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C o m p le te S to r ie s :
North County (Calif.) Times
Nov. 3, 2007

Scripps Encinitas partners with USMC to treat TBI

By ADAM KAYE

ENCINITAS -- Capt. Waylon White can conjure up a very clear picture of himself leading
battalions, briefing Congress and performing other duties of top-level Marines.

But he can't remember what he ate for breakfast.

A 33-year-old resident of Temecula, White suffered a traumatic brain injury on May 3,

2006, when his unit was attacked in Ramadi, Iraq.

Today, after months of recovery from burn and shrapnel wounds, White's silent injury has
sent him to Scripps Memorial Hospital Encinitas.
At the hospital's rehabilitation center, White and other Marines are rebuilding the bomb-
blasted paths of their memory.

Sometimes, therapy brings them to the beach, parks, and maybe a resort.

In boxing therapy, the Marines don't strike each other but they must remember
combinations of hooks and jabs. Grappling awakens their spatial awareness, challenges
their memory and provides good exercise.

As the battle-hardened patients acquire tools to compensate for their condition, for White,
one of them came from the electronics store.

"I bought a $2,000 navigation system to put in my 4Runner because I can't remember
how to get to my damn house," he said.

Body and mind

Scripps Encinitas launched its brain-injury program 20 years ago, when White was a boy
on a cotton farm in Louisiana.

Today, military physicians send Marines to Scripps for outpatient treatment three to five
days a week for periods ranging from two to four months.

The nonprofit Scripps Health chain treats troops and their families by contract with the
military's insurance system.

Camp Pendleton has sent Marines with brain injuries to Scripps Encinitas for nearly two
years in a relationship both of convenience -- the base is 15 miles from the hospital -- and
need.

Better body armor, evacuation techniques and care in the field mean more troops are
surviving physical injuries, but are left with jostled, damaged brains.

"The number was more than the military's care infrastructure could handle," said Dr.
Michael Lobatz, chief of staff and medical director of the rehabilitation center at Scripps
Encinitas and medical director of the brain injury program. "Because of our proximity and
experience, we're happy to provide that care. We're a community hospital. We think it's
sort of a sacred duty to do so."

He noted that the brain injury program at Scripps Encinitas is the only one in San Diego,
Riverside and Imperial counties that is certified by the Commission on Accreditation of
Rehabilitation Facilities, an independent, nonprofit accreditor of human service providers.

"It's a great partnership," Lobatz said of the hospital's relationship with Camp Pendleton.
"We're here as long as they need us."
Many Marines from Camp Pendleton come from the base's Wounded Warriors' Center.
White drives to the hospital from Temecula.

Although 80 percent of the Marines who complete the program return to their units,
Lobatz said, White said he worries that the brain injury he suffered when a truck barreled
into his camp and exploded could force him to retire.

His splitting headaches, memory loss and trouble concentrating could place other
Marines in danger, he said.

"My scary thought is, I'm a senior captain, fixing to be a junior major in the Marine Corps,"
White said. "If it was just me putting my life on the line, that'd be one thing, but I don't
want to put others in harm's way."

Deadly fireworks

White confronted danger head-on in May of 2006 when enemy forces attacked his camp
with small arms, mortar shells, rocket-propelled grenades and other explosives.

At that point, White had completed one, five-year commitment with the Marine Corps,
which included a seven-month deployment to Iraq. In Louisiana, however, White couldn't
quit thinking about the war. He re-enlisted as an artillery officer in January 2006.

After four months of training, White was assigned to a "transition team" of four Americans,
who would train Iraqi forces based in Ramadi.

He had been in Iraq for about a month and with his unit for 10 days when at 2 p.m. -- a
time of day when most Iraqis rest -- the enemy attacked.

Gunfire riddled White's encampment. Then a dump truck crashed through a Humvee that
served as a makeshift gate.

The truck exploded and the blast destroyed a nearby building and killed an Army
sergeant.

White had hunkered down behind a concrete barrier, where blast waves reached him and
blew out his ears, causing both of them to bleed.

Then a mortar round landed near White and 10 gallons of fuel. Its blast hurled White
through the air, engulfed in a ball of fire.

He thought he was dead. Realizing he wasn't, he grabbed hold of his best friend, Capt.
Brian S. Letendre, and dragged him to safety. But White's efforts came too late. Letendre
died in White's arms.

White's recovery took him to American bases in Iraq and Germany and then, for two
months, to the burn unit at Brooke Army Medical Center in Texas. He received cosmetic
surgeries and doctors told him they were struck by how well he had healed.

But not entirely.

In August of 2006, about four months after the raid, he was assigned to limited duty as an
assistant operations officer for the 11th Marine Regiment based at Camp Pendleton.

Easy wasn't easy

That meant desk work and processing operations orders, which state who does and who
doesn't deploy, he said.

White soon realized the simplest of tasks seemed taxing.

"My short-term memory -- someone would tell me something and I just couldn't
remember," White said. "Before, I could multitask and do four projects at once."

He compensated by taking copious notes and keeping a detailed, color-coded calendar.

He took assignments home and worked after midnight to complete them.

When a migraine would kick in -- he was getting up to four of them a week -- he would tell
his commanding officer he had to leave to get a haircut.

For six months, the unmarried White hid his memory and concentration problems from
his commanders.

Despite his brain injury, White himself became a commanding officer in December 2006
and assumed responsibility for 280 troops assigned to the 2nd Battalion, 11th Marines.

That job was easier, he said, because he had a staff to support him.

But the headaches persisted, decisions took 10 times longer to make than they should
have, and White struggled with the reality that 280 Marines depended upon him for their
safety.

At last, White consulted his battalion's medical officer, who ordered him to complete a
battery of neuro-psychological testing.

"The doctor didn't believe the results, that I was so bad," White said. "That's how I ended
up here. Five months later, I'm at Scripps."

'They look perfectly normal'

One look at White shows no evidence of injury. He carries no body fat on his lean frame.

During boxing therapy, his footsteps are deft and fists are quick. His precision haircut and
confident eye contact seem to embody the spit-and-polish image of the United States
Marine Corps.

"The problem is they look perfectly normal," Lobatz said. "They're healthy young men.
They can converse, but ask them to assemble or disassemble an M-16, or to do two
things at once, and they can't do more than one thing at a time."

"On a superficial level, you have people looking OK, but when you scratch the surface,
there's a depth of problems," he said.

In treating brain injuries, one problem physicians face is that two of their most powerful
diagnostic tools, the CT scan and the MRI machines, show normal readings when a
patient has suffered mild to modest brain injury.

