Burial at Sea
by Lt. Col. George Goodson, USMC (Ret)

In my 76th year, the events of my life appear to me, from time to time, as a series of vignettes. Some were significant; most were trivial.

War is the seminal event in the life of everyone that has endured it. Though I fought in Korea and the Dominican Republic and was wounded there, Vietnam was my war.

Now 42 years have passed and, thankfully, I rarely think of those days in Cambodia, Laos, and the panhandle of North Vietnam where small teams of Americans and Montangards fought much larger elements of the North Vietnamese Army. Instead I see vignettes: some exotic, some mundane:

*The smell of Nuc Mam.
*The heat, dust, and humidity.
*The blue exhaust of cycles clogging the streets.
*Elephants moving silently through the tall grass.
*Hard eyes behind the servile smiles of the villagers.
*Standing on a mountain in Laos and hearing a tiger roar.
*A young girl squeezing my hand as my medic delivered her baby.
*The flowing Ao Dais of the young women biking down Tran Hung Dao.
*My two years as Casualty Notification Officer in North Carolina, Virginia, and Maryland.

It was late 1967. I had just returned after 18 months in Vietnam. Casualties were increasing. I moved my family from Indianapolis to Norfolk, rented a house, enrolled my children in their fifth or sixth new school, and bought a second car.

A week later, I put on my uniform and drove 10 miles to Little Creek, Virginia. I hesitated before entering my new office. Appearance is important to career Marines. I was no longer, if ever, a poster Marine. I had returned from my third tour in Vietnam only 30 days before. At 5'9", I now weighed 128 pounds - 37 pounds below my normal weight. My uniforms fit ludicrously, my skin was yellow from malaria medication, and I think I had a twitch or two.

I straightened my shoulders, walked into the office, looked at the nameplate on a Staff Sergeant's desk and said, "Sergeant Jolly, I'm Lieutenant Colonel Goodson. Here are my orders and my Qualification Jacket."

Sergeant Jolly stood, looked carefully at me, took my orders, stuck out his hand; we shook and he asked, "How long were you there, Colonel?" I replied "18 months this time." Jolly breathed, "You must be a slow learner, Colonel." I smiled.

Jolly said, "Colonel, I'll show you to your office and bring in the Sergeant Major. I said, "No, let's just go straight to his office." Jolly nodded, hesitated, and lowered his voice, "Colonel, the Sergeant Major. He's been in this job two years. He's packed pretty tight. I'm worried about him." I nodded.

Jolly escorted me into the Sergeant Major's office. "Sergeant Major, this is Colonel Goodson, the new Commanding Officer." The Sergeant Major stood, extended his hand and said, "Good to see you again, Colonel." I responded, "Hello Walt, how are you?" Jolly looked at me, raised an eyebrow, walked out, and closed the door.

I sat down with the Sergeant Major. We had the obligatory cup of coffee and talked about mutual acquaintances. Walt's stress was palpable. Finally, I said, "Walt, what's the hell's wrong?" He turned his chair, looked out the window and said, "George, you're going to wish you were back in Nam before you leave here. I've been in the Marine Corps since 1939. I was in the Pacific 36 months, Korea for 14 months, and Vietnam for 12 months. Now I come here to bury these kids. I'm putting my letter in. I can't take it anymore." I said, "OK Walt. If that's what you want, I'll endorse your request for retirement and do what I can to push it through Headquarters Marine Corps."

Sergeant Major Walt Xxxxx retired 12 weeks later. He had been a good Marine for 28 years, but he had seen too much death and too much suffering. He was used up.

Over the next 16 months, I made 28 death notifications, conducted 28 military funerals, and made 30 notifications to the families of Marines that were severely wounded or missing in action. Most of the details of those casualty notifications have now, thankfully, faded from memory. Four, however, remain.

MY FIRST NOTIFICATION
My third or fourth day in Norfolk, I was notified of the death of a 19 year old Marine. This notification came by telephone from Headquarters Marine Corps. The information detailed:

*Name, rank, and serial number.
*Name, address, and phone number of next of kin.
*Date of and limited details about the Marine's death.
*Approximate date the body would arrive at the Norfolk Naval Air Station.
*A strong recommendation on whether the casket should be opened or closed.

The boy's family lived over the border in North Carolina, about 60 miles away. I drove there in a Marine Corps staff car. Crossing the state line into North Carolina, I stopped at a small country store/service station/Post Office. I went in to ask directions.

