Taliban 2.0 - Made possible by POTUS & Hillary

Stupid. Stupid. Stupid.

These are the three kindest words I can use in conjunction with the dunderhead that sits in the White House and the failure that was his Secretary of State.

Obama & Hillary caused this issue in Iraq to become reality by emboldening the Jihhadists, arming them in Libya, failing in Benghazi and showing them that our WH would be unwilling to do anything to save our own people.

Take a good look at this HUMVEE as you and I paid for it.  It sits abandoned in Tikrit as Iraq's military was unable to defend themselves. Obama allowed this to happen with his cowardly cut & run.

Experts said so in 2008-2010.  Iraq was not ready to defend themselves.  They needed more time.  But President Stompy Foot decided in his infinite wisdom to withdraw our forces.

What an idiot.  Now, all we fought for and all we did to help Iraq will go to waste due to one imbicile who should never have been allowed to be POTUS.

I'd go on further but all it's doing is making me angrier.  I was in Fallujah from 2004-2005 and I saw the suffering of the Iraqis.  That will be nothing compared to what ISIS will do to them.

Taliban 2.0 - The shitstorm has yet to begin and it all falls on the idiot that fools elected President.

He owns this.

The place changed me. It changed us all....Forever.

For many years, I have been trying to answer those who asked me,

" What was it like in Fallujah?? What was it like and what did you see??"

I have told them about some of the things that went on there but it was like telling someone who has never driven a car what it is like to drive a 1957 Chevy - you can describe it but you can't do it justice.

I was there for the battle in late 2004 - Early 2005 along with many others.  I spent time in BIAP ( Baghdad Int'l AirPort) and Mahmudiyah ( Triangle of Death).  I served in the company of many heroes although I don't consider myself one. 

Tom Ricks of the Foreign Policy Blog posted a great piece written by a Marine who was there too.  With great and ultimate respect, I repost the words of another Veteran of that time and place.  His words go a long way to stating clearly some of the things I have felt for years.

Like him, I have not fell victim to the issues of alcohol and self destructive behavior, but the place changed me.  It changed us all. In many ways we never knew. Forever.

Veterans' Day (II): When no direction is home, pride can hold you together

Posted By Thomas E. RicksMonday, November 12, 2012 -

By "Larry Nicholas"
Best Defense guest columnist

When I was in college one of my professors asked me what I thought our generation of veterans had to offer our society. I could not give her a good answer at the time and that always bothered me.

Every year on Veterans' Day I think of that question. I also think of the Corporal. The Corporal and I served together years ago when we were both very young men. He was a Marine and I was a Corpsman. He was a good man; easy going, confident, a proud Texan. We were in the same battalion, but in different platoons. I was close to his platoon Corpsman though, and I knew him fairly well. While serving we were sent to Iraq on the same deployment. It was a unique situation. The entire battalion didn't go, only a few. He was with his platoon, and I had volunteered to go with another platoon.

The year was 2004. Our unit had been tasked with taking back the city of Fallujah from insurgents. We attacked the city, and after weeks of savage combat we succeeded. Several of our brothers were killed, many more severely injured, but in the end we accomplished our mission. We stayed in Iraq a little while longer, after which we went back to our duty station. Upon our return though, we were grasped by a surreal regard.

Everything around us was the same, except for the way people looked at us. They looked at us like we were superhuman. Everywhere we walked people would move out of our way, like Moses parting the Red Sea.

The Corporal was especially well regarded. He had a right to be. While I was proud of my part in the battle, it was nothing compared to what he had done. The tales that were told about his heroism were unbelievable, unimaginable, but they were true.

Shortly after coming back the Corporal started to have problems. He had taken to alcohol too readily, often becoming very drunk. During the Marine Corps Ball he was walking around his dress blues sloppily incoherent, intoxicated out of his mind. Seeing him like that was devastating. I felt as if I was watching him being slowly reduced to ash. I tried to talk to him for a little bit, hoping some sense would come though. He only said this to me, "I wish I was still the man I was in Fallujah." I feared that the Corporal was becoming lost in his own anguish.

