worked easily with their superiors and their skill at human relations transferred readily from war to politics.

By contrast, famous generals who lost the presidency — including Winfield Scott, John C. Frémont, George McClellan, Winfield Scott Hancock, Leonard Wood and Douglas MacArthur — ran to prove themselves right. All had clashed with their civilian superiors, and their campaigns imploded for the same reasons that led to those clashes: assertions of intellectual superiority, moral certitude and the lack of a common touch. They were men who made a point of standing apart. They possessed messianic confidence in the correctness of every position they adopted, and had difficulty adjusting to views contrary to their own. To put it simply: they took themselves very seriously.

Temperament tells the difference. The also-rans were singular achievers. MacArthur finished first in his class at West Point, McClellan second. MacArthur and Leonard Wood won the Medal of Honor. Frémont mapped the Oregon Trail. Scott, a major general at 27, was the Army's general in chief for two decades. (Only Hancock seems in temperament more like those who won the presidency — thus it is not surprising that he came closest to getting the job, losing to James A. Garfield by 7,000 votes in 1880.)

Each of the also-rans shared the distinction of having been relieved of his command or placed on the shelf by higher authority. Winfield Scott, after capturing Mexico City and subduing the Mexican army, was summarily relieved by President James Polk in 1848; he suffered a crushing electoral defeat at the hands of Franklin Pierce four years later. Frémont was not only relieved of his command, but court-martialed and convicted for insubordination and mutiny in 1848 (Polk granted him clemency). He became the Republican nominee for president in 1856, losing to James Buchanan.

After Lincoln removed McClellan as commander of the Army of the Potomac, the "Young Napoleon" became an outspoken critic of Lincoln's conduct of the war and ran against the president in 1864. Winfield Scott Hancock was relieved by Grant as military governor of Louisiana for being too lax in enforcing Reconstruction.

Leonard Wood charged up San Juan Hill with Theodore Roosevelt in the Spanish-American War and was appointed Army chief of staff in 1910. Wood wore out his welcome at the Wilson White House and was not reappointed when his term expired, and was forced to spend World War I at a training camp in the United States. He led the first eight ballots at the 1920 Republican convention before delegates broke for Warren G. Harding. Douglas MacArthur was of course relieved by President Harry S. Truman for insubordination during the Korean War and returned to give a triumphal speech to a joint session of Congress. He entered several Republican primaries in the 1952 race, but found little resonance for his candidacy.

MacArthur, McClellan and Winfield Scott in particular were great soldiers. But their school of command rested on charisma. Their dispatches were cast in heroic prose, designed with an eye to future historians. Scott, "Old Fuss and Feathers," wore all the uniform the law allowed. McClellan and MacArthur always dressed for the occasion. All three insisted on ultimate command; this can be a valuable military virtue, but it is scarcely a skill transferable to the political arena.

Wesley Clark has more than a little in common with those whose political ambitions met frustration. A Rhodes Scholar who led his class at West Point, he was not a team player. He wore his ambition on his sleeve. He fought heroically in Vietnam but was made to sit out the Persian Gulf war at a training command in California. The leadership passed him over for duty with the joint staff in Washington, and he was not the Army's first choice to take over military command of NATO in the 1990's. Famously, he was relieved of his NATO command by President Bill Clinton after he clashed repeatedly with his military and civilian superiors.

During the campaign, comments by his former colleagues cemented this picture. Gen. Hugh Shelton, a former chairman of the Joint Chiefs of Staff, questioned General Clark's character and integrity. Former Defense Secretary William Cohen reportedly said he believed selecting General Clark for the NATO job was one of the worst decisions he ever made. Even Gen. John Shalikashvili, who as chairman of the Joint Chiefs was General Clark's most powerful supporter in the military, acknowledged that he "lacked the warmth and humanity that truly great commanders need."

On the campaign trail, General Clark remained tightly wound, pitting his drive and intellect against the system. The same question that dogged him during his military career continued to arise: Does Wes Clark have a goal other than Wes Clark? I was most struck when he told The New Yorker that he became a Democrat because Karl Rove, the Bush White House adviser, never returned his calls. It is easy to imagine George McClellan saying something similar.


Jean Edward Smith, a professor at Marshall University and author of "Grant," is writing a biography of Franklin D. Roosevelt.



Copyright 2004 The New York Times Company
~~~~~~~~~~
This is...
Gunny G's...
GLOBE and ANCHOR
Marines Sites & Forums
By R.W. "Dick" Gaines
GySgt USMC (Ret.)
1952-72
Semper Fidelis
~~~~~~~~~~

AN OLD SET OF MARINE DRESS BLUES...

Newsday.com

One Set of Dress Blues, Two Marines
Ed Lowe





February 22, 2004

Joseph P. Cope, 66, of Wantagh, grew up in a neighborhood called the Baisley Park section of Queens, near what then was Idlewild Airport. It later expanded exponentially and was renamed John F. Kennedy International Airport.

A freshly minted graduate of the High School of Graphic Arts in Manhattan, Cope enlisted in the United States Marine Corps in 1955. He was 17. Other friends and acquaintances from the neighborhood had served in the Marine Corps, among them Owen South, now 72, a retired schoolteacher who lives in Schenectady.

South had served in the 1st Marine Division from 1949 until 1953, much of his tour spent in the Korean War. "He was a forward observer at the Chosin Reservoir," Cope said. "They took a lot of casualties. Theirs was the first big battle where the Chinese came into it."

Last year, in an interview with the capital region's Sunday Gazette newspaper, South recalled the Nov. 27, 1950, battle over "Hill 1240," a mountain to the north of Yudam-ni, where the Marines were outnumbered 5-to-1.

"Our first platoon got halfway up that hill," South was quoted as saying, "and there were at least 1,000 Chinese dug in on the ridge. They [the Marines] got kind of massacred. We all got our wounded out, we got a lot of the dead, and we went back to our position," the Gazette story reads. "Right behind us there was a whole regiment of artillery. We could not let that fall into the hands of the enemy." They had to continue fighting, he said.

Eventually surrounded, the company of 200 men fought all night. The newspaper story continues: "When a platoon from the 5th Marines arrived to relieve, only 16 Marines were still able to fight."

South returned to Queens and married a sister of Joe Cope's close friend Ed Visser, who had enlisted in the Navy. In 1956, having heard that Cope planned to finish his active duty and remain in the Marine Corps Reserves for as long as he could, South gave his Marine issue Dress Blue uniform to Cope.

"In the mid-1950s," Cope recalled, "the Marine Corps only issued dress uniforms to ship detachments, recruiters, embassy guards and special units. You could buy a set, and all Marines always wanted a set, but they were expensive. They could cost a month's pay or more.

"I served weekends once a month at Floyd Bennett Field," said Cope, "over on Flatbush Avenue by the naval base. Actually, when it got hot, during Vietnam, we were flying every week, because we originally thought we were going to get called up, but we didn't."

Cope retired from the reserves in 1983, as a first sergeant. Meanwhile, having started out as a Local 157 carpenter's union member, he eventually became a construction superintendent "for one of the largest finishers of interiors in the city of New York," he said, proudly. "We worked on everything from the World Trade Center to the Jacob Javits Center.

"During my years in the reserves," he said, I got quite a lot of use out of Owen's dress blues, since I stayed so long. There always were color guards, Toys for Tots parties, the annual Marine Corps Birthday Ball every November, some funerals, of course, and many parades and ceremonies over the years."

Cope finally retired from his job in 2001 after 42 years. His wife, Angela, needled him to jettison some of the clutter he had accumulated in the storage room upstairs, things he never would use again, like the military paraphernalia.

Cope reviewed the uniform items in his closet. "One was a summer service tan, a staff NCO uniform," he said, "no longer used by the Corps. We used to call them 'tropical' uniforms. They're now obsolete. So, I donated it to a uniform display they were setting up at the 1st Marine Corps District Headquarters in Garden City. The other was a set of Marine, herringbone dungarees that are in demand by collectors. I gave them to a friend in the Sunrise Detachment of the Marine Corps League in Massapequa.

"Then, I came across the old dress blues. In 1966, the Marine Corps had come out with a new, gabardine dress blue uniform, and since Owen's was getting to be a tight fit on me, I bought a new set. But somehow, I could never bring myself to throw his out. One time, I even removed all the brass buttons to get it ready for discard, but I still didn't throw it out. In the back of my mind, it was a connection with my younger years, and a time when the world was a much calmer place to live in.

"'Now,' I thought to myself, 'it would be a kick to return them to Owen after all these years and let him determine what should be done,'" Cope said.