Bomb blasts are the most common cause of such injuries.

An improvised-explosive device can blow a 10-foot crater in the ground and issue 600
mph blast waves. The waves compress and expand all air cavities in the body. Lungs,
guts, ears and sinuses all can explode, Lobatz said, and a helmet won't prevent brain
injury.

The brain is a gelatinous organ that is bathed and floats in spinal fluid. With a brain injury,
the finest, microscopic connections between brain cells get disrupted.

Lobatz likened the end result to a mis-routed telephone call.

"If I were making a call from here to my office in Encinitas, instead of going direct, it will
get routed to New York, and by the time the information gets there, it may no longer be
valid," he said.

Working together

An injured brain might also fail to tell the heart to speed up during exercise. During a
workout, the blood pressure soars and so does the headache.

"We're training the heart and brain to work together again," said Jessica Martinez, lead
therapist of the brain injury program.

That kind of training happens in the hospital, on outings to the grocery store and to other
locations, some of them exotic.

Some field trips take the Marines and their healers to Torrey Pines State Reserve, where
the troops must hike a steep hill wearing heavy backpacks.

Tennis practice brings the Marines to Four Seasons Resort Aviara in Carlsbad, a glitzy
hotel where a tennis professional for years has donated his time to work with patients
from the Scripps rehab center.

Closer to the hospital, the Marines hike to Swami's Beach for workouts on the sand,
where therapists integrate cerebral drills. Marines must stop to take their pulse rate, and
Martinez said that for some them, the act of counting their pulses for 15 seconds,
multiplying that number by four -- then remembering it -- can be difficult.

"It can take weeks," she said of mastering the seemingly simple steps.

In more than nine of 10 cases, Marines with brain injuries also suffer post-traumatic
stress disorder and its symptoms: nightmares, insomnia, lack of attention and an irascible
temper, she said.

"All of these patients are recommended for psychological support, and they get it on base,
but they forget their appointments," Martinez said.

That's why the brain injury program focuses on what Martinez calls "functional" activities,
such as following schedules, making appointments and bringing gym clothes and shoes
on exercise days.

Social workers aid in the readjustment and visit the Marines' homes and workplaces,
where meetings with supervisors determine whether a patient is fit to return to work.

That's the goal of every Marine in the program, Martinez said.

"These guys are motivated," she said. "It's a huge loss for them, that they're not in their
unit."

A long way from Iraq

During a recent round of exercise at Swami's, therapist Rebecca Askew ordered the
Marines to form a circle.

Each Marine took a turn leading an exercise, and in true Marine fashion, the men
counted each push-up out loud.

"I can't hear you!" one of them barked.

A young Marine named Tony couldn't resist the chance to crack wise. When his turn
came to lead an exercise, he crossed his arms and stared at the ocean.

"Let's do wave-watchers!" he said.

The session ended with Marines and their trainers hiking through downtown Encinitas to
return to the hospital.
Sweaty and sandy, clad in khaki, hair buzzed and towels around their necks, the Marines
marched quietly past storefronts and through sidewalks filled with busy breakfast tables.

They climbed a hill by City Hall and marched past bungalows that command a sweeping
ocean view.

It's a long way from Iraq, but one Marine said that's where he wanted to be.

"I'd go like this, right now, but I know with my injuries, I'd be putting a lot of other Marines
at risk," he said.

White said he feels the same way.

That's why he's committed to completing therapy in the brain injury program, even when
it hurts his head. Waves of concentration seemed to radiate from White as he performed
what's called a "divided attention task."

Therapist Kristina Contreras placed a grid on the table, and on the squares she set items
such as scissors, a matchbox, a paintbrush and a toy car. She then removed the items
and ordered White to place them back on the squares where they belonged. He was
mostly successful.

In another drill, Contreras gave White a deck of playing cards and told him to place red
cards down and black cards up in separate stacks, as quickly as possible. Then
Contreras changed the drill: black down and red up, she said.

White paused, briefly, then regained momentum as the deck in his hand grew thinner.

"I don't make mistakes," he said. "I will sacrifice speed for accuracy."

Los Angeles Times

Nov. 3, 2007

Marine General Bids Farewell

By Tony Perry

CAMP PENDLETON — The top general who led Marines into combat in Afghanistan and
Iraq, drawing both fire and praise for his handling of cases involving the deaths of
civilians, bade a reluctant and emotional farewell to his troops Friday.

Lt. Gen. James N. Mattis, newly assigned to a joint command at Norfolk, Va., wrote to his
Marines and sailors that "you've been my daily inspiration -- even on the toughest days,
you've stood there boldly undismayed. . . . I'm forever in your debt."
For the past year, Mattis has led the 1st Marine Expeditionary Force and Marine Forces
Central Command, which gave him considerable influence over U.S. operations in Iraq
and Afghanistan.

His successor, Maj. Gen. Samuel T. Helland, whose appointment was confirmed
Thursday by the Senate, will inherit not just the duties of training and deploying Marines
for war zone duty but also the cases of alleged abuse by Marines against civilians.

Mattis was initially criticized by conservatives for bringing charges against Marines; after
several cases ended with reduced sentences or charges dropped, some critics charged
that he had been too lenient.

Several key cases remain, including the upcoming courts-martial involving Marines linked
to the death of 24 civilians in the Iraqi town of Haditha in late 2005. As Mattis' successor,
Helland will become the convening authority, with the power to accept or reject plea
bargains, grant clemency and overturn or reduce any sentences meted out by military
juries.

Helland is one of the few officers in the military who served in Vietnam, as an enlisted
soldier with the Army's Special Forces. He later graduated from the University of
Minnesota at Duluth and became a Marine officer and helicopter pilot.

At the dedication last month for a new addition at the Naval Medical Center in San Diego
to treat the most severely wounded from Iraq and Afghanistan, Helland said that the
facility had opened just in time. "We are fighting a ruthless enemy and the fight will not
end shortly," he said.

Next week, Mattis will become the U.S. Joint Forces Command commander and NATO
supreme allied commander for transformation, based in Norfolk. He will be promoted to
general, Helland to lieutenant general.

Mattis is known as a tough-talking infantry officer who once got scolded for saying it was
"fun" to kill some enemies. Nonetheless, his letter to his troops was unusually personal,
including references to seeing military families "choke back tears" and how U.S. troops
show compassion for Iraqis despite "a merciless enemy [that] slaughters the innocent."