I had some issues as well. My hands shook from time to time. I mistook strangers for departed friends. A grim stare had become my default facial expression. People would ask why I looked so sad, often telling me, "You need to smile more." I regarded these as minor developments however. After all, I had no issues with nightmares, no problems with alcohol, and I had a promising military career ahead of me. I thought I had a handle on the situation.

My confidence was boosted by doing something peculiar that no one else had done. I decided not to go home. We were stationed overseas and when we came back everyone went home on leave, except me. I felt that I was not ready to go back home. Fallujah was still very fresh in my mind and I did not want it to be when I saw my family. So I stayed, I worked, I tried to forget.

Some of my Marines thought I was foolish for staying. One of them stated his opinion colorfully by saying, "You're crazy Doc. I'm going home. I have girls to seduce, babies to make!" The Corporal understood what I was trying to accomplish, although I don't think he approved. I had spoken to him about it once. I told him that I just wanted to forget about Fallujah and move on with my life. He gave me a strange look; part sympathetic, part scornful, part amused, part knowing. I wasn't sure what the look meant at the time.

I waited until Christmas to go back to America. I went back in my hometown. I was surrounded by my family. It should have been a wonderful time. There was just one problem. I wasn't home. It was at then that I knew what the Corporal's look had meant. The warmth and comfort associated with the concept of home was absent. I had forgotten what it felt like to be home. To know a place where one felt safe, felt at ease, felt happy. The concept that was once so natural became alien to me. Overtime, I compensated by sometimes becoming hyperactive, expending enormous energy in pursuit of certain goals. But that only covered up the problem, and only for a short while.

So you see, I was more affected by Iraq then I had thought. I had tried so hard to forget Fallujah, but I could not. The place had become a part of me. The Corporal realized this much sooner then I did. The Corporal and I exhibited different symptoms, but we both had the same problem. Our souls had become fragmented. The days that we spent in battle had changed us. They were difficult days. Days filled with hatred, anger, fear, suffering, and sorrow. But they were also days of great pride.

That pride supersedes any pain we could ever feel. If there is a saving grace, any silver lining in what we have been through, then that is it. Those were days when we felt privileged to be able to fight for our country. Days when we made each moment very sincere because we knew that we might not have many more moments left. Those were days when our pride was felt not in fleeting moments, but was instead weaved into the fabric of our being.

In retrospect, that is the answer that I should have given my professor. I should have told her that I believe the greatest gift our generation of veterans can offer society is our pride. But not pride in the superficially vain sense of the word. The pride we offer must be more genuine, more sincere. That pride must be the sort that compels us to encourage our fellow citizens to excel. It must be the sort of pride that drives us to remind people that extraordinary things can be accomplished. In an age consumed with cynicism and doubt, that is a service that is gravely needed. That's what being a veteran means to me.

To all my brothers and sisters that are still haunted by the violent memories of war, I want you to know that I know how you feel. I have walked in your footsteps. Those memories can be a terrible burden to bear. They often inhibit the joy of present moments by pulling us back into the past, sometimes putting a dark overcast on the future. But you do not have to accept things as they are. There is hope for a better tomorrow -- if you are willing to fight for it.

In my dreams, I sometimes see the Corporal. In those thoughts he had fought to get his life back. He was able to secure some peace in recent years. He found a good woman to love. He finally made his way back home. I hope that is his reality. No one has earned it more. In a group of proud warriors, he was a giant. But I cannot be sure. I have lost track of the Corporal, and I have not spoken to him in many years. I do like to think that he is well though.

I hope that all of our veterans can one day come home. Not just physically, but also in terms of spirit. In order for that to happen we will need to offer them more then just a simple plane ride back to their country. In order to ensure an adequate homecoming we have to respect their service without shunning the realties that came with it, appreciate the experiences that they can offer our society, and most importantly, we must try to understand.

"Larry Nicholas" is an Iraq War veteran who fought in the Second Battle of Fallujah in 2004 while attached to the ground combat element of the 31st Expeditionary Unit

Commandant Gen. James Amos prepares for the future of the USMC in the Pacific, " Marines, this is our home "

In relation to the present national fiscal/economic climate where the Navy finds themselves over manned, the Commandant of the US Marines, Gen. James Amos is not going to see his Marines get "flanked" going into the post Afghanistan era.