Three people were in the store. A man and woman approached the small Post Office window. The man held a package. The store owner walked up and addressed them by name, "Hello John. Good morning Mrs. Cooper."

I was stunned. My casualty's next-of-kin's name was John Cooper!

I hesitated, then stepped forward and said, "I beg your pardon. Are you Mr. and Mrs. John Cooper of (address.)

The father looked at me - I was in uniform - and then, shaking, bent at the waist, he vomited. His wife looked horrified at him and then at me. Understanding came into her eyes and she collapsed in slow motion. I think I caught her before she hit the floor.

The owner took a bottle of whiskey out of a drawer and handed it to Mr. Cooper who drank. I answered their questions for a few minutes. Then I drove them home in my staff car. The store owner locked the store and followed in their truck. We stayed an hour or so until the family began arriving.

I returned the store owner to his business. He thanked me and said, "Mister, I wouldn't have your job for a million dollars." I shook his hand and said; "Neither would I."

I vaguely remember the drive back to Norfolk. Violating about five Marine Corps regulations, I drove the staff car straight to my house. I sat with my family while they ate dinner, went into the den, closed the door, and sat there all night, alone.

My Marines steered clear of me for days. I had made my first death notification.

THE FUNERALS
Weeks passed with more notifications and more funerals. I borrowed Marines from the local Marine Corps Reserve and taught them to conduct a military funeral: how to carry a casket, how to fire the volleys and how to fold the flag.

When I presented the flag to the mother, wife, or father, I always said, "All Marines share in your grief." I had been instructed to say, "On behalf of a grateful nation...." I didn't think the nation was grateful, so I didn't say that.

Sometimes, my emotions got the best of me and I couldn't speak. When that happened, I just handed them the flag and touched a shoulder. They would look at me and nod. Once a mother said to me, "I'm so sorry you have this terrible job." My eyes filled with tears and I leaned over and kissed her.

ANOTHER NOTIFICATION
Six weeks after my first notification, I had another. This was a young PFC. I drove to his mother's house. As always, I was in uniform and driving a Marine Corps staff car. I parked in front of the house, took a deep breath, and walked towards the house. Suddenly the door flew open, a middle-aged woman rushed out. She looked at me and ran across the yard, screaming "NO! NO! NO! NO!"

I hesitated. Neighbors came out. I ran to her, grabbed her, and whispered stupid things to reassure her. She collapsed. I picked her up and carried her into the house. Eight or nine neighbors followed. Ten or fifteen minutes later, the father came in followed by ambulance personnel. I have no recollection of leaving.

The funeral took place about two weeks later. We went through the drill. The mother never looked at me. The father looked at me once and shook his head sadly.

ANOTHER NOTIFICATION
One morning, as I walked in the office, the phone was ringing. Sergeant Jolly held the phone up and said, "You've got another one, Colonel." I nodded, walked into my office, picked up the phone, took notes, thanked the officer making the call, I have no idea why, and hung up. Jolly, who had listened, came in with a special Telephone Directory that translates telephone numbers into the person's address and place of employment.

The father of this casualty was a Longshoreman. He lived a mile from my office. I called the Longshoreman's Union Office and asked for the Business Manager. He answered the phone, I told him who I was, and asked for the father's schedule.

The Business Manager asked, "Is it his son?" I said nothing. After a moment, he said, in a low voice, "Tom is at home today." I said, "Don't call him. I'll take care of that." The Business Manager said, "Aye, Aye Sir," and then explained, "Tom and I were Marines in WWII."

I got in my staff car and drove to the house. I was in uniform. I knocked and a woman in her early forties answered the door. I saw instantly that she was clueless. I asked, "Is Mr. Smith home?" She smiled pleasantly and responded, "Yes, but he's eating breakfast now. Can you come back later?" I said, "I'm sorry. It's important. I need to see him now."

She nodded, stepped back into the beach house and said, "Tom, it's for you."

A moment later, a ruddy man in his late forties, appeared at the door. He looked at me, turned absolutely pale, steadied himself, and said, "Jesus Christ man, he's only been there three weeks!"

Months passed. More notifications and more funerals. Then one day while I was running, Sergeant Jolly stepped outside the building and gave a loud whistle, two fingers in his mouth....... I never could do that..... and held an imaginary phone to his ear.