Cope had no notion where he might find Owen South, but he knew that Ed Visser still lived in Roslyn, though he, too, had retired from his job with the Transit Authority. They had not seen each other in 10 years. Cope called Visser to find out if South was still alive, and, if so, where he lived. Visser, having sold his house, was in the process of packing to move to Pennsylvania. He said it was amazing that Cope should be calling about Owen, because Owen had just undergone a triple bypass surgery. He told Cope that South lived in Schenectady and gave him South's address. Now, Cope was stunned. His son, Kevin, was a family practice doctor in Broadalbin, not 20 miles from where South lived.

Cope procured a new set of buttons for the old uniform, had them sewn on and had the uniform dry-cleaned, then packed it carefully and sent it Owen South, without any warning.

"He called me right away, when he received it," Cope said. "He couldn't believe his eyes. When he checked inside the coat, there was his name stamped in the right sleeve, where he had put it when he got it 50 years earlier. He said what a terrific lift it had given him. When he tried it on, it fit perfectly. We were on the phone almost an hour, and we've talked pretty often since then and exchanged letters.

"In August, he surprised me," Cope said. "He sent me a copy of the July 27 Schenectady newspaper with a picture of him on the front page in his dress blue uniform. They were paying tribute to the local veterans who had fought in Korea, for the 50th anniversary of the truce signing, with stories of each of their war experiences. Since then, he's told me that getting the uniform back, that old 'Marine Spirit' had awakened in him so much that he has even joined the local Marine Corp League detachment where he lives. Once a Marine, always a Marine."

Illustration by Janet Hamlin

Copyright © 2004, Newsday, Inc.
http://www.newsday.com/news/local/longisland/columnists/ny-lflowe3678788feb22,0,4770582.column?coll=ny-li-columnists
~~~~~~~~~~
This is...
Gunny G's...
GLOBE and ANCHOR
Marines Sites & Forums
By R.W. "Dick" Gaines
GySgt USMC (Ret.)
1952-72
Semper Fidelis
~~~~~~~~~~

CAMP TARAWA, 1943

Waimea community embodies proud history
Submitted by: MCB Hawaii
Story Identification Number: 200421317592
Story by Sarah Fry



WAIMEA, Hawaii(February 13, 2004) -- When Pearl Harbor was bombed in December of 1941, about 400 residents lived in the Big Island community of Waimea -- now known as "Kamuela" -- most of them employee families of the huge Parker Ranch, and a few related businesses. The community was diverse, including Hawaiians, Chinese, Filipinos and, by a significant majority, Japanese.

Waimea residents and cowboys -- known in Hawaii as "paniolos" -- quickly came together to organize 24-hour watches against further Japanese attack. The Hawaii National Guard, then the U.S. Army, set up an encampment at the edge of town on Parker Ranch.

Within months, thousands of American service men were fighting in the Pacific. After the bloody Battle of Tarawa in November 1943, remnants of the 2nd Marine Division arrived in Hawaii. Their wounded were unloaded at Pearl Harbor and taken to the Naval hospital at Aiea -- now the Marine Forces Pacific headquarters building at Camp H. M. Smith. The battle-scarred survivors who did not need hospitalization were taken to the Big Island of Hawaii to recover and rebuild the division.

Of the Marines shipped to Hilo, some were moved by truck, but most were loaded into open rail cars to travel the 65 miles to Waimea on a narrow-gauge line usually used to transport sugar cane. Fog and mist shrouded the passage and winds chilled the ragged division. A few division members were landed on the beach, 16 miles from Waimea by landing ship tanks, or LSTs.

The Marines' new camp was located in a saddle between Hawaii's two volcanoes, Mauna Kea and Mauna Loa, which towered in the distance. Ever-breezy Waimea was not the "island paradise" many of the men had expected.

The Marines were battle-weary and cold, still wearing the uniforms in which they had fought and sailed back in across the Pacific. Many were sick with malaria. Though their morale sank as they surveyed their new "home," before they could rest they would need to resurrect what they would come to call "Camp Tarawa." The good news was that a detachment of Navy Seabees arrived to help.

Parker Ranch owner Richard Smart had leased 40,000 acres to the Marine Corps for $1 a year. When 2nd Marine Division arrived, he moved out of his home, Puu Opelo, so it could become division headquarters. The Waimea school and hotel were converted to hospitals. Parker Hall became the local United Service Organizations.

Women took in washing. Families invited Marines into their homes on weekends for home-cooked meals. When Marines received "free" time, they joined forces with townspeople to play against outsiders, held boxing matches and basketball games.

The Marines sorely needed blankets and warm clothing items. Most personal gear had been lost in the battle. Entrepreneurs showed up to sell everything from newspapers to hot dogs.

As 2nd Marine Division began to recover and to retrain in earnest, it made major changes in the community. The Marines dammed the Waimea River miles upstream and piped water down to the town. They ran electricity throughout the area, replacing kerosene as the fuel for lights. They also built an icehouse, where they made ice cream for the troops and local children.

The division practiced amphibious landings, air cover and amphibious tank operations in preparation for its next battle assignment, at Saipan, then Tinian and, for the 8th Marine Regiment, Okinawa. When 2nd Marine Division left Waimea for Saipan, artillery units of "V" Amphibious Corps continued to train on the mountain ranges.
A few weeks later, trucks rumbled into town bearing the newly formed 5th Marine Division, just arrived from Camp Pendleton, Calif. These Marines donned new gear and equipment and seemed younger and more willing to laugh than the battle-hardened troops now on their way to the Marshall Islands.

The 5th Marine Division trained, in part, by assaulting two volcanic formations on Parker Ranch. Lava ash slowed the Marines' progress as they fought their way up the steep slopes, but many knew that their hard work at Camp Tarawa was in preparation for the coming assault on Iwo Jima's Mount Suribachi in the Volcano Islands.

The Marines introduced rodeo to Hawaii, where cattle raising and horse breaking had a long history as a business, not a sport. Parker Ranch provided horses, steers and calves for the rodeo, and a huge barbecue for the participants and onlookers to enjoy.

On Christmas Day 1944, the division mounted out for landing rehearsals at Maalea Bay, then headed for Iwo Jima. Those not killed or seriously wounded returned to Camp Tarawa in April 1945, and began to rebuild for the invasion of the Japanese home islands.

When the war ended, the 5th Marine Division was sent to Japan for occupation duty, and the Army took over Camp Tarawa, auctioning off equipment and structures.
In 1984, the Waimea Civic Club erected a monument outside Waimea, along Mamalahoa Highway, to remember the one-time home to two Marine Divisions.
-30-

Photos included with story:
The Camp Tarawa Memorial honors the heroic Marines and Sailors of the 5th Marine Division, who trained at Camp Tarawa in preparation for the Feb. 19, 1945, assault on the island of Iwo Jima during World War II. Photo by: Courtesy of the Pacific War Memorial Association
http://www.usmc.mil/marinelink/mcn2000.nsf/main5/DD28BF19556CA2C685256E39007E4121?opendocument
http://www.usmc.mil/marinelink/mcn2000.nsf/main5/DD28BF19556CA2C685256E39007E4121?opendocument


Text version of story is attached below:

WaimeaHistory.txt



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This is...
Gunny G's...
GLOBE and ANCHOR
Marines Sites & Forums
By R.W. "Dick" Gaines
GySgt USMC (Ret.)
1952-72
Semper Fidelis
~~~~~~~~~~

A MARINE'S JOURNAL, PART 3

A MARINE'S JOURNAL
The March to Baghdad
A MARINE'S JOURNAL. PART 3
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Back To PART 1, Here!

Part 3 of a frontline account of Iraq's liberation.
BY BRIAN TAYLOR
Monday, February 9, 2004 12:01 a.m.

(Editor's note: Mr. Taylor joined the Marine Corps Reserves in 1996 and was called up for service in February 2002. His enlistment expired in November 2003. He kept this journal while deployed with Fox Company, Second Battalion, 23rd Marines in Kuwait and Iraq. Comments in italics were added after his return to clarify and expand his account and to define military terminology for the benefit of civilian readers. Four-digit numbers followed by "Z" are time codes in Greenwich Mean Time; codes of the format "38RQU 29141756" are 8-digit MGRS grid coordinates indicating his location at the time. This is the second of five parts; click to read Part 1 or Part 2.)

30 Mar 03, 0470Z, 38RNA 90442992

Yesterday afternoon the whole battalion moved into town. Echo Company secured the bridge so Fox could push through and secure a block of sixteen houses. There were four rows of homes and Second Platoon secured rows one and three. We kicked in doors and scared some people pretty badly. But local intelligence sources had indicated that this neighborhood housed most of this town's Baath officials. I found and escorted out a guy who turned out to be the third-highest-ranking party official found in southern Iraq. At least that's what they told me.

These things aren't hard distinctions to make. You pick the guy who looks at you with hate not fear, and you have your man. Baath Party officials also live better, are better fed, better educated, better dressed. And it all shows. Still, it gave me no joy to see women and children pried out of their homes so we could conduct our search. One black-robed woman was so old that I wondered she could move down the alley at all. Another fellow stood about 6-foot-4, thin and bearded, in a white robe and a gray sport coat. He was a worn-out old fellow. He communicated by gesture and shout that he had no ties with Saddam, and said in English, "I love you, and you!" I was alone in the room with him. I had my rifle at the ready and told him "In baht ih!" (lie down), which he did. From the floor he pointed up at me and said, "You No. 1!" With my free hand I gestured back at him with my index finger, "I love you too. You're No. 1 in my book." I was smiling by then. He came back with another "You No. 1!" I said the same thing back to him, and it went back and forth for a moment.

We escorted all the women and children out of that house, then my new fan. We did some damage to door frames kicking in locked doors. Garrard shot a lock off. But when the searching was done, all but those few who were taken away were free to filter through us back to their homes. It was strange passing among them after such an invasion, but they seemed happy and grateful. A couple of men approached me and somehow indicated their gratitude, or pretended to. I believe by their gestures they were happy to be rid of Baath Party overlords and hopeful to be shut of Saddam.

We rolled through town and dug in on the other side.

1 Apr 03

We've moved back to the east side of town. We're approximately where we were on 28 Mar. The other day members of the Army's 65th Engineers came around with a backhoe and dug Garrard and me a deluxe position not 1,200 meters from here, so we knew a move was coming. We get whipsawed about every time we move. They put us down and tell us to "dig here." Then some busy beaver decides we should move again and start digging all over again 20 meters away. Stupid.

The usual rationale for this was that one of our officers liked the look of the ground better "over there." But it was all the same flat, muddy bog.

And Capt. Schoenfeld is making himself look positively ridiculous. He rages about garbage on the roadside (there is a lot of MRE trash strewn about, to be sure). He demands to know whose it is. Convoy vehicles come and go all day and throw their garbage out their windows. It could be anyone's. He has us form up on line and police call. Then he howls that we're all bunched up, "Spread out, you're still in combat, you know." I have to wonder which is the case, do we line up and pick up trash, or are we in combat?

The complaining tone of the April 1 entries reflects the frustration we felt at being stopped for days at a time in the same place. The concept of the invasion as explained to us was a "race to Baghdad," a race we felt we could lose only by standing still. Also, as we had outrun our supply lines, we were living on one meal a day and feeling the effects. I reserved these complaints for my journal.

We were to secure this road junction for a month. The Army requested a 30-day "operational pause" so it could catch up its lagging "log trains." But the Marine Corps balked at the idea of giving away the initiative by standing still for a month, and told the Army that there will be no monthlong pauses. Five to seven days until the log trains are caught up, then the RCTs (Regimental Combat Teams) will be maneuvering toward Baghdad and wherever else the Republican Guard is to be found.

2 April 03

Today we had a memorial service for Staff Sgt. Cawley. A flag was erected on the roadside near where he died and a rifle upended on the point of its bayonet in the ground with his helmet on its butt. Cpls. Giles, Christensen, Carpenter and Lee sang "Abide With Me Tis Eventide." The chaplain spoke. We sang "Rock of Ages." Staff Sgt. Ivers said a few words about his best friend. There was a 21-gun salute. Taps.

Two days ago the Mormon contingent gathered for a worship service. We sang the songs of the faith:

Why should we mourn, or think our lot is hard?
Tis not so, all is right.
Why should we think to earn a great reward,
If we now shun the fight?
Gird up your loins, fresh courage take,
Our God will never us forsake.
And soon we'll have this tale to tell,
All is well, all is well.

I said to Garrard last night, "Garrard, I am a happy person, even here." And we agreed that cold nights, long watches, occasional combat operations don't make fundamentally happy people unhappy. In fact, adversity underscores true happiness.

About James E. Cawley's memorial service: It was a brief, dusty, manly affair, a ceremony for a fallen warrior. It was the kind of service that men who die of old age or sickness wish they could have.

We're still defending the same junction on Route 7. We move our position once or twice a day to keep the enemy from getting us zeroed in with artillery. I don't believe they have that capability here or are that organized. But we move and dig, move and dig.

5 Apr 03, 38SNB 44260785

We are a couple miles east of An Numiniyah. Two days ago we left our position on Route 7 and sped most of the way to Al Kut. Reportedly, this was a ruse de guerre designed to draw a Republican Guard division out of Kut to engage our "soft" unarmored battalion. And reportedly it worked. When we closed within 10 kilometers of Al Kut our convoy turned around and sped back the way it came. Any Iraqi forces that moved out of Kut to engage us were destroyed from the air. Maneuver warfare.

We cut over to Highway 8 and surged up to Numiniyah to seize a bridge there. When we arrived the bridge had already been taken and secured. A few smoldering T-62s, trucks, and antiair pieces were all that remained of the "light resistance" we had been promised.

We moved into a schoolyard in the city and occupied the abandoned schoolhouse for the night. But before an hour passed someone realized we might be vulnerable to attack there, so we left.

Now we are blocking the road between Kut and Baghdad to prevent Iraqi reinforcements from getting to the capital. Last night my team manned the wire-and-sandbag gate on the road. We stopped and searched every person who came through. One lone Iraqi man, short and plump, tried to drive around our Arabic stop sign and our sandbags. We yelled "Qif! Qif!" (Stop! Stop!) and waved our arms, but he kept coming. Three Marines were killed yesterday at a similar gate (not Marines in our group, but elsewhere). I ordered Garrard to fire. He let four rounds burp out of his SAW (squad automatic weapon). All the rusty radiator fluid immediately fell out of the man's truck and a very startled Iraqi popped out. I surged forward over the barricade with my rifle ready. I seized the man by the shirt and yelled at him, "Do you have any [expletive deleted] idea how close you came to getting yourself killed?" I said other things too, but the immediate attitude was one of intense relief that we had not killed another motorist. The company staff seemed delighted too, but all the thanks go to Garrard who knew he could disable a truck with one burst.

When I gave the order for John to shoot, I intended that he kill that man before he could get any closer. The reasoning was that anyone who ignored our signs, our roadblock and our verbal warnings was probably an attacker. We could not afford to let people just drive up on us. But John said, "I'm going for the tires." He instantly changed his mind about the tires and put four rounds into the radiator in a group the size of an orange. Our training urges us to shoot to kill, but John used some judgment instead and saved a man's life.

This man's only crime, it turned out, was stupidity, which shouldn't be a capital offense. The commanding officer came running up, listened to the story, and was pleased that we had stopped the vehicle without killing an innocent. No one was happier about it than I was, though. We searched the truck and found nothing but empty chicken crates. In spite of his protests about the engine, we convinced the man to drive his truck out of the way. He made it 200 meters beyond our area and then the engine seized. I watched him walk away.