North County (Calif.) Times

Nov. 4, 2007

Osprey will endanger Marines in combat

By J. STRYKER MEYER

J. Stryker Meyer is the author of "On the Ground: The Secret War in Vietnam."
Design flaws still make tilt-rotor aircraft unacceptable for imminent Iraq deployment
There's so much to admire about the Marine Corps. The fighting quality and spirit of the
combat Marines who go into harm's way are second to none. For more than two
centuries Marines have fought hard for this country, often with horrific death tolls, such as
during the bloody Pacific Islands campaign during World War II.

During the Vietnam War, I had the privilege of working with Marine Corps helicopter
gunship crews while running secret missions into Laos, Cambodia and North Vietnam as
a member of Army Special Forces.

I'm alive today thanks to the courage of Marine aviators, including men from HML 367,
which had the unique radio call sign of "Scarface." Today's Marines in Scarface continue
to fly into harm's way in Iraq and they continue to serve honorably.

However, there's an aviation and high command component of the Marine Corps that
defies logic today by continuing to foist off the experimental tilt-rotor aircraft that flies like
an airplane but takes off and lands in a helicopter mode of flight.

It converts to the helicopter mode after its two wings rotate 90 degrees upward, moving
the two 38-foot rotors from a traditional airplane position to a locked position above the
fusilage.

During the last two years, the Corps has kicked into high gear its public relations
specialists and numerous supporters in aviation and military press touting its great
potential as the Marines' aircraft of the future.

This is happening despite years of opposition from many quarters across the country, all
of which are ignored by the Corps.

No desert testing

In the near future, the Marine Corps is going to begin to use the MV-22 Ospreys in the
war zone, which is a desert, a sandy area of operations.

This will happen despite the fact that, as reported in the Oct. 8 edition of Time magazine,
"The (M)V-22's tendency to generate a dust storm when it lands in desertlike terrain
wasn't examined (during official tests) because 'an unusually wet spring resulted in a
large amount of vegetation that prevented severe brownouts during landing attempts,' the
Pentagon's top tester noted."

Thus, the MV-22 will go into a desert combat zone, carrying combat troops, without
having been tested for how it performs in a desert environment.

Time's scathing article is one of the thorough pieces written about the MV-22's troubled
past and inflated expectations by the Corps, and noted how the military-industrial-
congressional complex has ignored major problems with this aircraft.
In 2006, former Marine Lee Gaillard penned a damning report for the Center for Defense
Information, "V-22 Osprey: Wonder Weapon or Widow Maker?" Gaillard's report raised
significant issues that have been ignored by the Corps or glossed over and respun by the
public relations arm of the Corps.

What experience has taught me

But, my criticism stems from my personal experience of having run top-secret military
operations for more than 18 months during the Vietnam War and from interviews with
knowledgeable warriors in the Corps today and in the Special Operations Command
based at MacDill Air Force Base in Florida.

My concerns are basically threefold:

1) The MV-22 until recently had no defensive weapon system on it, despite the fact that
in 2000 then-Commandant of the Marine Corps Gen. James L. Jones told me in an
interview that he had demanded that one be placed on the tilt-rotor aircraft. Jones had
wanted a weapon that could fire forward of the aircraft. However, after dragging their
collective feet, program designers finally placed a small-caliber weapon on the ramp of
the MV-22, which can fire only behind the aircraft and slightly to the sides ---- not forward.
And, it can fire only when the ramp is down.

From my personal experience, when an aircraft goes into a landing zone, that's when it is
the most vulnerable to enemy gunfire. With today's helicopters, everything from the old
CH-46 and CH-53 to the newer UH-60 Blackhawk models have door gunners on them
that can protect the aircraft's flanks. The trained military personnel flying in the MV-22 will
not be able to defend themselves from enemy fire.

2) The MV-22 has tiny windows that impede passengers' ability to see the terrain the
aircraft is descending toward. Time and again during the Vietnam War, while flying in UH-
1Ds, commonly called Hueys, we ---- as passengers in the choppers ---- were able to see
land hazards and better prepare for the target. In the MV-22 the troops are essentially
blind. Also, due to the configuration of the MV-22, previous passengers (i.e., young
Marines) complained in surveys about getting queasy from flying in the Osprey and
feeling sick when they landed.

3) Any military special operations troop will tell anyone who listens how vital quick
insertions into the target area are in order to begin a successful operation. In 'Nam, we
trained for hours exiting and entering helicopters quickly.

A key component of successful insertions was the chopper descending quickly into a
landing zone, the troops exiting in a matter of a second or two, and the aircraft exiting the
area ASAP.

Today's MV-22 can do neither: It can't descend rapidly into a landing zone ---- regardless
of what a few Marine generals have said in recent months ---- although it can leave a
target area quicker than it descends.

Critics of the troubled aircraft point to the April 1999 crash in Marana, Ariz., that killed 19
Marines as deadly proof that the aircraft isn't capable of a quick descent into an LZ. They
say that aircraft crashed because it descended into the landing zone too quickly.

Also, it was revealed at that time that the MV-22 had a unique problem, a phenomenon
that surfaced with helicopters called vortex ring state.

That phenomenon limits the rate of descent into a target by an MV-22. This means the
Osprey will be a sitting duck going into a target ---- a defenseless sitting duck.

Officers concerned

In the last year, I've had informal discussions with special operations warriors who might
someday find themselves riding in the Osprey to a target area.

One high-ranking general told me that the Green Berets who conduct clandestine
operations behind enemy lines hold the MV-22 in utter contempt and feel it's a killer of
men incapable of meeting the insertion/extraction capabilities of today's Blackhawks.
"The only people who want this damned bird are the contractors and Marine generals
who haven't been on the ground as a special operator," said one general.

A high-ranking Marine officer echoed that sentiment: "The ground pounders hoped the
Marine Corps would get an aircraft that gets us into and out of target areas quickly, such
as the Blackhawk. Instead, they gave us a billion-dollar space shuttle."

Endorsing their opinions, as quoted in Time, was Philip Coyle, the former top Pentagon
weapons testing official, who said the V-22s aren't suited for "combat situations where
they will have to do a lot of maneuvering."

Air Force repeating mistake

From a personal concern, there's one more element: The Air Force is purchasing 50 CV-
22s, which are versions of the Osprey with "enhanced capabilities tailored" for the unique
mission requirements of the Special Operations Command.

The exact specifications that make the CV-22 different from the MV-22 aren't specified in
general press releases. However, the basic bird that costs more than $100 million per
aircraft still has the same major flaws that I outlined earlier.