Another call from Headquarters Marine Corps. I took notes, said, "Got it." and hung up. I had stopped saying "Thank You" long ago.

Jolly, "Where?"

Me, "Eastern Shore of Maryland . The father is a retired Chief Petty Officer. His brother will accompany the body back from Vietnam ...."

Jolly shook his head slowly, straightened, and then said, "This time of day, it'll take three hours to get there and back. I'll call the Naval Air Station and borrow a helicopter. And I'll have Captain Tolliver get one f his men to meet you and drive you to the Chief's home."

He did, and 40 minutes later, I was knocking on the father's door. He opened the door, looked at me, then looked at the Marine standing at parade rest beside the car, and asked, "Which one of my boys was it, Colonel?"

I stayed a couple of hours, gave him all the information, my office and home phone number and told him to call me, anytime.

He called me that evening about 2300 (11:00PM). "I've gone through my boy's papers and found his will. He asked to be buried at sea. Can you make that happen?" I said, "Yes I can, Chief. I can and I will."

My wife who had been listening said, "Can you do that?" I told her, "I have no idea. But I'm going to break my ass trying."

I called Lieutenant General Alpha Bowser, Commanding General, Fleet Marine Force Atlantic, at home about 2330, explained the situation, and asked, "General, can you get me a quick appointment with the Admiral at Atlantic Fleet Headquarters?" General Bowser said, "George, you be there tomorrow at 0900. He will see you."

I was and the Admiral did. He said coldly, "How can the Navy help the Marine Corps, Colonel." I told him the story. He turned to his Chief of Staff and said, "Which is the sharpest destroyer in port?" The Chief of Staff responded with a name.

The Admiral called the ship, "Captain, you're going to do a burial at sea. You'll report to a Marine Lieutenant Colonel Goodson until this mission is completed..."

He hung up, looked at me, and said, "The next time you need a ship, Colonel, call me. You don't have to sic Al Bowser on my ass." I responded, "Aye Aye, Sir" and got the hell out of his office.

I went to the ship and met with the Captain, Executive Officer, and the Senior Chief. Sergeant Jolly and I trained the ship's crew for four days. Then Jolly raised a question none of us had thought of. He said, "These government caskets are air tight. How do we keep it from floating?"

All the high priced help including me sat there looking dumb. Then the Senior Chief stood and said, "Come on Jolly. I know a bar where the retired guys from World War II hang out."

They returned a couple of hours later, slightly the worse for wear, and said, "It's simple; we cut four 12" holes in the outer shell of the casket on each side and insert 300 lbs of lead in the foot end of the casket. We can handle that, no sweat."

The day arrived. The ship and the sailors looked razor sharp. General Bowser, the Admiral, a US Senator, and a Navy Band were on board. The sealed casket was brought aboard and taken below for modification. The ship got underway to the 12-fathom depth.

The sun was hot. The ocean flat. The casket was brought aft and placed on a catafalque. The Chaplain spoke. The volleys were fired. The flag was removed, folded, and I gave it to the father. The band played "Eternal Father Strong to Save." The casket was raised slightly at the head and it slid into the sea.

The heavy casket plunged straight down about six feet. The incoming water collided with the air pockets in the outer shell. The casket stopped abruptly, rose straight out of the water about three feet, stopped, and slowly slipped back into the sea. The air bubbles rising from the sinking casket sparkled in the sunlight as the casket disappeared from sight forever....

The next morning I called a personal friend, Lieutenant General Oscar Peatross, at Headquarters Marine Corps and said, "General, get me out of here. I can't take this anymore." I was transferred two weeks later.

I was a good Marine but, after 17 years, I had seen too much death and too much suffering. I was used up.

Vacating the house, my family and I drove to the office in a two-car convoy. I said my goodbyes. Sergeant Jolly walked out with me. He waved at my family, looked at me with tears in his eyes, came to attention, saluted, and said, "Well Done, Colonel. Well Done."

I felt as if I had received the Medal of Honor!




'A veteran is someone who, at one point, wrote a blank check made payable to
'The United States of America' for an amount of 'up to and including their life.'

That is Honor, and there are way too many people in this country who no longer understand it.'

There has long been a tension in the Military Intelligence community between Strategic and Tactical Intelligence.