RCT 1 is scheduled to move through here today en route to Baghdad. When they pass, we expect to follow to Baghdad.

6 Apr 03 0234Z 38SNB 89344663

We bivouacked by the road last night in some town 60 kilometers from Baghdad. There were several spectacular explosions five or six kilometers north of here during the night, slow billowing fiery explosions that spewed fire and sparks into the dark. And, of course, we heard the sound of artillery bombardment.

U.S. Forces can be detected by GPS satellite tracking rolling around freely in Baghdad. Although we have no reports of hard fighting in the city, Saddam has promised to make Baghdad our graveyard. The main effect of that rhetoric is to impel a stream of refugees out of the city along this road.

At our check post near Numiniyah yesterday, hundreds of people streamed through, many of them young men no doubt fleeing their posts. I captured an Iraqi general on his way north when he tried to pass through our checkpoint in civilian clothes. I found an FN Hi-Power 9mm pistol under his seat bearing the stamp of the Iraqi Army. It was inscribed with the words, "A gift of our grateful leader, Saddam" in Arabic of course. A translator from the HET team (Human Exploitation Team) gave us the translation.

When I first spotted the pistol under the driver's seat I called out, "I've got a gun!" Lance Cpl. Jeremy Walker, Second Platoon's resident martial-arts pro, put the general on the deck with an expertly applied arm-bar takedown. Walker then proceeded to immobilize him by manipulating his arms and wrists into uncomfortable knots behind his back. The man cried out loud as Walker escorted him with a standing wrist manipulation all the way back to the command post. The S2 found papers on him compelling Baath forces in the north to continue the fight.

The general told Capt. Robertson, the S2 or battalion intelligence chief, that he was not in the military, that he was, in fact, a farmer. Capt. Roberston, a reservist, is himself a farmer. He has coarse, powerful farmer's hands. He seized the already shaken Iraqi by the wrist and raised the man's hand to his face yelling, "These are not farmer's hands!" And then showing his own bear paws, "These are farmer's hands!" Capt. Robertson reported to me that the man broke down and wept again.

Garrard pushed his white Nissan truck off the road into the mud. He had aimed for the small pond beyond the mud flat beside the road, but it bogged down. Later in the afternoon, feeling large, I gave the truck to a couple of southbound teenage pedestrians, the key still being in the switch. But they couldn't get it out of the mud without the aid of 10 other passersby. Twelve young Iraqis pushed it out of the mud. They all cheered and piled in the back as it sped off, each one suddenly feeling he had a 1/12th interest in the general's truck.

I gave the truck away because it was a nuisance and potential hazard. Every pedestrian who walked by stopped and petitioned for it. I said no to the first few hundred, but I eventually wanted it gone.

At the gate on the north side of our position Broberg seized an Iraqi major. The man had his uniform with him and was foolish enough to attempt to conceal an AK-47 as well.

We only spent two days screening refugees and searching vehicles at that position. It was a busy time. It was the time when we had the most direct contact with Iraqis. For the most part they were cooperative and friendly. We had fun talking to people and practicing our meager Arabic. Fox Company generated some important intelligence from the seizures we made. We were relieved there by a company from a recon battalion. It was galling to them to be relieving a company of infantry reservists at an ECP operation (entry control point; the roadblock/checkpoint operations we regularly conducted during the invasion). They said, "We're Recon. This is not what we do." First Sgt. Lopez pointed out that we had had some intelligence successes, and that intelligence was the point of recon. For some reason this didn't soothe their feelings.

0902Z 38SMBB 62597705

We are stopped 21 kilometers south of Baghdad. We are shuffling the convoy and linking up with Fifth Marines for the move north.

Col. Dowdy, the regimental commander of RCT 1, was reportedly relieved yesterday. This journal recalls my frustration with our pace through southern Iraq. Evidently I wasn't alone. He was relieved for going too slow.

Yesterday the temperature was 102 degrees, way too hot to be wearing a MOPP suit. It's equally hot today, so on my own authority I shed my coat. I dug my hygiene kit out of my pack and had a roadside shave. I bathed my head with a sponge to dissolve the film of dirt I earn by riding the tailgate everyday. Marines can wash or not wash, but I see it as an excuse to rub water on my head and cool off.

MOPP stands for Mission Oriented Protective Posture, a particularly tortured-sounding military acronym describing the nuclear, biological and chemical threat level. MOPP suits are charcoal-lined chemical-protective overgarments. They are about as comfortable as a layer of thick denim. The upshot is that a MOPP suit can save your life if you are exposed to chemical or biological weapons in gas, powder or liquid form. They can even protect a body from some nuclear contaminants.

RCT 1 is assigned to secure Saddam City, a sector of Baghdad on the north side of town. It is said to be a slum. Let us get there and do it before we dehydrate.

7 Apr 03 0433Z 38SMB 65638514

We occupied some rich Iraqi's house last night. We're guarding a massive enemy ammo dump, and the house offers the best observation on several avenues of approach. The owner complained and left asking that we not pillage the place, a reasonable request. But while clearing the house, Cpl. Hall (First Platoon) was menaced by one of the canine inhabitants. Hall shot the dog at a two-meter range and sprayed blood all over. Hall was pretty upset by this. When the owner heard about it an hour later he was upset too.

Second Platoon dug in around the structure while machine guns set up on top.

When we woke this morning the word was passed to go to MOPP level zero--take off the stifling chemical suit and don cammies again. We feel great. I shifted to clean underwear as well and burned the old. I washed my body as well as I could with wet-wipes and a degree of civilization was restored.

Marines are gossiping about what the change to MOPP zero could mean. Has there been a surrender? Or is a cease-fire imminent? Have all commanders with authority to release chemical weapons been neutralized? To be sure, the U.S. has not ceased firing on Baghdad. The thunder of bombardment continues. Artillery units must be the busiest killers on the ground. All day and night the bang of the cannons and the clapping boom of their distant impacts can be heard.

This ammo dump we guard is reportedly filled with 10,000 armor-piercing artillery shells sold to Iraq by France. The damnable French and their haughty Old World contempt for American leadership in this war. Their objection was not one of conscience, but of complicity.

I don't know how anyone really knew those munitions were French. Maybe they had French markings, but I didn't see them myself. It was just rumor.

EOD (Explosives Ordnance Disposal) is supposed to blow this whole place to hell later today. Many more dogs will die.

0809Z--ECP ops today. We are denying access to the city to all traffic: vehicles and pedestrians. The refugees approach us and we search them and send them south, east or west. These people are poor and thin. They almost uniformly carry a pack of cigarettes, a lighter and a wad of cash--probably their net worth. Sometimes when searching vehicles we'll find bags of cash best measured by the gallon, as in, "I found a four-gallon bag of cash on this one!" Response: "No weapons? Then let him go." We guess their currency is of little value. Most of the Iraqis I search are surprised when I inspect their money and then return it all. I believe they are used to being shaken down.
http://www.opinionjournal.com/columnists/btaylor/?id=110004644

(Friday: Part 4--Liberation Day.)
To PART 4, HERE!!!!!

Copyright © 2004 Dow Jones & Company, Inc. All Rights Reserved.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
~~~~~~~~~~
This is...
Gunny G's...
GLOBE and ANCHOR
Marines Sites & Forums
By R.W. "Dick" Gaines
GySgt USMC (Ret.)
1952-72
Semper Fidelis
~~~~~~~~~~

"...TWO-FISTED, TELL-IT-LIKE-IT-IS MARINE..."

Jacksonville Daily News
http://www.jdnews.com
Print



Granite-jawed Marine stood his ground on WMD
February 12, 2004
DAVID H. HACKWORTH
KING FEATURES

Like it or not, Maj. Scott Ritter had it right all along.

Most of the rest of us, from the president to his key advisers, such as Cheney, Rumsfeld, Powell, Rice, Wolfowitz and Tenet, to the majority of Congress and to most of the talking heads - including the pre-Iraq War NBC analyst David Kay, who reported WMDs (weapons of mass destruction) behind every Iraqi sand dune - blew it big-time when it came down to the awesome arsenal that Saddam had supposedly squirreled away.

Ritter, the United Nations' chief weapons inspector in Iraq until 1998, took us all on - virtually alone, against incredible odds - stating, "Iraq is not a threat to the U.S." and begging the American people to take charge and not "sit back and allow your government to go to war against Iraq ... [without all] the facts on the table to back this war up."

As per his reputation on training fields and battlefields, this granite-jawed former Marine stood his ground and never flinched. He reminds me of another two-fisted, tell-it-like-it-is Marine, Maj. Gen. Smedley Butler, the recipient of two Medals of Honor, who was almost drummed out of the Marine Corps twice: Once in the 1930s for calling Benito Mussolini a "fascist," and once again a few years later when he rattled the military-industrial complex by daring to declare that "War is a racket."

