From: Joe Foley (redmenaced@yahoo.com)
Date: Mon May 09 2005 - 18:30:49 PDT
>
> Sheri,
>
> Thank you for sending me that article. The dogs
> that are described in this account are from my area
> of responsibility as a veterinarian. I am the
> doctor that received those dogs on the other end of
> their trip.
>
> I can tell you that it was a rough night for all of
> us, but one that on every level made me proud to be
> a veterinarian serving my Marine and Air Force
> working dogs and their handlers. The crew chief
> that wrote the article had several facts incorrect,
> probably because stories get distorted when they are
> passed from person to person.
> Especially when it's the middle of the night and
> there's a sense of urgency. Neither dog was
> involved in a combat situation. The death of the
> one dog and the illness in the other were from
> non-combat disease. However, that doesn't change
> the way in which our K9 heroes are honored as
> Marines and given the same medical care with the
> same level of urgency as our troops serving here.
>
> Thanks for all of the support for all of us serving
> here. I'm attaching a photo of myself with my
> veterinary technicians and several of my Marine
> handlers and their dogs. This was taken right
> before these Marines went home after their six month
> deployment.
>
> Stephanie
>
>
>
> Stephanie L. Boyd
> CPT, VC
> 43rd MED DET (VS)(FWD)
> 2nd Squad, Al Asad Section
>
>
>
>
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------
>
>
> this came to me from the vietnam and all veterans of
> florida state coalition.......
>
> > Date: Sun, 08 May 2005 16:53:56 -0400
> From: "Tony C." <USMC-Vietnam-Grunt@att.net>
> To: undisclosed-recipients:;
> Subject: Marine's K-9 honored: 'One of their own'
>
---------------------------------
From: Zak
http://www.freerepublic.com/focus/f-news/1399041/posts
Marine'sK-9 honored: 'One of their own'
Valley Press ^ | on Sunday, May 8, 2005. | Chief
Warrant Officer PETER ZORBASquadron HMM-764 "The
Moonlighters"
Posted on 05/08/2005 9:27:44 AM PDT by BenLurkin
Dear Friends and Family,
Weather is beginning to climb upinto the 100s now.
With the heat comes the dust and sandstorm seasonhere,
so many of our days are spent working and living in an
orangehaze of diffused sunshine, wind, heat and dust
that gets everywhere andcovers everything (aircraft,
equipment, skin, teeth, weapons, even thefood in the
chow hall).
We're all glad to be at the two-monthmark, though it
feels more like our ninth. Hard to believe we were
homeat all sometimes #8230; that we haven't been here,
doing what we do, dayafter day - night after night -
all along. Still, morale is high andboth the Marines
and the helicopters we're flying are doing well,
inspite of long hours and high operational tempo.
It must go handin hand. The busier you are, the faster
time goes. The faster timegoes, the happier you are.
Needless to say, most everyone tries to stayas busy as
possible. The days are long, but the weeks are flying
(nopun intended).
I want to tell you all a quick story, and if anyof you
know me at all #8230; then you know I love a good
story! But I thinkthis story says something about the
organization that I am a small partof here.
Last time I wrote, I described the Marines,
inparticular the young men and women here with me that
I am so proud toserve with. Many of you responded that
you were touched by theknowledge, or at least
depiction of those kids #8230; those heroes, for
thatis what they are. But, I digress.
A couple weeks ago I flew anight mission into Baghdad.
Baghdad is a big city, and where weactually flew into,
whether it would be a name you'd recognize from
thenews or not, doesn't really matter. Suffice to say
that I fly intoBaghdad almost every night, but this
night's mission was a special ASR(assault support
request).
A Marine K-9 had been killed andanother dog wounded
earlier in the day and we were going there to pickup
the dead K-9, the wounded K-9 and their Marine
handlers. How theseMarines were attacked, whether in
contact with insurgents, a sniper oran improvised
explosive device (IED), we never knew.
We tookoff from our base and flew through the dark,
star-clustered Arabiannight in an open combat spread.
Radios crackled and disembodied voicesrolled through
my helmet. The lights of small towns scattered
acrossthe desert floor, illuminated with a green glow
through my NVG's (nightvision goggles) passed below us
and in and out of my gun sights.
Atabout midnight we were on short final into a small
LZ withbattle-scarred concrete walls, and a hardened
outpost with abullet-riddled watchtower. As we touched
down, I hopped out the back ofour helicopter and
watched as our "dash 2" landed about 40 feet to our7
o'clock.
The LZ was dark and no one was around. Through myNVG's
I could see the Marines in the tower, and the bunker
at its base,watching us, not really thrilled to see us
there, two phrogs spinningon the deck inside their
perimeter. And why would they be, as wepresented a
wonderfully enhanced target for indirect fire (IDF)
intheir position. Not that they don't take IDF often
enough, just that wewere now an added bonus to any one
already predisposed to 'throwing' afew mortars or
RPG's our way #8230; and theirs!
We waited. Fiveminutes. Ten minutes. After 15 minutes,
with still no sign of anyone,or any dogs, the crew
began to grow a little uneasy:
"We're here, where the hell are they?"
"Goddamnit. Who the #8230; is running this place."
"Do you see anybody, gunner?"
"Negative, sir."
"#8230;If we don't see anybody soon, let's get dash 2
out of here, so at leastthere's only one of us on the
deck here in case we take incoming. Youcopy that (call
sign)."
"Roger that. Copy all."