Some quick history, the tactical orientation of Army Military Intelligence is a rather recent even. Prior to the 1970’s Military Intelligence was primarily found in the Army Security Agency who was responsible for Signal, Human etc intelligence, and the joke was that everything useful to a Commander was kept behind the Green Door. It was over classified, it was not accessible to anyone below the Division level, Brigade and Battalion S2 would often pass information up but get very little back, most often the Analysis received was a summation of what was passed to the Division G2 and incorporated into the Daily Intelligence Summary.

In the 1970’s the Army broke up ASA, formed Intelligence Security Command (INSCOM) and created Tactical Level Intelligence Brigades and Battalions. The Brigades were designed to support Theater and Corps Operations and the Battalions to Support Divisions. This was an excellent construct for the Cold War, as the Divisional Military Intelligence Battalions (CEWI) included Signals, CI, Ground Surveillance Radars, etc which could be tasked organized to support each maneuver brigade and to provide Analytical support to the Division G2.

Being a Battalion or Brigade S2 in the Cold War was relatively easy. (I must admit, here, that I actually was a Battalion S2 twice, and a Brigade Assistant S2.) The Soviet Union and surrogates were very easy to template and to make intelligent Intelligence estimates. A Intelligence Officer at the Division or lower level did not really have to be concerned with the Strategic implications, rather had to be a master of Tactical and Operational goals of the Warsaw Pact (or North Korea).

With the collapse of the Berlin Wall, the perfect world of the Military Intelligence Officer was destroyed. Unfortunately for the Army, the training and culture of the military intelligence community did not change. The military intelligence community has not accepted the transformations of the Army and in many cases wants to restore the status quo ante bellum of prior to transformation.

The culture of the Military Intelligence Community is such that unless something is classified it is not valuable. The use of Open Source Intelligence (OSINT) is often looked down on. In 2004 and 2005 while at EUCOM, I led a Coalition Joint Planning Team looking at options for Sub-Saharan Africa. Among the problems we faced was the over classification of material and the reluctance of intelligence community to declassify or to sanitize the products so they could be released to our Coalition partners. For several months our best source of information came from the Economists and other publications that reported on Sub-Saharan Africa. Our concern in the planning effort was not so much the bad guys—we knew who they were; rather we needed to understand the Political, Informational, Economic, Social Structures etc of the area we were looking into. We managed to put together a Strategic Plan which fulfilled the Combatant Commanders intent, but with little help from the Intelligence Community.

I mention this, as it supports the argument put forth by Major General Flynn and his co-authors. In the world we live in Military Intelligence must support the Commander on the Ground. His argument that Intelligence Assets need to be pushed to the lowest level possible; and that focusing on the Bad Guys while important is not nearly as important as understanding the Area of Operations. He is arguing that our Intelligence Officers need to be more like the beat policeman who knows the neighborhood and less wanting to be James Bond.

Major General Flynn and his co-authors have done a great service to the United States Army and military, the question is, will the Army in particular listen. I believe the USMC gets it—being smaller and more agile they are able to change how they operate more quickly than the Army. The Army unfortunately is a large bureaucracy that is unable to quickly change directions, as the Mandarins will slow roll the process. One can hope, that General Petraeus and McChrystal are able to influence General Casey the Chief of Staff to make the necessary changes—however don’t hold your breath.

I meant to write this prior to the Marine Corps Birthday. . .but I was delayed by the fact that my wife and I had to look for a new home in the Washington DC area. . .that is another post.

Last week in the Army Times, a retired Army Sergeant Major made disparaging comments about the United States Marine Corps; I find that the Sergeant Major reflects a bias of many in the Army, who know nothing about the roles and missions of the United States Marine Corps and as such fail to understand that the Army and United States Marine Corps have separate and distinct roles and missions. To paraphrase a former Commandant of the Marine Corps, “the Marine Corps wins battles; the Army wins wars.”

Since my days as a cadet at VMI I have had the pleasure of having worked for, alongside, or with members of the United States Marine Corps—in every case I have found the members of the USMC to be true professional Officers, Warrant Officers, and Non-Commissioned Officers.

After having served with, worked for and alongside people like Lieutenant General Joe Weber, Lieutenant General Rick Zilmer, Colonel (retired) James R. Williams, Majors Eric Marble and Scott Leonard, I have concluded that as an Army Officer there is no other land force in the world that I would want to be on my flank than the United States Marine Corps. For those in Army who speak ill of the Marine Corps all I can say unless you have worked with the USMC shut your mouths.

A belated Happy Birthday, Marines, Semper Fi.