Ritter, too, took serious punishment from his critics - and instead of doing proper due diligence or asking hard questions, the media quickly piled on. It was not Fox's finest hour when that network gleefully painted him as a 21st-century Benedict Arnold - not that he had many primetime advocates anywhere else. Even CNN's usually evenhanded Paula Zahn said to Ritter six months before America unleashed its miscalculated military solution on Iraq, "People out there are accusing you of drinking Saddam Hussein's Kool-Aid."

Eighteen months later, Ritter has not only survived the relentless ridicule and all the scurrilous attempts at character assassination, he's clearly been vindicated. And by one David Kay, who dismissed Ritter's prewar analysis with: "Either he lied to you then or he's lying to you now. ... He's gone completely the other way. I cannot explain it on the basis of known facts."

Ritter doesn't come close to buying Kay's present-day convenient conclusion - now spun into a pre 2004-election pass-the-buck revisionist chant - that our $30 billion-a-year spook op goofed. Ritter says, "It's the old story of people going-along-to-get-along who put their careers ahead of their country."

Ritter doesn't let President Bush off the hook, either: "He should rightly be held accountable for what increasingly appears to be deliberately misleading statements made by him and members of his administration regarding the threat posed by Iraq's WMD." I asked Ritter if he felt totally exonerated. "I would feel a lot better if there were a way to reverse the hands of time," he told me, "so that people would have paid more attention to what I said in the past, and we didn't find ourselves caught up in this ongoing tragedy."

What a shame that the president and his platoon of let's-get-Saddam neocons, Congress and the CIA's Tenet didn't listen to the man-in-the-know when he cautioned: "U.S. and Iraqi casualties will be significant. ... We can't go to war based on ignorance."

But go to war we did. And now we've filled more than 530 body bags, medevaced thousands of soldiers, caused thousands more to be psychologically scarred, created tens of thousands of Iraqi casualties and stuck ourselves dead center in an ever-deepening tar pit.

For sure, people in high places need truth-tellers like Ritter to keep them straight. Had Bush talked to Ritter before opting for pre-emptive war, Bush might have been convinced to rearrange his options, and we might not be in this mess.

Evaluating intelligence calls for an open mind and sound judgment. Both were AWOL in our political leadership because of a preconceived agenda or an attack of yellow belly-itis that interfered with standing tall.

In either case, it's time for a reckoning.

My recommendation: Put Ritter on the WMD intelligence probe. We can count on him to tell us the straight skinny, just as he tried to during the fevered, frenzied days of the dance to war.
Source...

David Hackworth is a syndicated columnist and former Army colonel who offers advice, analysis and opinion on national issues and political affairs.
Source...
© 2004 by Freedom ENC Communications. All rights reserved. Content may not be reproduced without written permission from FENC Communications. For questions or comments about this site please email webmaster@enctoday.com.


~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
~~~~~~~~~~
This is...
Gunny G's...
GLOBE and ANCHOR
Marines Sites & Forums
By R.W. "Dick" Gaines
GySgt USMC (Ret.)
1952-72
Semper Fidelis
~~~~~~~~~~

THE HOLY GRAIL OF THE MARINE

The young Marine was weary
And he sought a little rest.
With his helmet for a pillow
And his rifle on his chest.
He had seen the gunships fire.
He had heard the cannons roar.
He had seen the Navy's power
As he made his way ashore.
Then he thought about his rifle
And he found it rather small.
With the gunships and the cannons,
It was nothing much at all.
The efforts of a rifleman
Meant little, it would seem.
Then, as he slipped to slumber,
He dreamed himself a dream.

The man who stood beside him
Held a musket in his hand,
And close around his neck he wore
A heavy leather band.
"When I was an Old Ironsides"
The apparition said,
"There were cannonballs and cutlasses
Wherever danger led.
There were pistols too, and daggers
At every fighter's side,
When the ships would come together
On the rolling, heaving tide.
But when it came to boarding,
With the battle fury hot,
It was rifles, always rifles
That made the telling shot."

When we were in the trenches
The apparition faded
And standing in its place
Beneath a shallow helmet
He saw another face.
"When we were in the trenches
In the Wood they call Marine,
There were mortars, tanks, and cannons,
More than I had ever seen.
But when the final charge was made
To push the Germans back
It was rifles, always rifles
At the point of the attack."

Who fought and fell at Wake
The face changed only slightly.
And the helmet stayed the same,
But the island that he spoke of
Had a more familiar name.
"They hit us very early
On the day the war begun.
On the wings of all their bombers
We could see the Rising Sun.
Our pilots and our gunners
Who fought and fell at Wake
Wrote a story full of glory
That time can never shake.
But when the enemy drew near,
To make his final reach,
It was rifles, always rifles
That met him on the beach."

In 'Fifty at the Chosin,
There next appeared a shadow
In a swirl of stinging snow,
And it breathed a fierce defiance,
And its eyes were all aglow.
In 'Fifty at the Chosin,
When the big guns couldn't talk,
And the First Marine Divison
Took a fighting, freezing walk,
When all the world, except the Corps
Had counted us as gone,
It was rifles, always rifles,
That let us carry on."

At Khe Sahn when they shelled us,
The scene was changed to summer.
And the face was hard and lean,
And the tired eyes were fired
With the light that says "Marine".
"At Khe Sahn when they shelled us,
We were wrapped in rolling smoke,
And the thought of our survival
Was a grim and ghastly joke.
But when the waves came swarming in
To finish the assault,
It was rifles, always rifles
That called the final halt."

There next appeared a general
As solid as a tank,
With three stars on his collar
To signify his rank.
His stature and demeanor
Were the military type,
And in his hand he carried
A stubby little pipe.
His jaw was squarely chiseled;
His eyes were clear and keen,
And his bearing left no question..
He was all Marine's Marine.
"The message they're conveying,"
The burly General said,
"Is that through our troubled history,
The rifles always led.
We've had cannons, tanks, and mortars;
We've had weapons by the score;
We've had battleships and fighter planes
To complement the Corps."

"We've a most impressive arsenal--
That's obviously true--
But the final thrust for victory
Has always been with you.
It was rifles, always rifles,
When the Corps was sorely pressed,
And the rifle that you carry
Must meet the final test.
So sling that rifle proudly,
For everything we do
With mortars, tanks, and cannons
Is just an aid to you."

The young Marine awakened
And put the dream aside,
Though now he clutched his rifle
With a certain touch of pride.
And then he chanced to notice
That lying near his hand
Was a stubby little pipe
And a heavy leather band.

-Author Unknown
~~~~~~~~~~
This is...
Gunny G's...
GLOBE and ANCHOR
Marines Sites & Forums
By R.W. "Dick" Gaines
GySgt USMC (Ret.)
1952-72
Semper Fidelis
~~~~~~~~~~

"A NEW CORPS WITHOUT GUNNERY SERGEANTS" ... by R.W. Gaines, GySgt USMC (Ret.)

I have long known that the Marine dress blues were redesigned in 1947, but I was not aware of the reasons behind this. But alas, there is a story here too. Myself, I have always thought that the old blues blouse w/o the pockets looked better than the new version. I have mentioned this before on my sites and forums, and I have received a few responses back from old salts stating that they had been issued old style blues after 1947, and most disagreed with my opinion, preferring the appearance of the new blouse w/pockets over the previous blouse.

Once again, a few facts related to the above have come to my attention from the writings of Colonel Robert Debs Heinl USMC (Ret.), deceased.

Col Heinl writes in his book, Soldiers Of The Sea, that in the years immediately following World War II, and this was during that period of the unification battle where the Marine Corps was threatened with being legislated out of existence and/or being absorbed into the Army, the War Department had convened a board to survey the post-war lot of the enlisted man. The recommendations of this board, which Col Heinl describes as "mischievous insofar as the regular forces were concerned." It called for an almost complete leveling between officers and enlisted men, with a concomitant abandonment of disciplinary traditions proven in peace and war. Saluting was to be deemphasized; officer and enlisted uniforms were to be made alike; badges of enlisted rank made small and inconspicuous; and, officer and NCO priviliges slashed. "From the "egaltarian tenor of the Doolittle report, one had the impressions of the peasants and workers remolding the Tsarist armies of the 1917. Everything was there but political commissars and comrades."

Col Heinl goes on to say that Marine uniforms were then made to make it difficult to tell officers from enlisted men; officer-style pockets were put on redesigned enlisted blues; enlisted chevrons were kept small, and; the salty and distinctive barracks cap was abolished in favor of a more conservative one like the officers.

The Corps was (almost forced) to accept the Army ranks of master sergeant, technical sergeant, and staff sergeant, but accept them it did. It had been recommended that the rank titles of chief sergeant, sergeant 1st, 2d, and 3d class be adopted, and this nearly came to be. No wonder the CMC accepted the Army rank titles as a compromise.

"That this stroke created a new Corps without gunnery sergeants and abolished rank titles in some cases going back to 1798 (such as quartermaster sergeant) was seemingly overlooked."

