Around or about the evening of the 19th of March 2003 ,while positioned along the border with Iraq, General J.N. Mattis endeavored to send a “Message To All Hands”.  We all know the letter he wrote us. Some of us have it framed and hanging on our ‘Yay Me!’ walls at home where we display our accomplishments and those things we have earned and that mean so very much to us. This action by General Mattis will be remembered by many of us who were there, for decades to come. (NOTE - See the Documents page for a copy of Gen Mattis' Letter).

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The message was a simple one, go show the world that there is ‘No greater friend, no worse enemy’ than a United States Marine. While the message was seemingly simple and a huge morale booster on its own,  the logistics of General Mattis’ goal of disseminating this message to ‘every single Marine’ poised to invade Iraq that night was quite another story. 

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As a ‘tech shop’ 2847 assigned to the HQ Logistics element for the duration of the initial invasion, it was my job to get logistics ‘up’ each time we would jump from POS to POS. This meant enabling LAN and SIPR as well as working with my hard-charging wire dogs to get the radio masts aloft and set up.

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My S-4, LtCol Keil Gentry and his S-4 Bravo, my constant companion in the fight, Capt Casey Harsh, counted on me nearly constantly as dust, debris and every other ‘denizen of the desert’ did its level best to foul our equipment at all hours of the night. Sometimes it was a simple fix, sometimes if was a huge overhaul that had to be implemented…all hours of the night and day…nonstop…24/7.

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As those of us who were there will tell you, there was nothing to get accustomed to. There was no routine that lasted more than a few hours as routine and predictability can be deadly in battle. So, what we in the E-4’s and below counted on, was just that: Chaos. At the beginning it took some getting used to. Desert Scimitar and Desert Firex operations got us ready for this type of thing. However, when it comes to planning, the ‘doing’ part is always something that human beings must adapt to and overcome. Good thing we Marines are experts at it.

As the night fell that evening, guidance from command had us in self-dug foxholes. The thinking was that any concussion wave from an incoming round would have less affect on us. We gladly obliged and many of us dug holes with our e-tools that would make any backhoe proud. There became in that moment a bit of a competition amongst us. The Marine with the best and most-effective foxhole would get first shot at a new, unopened box of MRE’s.  Mine was wide enough to make any modern day OSHA rep lose his mind. I had enough space to install, what in my mind was, a wet bar and a dance floor in case we happened upon any evening entertainment out there in the middle of nowhere. A wishful thinking Marine is a more productive Marine…it’s science.

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My watch in the logistics center that night was a later one. So, I had some time to sit and admire my work for a little while as I sat there in my full-on MOPP 4 gear, trying to listen to my scratched AC/DC cd on my rickety CD player that had somehow survived being in my Sea Bag and my ruck sack all the way out to the front line.

Deciding I had had it with “For Those About To Rock” for the 20th time, I stowed it and I stared out into the darkness. Noise from the generator filled the quiet. There were conversations of Marines coming from the Logistics center mixed with nervous, sporadic radio chatter that wasn’t loud enough to discern but loud enough for any Marine to try to strain through his gear to try to listen to what was being said.

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Often, there was nothing to see. We all knew that there was ‘something’ out there. We trusted that Command ‘had them’ and that things were well in hand in that moment. So it was in that darkness and in the quiet nervousness of the battle pause, that a faint light began to spill over the horizon.

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To be clear, we were in a POS with multiple units all around us. The Brits were off at some distance making their own noise, that was accounted for. There were different batteries arrayed to our east and west and even flank. We understood that there was going to be traffic in the night. We expected it.

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However, this was different. It began to become apparent that this wasn’t a large element moving our way. Rather it appeared, as the light got closer, that it was a single Humvee.  MOST of the Marines in my general vicinity just kind of stared at it. Not really knowing what to think. As the light grew brighter and brighter, we were able to gage the speed of the vehicle…. Far too fast for any one of us to be comfortable with. Some of us went from watching ‘standing up’ to watching ‘covered’ in our holes. Closer and closer the Humvee approached without diminishing its speed.

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For those of you who were there, and for those of you reading this who were not, our positions were often augmented by multiple infantry Amphibious Assault Vehicles. We didn’t always have the benefit of their ‘protective perimeter’ but on that night, on the eve of the invasion, we did.

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Turns out, that procedures for approaching a position in combat are completely different from those that we are accustomed to back home. In the ‘pregnant pause’ and nervousness of that evening, we were still, it would seem, getting the kinks worked out.  You don’t just ‘roll up on’ a protected position going all out in a vehicle that nobody is expecting.

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Infantry doesn’t uh ‘like that’ it turns out.

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As the Humvee gained too much of an advantage on our position for the Infantry’s comfort, one of the AAV’s “popped” a flare directly in front of and above the approaching ‘threat.’

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And the collective Marines all around, on top of saying ‘ohhh ahhh’ at the fireworks display, sat in wild amazement as we all wondered and sat intently watching for what would happen next.

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The Humvee instantly halted. However, that didn’t stop the occupant who quickly exited the vehicle and continued to advance on the, in that Marine’s opinion, ‘offending AAV.’

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At that point it became clear that a stream of ‘hollerin’-ats’ were arising from the person being driven in that Humvee. The individual, who I have still yet to discover (who it was), let the Infantry know how he felt about being ‘flared on.’  To which, it also became apparent, the Infantry informed the person to go piss up a rope as the person in the vehicle should have known, that’s not how you approach a position…especially at that time and in that moment.  The Marine and his driver had clearly violated any ‘challenge’ exchange that needed to happen and approached to close to our position and was rewarded with a warning flare from the infantry our beloved protectors. Which we all know is a ‘last warning’…there is not ‘second’ warning…only a .50 cal and supporting fires from the infantry.

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That being said, it turns out that the Marine and his driver were delivering the ‘Message To All Hands’ to our position that night on special orders from General Mattis.

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As the message began being disseminated to each one of us in our respective places that night, I had a moment to reflect on what had just transpired. It reminded me of the perseverance that we Marines learned of 1st Lt Rowan and the obstacles and pitfalls he survived in delivering his message to General Garcia from President McKinley. This was just the reception that the Marines in that Humvee received from us. Lord knows how they fared with other units that night. However, in spite of these setbacks like this, the message then and now, was delivered.