The only good news is the Air Force isn't scheduled to activate that unit until 2009,
whereas in the weeks ahead, there's a good chance that the first MV-22 will fly into
harm's way and crash. The first question will be: Did it crash and kill good Marines due to
its inherent flaws or vulnerability in desert areas of operation, or due to enemy fire?
TV News (Indiana)
Nov. 3, 2007

Indiana Marine receives Bronze Star

By Jenna Emenhiser

A group of Marines in Terre Haute lined up at attention for a special ceremony on

Saturday.

The reason, one of their "Brother's in Arms," Sergeant Andre Valdez was awarded the
bronze star, one of the highest medals a soldier can receive in combat.

"It was one of the most important things in my life. It's definitely a big honor," Valdez told
News 10.

Valdez spent two tours in Iraq, the second as an adviser to an Iraqi special-forces unit.

The unit he trained was considered one of the best among iraqi forces.

Valdez says he's honored to receive such an award, but at the same time it's somewhat
bittersweet.

A sign at the Marine Reserve Center lists the names of Marines from the unit, killed or
wounded in action. Valdez says these men make receiving his award a humbling
experience."

"Those are the guys who really deserve all the credit because they've given everything
they have to the mission and what they believe is right," Valdez said.

With a new medal pinned on his chest, friends and family congratulate Valdez.

"Once I realized how much he loved being a marine and how proud he was and what
kind of job he did as a marine. It's really been a very important part of his life," said
Valdez's mother, Patty Meek.

"He's an outstanding individual, a great American. He's just a great man, I'm really proud
of him," said Don Valdez, his father.

Now, as Valdez walks away with honors, he remembers those who continue to soldier
on.

Andre Valdez is the second marine based out of Terre Haute to receive the bronze star
for service in the war in Iraq.
Kansas City Star
Nov. 4, 2007

Volunteers empty out makeover house for demolition

By JOE ROBERTSON

The Gilyeats’ house and their Kansas City, Kan., neighborhood clearly weren’t prepared
for such an assault as this.

But then again, whose would be?

Heavy trucks and crews working with ABC’s television reality show, “Extreme Makeover:
Home Edition,” set upon the small yellow house Sunday with a swarm of volunteers led
by Daniel Gilyeat’s Marine friends.

Dump trunks bearing some 400 tons of gravel, combined with front-end loaders, utility
basket trucks, tree-trimmers buzzing with chain saws and frenetic Bobcats to overwhelm
the narrow-laned and thickly treed neighborhood on North 65th Terrace.

The Marines and other volunteers went in and out of the house and garage, piling the
possessions of Gilyeat and his four children on the driveway and in the front yard, making
ready for today’s demolition.

The Gilyeats were spirited away Saturday morning by limousine, sent off on a California
vacation while the television show’s builders and the army of volunteers prepared to erect
an entirely new home and landscaped yard by the end of this week.

But before the wreckers could begin, the house and garage had to be cleared. And the
piles volunteers made before everything was hauled off to storage reflected the choices
and events of Daniel Gilyeat’s life that made his family a candidate for a show that looks
for families with special needs.

There were the kids’ bikes, a wooden rocking horse and other collections for a divorced
father of four children.

Among the boxes of clothes and furniture was a wheelchair and several prosthetic legs
belonging to a former Marine staff sergeant who had lost most of his left leg in Iraq in
2005 after the Humvee he was riding in hit an anti-tank mine.

And the work of Gilyeat the mechanic, an enthusiast of the classic Plymouth Barracuda,
filled the driveway with engine parts, auto body parts, tires, transmissions, grills and tools
after what seemed an endless procession from out of his garage.

“He has a ton of Barracuda parts,” said Marine Cpl. Nathan McAleese.
He came to volunteer, same as Staff Sgt. Mark Murphy, who figured there would be a lot
of behind-the-scenes work to do between the surprising of the family and the demolition
that people see on television.

“Knowing Danny and all the stuff he has,” Murphy said, “I knew there was going to be a
cleanup.”

Cpl. Chris Davenport said he was nearby, part of a security detail, when the mine that
maimed Gilyeat exploded. He and other members of the 24th Marines, based out of the
former Richards-Gebaur Memorial Airport, knew of some of the hardships Gilyeat had
suffered.

Friday night, at their regular monthly training, their unit’s first sergeant announced that
they needed volunteers for a special mission. The television show’s winning family was
still a secret at that time, so the commander only said that someone in their unit was
going to have their home remade.

“But we all knew who it was,” Davenport said.

And the volunteers poured in.

Among the last items secured from the house Sunday were Gilyeat’s flagpole and his U.S.
and Marine Corps flags. One of the show’s staff was heard asking on his radio where to
keep them “ready for tomorrow (Monday).”

The flags certainly might play a role in the show’s signature “Braveheart” charge when
the army of volunteers set upon the empty house to knock it down.

Neighbors have put up with plenty already, with so many heavy trucks, their driveways
given over to trailers with generators that clamor through the night.

“It’s going to be keeping us awake for a while,” neighbor John Spehar said, “going ‘round
the clock.”

Not that he is bothered by it. Everyone on the street is all smiles. They’re happy for
Gilyeat and his family, said next-door neighbor Carol Shewell, who has three trailers in
her driveway.

“We’re all for it,” she said.

See videos associated with story.

Los Angeles Times

Nov. 4, 2007

From Boys To Marines

By David Zucchino

CAMP PENDLETON — A Marine recruit stumbled from the ranks and collapsed on a dirt
trail. A corpsman, her medical bag bouncing in the dust, hustled over to the fallen man.
The recruit was bathed in sweat, his face clammy and sickly green.

As the troop column marched on, the drill instructor cried out, "Here comes the silver
bullet!"

The recruit was about to receive the ultimate indignity -- a shiny rectal thermometer to
check his body temperature. It happened on the trail for all to see: Pants down. Buttocks
bared.

The column kept moving.

It was the final day of the Crucible, a three-day ordeal in the harsh, scrubby foothills of
Camp Pendleton. If a recruit survives the Crucible, the midpoint of the 13-week boot
camp, he will likely survive to graduation.

Seven weeks earlier, three friends from Santa Clarita, just 110 miles north but a world
away, arrived as eager recruits. Teenagers Daniel Motamedi, Daryl Crookston and
Steven Dellinger signed up for the buddy program, which put them in the same boot
camp platoon.

Now, the three friends -- their faces streaked with camouflage paint and grime -- were on
the Crucible's biggest physical challenge, a 10-mile hike called the Reaper. Recruits
prefer to call it the "hump" or the "death march."

Their uniforms gave off the sour stench of stale sweat. They had slept only a few hours
over the previous two days, crammed into two-man tents. They had been allowed just
three military Meals Ready to Eat.