As a matter of fact, "Doomed by the war, but not killed until a year afterward was the prolifery of enlisted ranks which had gradually flowered since 1922." When the rank titles of master sergeant, technical sergeant, staff sergeant, sergeant, and corporal were adopted for Marine NCOs, so too were gone the enlisted rank titles, in addition to the quartermaster sergeant already mentioned above, of sergeant major, first sergeant, master gunnery sergeant, master technical sergeant, paymaster sergeant, gunnery sergeant, supply sergeant, drum major, platoon sergeant, chief cook, field music sergeant, field cook, field music corporal, assistant cook, field music first class, and field music.

I take note here that the Marine Corps had indeed previously already used the rank titles of M/Sgt, T/Sgt, and S/Sgt (in addition to many other rank titles) for some years, but these were known to have been originally Army ranks. What was being imposed upon the Marine Corps here was the then current rank titles in use by the U.S. Army.

Interestingly, the Marine Corps had combined two of these previous Army ranks to create their Master Technical Sergeant rank. And, of course the Master Gunnery Sergeant was a variation of both the unique Marine gunnery sergeant rank which dates to 1898, and the (Army) master sergeant rank.
-RWG

Surprising it is that these cases of politics as usual, political correctness, or just plain bullshit, depending upon your personal perception and choice of terms, seems to appear not only without ending through the years, but also seemingly almost without beginning--unless, of course, in general, you would go all the way back to the Garden of Eden.

Some things never change.

Semper Fidelis
R.W. "Dick" Gaines
GySgt USMC (Ret.)
1952-72
~~~~~~~~~~
This is...
Gunny G's...
GLOBE and ANCHOR
Marines Sites & Forums
By R.W. "Dick" Gaines
GySgt USMC (Ret.)
1952-72
Semper Fidelis
~~~~~~~~~~

ADMIRAL MOORER'S LAST WARNING

Adm. Moorer's Last Warning

By Christopher Ruddy

It is a sad day for America when a national giant passes.

Adm. Thomas Moorer, of Eufaula, Ala., was such a giant.

His passing this week is especially sad for me. Adm. Moorer was a friend, adviser and member of the board of directors of NewsMax.com's parent company, NewsMax Media, Inc.

Adm. Moorer was a man "in the arena," as Theodore Roosevelt would have described him. Even at the age of 91, the admiral had kept quite active in public affairs.

This dynamo of a man made his first landing on an aircraft carrier in 1935. I don't think I need to detail the dangers of such landings without the instrumentation of today's planes.

It was one of his hallmarks that he did not know fear. Thankfully, America produces such people.

During his life, Moorer had numerous brushes with death. He was there on Dec. 7, 1941, when the Japanese bombed Pearl Harbor.

As a combat pilot during the war, his plane was shot down over the South Pacific. Fortunately, he was rescued by a cargo supply ship.

This episode would have been a great story in itself. But it gets more interesting. The supply ship that rescued him was carrying ordnance and explosives. When Japanese planes began bombing the supply ship, Moorer and a handful of others realized it would be better to abandon the ship early.

Most of the crew didn't see it the same way as Moorer and stayed. Moorer entered the lifeboat while most stayed aboard. The ship exploded and almost the entire crew was lost.

Once again, for the second time in a matter of days, Moorer was adrift in the great Pacific in a tiny lifeboat. Miraculously, he and the survivors made it to a deserted island where he was discovered by an Australian airplane. For his heroism, Moorer was awarded both the Silver Star and the Purple Heart.

I tell this story about Moorer in the South Pacific and his decision to evacuate the supply ship when most others would not because it illustrates a great deal about the man.

Moorer had a certain clarity of thinking, a thinking that saw things as they are and how they might be. He could see things over the horizon. He also had the courage to go against perceived wisdom, make decisions and act on them.

That was what struck me about Adm. Moorer: Even at the advanced age of 91, he still possessed this certain clarity of vision.

His Plan Ended Vietnam

I remember speaking to him in the hours after the events of Sept. 11. He told me that the American people would soon forget about the tragedy and would not learn from it. He said he had seen this time and again. We don't learn from these things, he told me. I was flabbergasted, but he was right: The complacency is here today.

Adm. Moorer was full of anecdotes about his years in military service, his dealings with presidents, and his service as the nation's highest-ranking military official, the chairman of the Joint Chiefs of Staff.

Adm. Moorer was chairman of the Joint Chiefs during the divisive days of the Vietnam War. The war was vexing for him, as it was for many Americans. He was even more anxious because he believed the conflict could have been ended quickly, with fewer casualties and more favorably to U.S. interests.

But the politicians were not letting the military do their job. The days of FDR deferring to Gen. Marshall and the military were over.

Adm. Moorer's advice to President Richard Nixon was simple: Bomb North Vietnam's infrastructure in and around Hanoi and mine North Vietnam's key ports. This would effectively cut them off and force them to end the war.

Despite all of Lyndon Johnson's carpet-bombing, the Pentagon had always been limited to secondary targets that had little effect in undermining North Vietnam's war effort.

Nixon told Adm. Moorer that he would not agree. Nixon was worried that if the U.S. were too bold, the Chinese would join the war and perhaps ignite a global conflagration.

Also, Nixon was concerned about the American POWs held by the North. The State Department warned that if the U.S. stepped up the war, the POWs would suffer more.

Adm. Moorer told Nixon that China would not enter the war and that once the North Vietnamese understood our new resolve, the treatment of the POWs would actually improve.

By 1972, however, the war had been in progress for seven years and American policies had failed. Hanoi had agreed to peace talks in Paris, but the communists were intransigent.

As Adm. Moorer recounted to me, a frustrated Nixon suddenly summoned Moorer. At the time, the admiral was on a military jet heading to Europe for a NATO meeting. The plane made an immediate U-turn over the Atlantic and returned to Washington.

Moorer told me that Nixon was at Camp David, in one of the retreat's rooms, with a longtime friend. Nixon asked what Moorer thought they should do.

He told them bluntly: Bomb North Vietnam as they had never done before.

Nixon, nervously, gave Moorer the OK.

Beginning on Dec. 18, 1972, the U.S. unleashed the largest, most concentrated bombing campaign in its history -- the campaign was dubbed "the Christmas bombings." For nearly two weeks U.S. pilots flew almost 4,000 sorties. B-52s were brought in and flew more than 700 bombing runs over key North Vietnam targets.

Within days the Vietnamese were suing for peace. And as Moorer recalled, the POWs later reported that their Vietnam captors, frightened by American power, began treating them more benignly.

Adm. Moorer's plan, heeded belatedly, brought an end to the nightmare of Vietnam.

Last Warning: China

When I saw Adm. Moorer in Washington at a luncheon just a few months ago, I introduced him by saying, "Admiral Moorer may have retired from the military, but he never retired from America."

After leaving the Joint Chiefs, Moorer began an active business and political life.

During the late '70s, he was the one of President Carter's strongest critics for having forsaken the shah of Iran and allowing the Soviet Union to go unchallenged after invading Afghanistan.

Notably, Adm. Moorer was also a sharp critic of Carter's treaty to transfer the Panama Canal to the Panamanian government.

In recent years, the admiral recalled to me his testimony to the U.S. Senate opposing the Panama giveaway. He told the Senate that if the U.S. left Panama, the Soviet Union or another communist power would fill the vacuum created by America's departure.

As a military and navy man, Adm. Moorer understood the strategic importance of shipping. As one who understood the Pacific theater, he knew a war in Korea or elsewhere in Asia required the U.S. to have unimpeded access through the canal. In a serious conflict, days could be crucial. Only an American military presence near the canal could guarantee such access.

The U.S. Senate did not agree and gave President Carter the OK to sign the Panama Canal Treaty.

But the clear-thinking Moorer turned out to be right. A communist power filled the gap when the Panamanians gave Hutchison Whampoa, a Chinese company, operational control over the canal.

Adm. Moorer said that when he warned the Senate that some communist power would fill the vacuum in Panama he never, in his wildest dreams, thought that country would be China.

In his closing years, Moorer's singular worry was China. He believed that Red China was using front companies like Hutchison to set up strategic bases near key "choke points" for control over shipping lanes. He was also quite disturbed that China's Hutchison had taken control of the port in Freeport, the Bahamas – just 60 miles from Florida.

Moorer saw China's demand for Taiwan as just one reason the Chinese may go to war sometime in the future with the U.S. There was also a struggle for hegemony over Asia. And he never bought the notion that Beijing's ideological Maoists had any intention of remaking China into a democracy.

Inevitably, he argued, China would be in a conflict with the United States.