John Ripley, Vietnam War hero, dies at age 69

AP Photo/ELIZABETH MALBY

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ANNAPOLIS, Md. (AP) -- Retired Marine Col. John Ripley, who was credited with stopping a column of North Vietnamese tanks by blowing up a pair of bridges during the 1972 Easter Offensive of the Vietnam War, died at home at age 69, friends and relatives said Sunday.

Ripley's son, Stephen Ripley, said his father was found at his Annapolis home Saturday after missing a speaking engagement on Friday. The son said the cause of death had not been determined but it appeared his father died in his sleep.

In a videotaped interview with the U.S. Naval Institute for its Americans at War program, Ripley said he and about 600 South Vietnamese were ordered to "hold and die" against 20,000 North Vietnamese soldiers with about 200 tanks.

"I'll never forget that order, 'hold and die'," Ripley said. The only way to stop the enormous force with their tiny force was to destroy the bridge, he said.

"The idea that I would be able to even finish the job before the enemy got me was ludicrous," Ripley said. "When you know you're not going to make it, a wonderful thing happens: You stop being cluttered by the feeling that you're going to save your butt."

Ripley crawled under the bridge under heavy gunfire, rigging 500 pounds of explosives that brought the twins spans down, said John Miller, a former Marine adviser in Vietnam and the author of "The Bridge at Dong Ha," which details the battle.

Miller said the North Vietnamese advance was slowed considerably by Ripley.

"A lot of people think South Vietnam would have gone under in '72 had he not stopped them," Miller said.

Ray Madonna, president of the U.S. Naval Academy's 1962 graduating class, served in Vietnam as a Marine at the same time and said his classmate saved countless U.S. and South Vietnamese troops.

"They would have been wrecked" if the tanks had crossed, Madonna said. He said Ripley also coordinated naval gunfire that stopped the tanks from crossing at a shallower point downstream.

"He was a Marine's Marine, respected, highly respected by enlisted men, by his peers and by his seniors," Madonna said.

Miller said Ripley, who was born in Radford, Va., descended from a long line of veterans going back to the Revolutionary War. He graduated from the Naval Academy in 1962, after enlisting in the Marines out of high school and spending a year in naval school in Newport, R.I.

He earned the "Quad Body" distinction for making it through four of the toughest military training programs in the world: the Army Rangers, Marine reconnaissance, Army Airborne and Britain's Royal Marines, Miller said. He was also the only Marine to be inducted in the U.S. Army Ranger Hall of Fame.

Ripley earned the Navy Cross and Silver Star for his service in Vietnam. He later served on the Joint Chiefs of Staff and was regimental commander at Camp Lejeune, N.C., among other postings.

After retiring from the Marines, he was president and chancellor of Southern Virginia College in Lexington, Va.

Stephen Ripley said his father had a deep and tenacious love for his country, the Marine Corps and his family.

"My Dad never quit anything and never went halfway on anything in his life," he said. "He just was a full-throttle kind of person and those people that he cared about, he really cared about."

Ripley is survived by his wife, Moline B. Ripley, 67; three sons, Stephen Ripley, 43, Thomas Ripley, 38, and John Ripley, 35; a daughter, Mary Ripley, 39; and eight grandchildren.

Funeral arrangements were pending.

Evan was at the Euphrates River Bridge when he heard an artillery round scream in and explode, followed by cries for corpsman. When he looked up over the raised road, he saw several wounded Marines being tended to. In our conversation, Evan told me that it was a British artillery unit that had fired the errant round. In fact, a British artillery battery had showed up at 1/10’s position and set up to support the fight in Nasiriyah.

The British artillerymen were moving north to support the British paratroopers’ attack on the airfield which is talked about in the third installment. This explains why no Marine after-action report talks about this incident.

After rereading my own book, I found an incident which fits Mr. Wright’s description. There was quite a fight at the Euphrates River Bridge on 24 March. Marines from 2/8 were fighting on the east side of the bridge, across the raised road from Evan. The Marines I interviewed were under artillery and mortar attack from the enemy. On one occasion, an artillery round hit next to a 2/8 gun truck. LCpl Santamaria, the machine gunner, was hit by a piece of shrapnel in his shoulder. A Corpsman, Doc Cordova, was also superficially wounded in the explosion.