Justthen a door of a small industrial looking building
about a hundredmeters away, opened and I could see
Marines moving awkwardly towardsus. They were carrying
their rifles with their outside hands and withthe
inside hand, each held the edge of a body bag. Behind
them followedanother Marine with a shouldered rifle,
MOLLIE pack, and his hands wereon the back of the bag.
But this Marine's hands held thetrailing edge of the
body bag more like a priest would grasp a holycloth or
a child his mother's hem, not really supporting any
weight,just holding on. As they loaded the body bag
into our bird, I took theyoung Marine's pack and
stowed it and then got him buckled in. Thewounded K-9
and his handler were loaded into dash 2, and I sat
backdown behind my .50 cal and called us clear of
wires and trees as welifted into the night sky.
Once airborne, and on the go, out ofthe cultural
lighting from over the town, I looked back to see a
bigMarine, head in his hands, sitting in darkness,
bent over the body ofhis dog.
That was a long flight. My pilot, a
battle-hardenedcolonel, kept asking me "How's our boy
doing?" as if he were a worriedparent checking on his
child. He handed me back a small package ofchocolate
chip cookies he'd been saving for the return to base.
"Give'em to our boy. He's had a rough day of it." I
unhooked my gunner'sbelt and walked back to the young
man. I put my hand on his shoulder,handed him the
cookies and patted him on the back, smiling
somecompassionate, but dumb, smile there in the dark,
300' somewhere overIraq. What else can you do?
When we touched back down at ourbase, the
passenger/cargo terminal sent a vehicle out for the
dogs. Ihelped the Marine with his gear, out away from
our rotor arc, and thenran back up the ramp and into
our bird just in time to grab one of theterminal guys
as he was reaching for the body of our Marine,
thinkingit was just another piece of gear.
"Hey man - what the #8230; areyou doing?!" I yelled
over the engine noise. "Leave him alone. We'llget
him." The crew chief and I reverently bent over and
gently liftedthe body bag and carried it out of our
plane. I have carried body bagsbefore here, and I was
surprised by how light this one was.
Iplaced my arms under the dog's body and gently set
him down in thevehicle. And then, out of sheer habit,
I petted the poor pup on theshoulder #8230; or maybe
it was his hip. His body was still soft, eveninside
the thick black polyethylene bag. As I turned to head
back to myplane, I was face to face with the fallen
Marine's master.
Theyoung corporal looked at me, he had seen me pet his
dog, and I like tothink he saw how reverently we
carried his fallen comrade's body out ofthe plane, but
maybe not. Red eyes and a sad, exhausted face
wereeclipsed by a smile of gratitude as he shook my
hand and mouthed thewords "thank you." Then he was
gone and we were back on the plane andset to lift.
Once back on our line after we had shut down, weall
sat down in the back. It was quiet and no one really
spoke untilthe colonel asked, "Did you take care of
our boy? Was he hurting toobad? Did you do right by
the pup? Did we treat them both with therespect and
honor they deserved?"
"Yes sir." I replied lastyear while we were here, the
brevity code for friendly KIA was"Angels." I don't
know what it is this time for OIF III, but it is avery
fitting term. So I told the colonel "Yes, sir, the
'Angel' wascarried with respect, and treated with
dignity and compassion, as washis handler." The
colonel liked this and we all agreed that the dog wasa
Marine #8230; as much as any of us.
But on another level, that kidhad not only lost his
partner, but he'd lost his dog, a dog that I amsure he
loved and that loved him back. That had touched us all
deepdown somewhere, where you're still a kid yourself.
We were proud tohave been able to do what we did for
this fellow Marine, this 'Angel',and each of us would
willingly do it again any time. That's whatMarines do.
I guess what I am saying is that we continuallyhear
the question asked, "Why we are here?" I heard a
Marine sayyesterday, "Don't ask me why I am here. I
don't make our country'spolicy, I execute policy." I
guess to me "why" is not really thatimportant.
What is important is 'how' I am here. To me, thisstory
illuminates that "how," by showing the nature of the
Corps thatmakes Marines what they are, and in turn, is
made what it is by theMarines devoted to it and to
each other.
I am part of anorganization that believed it was
important enough to send twohelicopters and their
crews, into harms way in order to retrieve thebody of
one of its fallen. It made no difference that the
Marine killedin action was a dog and not a man, what
does matter is that each one ofus involved felt the
same.
To us, not only was it a warrantedand reasonable
utilization of Marines, Marine Corps assets
andresources, but the risk to eight Marines and two
aircraft was faroutweighed by a pervading sense of
honor, commitment and espirit decorps. Why else am I
here, if not to go get a boy and his dog - both ofwhom
are fellow Marines. Few things here have been as
important as thatmission to me, and to my crew as
well. That's "how" we are.
Semper Fi,
Peter
EDITOR'SNOTE: This latest installment of "Iraq
Journal" comes from a letterwritten by a Marine Corps
warrant officer serving with the MarineAircraft
Group-46 Detachment Bravo unit that is stationed in
Iraq,HMM-764, "The Moonlighters." Antelope Valley
Press is pleased topresent stories from troops in
their own words, unvarnished and withoutmedia "spin."
-- Tony C.Once a Marine... ...Always a Marine OOORAHHH
!!!!!Saepe Expertus - Semper Fidelis - Fratres
Aeterni"Often Tested" - "Always Faithful" - "Brothers
Forever"http://www.Vvof.org/Vietnam and all Veterans
of Florida Inc., State Coalition
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This archive was generated by hypermail 2.1.4 : Fri Oct 28 2005 - 22:42:50 PDT