Their thighs burned. Their spines ached under their 65-pound packs. Their M-16 rifles
clanked against their sides. They gulped water from canteens as they struggled to stay in
step. They screamed out on cue: "One shot, one kill! Ready to die, but never will!"

The three recruits, and 80 others in their platoon, had by now been hammered into
obedience by omnipresent drill instructors. The friends had each been punished
countless times for violations such as marching out of step or inattention to detail. They
were forced to do dozens of push-ups, pull-ups or sit-ups. Drill instructors call it "incentive
training." Recruits call it "getting slayed."

The friends had anticipated all that. They hadn't anticipated getting sick.

Steven, 18, developed an ear infection and pneumonia. Daryl, 18, contracted flu and
pinkeye. Daniel, 17, had pneumonia, followed by oral surgery to remove impacted
wisdom teeth, then a nagging thigh bone injury. All three contracted upper respiratory
infections, coughing and hacking along with others in their tight barracks warren.
"Recruit crud," said their senior drill instructor, Staff Sgt. Nicholas Hibbs, with a shrug.
"Everybody gets a little bit sick."

The three resisted sick call. Too much sick time could get a recruit dropped.

The platoon's BDR -- basic daily routine -- was unrelenting: Reveille and out of bed at 5
a.m. Ten minutes to stretch, wash up, fill canteens.

Every minute was prescribed: classes, exercises, drills, physical fitness. The recruits tore
through each day, from day T-1 (introductory physical training) to day T-18 (confidence
course). They endured day T-37, a gas chamber ordeal in which they inhaled tear gas.

They fired live ammo, fought with pugil sticks and bayonets, and learned Corps history,
first aid, how to land blows and how to counter them. They rotated into fire watch. Every
night, the recruits sang a verse of the Marines' Hymn. For five minutes, they prayed. At 9
p.m., it was taps and lights out.

All this for $1,458 a month.

Most recruits in Platoon 2103, Echo Company, were away from home for the first time.
They were stripped of TV, Internet, newspapers, books, magazines, radios, iPods, video
games, cellphones, text messages, fast food and late-night refrigerator raids. Except for
letters and a few brief phone calls, they had no contact with family or friends.

The platoon's four drill instructors were a forbidding, inscrutable presence. The instructors
told them how to eat, walk, shower, wash their clothes, hold their food trays and tie their
boots. They never left the recruits alone. The instructors became outsized symbols of
authority, knowledge, intimidation and fear.

Daniel, Daryl and Steven seemed to grasp, intuitively, the hard intentions of the drill
instructors, and the rationale for their uncompromising demands.

"It sounds weird but, yeah, we have a lot of respect for our drill instructors," Daniel said.
"Once you realize everything has a purpose, it's like, oh, OK, that actually makes sense."

Hibbs found the three teens more mature than most.

"They know why they came, and they know what they've got to do," he said.

Sgt. Lucas Tuning, 25, pounds practical instruction into recruits -- what the Corps calls
"knowledge."

Tuning took note of Daniel, but only because of his unusual surname, Motamedi. Tuning
pronounced it "Multimedia." The name stuck.

"He seems like he always has a lost look on his face," Tuning said. "Maybe it's just the
way he processes information."
Tuning said Steven too often has his mouth open. "I usually have to tell him to shut his
lips. He smiled a couple times. That's my pet peeve. If they're smiling, they're having too
good a time."

Daryl was harder to read because he was so quiet, Tuning said. "He picks up knowledge
pretty good," he said.

As the summer wore on, the recruits absorbed a peculiar vocabulary. The floor was the
deck. The door was a hatch. The bed was a rack. A hat was a cover. The toilet was the
head. Running shoes were go-fasters. A canteen was a water bowl.

They learned to snap to attention when drill instructors screamed "eyes!" (look at me) or
"ears!" (listen up). They learned to refer to themselves in the third person, as in "this
recruit." It was one more way for the Corps to beat the individuality out of recruits in its
pursuit of a selfless brotherhood.

The recruits heard about Iraq from the drill instructors, but only in a tactical sense -- fire
teams, patrols, escorts. There was virtually no discussion of the merits of the war.

They found out that they could "request mast" -- report alleged abuse by drill instructors.
But they also learned that they risked being branded an "allegator," a recruit who makes
repeated allegations. The three friends did not file any complaints.

Hibbs was asked whether he used behavior modification -- punishment for mistakes,
rewards for accomplishments. "I wouldn't say there's too much reward," he said.

A few minutes at ease

At the end of the fourth week, Daniel, Daryl and Steven were allowed to be interviewed.
Inside the office of Capt. David Denial, the regiment operations officer, Daniel mentioned
that he missed his family, which surprised him.

"I feel like I've gotten closer to my parents," he said. "I know when I get back I really want
to spend some time with them."

His mother had written that she sometimes wished he were still a baby so that he'd be
home. "Really embarrassing stuff," he said.

Daryl said he realized now that he acted unfairly when he cut himself off from his parents
because he believed they had tried to block his enlistment. His parents said they had
merely wanted to ensure he knew what he was getting into.

"I'm sorry I took my family for granted," Daryl said. "I was a problem child. I didn't realize
at the time that they were there for me." Daryl's mother, Kymmer Crookston, said her son
had apologized.
As the friends spoke, they referred to one another as kids, or by their first names, rather
than the required "recruit." One of them called his rifle "a gun," an unforgivable lapse.
They neglected to address the journalists as "sir."

Afterward, Denial blistered the recruits with a high-octane chewing out. They were a
disgrace, he screamed. The dressing-down could be heard across the parade field,
where recruits were drilling.

The three friends stood stiffly at attention, the captain's florid face inches from theirs. He
ordered them back to their squad bay, double time.

Denial explained later that it wasn't what the recruits said. It was the fact that they lost all
military bearing. That was inexcusable, he said.

The three bolted from the office to face their drill instructor.

Warrior spirit

The recruits were indoctrinated into the very ethos of what it meant to be a Marine. By
implication, other military services, and certainly civilians, did not measure up to the
Marine mystique. Recruits were required to live and breathe Honor, Courage,
Commitment -- the values so ingrained that they seemed to exist only in capital letters.

At the same time, their weapons instruction began the process of molding trained,
disciplined killers from cowed teenagers. Each recruit was taught ways to kill a man with
his hands, his bayonet, his M-16.

One afternoon, during the fifth week, a Navy chaplain, Lt. Wayne Tomasek, addressed
the platoon during a session called Values Training.

