03Fox2/1
16-04-07, 22:01
By J.R. Labbe, McClatchy Newspapers
One Marine explains why he's going back....
Robert C. Wood Jr. looks like a candidate for a U.S. Marine Corps recruiting poster.
The set jaw. The no-nonsense, "don't even think about it" look in the eyes.
Wood, 26, is twelve hours shy of a finance degree at the University of Texas at Arlington. But instead of studying for his spring finals, he's back in Iraq. For his second mission. A mission he volunteered for.
The letter printed below was e-mailed March 28 to friends and family as Wood prepared to ship out on April 2. I got it in one of those surreptitious ways - a friend who has a work colleague who is a good friend of Wood's father. I secured permission from his family to share it with the rest of the world. It was sparingly edited.
Today we finished packing out, storing our gear and readying our packs for our flight out of country next Monday. It feels incredibly odd to be here, to know that in a week we'll be back in the thick of it - the heat, the war, the intense boredom interruped by short flurries of rocket and mortar fire.
I remember the first time I left Camp Pendleton; at that time having no clue and no idea what to expect. I remember the bus ride to March Air Base, the hot tarmac underfoot as we waited for what seemed like lifetimes for the plane that would take us to the other side of the world. I remember the hand-drawn cards from the middle and lower schools from across California that were taped to the walls of the hangars we waited in. The feeling I had in my gut, while reading the words of all these innocent boys and girls, is a feeling I'll never forget.
Now I Know What It's Like
In returning, everything feels much different. Instead of ignorance, I remember exactly what it's like to take a CH-46 helo over enemy terrain at nightfall. I can still tell the caliber of everything from a 9mm pistol to a 155mm howitzer by sound. I know what passing bullets sound like, the way they snap when they miss. I can visualize what everything looks like - the cities, the chowhalls, the pxs, etc. Gone is the fear of the unknown; present is the insuperable feeling of deja vu.
Partly because we are reduced to the primal desires of life (quest for safety, food, shelter) and partly because we are no longer in control (to any degree what-so-ever) of our own fate. I honestly believe that each of us, in the quiet hours that we have and keep to ourselves, consider who we are and what we are about. The knowledge of going into personal danger makes one come to terms with himself as a man.
Those that don't know combat, those that don't understand this war think that we are fighting for the Iraqi people, for oil, or for freedom in the Middle East. Personally I've lost most of my conviction for this war. I think many of us have.
Why is it then that we have American men and women returning for multiple tours of duty ? Simply put, we fight for the man to the left and to the right of us. Sure, freedom from tyranny and peace in the Middle East are noble reasons to pick up arms, but not why we come back for more. I would venture that although patriotism (jingoism?) can persuade a man or a woman to sign up for the military, maybe even enough to get them to volunteer for Iraq, it's always for his fellow Marines that he chooses to return.
In my quiet hours I try to picture my life 10 or 20 years from now. I try to envision what it would be like to have a family of my own, to have a nice quiet house, to drive to work knowing that I have a coffee-maker in my office. (Or maybe I can send my smoking-hot secretary in the mini-skirt and stilettos to get a latte for me...). More than anything, I look forward to the day I can mount my ribbons and medals in a shadowbox, case my sword and never speak too loud of the places I've been and the things I've seen.
Ribbon a Source of Pride
Many of my family and friends know that one of the things I'm most proud of is my Combat Action Ribbon. For those who don't know, it is colloquially known as the "been there, done that" ribbon. It is only awarded to those that have been in direct combat.
What nearly everyone fails to understand is that I'm not proud of it because I earned it, nor am I proud because it qualifies me as a man, or for any other personal reason. I'm proud to wear it because it means that (hopefully) my son or daughter will never have to.
Semper Fidelis
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
Take a moment to think about the men and women who guarantee our rights to say what we please, worship as we please and live as free people.
Say hallelujah for Robert C. Wood Jr.
And then say a prayer for him.
One Marine explains why he's going back....
Robert C. Wood Jr. looks like a candidate for a U.S. Marine Corps recruiting poster.
The set jaw. The no-nonsense, "don't even think about it" look in the eyes.
Wood, 26, is twelve hours shy of a finance degree at the University of Texas at Arlington. But instead of studying for his spring finals, he's back in Iraq. For his second mission. A mission he volunteered for.
The letter printed below was e-mailed March 28 to friends and family as Wood prepared to ship out on April 2. I got it in one of those surreptitious ways - a friend who has a work colleague who is a good friend of Wood's father. I secured permission from his family to share it with the rest of the world. It was sparingly edited.
Today we finished packing out, storing our gear and readying our packs for our flight out of country next Monday. It feels incredibly odd to be here, to know that in a week we'll be back in the thick of it - the heat, the war, the intense boredom interruped by short flurries of rocket and mortar fire.
I remember the first time I left Camp Pendleton; at that time having no clue and no idea what to expect. I remember the bus ride to March Air Base, the hot tarmac underfoot as we waited for what seemed like lifetimes for the plane that would take us to the other side of the world. I remember the hand-drawn cards from the middle and lower schools from across California that were taped to the walls of the hangars we waited in. The feeling I had in my gut, while reading the words of all these innocent boys and girls, is a feeling I'll never forget.
Now I Know What It's Like
In returning, everything feels much different. Instead of ignorance, I remember exactly what it's like to take a CH-46 helo over enemy terrain at nightfall. I can still tell the caliber of everything from a 9mm pistol to a 155mm howitzer by sound. I know what passing bullets sound like, the way they snap when they miss. I can visualize what everything looks like - the cities, the chowhalls, the pxs, etc. Gone is the fear of the unknown; present is the insuperable feeling of deja vu.
Partly because we are reduced to the primal desires of life (quest for safety, food, shelter) and partly because we are no longer in control (to any degree what-so-ever) of our own fate. I honestly believe that each of us, in the quiet hours that we have and keep to ourselves, consider who we are and what we are about. The knowledge of going into personal danger makes one come to terms with himself as a man.
Those that don't know combat, those that don't understand this war think that we are fighting for the Iraqi people, for oil, or for freedom in the Middle East. Personally I've lost most of my conviction for this war. I think many of us have.
Why is it then that we have American men and women returning for multiple tours of duty ? Simply put, we fight for the man to the left and to the right of us. Sure, freedom from tyranny and peace in the Middle East are noble reasons to pick up arms, but not why we come back for more. I would venture that although patriotism (jingoism?) can persuade a man or a woman to sign up for the military, maybe even enough to get them to volunteer for Iraq, it's always for his fellow Marines that he chooses to return.
In my quiet hours I try to picture my life 10 or 20 years from now. I try to envision what it would be like to have a family of my own, to have a nice quiet house, to drive to work knowing that I have a coffee-maker in my office. (Or maybe I can send my smoking-hot secretary in the mini-skirt and stilettos to get a latte for me...). More than anything, I look forward to the day I can mount my ribbons and medals in a shadowbox, case my sword and never speak too loud of the places I've been and the things I've seen.
Ribbon a Source of Pride
Many of my family and friends know that one of the things I'm most proud of is my Combat Action Ribbon. For those who don't know, it is colloquially known as the "been there, done that" ribbon. It is only awarded to those that have been in direct combat.
What nearly everyone fails to understand is that I'm not proud of it because I earned it, nor am I proud because it qualifies me as a man, or for any other personal reason. I'm proud to wear it because it means that (hopefully) my son or daughter will never have to.
Semper Fidelis
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
Take a moment to think about the men and women who guarantee our rights to say what we please, worship as we please and live as free people.
Say hallelujah for Robert C. Wood Jr.
And then say a prayer for him.