Well, here we go again. 13 years in my country's uniform, and the call comes yet again. Two deployments with the Marines in the Middle East, one wartime activation turned Homeland Security with the Army National Guard, more than a third of my life spent training for war, and I have yet to hear a shot fired in anger. It's been close a few times, though. I sat off the coast of Kuwait twice after the first Gulf War, waiting and watching to see if Saddam Hussein would try his ambitions again; 2000 Marines, 1 million Iraqis, and our carrier group 3 days away. I guess we looked scarier than we felt, he backed down both times and I never did get to go to Australia. We sat off the coast of Mogadishu, Somalia a short time after the incident the Rangers had with the Blackhawks, waiting to see if Clinton would send us back in. He didn't, and we were more angry than relieved. American blood had been spilled, and we wanted payback. In 1994, aboard USS Tripoli, we geared up to do a takedown of a cargo ship thought to be carrying an internationally wanted terrorist whose name meant little to us at the time. Intelligence couldn't confirm that he was definitely aboard, so we stood down. Seven years later on a black September morning, I remembered his name, and wished with all my heart that we had been allowed to take the chance that he might have been on that ship that night in the Arabian Gulf. I have fought wildfires in California, and cleared rubble and handed out food and water in Mississippi in the wake of a hurricane whose damage exceeded that of an atomic bomb, according to a man I met who had seen both. I have written a letter to the widow of Cpl Stephen Mosier, who died in an accident at sea, simply because he lived near my hometown and I thought she might appreciate a non-official account of her husband and the men who tried to save him.
I was shivering in a sleeping bag in the desert of Kuwait when my son was born, and finally got to hold him for the first time two months later. The reason I left active duty for the National Guard was that I wanted to be able to stay home instead of doing 6 month deployments every year and a half. Now, nine years into being a "weekend warrior," I am being alerted for the second time of a deployment possibly lasting 3-4 times as long as any I did with the Corps. Irony will find you no matter how hard you try to hide from it.
And so, once again, I find myself trying to explain to my family, friends, and myself most of all, that greatest question of them all...why do I do it? There are innumerable reasons - some fairly obvious, and some that can only be understood if you've ever shed a tear on a uniform, whether it's worn by you or by someone you hope makes it back. I heard in Basic Training of a note written on a ration package found after the Marines' battle at Khe Sanh, Vietnam. The words spoke of Life having a special flavor that the protected can never know. I have carried this thought for thirteen years now, and it still stirs the same feelings of duty, pride, and honor that it did the first time I heard it. There is a tremendous feeling of satisfaction in knowing that when help is called for, you are the one who answers. This is the reason I joined the Marines, this is the reason I joined the National Guard. It is the reason I am a firefighter and an EMT. Some people spend their entire lives wondering what the purpose of their existence is...I found it. We are here to serve.
The greatest feeling of fulfillment I have ever known comes from helping when others can not or will not. My Brothers and I run to the scene of the fire, and we run to the sound of the guns. As much as we love quiet evenings and normal lives, we live for the sound of the alarm. When it sounds, we have a job to do, a mission to accomplish, we have a purpose. That the job is dangerous makes it that much more important to us. We do not wish for death, and we do not ignore its possibility. We fight death, and we win.
Some of us will not win, and these Brothers will be remembered and honored forever. They will have stories told about them, tears cried for them, beers raised and flags lowered in their honor, and between alarms and alerts, when you see us sitting quietly and staring at nothing, we will be listening to their memories. They will not die for a flag, a country, oil, or politics. They will die for you and for me. Greater Love has no man than that he lay down his life for his friends. I know that if my Brothers and I go in harm's way, my family will worry, and we will be afraid. Everyone is afraid at some point, courage is choosing to do something about it. We will do what we have sworn to do, and we will come home. If we are called again, we will go again, and we will come home again. This is what it means to be Men. The men in my family have understood this for generations. Two of my grandfathers, an uncle, and my father have served in the Army. Another grandfather served in the Navy. I have been both a Marine and a soldier. Men in my family have been wearing a uniform at least as far back as the Civil War. I am proud to be a small part of the reason hostile foreign troops have not set foot on American soil since the War of 1812. We fight because someone must, and we do it far away so that we won't have to do it here.
THANK YOU! This is why Soldiers' Angels do what we do. Because those who serve in this way deserve our respect and support. Our prayers are with you as you go once again into harms way.
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