"You joined the Marine Corps because you wanted something bigger and greater than
yourself!" Tomasek screamed at the recruits. "If you wanted to be average, you would
have joined something else. You joined the elite organization of the United States Marine
Corps!"

"Yes, sir!" the recruits responded.

The chaplain described what he called warrior spirit.

"When you go to combat, you may have some fears, and that's OK," he said. "But
overcoming your fears, facing your fears, that's what makes the warrior. You can no
longer be a little boy. You have to act like a man."

That same week, Hibbs gathered Platoon 2103 for a "foot locker" chat. "I'll take the
platoon away from the drill instructors just to get them relaxed and out of that atmosphere
of somebody yelling at them," Hibbs said.
The topic this day turned to the rules of war. Hibbs, who has served in Iraq, told the
platoon that insurgents don't comply with the rules that govern Marines' behavior.

"If you're a POW held by America, you're not going to get tortured," Hibbs said. "You're
going to get fed, get mail, all that stuff. You're going to have rights."

He did not mention detainee abuses at Abu Ghraib and elsewhere in Iraq and
Afghanistan, and the recruits did not ask. Hibbs did advise them to do everything possible
to avoid capture in Iraq.

"Say I run out of rounds. What am I going to do?" Hibbs asked.

The recruits, sitting in a circle around him on the squad bay floor, shouted: "Continue to
fight, sir!"

Hibbs said, "Right! Slap my bayonet on! We're going bayonet! I'm not letting you take
me."

A recruit asked why the media seemed to focus on bad news in Iraq and Afghanistan. "I
think you mostly hear bad things on the news because nobody really wants us over
there," he told them. "It's necessary that we're there."

Hibbs concluded by reminding the recruits to live and breathe honor, courage,
commitment.

"You've got to feel it right here," he said, pounding his chest. "That's why they put that
eagle, globe and anchor over your left breast pocket. It's a feeling."

'This is all about heart'

At the Crucible two weeks later, Daniel was ordered to lead a medical evacuation drill in
which three wounded men would be carried to a medevac helicopter landing zone.

He was given five minutes to assign duties. Within seconds, he made his first mistake.
He did not issue direct orders. Worse, recruits offered suggestions.

"Why is someone else running your mission?" asked the drill instructor, Sgt. David Garza,
25."No excuse, sir," Daniel replied.

Garza singled out the platoon's three heaviest recruits. "Bang, you're dead," he said.
They were Daniel's casualties.

Daniel tried to figure out how to lift the big recruits -- made bulkier by their flak jackets --
onto heavy boards used as stretchers. He hesitated as the recruits debated how to carry
ammunition boxes that were part of the drill.

Garza, his voice dripping with sarcasm, told Daniel: "No rush. The casualties are just
bleeding to death."
Recruits hauled the three casualties a few yards, stumbled, then roughly dropped them.
One casualty rolled off the stretcher and started to crawl back on.

Garza sputtered: "He's a . . . casualty! He can't move! Lift him back up on the . . . board!"

As the recruits bent to lift the casualty, their rifles were pointed at his head. Garza was
apoplectic.

"Point your . . . muzzle AWAY from the casualty!" he screamed.

One recruit rested an ammo can on a casualty's belly, prompting an anguished cry from
Garza: "You just put an ammo can on a . . . wound!"

Finally, Daniel's team lurched to the imaginary helicopter landing zone and delivered the
wounded men.

Garza critiqued the mission, pointing out Daniel's many mistakes but praising him for
completing the mission and remembering to provide security.

"That was horrible," Daniel said later.

Garza was charitable. "He did OK," he said. Some tests are designed for failure, he said.
"It's to see how they deal with it -- to see if it wrecks their confidence or promotes creative
decisions."

The Crucible, Garza said, was "like forging metal with fire. You put them under pressure.
They are either going to crack or they're going to shine."

The next day brought the Reaper, the hike up a mountainside in full combat gear. The
recruits were given contradictory instructions: They were to leave no man behind, but
they were not to assist a struggling recruit.

Daniel, Daryl and Steven grimly trudged uphill, their faces expressionless. They huffed
and grunted, trailed by Garza's screams: "Finish it! Finish it!"

Halfway up, a friend of Daniel's faltered. Daniel told him to hang on to his pack, and he
dragged his friend along. Both made it to the top, as did Steven and Daryl.

Like most platoons, 2103 was burdened with at least one weak, uninspired recruit. He
was a slender, baby-faced boy who seemed resigned to his own limitations. He
responded to the drill instructors' screams with a barely perceptible mewing that enraged
them.

Marching up the Reaper, the recruit stopped several times and bent over in pain. Finally,
other recruits pushed, shoved and half-carried him to the top.
There, Garza gave a pep talk, citing the sacrifices of Marines who had earned the Medal
of Honor. Each drill area on the Crucible is named after a medal winner and marked with
a plaque honoring the Marine.

"Do you think he was tired? Do you think he was scared?" Garza asked after reading a
citation for a Marine who earned a medal for heroism in Vietnam. The recruits replied
wearily: "Yes, sir!"

"Just imagine how tired you are now," Garza said. "But now you have to get to a firefight.
You can't stop just because of the pain. If that was the case, we would not win a lot of
wars. . . .

"You've heard of mind over matter? You don't mind, it don't matter."

Garza mentioned the laggard recruit, who sat staring at the dirt.

"I told you at the beginning this is all about heart," he said. "And you had the heart to take
him in. You carried his weight. That's the only reason he's here."

The recruit was later dropped from boot camp for FTA -- failure to adapt.

Now the platoon headed down the mountain for the final five miles. Two recruits injured
their ankles and had to be loaded onto a medical truck. A third collapsed from the heat
and received the rectal thermometer. He, too, was loaded onto the truck.

When recruits faltered, Garza berated them, calling them "babies" and "quitters." Daniel,
Steven and Daryl slogged to the end and collapsed in soggy heaps in a base parking lot
with the rest of the platoon.

As a reward, the platoon was allowed to shower for the first time in three days. In fresh
uniforms, they were set loose at the mess hall for a "warriors' breakfast." They were
allowed to eat all they wanted: eggs, steak, bacon, pancakes, waffles.

Predictably, several vomited afterward. "Sort of a tradition," Garza said.

After breakfast, Daniel, Daryl and Steven were permitted to sit for interviews, their first
since their disastrous experience weeks before, when they lost military bearing.

Now, as they answered questions, their manners were formal. They said "yes, sir" and
"no, sir." Each referred to himself as "this recruit."