China's enormous population made this likely and worrisome. Adm. Moorer's concern was that Chinese leaders might some day believe they could absorb a nuclear attack, lose 200 million people and still have 800 million left. The U.S. could not withstand such a loss. China's population made naught the concept of mutually assured destruction – which had helped maintain lukewarm peace with Russia for decades.

So, when we honor and remember this great warrior, we should remember his last warning: Beware of China. To the very end, this heroic American was looking out for his country with his certain clarity of thinking.

Ref
NewsMax.Com
~~~~~~~~~~
This is...
Gunny G's...
GLOBE and ANCHOR
Marines Sites & Forums
By R.W. "Dick" Gaines
GySgt USMC (Ret.)
1952-72
Semper Fidelis
~~~~~~~~~~

KAROLINE MILLER: LADY WITH A SEMPER FI HEART!

KAROLINE MILLER, MARINE MOM, DAUGHTER, and SISTER
I have been on the I'Net since about 1997, and I met Karoline Miller sometime close to that beginning. I think, at that time, she was reseraching information on her Marine Dad. I e-mailed her the info I had on how she could obtain his military records, possibly locate his friends, etc. She learned fast, and in little time she was also posting to my various forums advising others searching for information as to how to go about it.

She was, I learned bit by bit, an employee in the prison system in Minnesota; and she also worked for a time at the VFW post nearby her home, or maybe it was the American Legion. Through those years, I was surprised at her loyalty, truthfulness, and dependability to her family and friends. On more than one occasion, I found myself verbally assaulted on various forums and bulletin boards around the 'Net because of various stands or remarks I had made, only to return the next day to find that Karoline had been there in the meantime and lambasted those badmouthing me--you just didn't want to make an enemy of this lady.

She had also made friends with my old buddy of some 40 years, Mike Adelt (Gunny Mike) now deceased.

And, there was a period when I didn't hear from her for a while, and she later explained to me that she had had a series of "small strokes," but that she was recovering nicely and learning to re-learn how to use her PC again. And, indeed, she did learn again--fast.

Then, when her son, John, was nearing enlistment age and wanted to be a Marine...she was deeply concerned. She understood why he would want to be a Marine, still she was a Mom, and worried about her boy. We spoke at length--e-mail--on this topic, during that period.

Then, a few years ago, I had put out a webpage on Ray Jacobs, whom many of us believe to be the radioman in Lou Lowery's photos of the first flag raising on Iwo Jima. Up till then, Chuck Lindberg was thought to be the only living survivor of the first flag raising (40-man) combat patrol up Suribachi to raise the flag.

Karoline encouraged me to go to Minnesota to interview Lindberg on this subject. Lindberg, although receptive to public interaction, was not into the Internet and so we could not interact in that way. Anyway, I didn't go; and so Karoline decided to do it the old-fashioned way--herself. By then, John was a Marine, a corporal in the Corps. They went to Lindberg together--that's John's photo w/Lindberg on Karoline's website...


http://www.homestead.com/johnmancuso

Later, John was seriously injured while stationed at Camp Pendleton and not expected to survive. That's another story--see the website. John, did survive, however, with Karoline at his side in California. He eventually was medically retired and returned to Minnesota.

Karoline, the lady with the Semper Fi Heart, was many things to many of us.

She was active on a Marines Moms bulletin board, Scuttlebutt & Small Chow, and many more. Of course, I have posted and e-mailed much of her material out to the four winds, as she has done so with my e-mail and posts. No telling how many Marines, and others, whose lives she has touched out there.

So...who was this lady I have done my best to describe to you here? She was one of us. Marine was a special word to her, she knew what it meant to all of us.

A few hours ago, I received an e-mail from her daughter, Faith, advising me that Karoline had passed last Thursday.
I know that this lady whom I have never personally met, is in the very best of hands now. Wherever Marines are guarding those streets of Heaven, Karoline is nearby.

For those of us who knew her, we have our reward--to you others, you missed this fine example of good people.

Please forward this around--as I mentioned, many folks knew Karoline, or knew of her, and they would like to be advised. Thank you.

Gonna miss ya, K.

Semper Fidelis
Dick Gaines
Marine Barracks, APFLA


~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
R.W. "Dick" Gaines
GySgt USMC (Ret.)
1952-72
~~~~~~~~~~
This is...
Gunny G's...
GLOBE and ANCHOR
Marines Sites & Forums
By R.W. "Dick" Gaines
GySgt USMC (Ret.)
1952-72
Semper Fidelis
~~~~~~~~~~

CAPTAIN JIMMY BONES and HIS DEVIL DOG MARINES

Captain Jimmy Bones And His Devil-Dog Marines

'Twas winter time in Quantico in nineteen-twenty-two,
The slum was pretty rough that night, and all the men felt blue;
The hail and sleet, with ghostly feet beat on the bunkhouse dome,
Some men doped out their time to do, while others thought of home.

Then from the starless night, there slipped in through the bunkhouse door,
An old top sergeant that no man had ever seen before;
The hoar frost glistened in his hair, his eyes like star shells shone,
A gnarled mustache hid half his face, and he was skin and bone.

He sat down near the glowing stove and warmed his fleshless hands,
The chill of death was in his breath, like thunder his commands;
His voice was hollow, like the tone of one who’d long been dead,
And when he spoke, the silence broke, and this is what he said:

“Pipe down, all you devil-whelps, and snap out of your dreams,
And a tale I’ll tell of heaven and hell, and the Devil-Dog Marines;
Just Captain Jimmy Bones, M.C., their skipper wrote his name,
He was a fiend for fighting, he had no care for fame.”

“Have never seen so fierce a man on land, nor sky , nor sea,
He had a scar for every war, and fought in ninety-three;
When he was riled, he had an eye that drilled a hole through men,
He spoke but once, and no man asked him how, nor why, nor when.”

“Now Jimmy was the headpiece of a hundred brave Gyrenes,
He used to have a whole lot more who died from eating beans;
But them what ate the chow and lived, they sure were hard-boiled guys,
They flicked the bullets off their coats just like so many flies.”

The old top sergeant’s voice grew low, and at its ghostly gloom,
Men shivered, and the vermin crawled upon the bunkhouse broom;
He stuffed a live coal in his pipe, and deeply did inhale,
He blew the smoke clean through the roof, and then resumed his tale.

“They say the devil made him mean when he was in the skies,
And filled them all so full of hell it shone out through their eyes;
Then old St. Peter found the bunch, and gave them souls of white,
But hell still boiled up in them, and they couldn’t else but fight.”

“So Peter had to can old Nick, and when to earth he fell,
He got himself a steady job recruiting souls for hell;
Well, Peter stamped Marines ‘OK,’ and marked them all first class,
‘Cause all that ever scared ‘em was to see a looking-glass.”

“Now some they come from Texas sand, so they was full of grit,
And some was from Montana plains where they’d been roughing it;
Some more they come from old New York, and wore a Bowery frown,
Then some which was the toughest came from good old Frisco town.”

"Old Jimmy Bones shoved off for France in nineteen-seventeen,
And shipped across the toughest crew the world had ever seen;
Each man had ‘First to Fight,’ tattooed across his chest, in black,
And right betwixt his shoulder blades, ‘Watch out, we’re coming back!’”

“Them hundred Devil Dogs sure was a bold and daring crew,
They bit the soles right off their shoes whenever they’d want a chew;
There wasn’t one among that bunch of those U.S. Marines
Who couldn’t spit three fathoms deep, and sink three submarines.”

“And when it came to shooting guns, why, say, them men were there,
They’d shave a man a mile away, and never miss a hair;
They’d trim the eyebrows off a lark, a- soarin’ in the sky,
Or shoot the points off shooting stars, as long as they had an eye.”

“They cruised on all the seven seas and rationed on hard tack,
They fought their way around the world and half to hell and back;
They fought in every war there was, clean up to Vera Cruz,
The only things they hadn’t fought was huns, and too much booze.”

“Now Jimmie Bones reached France OK with that all-furious crew,
And everyone turned round to say, ‘No savvy parley-vous;’
The French girls grabbed them by their hands, and washed their necks with tears,
The French men slapped them on their backs, and yelled them deaf with cheers.”

"Then Jimmy made a speech, and said, ‘I hear you got a war,
Around here somewheres hereabout, and that’s what we’re here for;
But all I got to say is this. Enjoy it while you can,
I’m going to clean up Germany If I lose every man."

“The Germans learned that Jimmie Bones had crossed the sea to fight,
And when they got that awful news, their feet turned cold with fright;
And when they lamped that roughneck crew from off an aeroplane,
It nearly knocked ‘em for a goal, and some went plumb insane.”

“Said they, ‘What is this thing, Marines? If they had said before,
They had such Devil Dogs as these, there wouldn’t be no war;’
So that is how they got their name of ‘Devil Dog’ Marines,
And ever since, they’ve chased the Dutch dachshund clean off the scenes.”

The old top sergeant rolled his eyes, as if to recollect,
And where he let his fierce glance fall, it scorched six feet of deck;
Said he, “No man has ever lived that crossed old Jimmy Bones,
He had the power that lifted men, Or dragged kings down from thrones.”

"A general of the allies looked out through his periscope,
And seen ten million German huns a-coming on the lope;
He bit his short mustache and said, ‘We’re in an awful stew,
