BladeRanger
Well-Known Member
- First Name
- Bladimir
- Joined
- May 16, 2020
- Threads
- 4
- Messages
- 864
- Reaction score
- 2,150
- Location
- Escondido Ca
- Vehicle(s)
- Ranger 2020 XLT FX4
- Occupation
- Electronic Engineer
- Vehicle Showcase
- 1
SEMPER FI, BROTHER. UURAH.On 11 September, 2001, I was part of the 11th Marine Expeditionary Unit (MEU). We were at Marine Corps Air Ground Combat Center, 29 Palms, California, conducting a large field exercise - part of the final phase of pre-deployment training, before boarding ships headed to the Persian Gulf area. This was to be the final deployment for me. I was preparing to retire in 2003, after this deployment was complete.
In between preparatory tasks for the day’s training, I stopped by our operations tent, where the TV was tuned to CNN. The first tower was burning. People were, naturally, disturbed by what appeared to be a monumentally tragic mishap. As I chatted with the Operations Officer, a plane hit the second tower. Silence, followed by profane cries of disbelief. Nobody said it out loud, but we knew instantly that the first impact was no accident. We were under attack. Within minutes, all training was halted. We were at war.
All of the senior leadership was called to the Ops tent. We did a bit of proactive planning to recall all forces from the field and prepare for immediate transport back to our home base at Camp Pendleton. It took maybe an hour for the chain of command to respond, and tell us to continue our with our exercise, that our training would not be prematurely terminated.
Our training continued with an increased sense of seriousness and urgency, and we deployed as scheduled in 2002, participating in a joint exercise in Jordan, with the Jordanian army. I visited the ancient city of Petra. As our training was coming to an end, one of our units was attacked by what we later determined to be a group linked to Al Qaeda, and a couple of Marines were injured by small arms fire. It was a precursor for what was to come.
In the next cycle, in early 2004, we were sent to Iraq. We were in the Battle of Najaf (which, to my surprise, has its own Wikipedia page) and hundreds of smaller engagements in southern Iraq.
I’ve been told hundreds of times that I should have retired when I had the opportunity. I never considered it, and there were many others in the same boat. When the nation called, we didn’t turn away. I think often of the lives that were cut short, or irreparably damaged, in the carnage that followed. I’m one of those lucky people that always seem to be right next to the bad stuff, but never in the middle of it. I had an enemy mortar round impact about 25 feet from where I was standing. The impact was behind a knee-high wall of stacked stones. I walked away about half deaf, but otherwise uninjured. I’ve listened to sniper fire and RPGs pass overhead for hours at a time, but never been in the impact area. One Marine on my six-man team left with a Purple Heart medal; I have traumatic brain injury and tinnitus. It’s my fate. I retired in 2009, after being told that I would be processed for medical discharge if I didn’t leave voluntarily.
The faces and names of those who didn’t return are on my mind today. So many lives. So many shattered families. In and out of the military, all of us have paid a hefty price for being who we are, for being Americans. We have paid dearly for the privilege of living a life of liberty, in a country which has no equal. For me, today is another reminder of the cost. I hope that we never forget, and I hope that all Americans understand that attacks on us and our way of life will never end.
Freedom demands eternal vigilance.
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