Daryl, a devout Mormon, said his religious faith had deepened under the rigors of camp.
"This recruit feels the Lord really pulled him through," he said. "This recruit was not really
making good decisions before coming to boot camp. And boot camp was kind of the kick
in the head that this recruit needed."

Daniel spoke of a psychological journey from civilian to warrior. "I never showed it to
anyone, but this recruit always questioned himself, you know? 'Will I be able to pull
through?' " he said. "So the Crucible gave this recruit a whole bunch of confidence. I don't
think I'll ever doubt myself again."

Steven considered boot camp a transforming experience. "This recruit believes he's a
little more disciplined and more respectful," he said. "At first, this recruit was always
talking and laughing, and got in trouble for it. This recruit finally realized that this recruit
needs to settle down and actually do what the recruit is told, and not mess around."

Back with their parents

On graduation day, hundreds of families squinted into the bright morning sun, trying to
pick out their recruits. They all looked alike -- rigid, composed, trim and fit.

Mothers and fathers shouted out their sons' names. A few family members wore T-shirts
printed with messages: "My Marine Has Your Back" and "Some People Just Need Killing
-- That's Why We Have Marines." Daniel's sister, Setareh, 11, wore a cap with the
message: "Proud sister of a U.S. Marine."

A band pounded out the Marines' Hymn, the 588 graduates from seven platoons
marched in flawless step, and the Stars and Stripes rippled in the sea breeze.

Then came the climax of boot camp: the awarding of eagle, globe and anchor pins, a
ceremony that christened the recruits as U.S. Marines.

"Wear it on your heart," an officer told them as the Marine emblem was pinned to their
uniforms. "Let it guide all your actions and intentions."

Many of the mothers broke down in tears, and some of the fathers dabbed their eyes. A
sergeant's voice sounded: "Liberty will now commence! Dismissed!"

The formations collapsed. The recruits whooped and hollered. The families rushed out of
the viewing stands. The three friends were swarmed by parents, siblings, grandparents
and friends.

The mothers of Daniel, Daryl and Steven greeted their sons with the same words: "You
look so handsome."

The ceremony -- and the evolution of the three teenagers from high school kids to Marine
men -- had a transforming effect on parents who had wanted their sons to attend college
rather than enlist.

Ali and Yasmin Motamedi said they were proud of Daniel's dedication to his country, and
to the Corps. They were overwhelmed by the polite, focused, slimmed-down figure who
stood before them.

"It's like he's a different person," Yasmin said.

Daryl's mother, Kymmer Crookston, had joined the Blue Star Mothers of America, a
group of women with children in the military. The family car bore a new bumper sticker:
"Proud Parents of a United States Marine."

Kim Crookston smiled at his son and said, "We have a different son. What a drill
instructor has done in three months -- I can say we're grateful for the DI. Everything
we've tried to do with Daryl is finally coming around."

Steven's mother, Cathy Carlson, also saw a more poised young man.

"He looks awesome -- very grown up," she said. "I'm still very scared -- scared, but also
extremely proud."

The three friends will likely be sent to Iraq or Afghanistan at some point after joining an
active-duty unit. First, they must complete two months of specialized infantry training at
Camp Pendleton.

Steven's father, Jim Dellinger, hoped his son would be sent to Afghanistan, but he knew
Steven wanted to prove himself in Iraq. "It's a scary thought," he said, "but I know it's
what he wants to do."

The three families were so caught up in the emotion of their reunions that they forgot
about the Corps' invitation to chat with the drill instructors in a receiving line that Marines
call "the petting zoo."

Hibbs was there. Platoon 2103 was his seventh. Daniel, Daryl and Steven typified the
platoon, he said: bright and competent, not all-stars, but not problem children, either.
Hibbs did notice one characteristic that set the three apart.

"I could tell right off they were good citizens, good people, good guys with good strong
families, strong work ethics," he said. "Honor, courage, commitment -- they already had it.
It just has a new meaning to them now."

Philippine News
Nov. 3, 2007

2 years after Subic rape case, Marines accused again

As the Philippines marks the second anniversary of the Subic rape case, Filipino activists
joined the Japanese people in condemning the gang-rape of a 19 year old Japanese
woman in Iwakuni City, which hosts a recently-enlarged U.S. Marine Airbase.

BY ANTHONY IAN CRUZ

The Philippines marked Nov. 1 the second anniversary of the controversial Subic rape
case that resulted in the conviction of one of the four U.S. servicemen tagged as rapists
by victim "Nicole." The case triggered a move among senators to call for a review or the
abrogation of the Visiting Forces Agreement between the U.S. and the Philippines

Elsewhere, U.S. soldiers are tagged anew as suspects in another gang-rape incident, this
time in Japan, where activists have sought the help and advice of their visiting Filipino
counterparts.

Rape victim "Nicole" is now working in an undisclosed company here in the Philippines,
says Gabriela Women's Party secretary-general Cristina Palabay, one of her close
supporters throughout her court ordeal and who continues to keep in touch with her.

Palabay says Nicole is "doing fine in her work which, unfortunately, she cannot disclose
to anyone to preserve her privacy."

In her affidavit-complaint, "Nicole" said she was raped just before midnight of Nov. 1,
2005 inside a moving Starex van at Alava Pier at the former U.S. base in Subic Bay.

Convicted rapist still in U.S. custody

Lance Corporal Daniel Smith, convicted of raping "Nicole", should be languishing at the
Makati City Jail for his crime after he was found guilty in a Dec. 4, 2006 ruling of the
Makati Regional Trial Court.

But Smith did not last for even a month at the Makati City Jail. Agents from the
Department of Interior and Local Government (DILG) transferred Smith to the custody of
the U.S. Embassy on Dec. 29, 2006 after Foreign Affairs Sec. Alberto Romulo and Kristie
Kenney signed an agreement on Dec. 22 authorizing the transfer.

Department of Foreign Affairs (DFA) spokesman Claro Cristobal assured the public that
"Smith is definitely still in the U.S. Embassy here in the Philippines."

While clarifying that it is the DILG that is tasked to check on Smith as per the Romulo-
Kenney agreement, Cristobal nevertheless said that that the DFA has information that
rape convict remains at the U.S. Embassy.

In a text message, U.S. Embassy Spokesperson Rebecca Thompson said that "Smith
remains in U.S. custody and confined to quarters on the grounds of the U.S. Embassy in
Manila."

"He is in good health," said Thompson, when asked whether Smith has recuperated from
a minor operation he reportedly underwent prior to the May 2007 elections.