While this may take sometime before we reach a period when the USMC is not involved in Afghanistan, General Amos is already planning the future of the USMC and it is based around the Pacific.

The author states a good case for why this makes sense:

" In meetings with Marines, Gen. Amos said it was his intent, post-Afghanistan, to return the Corps to its mission as a crisis-response force in the Pacific. The commandant envisions keeping about 20,000 Marines stationed at Pacific Ocean bases, plus another 3,000 at an air station in Japan. About 5,000 Marines are based in Hawaii, tens of thousands more in California."

With the Pacific basin becoming of more interest to the growing economy of China and the other nations that are starting squabbling about who controls what, the USMC will be a much needed stabilizing presence. I can think of no better way to win tactically than to anticipate the moves of your adversaries than to approach it like a game of chess, where you must always be three moves ahead.

SEMPER FI General Amos. Damn the politicians, full speed ahead. I'll trust the General and his warriors in the USMC long before I trust any "former Community Organizer" and his minions to decide what is best when it comes to the defense of our nation and the role our US Marines should play in it.


Marines Aim to Avoid Postwar Identity Crisis
The service's top officer plots a post-Afghanistan focus in the Pacific region, where Marines experienced their most devastating losses and most heroic victories.
By NATHAN HODGE - Wall Street Journal

The U.S. Marine Corps, one of the most storied military forces, is searching for a mission after the war in Afghanistan ends.

Marines consider themselves a quick-reaction force, traveling light and giving their all whether waging war or responding to humanitarian disasters. But for the past decade, the Corps has been fighting long conflicts in the deserts of Iraq and valleys of Afghanistan, requiring it to behave more as a dug-in land army.

With President Barack Obama's announcement this past week that he would begin drawing down troops in Afghanistan, the Corps sees the need to find a new calling.

Marine Commandant Gen. James Amos, the service's top officer, sees renewal in the region where Marines experienced their most devastating losses and most heroic victories: "We're going to reorient in the Pacific," he said during a recent swing through bases in Japan and South Korea.

The reorientation is in part because of the coming contraction of the defense budget, in part because of the shifting balance of power in the world, and in part because of a historical fear embedded in Marine culture.

Since World War II, the Marines have fretted about being remade into a second land army or, in times of economic contraction, cast aside as extraneous. Soon after enlisting, recruits are taught of great Corps victories—at Guadalcanal and Fallujah—its most devastating casualties—at Iwo Jima—and the story that President Truman tried to eliminate the Corps altogether.

Though no service commands more respect and fierce loyalty on Capitol Hill (it is impossible to think of Congress ever eliminating the Corps), current Marines note with trepidation that Defense Secretary Robert Gates said last year that they functioned too much like a "second land army" and were too removed from their expeditionary and maritime roots.

The Marines' 20,000 riflemen in Afghanistan won't be coming out soon. Military planners say they don't know which forces will exit first, but defense officials intend to keep combat forces there as long as they can.

Still, with the Pentagon bracing for budget cuts as two wars wind down and the nation wrestles with massive deficits, Gen. Amos aims to be prepared. In months to come, the service branches are likely to find themselves justifying their roles in the fight over a smaller pie, said Todd Harrison, a defense-budget expert at the Center for Strategic and Budgetary Assessments in Washington. For the Corps, that means emphasizing what makes it distinct from other services—particularly the Army.

"For the past decade it [the Marine Corps] has been a second land army, so now you hear Gen. Amos talking about its role in the future, and as a crisis-response force," Mr. Harrison said.

In meetings with Marines, Gen. Amos said it was his intent, post-Afghanistan, to return the Corps to its mission as a crisis-response force in the Pacific. The commandant envisions keeping about 20,000 Marines stationed at Pacific Ocean bases, plus another 3,000 at an air station in Japan. About 5,000 Marines are based in Hawaii, tens of thousands more in California.

Shifting back to the Pacific would be in line with U.S. strategic objectives. Military planners note that the region is an economic center of gravity—80% of the world's shipping passes through the geographic area covered by the U.S. Pacific Command—and preserving power in the region is a national-defense priority. "We are a Pacific power and intend to remain a power in the Pacific," Mr. Gates said on a recent visit to Asia.