Both were moved to a casualty collection point on the east side of the road where several other wounded Marines were being treated and prepared for evacuation to the Battalion Aid Station. (“Marines in the Garden of Eden,” p302). Kerry Sanders was filming at the BAS when Santamaria and others were being treated. No Marines were killed in this incident.

My description of the fight on the 24th would have been much stronger if I had had the opportunity to speak with Evan during my research. He has added detail to my understanding of what happened that day. I want to let everyone know that what he saw fits with my understanding of the day’s events and what he heard about the results falls under the “fog of war.”

After our conversation, it is very clear to me that Evan has made every effort to make Generation Kill the most accurate portrayal produced to date. My confidence in Generation Kill has been restored.

Richard S. Lowry is the award-wining author of “The Gulf War Chronicles” and “Marines in the Garden of Eden.” He served in the U.S. Navy Submarine Service from 1967-1975 and spent the time from 1975 to 2002 designing sophisticated integrated circuits for everything from aircraft avionics to home computers. He is currently working on his next book, “New Dawn,” which will tell of the fight to free Fallujah. Visit www.marinesinthegardenofeden.com for more information.

When it comes to the battle for Nasiriyah, I will probably end up being Burns’ and Wright’s worst critic. I know too much about that fight to be dazzled by their literary license. The Generation Kill story is unfolding to be quite an adventure and we still cannot tell which direction the writers will be taking us. It appears that they will portray 1st Recon’s enlisted Marines as gruff good guys and officers and other units as lacking in courage, intelligence and morals. Last night, I was particularly offended by the implication that 2d LAR indiscriminately killed civilians north of Nasiriyah. I was also disgusted with the distortion of the truth in the events surrounding the fight in Nasiriyah.

Let’s start with March 23, 2003. The day Task Force Tarawa attacked into Nasiriyah. All of our 1st Recon “heroes” were stuck in the traffic jam, south of the city. Eleven soldiers and eighteen Marines were killed in, and around, Nasiriyah that day and about twenty Marines were wounded. Captain Eric Garcia flew the last CASEVAC at sunset. There were no other casualty evacuations that night. It was horrible to lose twenty-nine Americans in a single fight, but the number of casualties was nowhere close to the 200 claimed in Generation Kill.

Ambush Alley – street was straight and wide, buildings were low.

Which leads me to 24 March; when our 1st Recon “heroes” arrived at the Euphrates River Bridge, there was quite a fight going on. This is absolutely true, but it was the 2d Battalion, 8th Marines, not RCT-1, that got into a large scrap at the bridge that day. The fight did not erupt until after LtCol Eddie Ray had taken his 2d LAR Battalion through “Ambush Alley.” By the way, not a single shot was fired when Ray charged through the city. 2/8 sustained a few injuries in their fight, but none were serious. There was never an artillery friendly fire incident at the river. No Marines were wounded or killed by friendly artillery fire. I challenge the writers to support this claim.

It is very true that Colonel Dowdy, RCT-1’s commander, hesitated and would not order his regiment through “Ambush Alley.” Generals Conway and Mattis were extremely unhappy with his lack of aggressiveness. This was the second of several incidents which caused Dowdy to be the first Marine regimental commander to be relieved on the field of battle. Notwithstanding, the Marines of RCT-2 fought courageously in Nasiriyah. Colonel Ron Bailey, RCT-2’s commander, drove through Ambush Alley just after 2d LAR with only a few vehicles to visit his battalion, north of the city.

Godfather 6 concluded last night’s installment with a couple disagreeable statements. He claimed that the enemy “stared us down” in Nasiriyah and "some Americans won't back down from a fight." In fact, the enemy was decimated in Nasiriyah. 1st Battalion, 2nd Marines, another Task Force Tarawa battalion, lost eighteen brave Marines because they pressed the attack and did not give up until they had met their objectives which were the two bridges in Nasiriyah. By sunset on the 23rd, both bridges were secure and RCT-2 was waiting for RCT-1 to pass through the city. Again – the war did not revolve around the 1st Recon Battalion.

I studied the battle of Nasiriyah for quite some time. I interviewed nearly one hundred soldiers, sailors and Marines who were actually there in the fight. I am not happy with the way the writers have bent the facts to fit their story and overlooked the courageous stories of men like Major Bill Peeples; Captain Eric Garcia; Lieutenants Fred Pokorney, Brian Letendre, “Ben” Reed and Mike Seely; Sergeant William Schaffer; Corporals Nick Elliot and Pat Nixon and many, many more. Burns and Wright have lost their credibility. I will have a hard time believing anything in the last five segments.