Smith's three other companions were immediately sent to a U.S. military facility in Japan
after the lower court acquitted them.

Another gang-rape by U.S. soldiers

Groups critical of U.S. military presence in the country are set to stage protest actions to
mark the rape incident's anniversary here in Manila – and in Iwakuni City in Japan.

Bayan Secretary-General Renato M. Reyes Jr. and Anakbayan Chairperson Eleanor de

Guzman are now at Iwakuni City upon the invitation of the Asia-Wide Campaign to share
the Philippine experience in prosecuting U.S. soldiers and to join protests seeking the
removal of U.S. bases in Japan.

In an email sent to Malaya, Reyes said four U.S. soldiers have been tagged in the rape of
a 19-year old Japanese woman on Oct. 14 sparking protests in Iwakuni City which hosts
a recently-enlarged U.S. Marine Airbase.

"The four U.S. soldiers are being investigated by Japanese authorities, but like in the
Subic rape case, these alleged rapists remain in U.S. custody," says Reyes.

The two Filipino activists and delegates from South Korea and Taiwan joined a big rally
Sunday at Iwakuni City denouncing the rape incident and calling for the closure of the
U.S. military facility there.

"What is definitely disturbing here is that the U.S. response in the Subic rape incident
seems to be repeated in the Iwakuni incident. Again the U.S. government refuses to give
custody of their soldiers to local authorities," Reyes said.

Reyes slammed the "cavalier attitude" of the U.S. government on the issue of custody.
"The US government seems to be encouraging the abusive behavior of American
servicemen. That they feel they can pick up just any girl in Subic or Iwakuni and gang
rape her in a van is a symptom of sheer arrogance and utter disrespect for our peoples."

The rape case prompted Senator Miriam Defensor Santiago, chair of the Senate foreign
relations committee, to file a resolution calling for a review of the VFA that authorized the
re-entry of U.S. troops in Philippine territory after the closure of the U.S. military bases in
1991.

Gabriela Rep. Liza Maza also filed a resolution in the Lower House seeking to junk the
VFA.

Marine Corps Times

Nov. 4, 2007

Leathernecks earn top finishes at world games

By Patricia Kime

An Olympic hopeful triathlete and a rookie welterweight boxer scored silver and bronze
respectively for the Marine Corps and Team USA last month at the Military World Games
in India, an impressive feat for the Corps, which sent only six members to the competition.
Second Lt. Justine Whipple, assigned to the Olympic Training Center in Colorado Springs,
Colo., took second in the women’s triathlon, finishing just seconds behind a competitor
from China. Boxing newcomer Lance Cpl. Samuel Martinez of Camp Lejeune, N.C.,
claimed the bronze after thrashing two opponents before losing a 24-4 decision to a
Russian competitor.

“[Martinez] definitely was the most inexperienced boxer on the team, and there were
three extremely tough opponents he was competing with. But what he did was great. I
was there for one of his matches, and he looked like a seasoned veteran,” said Steven
Dinote, Corps sports director.

Whipple is an athletic phenom who attended the Naval Academy, where she won back-
to-back championships at the USA Triathlon Collegiate competition. Before graduation,
she was invited to train in Colorado Springs, which she did with the blessing of the Corps.

“The potential to have a woman who is an Olympian helps Recruiting Command,” Dinote
said. “It’s huge to get any athlete to the Olympic Training Center, and it’s not easy for
Marines.”

Martinez, 21, has been boxing since he was 14. But this was his first year on the U.S.
Armed Forces team. “Martinez is probably the surprise boxer on the U.S. team,” head
coach Basheer Abdullah said in a release. “He’s improved a hell of a lot since the
Olympic trials.”

The Military World Games are held every four years, about nine months before the
Summer Olympics, allowing military personnel to compete at the highest levels of
amateur sports. “Thirty percent of the athletes you see at the Olympics are from their
country’s military,” Dinote said.

NBC TV News (S.C.)

Cemetery controversy over former Marine’s burial

By Dustin Blanchard

Robert Herring's burial in Beaufort National Cemetery is on hold tonight.

Herring is the Edgefield county man investigators say shot his wife and stepdaughter
before killing himself last week. He's also a former Marine.

The victims' family said he should not be buried along side our nation's military heroes as
planned.

The Director of Beaufort National Cemetery said the burial is on hold, while he waits to
verify the facts of the case.
He says that will happen tomorrow. That's welcome news to the victims' family.

NBC Augusta spoke with an uncle of the 17-year old victim.

He served in Iraq and says he can't bear the thought of Herring buried alongside men he
served with.

And Joree Arangilan who lost both her sister and her mom, is so upset she had to write
down her feelings to share them.

"I don't see how anyone could think that someone who murdered two innocent people
while they slept should be buried at all -- much less in a cemetery for our heroes,"
Arangilan said.

Family members sid the facts will support their case and keep Herring out of the
cemetery.

The cemetery's director said the law is clear in this situation.

In listing who should not be buried in a national cemetery it includes "A person who is
found . . . to have committed a . . . State capital crime, but has not been convicted of
such crime by reason of such person not being available for trial due to death."

United Press International

Nov. 4, 2007

Tarawa battle site focus of cleanup

WASHINGTON -- The site of one of the bloodiest Pacific campaigns during World War II
is the focus of one U.S. man's effort to make the atoll suitable for memorial.

Leon Cooper, who at 23 ferried U.S. Marines from the USS Harry Lee to the Pacific atoll
of Tarawa in 1943, is seeking to restore the trash-laden beaches to more suitable
conditions to memorialize the combat deaths during the battle of "Bloody Tarawa," The
Washington Times reported Sunday.

More than 1,000 Marines lost their lives and nearly 2,200 were wounded in the battle,
which began on Nov. 20, 1943.

Now, the hallowed ground is strewn with trash as the atolls' Republic of Kiribati faces
limited space to dispose of its refuse.

"Where there were once hundreds of Marines, there are now millions of plastic bags,
crushed paper boxes and crumpled cans. This is sacred ground, not a dumping ground,"
Cooper, 87, told the Times.
The New Zealand branch of Greenpeace, Sen. Dianne Feinstein, D-Calif., and Rep.
Harry A. Waxman, D-Calif., expressed support for Cooper's efforts.

Waxman suggested the 2nd Marine Division deploy to the Tarawa beach on cleanup
detail.

“News from the Front” (Fallujah, Iraq):

(Note: Windows Media Player is needed to view the following clips.)

For more “News from the Front” stories visit www.mnfwest.usmc.mil

2/7 gathers intel during patrols in Rutbah

NewsFrTheFront_Intel

END