We’ve only got a million men. It looks like they’ll break through.’”

“Then, Jimmy Bones piped up and said, ‘You didn’t count Marines,
I’ve got some hell-dogs that’ll chew the spikes right off their beans;
‘Cause numbers don’t mean nothing to my well-behaving crew,
Why, they ain’t been to school enough to count the men they slew.’”

“The general said, ‘You win, my man. Go take your wild Marines,
And form a scouting party just to double up the scenes;’
Then Jimmy Bones saluted stiff, and to the general said,
‘We’ll break through to Berlin, sir, If we don’t, we’ll come back dead.’”

“With that, he yelled, ‘Outside, Marines, and snap out of your hop,
We’re going out to gather up that German lemon crop;
And if I see one of you men so much as leave a rind,
You’ll rate the brig ‘till kingdom come, and sixty dollars fine.’”

“The hundred Devil Dogs fell out, and then they all fell in,
And each one closed a gap in ranks by shaving up his chin;
The chief cook turned up missing when the time for counting come,
But he was cooking shrapnel up to make the crew some slum.”
“Then Jimmy Bones, he gave a talk, to all his men, he said,
‘We’re shipping out on heavy seas with reefs and shoals ahead;
But all I got to say is this, remember you’re Marines,
Cause water settles everything, and that’s what our name means.”

"He marched ‘em up on company front, in quick and double-time,
He marched ‘em in a riot squad and in a skirmish line;
He ran ‘em in a platoon rush, and then by single squad;
And each advance ten thousand huns stretched out and hit the sod.”

"He mowed ‘em down with Browning guns, and with their Springfield gats,
And them they couldn’t get that way they stuck with bayonets;
And when it came to trenches they just shoved the banks all in,
And tons of huns were swallowed up, and never lived again.”

“The Germans shot a bunch of bombs of dead limburger cheese,
But all it did to Jimmy’s men was make them cough and sneeze;
Then Jimmy lit a strong cigar from off a passing shell,
Three million huns got one good whiff, and died of that vile smell.”

“The hundred Devil Dogs shoved on, their eyes flashed liquid fire,
Which melted guns and cannons up just like they were lead wire;
They kicked about a million huns into the River Marne,
And if they drowned, or sunk, or swam, they didn’t give a darn.”

“The Germans thought that judgment day had come to take its tolls,
They got the jula in their knees, and trembled in their souls;
And when they saw those Devil Dogs, and heard their awful yell,
They knew their judgment day had come, and they were picked for hell.”

“So, what was left threw up their mitts, and hollered ‘kamerad,’
But Jimmy’s men thought that was Dutch for talk profaning God;
So they stuck their bayonets right through them anyhow,
And buzzards came down from the sky and ate ‘em up for chow.”

“Now Kaiser bill and Hindenburg was in a game of craps,
He staked his royal crown against a box of ginger snaps;
Old Hindy won the crown and said, ‘This ain’t no good to me,
I’d sooner have a bite to eat than all of Germany’”

“Said Kaiser Bill, ‘I’ll tell you what. You lend ten marks to me,
I’ll pay you back in a month or two with French indemnity.’
Said Hindy, ‘Where’d you get that stuff. Do you see any green on me?
I bought myself some Liberty Bonds from Mrs. Liberty.’”

“Just then the crown prince busted in and said, ‘Oh papa dear;
I see some wild men coming who will wreck this joint, I fear;
I’ll shoot a long-range shot at them, and if they still persist,
Then I’ll take about a million men and slap them on the wrist.’”

“The Kaiser took a peek out from a half-raised window blind,
And seen a hundred Devil Dogs a-swimming across the Rhine;
The river was a-running blood, From all the men they slew,
And every time they’d duck their heads, they’d drink a quart or two.”

“The Kaiser’s hair stood up on end and turned from black to white,
And when he spied old Jimmy Bones, his blood ran cold with fright;
He grabbed the prince’s hand and said, ‘Don’t fool with that wild Yank,
He’ll fill you full of bullet holes where Papa used to spank.’”

“ ‘What ho the guard!’ Cried Kaiser Bill. ‘There ain't no guard no more,’
Said Hindenburg, ‘The guard was shot out there by the palace door;’
‘Where is my ally Gott?’ yelled Bill. 'Von Gott, he ain’t at home,’
Said Hindenburg, ‘The Gott you had was in your crazy dome.’”

“The Kaiser’s eyes stuck out a mile. ‘What shall I do?’ said he,
‘I’ll save myself and my six brave sons. To hell with Germany;’
Said Hindenburg, ‘It went to hell long time before this thing,
Ten million huns that you sent there are waiting for their king.’”

“The outside palace door crashed in. There was a mighty roar,
‘Thank gott,” said Hindenburg, ‘I’ll see that mush of yours no more;’
With that he grabbed his gat and blew the brains out of his head,
And Kaiser Bill knowed then and there he meant just what he said.”

“The Kaiser beat it for the door and flung it open wide,
And there he met Jimmy Bones a’coming just outside;
Behind him were his Devil Dogs with gleaming bayonets,
And Kaiser Bill knowed they had come to get a whole world’s bets.”

“Then Jimmy gave him just one look that turned his gizzard pale,
And made him wish that he had spent his life in some nice jail;
Said Jimmie Bones, ‘So you’re the cur that kicked up all this row,
You’ve got about an hour to live, so don’t give us no gow!’”

“The Kaiser’s nerve went over the hill. His brow dripped bloody sweat,
He got down on his knees and cried and got the carpet wet;
His teeth, they rattled, just like dice do in a game of craps,
And every word that Jimmy spoke was like a note of taps.”

“Then Jimmy Bones drawed out his gat, and then he tossed it by,
Said, ‘you ain’t fit enough to live, and not that fit to die;
You’ve served the devil all your life, but now you’ll work for me,’
And then he thought of things to do. Jim Bones can think of three.”

“‘You’ll stand a guard of twenty hours around the Arctic zones,
With fifteen minutes out to thaw the marrow in your bones;
And every hour throughout the night you’ll answer reveille,
And every twenty years or so, you’ll rate a liberty.’”

“‘And all you’ll have to drink is German blood you’ve shed,
And when you’re hungry, you will gnaw the bones of German dead;
You’ll do a jolt in eighty-four for ten or twenty years,
And under a hard-boiled non-com you’ll shed your dying tears.’”

“Then Jimmy stopped, and silence filled the gloomy castle hall,
The Kaiser rose and tried to speak, then fell against the wall;
Said he, ‘I thought the devil was a mean and ugly guy,
But you’ve got Satan cheated with one look out of your eye.’”

“Said Jimmy Bones, ‘Now that ain’t all I’m gonna leave you do,
Them things is just light duty, but there’s heavy duty too!’
The Kaiser throwed up both his mitts. ‘You win!’ That’s all he said,
He gave a yell that was heard in hell, and then fell over dead.”

The old top sergeant paused awhile to see if some would doubt,
He sneezed a sneeze, the stoves grew cold, the window panes fell out;
He rolled himself a cigarette from sweepings off the floor,
And lit it with his flaming eye, and then resumed once more.

“Now German spies sent work to France that Jimmy Bones was dead,
And all his hundred Devil Dogs was slaughtered too, they said;
The women weeped a lot of weeps. The men felt pretty bad,
And all of them were mourning cause the shock it hit ‘em bad.”

“The cook was boiling coffee up from a piece of dried-out meat,
Said he, ‘If they is dead or not they’ll be back here to eat;
The world has never seen the time Marines have met defeat,
They would have gone to hell to cut off Kaiser Bill’s retreat.’”

“A sentry sighted Jimmy’s men a’coming over the hill,
And dragging on behind them what was left of Kaiser Bill;
And when they reached old Paris, they were met with yells and cheers,
And showers of gold enough to last ‘em all a thousand years.”

“They hung a million medals on old Jimmy and his crew,
And when they took ‘em off they had a barrel full or two;
And ever after that each lived just like a millionaire,
They never answered reveille, or heard a bugle blare.”

“And all they did was bunk fatigue from then, forever more,
And when they died, they went above and knocked on heaven’s door;
Old Peter came down to the porch and hollered, ‘Halt! Who’s there?’
“United States Marines,” said Jim. First here, and everywhere’”

"So Peter let the whole bunch in along with Captain Jim,
And each one grabbed himself a harp, and sung the Marine hymn;
And ever after that each stood his guard on heaven’s green,
And nary a German has got past the brave U.S. Marine.”

The old top sergeant heaved a sigh that raised the bunkhouse roof,
And those who sat too close to him were blown ten feet aloof;
He cut the sling from off a gun and took a three-foot chew,
And where he spat, the floor gave way, and hell came boiling through.

Then from the fiery pit there rose a corporal of the guard,
His face was sunk, his flesh was iron, his look was twice as hard;
Said he, “The detail’s still intact around the brimstone floods,
The devil’s peeling onions and the Kaiser’s peeling spuds.”

The old top kicker knit his brow, said he, “All right, that’s well!
But when you’ve finished with that job they’ll start to coal up hell;
And if them billion tons ain’t in before they shut an eye,
I’ll run ‘em up ‘fore Jimmy Bones, and let them tell him why.”

The corporal turned and leaped head on down through that fiery mass,
The floor closed up, the bunkhouse swayed with clouds of molten mass.
The top arose, the lights went out, Taps sounded, came the rain,
A chill swept through the room and he was never seen again.

~~~~~~~~~~
A true Marine Corps classic, “Captain Jimmy Bones And His Devil-Dog Marines” originally appeared in an early forties edition of “Leatherneck Magazine" and ranks among the very best of Marine Corps “propaganda.”
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This is...
Gunny G's...
GLOBE and ANCHOR
Marines Sites & Forums
By R.W. "Dick" Gaines
GySgt USMC (Ret.)
1952-72
Semper Fidelis
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