Richard S. Lowry is the award-wining author of “The Gulf War Chronicles” and “Marines in the Garden of Eden.” He served in the U.S. Navy Submarine Service from 1967-1975 and spent the time from 1975 to 2002 designing sophisticated integrated circuits for everything from aircraft avionics to home computers. He is currently working on his next book, “New Dawn,” which will tell of the fight to free Fallujah. Visit www.marinesinthegardenofeden.com for more information.

That being said, I feel that a few issues that were brought up need some historical context. The Marines classically run on bubble gum and duct tape. All of the Marine Units were lacking for supplies and equipment in one way or another. They have the smallest budget of all the services and are treated like a red-headed stepchild when it comes to budgeting in the Navy Department. These shortfalls were exacerbated by the monumental military budget cuts of the 90’s. In 2003, our armed forces were paying the “Peace Dividend.”

As we left TEAM 1 ALPHA last night, they were headed for the Fertile Crescent. Godfather 6 surmised aloud that if the mission of securing the bridge over the Euphrates had been taken away from them, it must not be too important. The war did not revolve around 1st Recon. Taking the crossings over the Euphrates River was of utmost importance to Generals Conway, Mattis and Natonski. So much so, that Conway ordered General Natonski to make a beeline to Nasiriyah. The entire 2nd Marine Regiment and Task Force Tarawa were assigned the task of securing three vital bridges.

The Betio Bastards of 3rd Battalion, 2nd Marines (an entire infantry battalion) was given the mission of securing the Highway 1 (ROUTE TAMPA) bridge, ten kilometers west of Nasiriyah. The rest of the 2nd Marine Regiment was tasked with securing the two bridges and road which ran through the eastern side of Nasiriyah. A two kilometer urban stretch of road through the city (Ambush Alley) connected the two bridges. The southern bridge crossed the Euphrates River and the northern bridge crossed the Saddam Canal. The plan was for the 1st Battalion, 2nd Marines (a reinforced mechanized infantry battalion) to cross the Euphrates River Bridge and then move to take the bridge over the Saddam Canal.

The regimental combat team’s third infantry battalion, 2nd Battalion, 8th Marines, would then secure the southern bridge, leaving an infantry battalion guarding each of the three bridges. This was hardly a task for a light recon unit. Task Force Tarawa also had 1st Battalion, 10th Marines, an artillery battalion in support (I will discuss the artillery support after next week’s show).

This context is important for the viewer to understand. Task Force Tarawa was given the mission of securing the bridges so that the 1st Marine Division could cross the Euphrates River quickly, without expending any of their combat power. The commanders were worried that the bridges would be blown and the Marines would be caught in a bottleneck and fall victim to chemical attack. Everyone believed that Saddam had chemical weapons and that he would use them in Nasiriyah.

Now that we all have the context, we can pull up our chairs and settle in to watch Part 2. My hopes are high that this will be the first real movie about Americans at war in the 21st Century. If Chapter 1 was any indication, we are all in for an amazing ride.

Richard S. Lowry is the author of “The Gulf War Chronicles” and “Marines in the Garden of Eden.” He served in the U.S. Navy Submarine Service from 1967-1975 and spent the time from 1975 to 2002 designing sophisticated integrated circuits for everything from aircraft avionics to home computers. He is currently working on his next book, “New Dawn,” which will tell of the fight to free Fallujah. Visit Marines in the Garden of Eden for more information.

By the end of the first day of the ground war, Task Force Ripper had Al Jaber Airfield, in Southern Kuwait, under siege and Task Force Papa Bear was protecting the right flank of the 1st Marine Division. General Thomas Draude, the 1st Marine Division’s assistant commander, had led the division’s “Jump” CP forward into Kuwait during the afternoon. He set up the forward command post somewhere between Task Force Ripper and Papa Bear with the burning Burqan Oil Field just east of his site. A young intelligence captain cautioned the general that he believed the Iraqis were massing for a counterattack in the center of the facility. Draude discounted the warning believing that no one could tolerate the heat from the dozens of fires raging throughout the field.

Throughout the night of 24-25 February, 1991, Marines received more and more information indicating that there was an Iraqi armor brigade and mechanized infantry brigade on the 1st Marine Division's right flank in the Burqan Oil Field. So, plans were made to flush these Iraqis out with a massive artillery barrage the next morning.

Prior to the artillery barrage, at 0715, the commanders of Task Force Papa Bear started a morning staff meeting at their field headquarters, just southwest of the Burqan Oil Field. As the Regiment's senior officers were discussing the day’s plans, a single Iraqi tank and a Chinese-built Armored Personnel Carrier (APC) appeared not one hundred yards from the officers. Smoke from the oil fires was so bad on this morning that the Iraqis had wandered unseen through the Marine sentry posts. Fortunately these Iraqis had ventured out to surrender. Their senior officer volunteered that the rest of his brigade was close behind and that they wanted to fight.

Around 0815 the Marines began pounding the suspected Iraqi positions in the Al Burqan Oil Field with five battalions of artillery. Sixty-six howitzers fired two hundred forty-four rounds in the first volley. Three minutes later a second salvo unleashed nearly five hundred more rounds. The young intelligence officer had called it right. The Iraqi 5th Mechanized Division had spent all night massing in the cover of Burqan preparing to counterattack the 1st Marines.

Within fifteen minutes, RCT-1 reported: "T-62s everywhere, scattering like cockroaches from the Burqan Oil Field." Papa Bear’s commanders immediately called for close air support. Captain Randall Hammond responded to the call for help. He brought his four Cobra helicopters in to attack the advancing Iraqis. Smoke still obscured the battlefield, but unlike the night before, the Arabian sun helped the Cobra pilots see through the billowing smoke. Scout Marines on the ground painted targets for the Cobra pilots while they launched their Hellfire missiles at the Iraqi armored vehicles. With the help of Hammond’s Cobras and other pilots, the 1st Tank Battalion beat back the brigade-sized attack on Papa Bear's position after three and a half hours of fighting. The combined air-ground defense destroyed fifty tanks and twenty-five APCs. Papa Bear’s Marines herded three hundred dazed Iraqi soldiers from the battlefield.

Eight miles to the north, General Draude monitored Papa Bear’s battle from the 1st Division's forward command post located on the western edge of the Emir's Farm. The Emir's Farm was a small oasis located directly to the east of the Division's breach head. Only a rifle platoon and a LAV platoon from the 1st LAI Battalion protected the Division forward command post. Captain Eddie Steven Ray had his seven LAV-25s positioned on a screen line, west of the oasis and about a quarter of a mile east of General Draude’s command unit. The rifle platoon was dug in to Ray's north.

Around 0930, Iraqi artillery rounds began falling near the rifle platoon. Ray raced north in his LAV, to find Iraqi Armored Personnel Carriers (BMPs) disgorging troops on the edge of the oasis. The single LAV and the rifle platoon opened fire on the advancing Iraqis. Realizing that his division commander was in immediate danger, Captain Ray called for his platoon to come north and engage the enemy.

Meanwhile, General Draude and his staff watched as an Iraqi mechanized brigade attacked out of the oasis. Draude turned to his aid and said, “If I die today, my wife is going to kill me!” The 1st Marine Division's Operations Officer, Colonel Jerry Humble, immediately called Task Force Ripper for reinforcements (armed with TOW missiles), then called I MEF headquarters.

"We need some help!" he exclaimed. "Send all the Cobras you can."

A MEF staff officer replied that everybody was in a fight. Colonel Humble raised the handset into the air, waited a few seconds, then said: "...we're in a REAL fight at Division Forward."

"Oh, shit, I hear." the staff officer answered.

Meanwhile, Ray began picking off BMPs with his 25-mm cannon fire. Within minutes, Ray's other LAVs were on line. Artillery support was out of the question. The enemy was too close. Within moments, two Cobra gunships swooped in at low level. Ray directed their rocket fire by shooting his 25-mm cannon at Iraqi infantry positions.

Then Ray counterattacked. Supported by the gunships overhead, Ray’s seven LAVs rolled forward toward the oasis. More Cobras arrived and the LAV platoon pressed the attack, destroying everything in sight. Captain Ray and his men swept through the oasis. The Marines halted on the eastern edge of the Emir's Farm. Thirty-eight burning Iraqi armored vehicles lay scattered behind them. Ray had not only protected the command post but his aggressive counterattack completely destroyed the Iraqi brigade. Captain Ray received the Navy Cross for his courage under fire that day.

Richard S. Lowry is the author of "The Gulf War Chronicles" and "Marines in the Garden of Eden."