Returning to the Pacific would keep the Marines busy. Asia is a hub for training exercises with other nations, and Pacific-based Marines have been heavily involved in disaster relief. Over the past seven years, they have responded to more than a dozen regional emergencies, from the Indonesian tsunami in late 2004 and early 2005 to the Japan earthquake and tsunami earlier this year.

On the combat side, they are likely first responders to political crises, such as attacks on embassies, and Marines also rehearse for possible renewed conflict on the Korean peninsula.

Gen. Amos's Pacific focus also appears to be a pre-emptive strike in looming budget battles. The White House recently set a $400 billion target for security-spending cuts over the next decade or so, and the Defense Department is reviewing spending priorities top-to-bottom.

The Marines have already responded to budget pressures with plans to downsize to 186,800 personnel from 202,000 in the next few years. And in January, Mr. Gates canceled the Expeditionary Fighting Vehicle, which had been a top procurement priority.

According to Gen. Amos, the Marines have particular advantages when it comes to projecting U.S. power: "We step very lightly, and, if invited, we come with a lot of our own stuff," he said in an interview.

On a recent visit to Camp Hansen in Japan, on Okinawa, Gen. Amos stood on the bed of a seven-ton truck and told more than 1,000 Marines that they could expect to remain in the Pacific.

"Marines, this is our home," he said. "We fought, lived, and bled, and died, on just about every island in the Pacific. If there's one service that understands the islands, it's us. We've been here for over 60 years. And we have no intention of leaving the Pacific."

—Julian E. Barnes contributed to this article.

SgtMaj Carlton W. Kent - Farewell to a Marine’s Marine - relieved as Sergeant Major of the Marine Corps after 35 years of service

We all have met and spent time with people who gave us their strength in times of great duress. The inspirational leader who shored you up when you needed it most. These are the people you remember.

My time in Fallujah, Iraq from 2004-2005 was some of the toughest months of my life. The place was hell and it was not something I have not wanted to relive or really remember. While the Seabees didn't experience that place like the USMC did, if you were there, you paid a "price". There is no need to justify how good or bad anyone had it - The place "sucked", for lack of a better term, and it was horrible for all. Too many men paid the ultimate price and many others will carry the scars from that place, physically and mentally, for the rest of their lives.

During my time there, I developed a close bond with the Marines we served with in IMEF. Our Seabee regiment was attached to the USMC Command, IMEF. It was the way things were organized and like most changes, it took some getting used to.

One of the jobs I had was working closely with my USMC counterparts as we had to assist each other with supply and convoys. The Marines handled the brunt of the work with Seabees in support. I became pretty well known by most of the Marine command as they would request supplies that we had in our TOA that the Marines were short on. This meant on a regular basis, I had to supply the Marines when they fell short and it allowed me to contribute to the difficult work they did in that God forsaken place. My job was not as harrowing as tearing the city apart, but each of us was assisting the efforts.

Part of this was working with the command at IMEF which was new to me then. I had gone on a few OPS with CENTCOM and other unified commands but this was different. As time passed, word got out to the senior enlisted structure at IMEF that the Seabees were assisting in many ways that helped the USMC including the Logistics/Supply efforts made by our group. The SgtMaj of IMEF in Fallujah at that time was SgtMaj Carlton W. Kent. I only spoke to him when he had asked for my assistance a few times approaching me and having my efforts extolled to him by one of my USMC counterparts . I worked with the Gunny Sgts but they had given the Seabees high marks for all our efforts and word had gotten to SgtMaj Kent.

SgtMaj Kent was a great leader and the kind of person that naturally exuded leadership. His manner was to give his full atention to the person he was speaking with and to make sure that each one knew he had his full attention. I had a few opportunties to speak with him and got to know him professionally.

The day came when like most of us, I had to leave Fallujah. It seemed like the place you would never leave but eventually, you were given heads up to pack your stuff and head out. When I got the word, I had to stop by and pay my respects to SgtMaj Kent as he and I had developed a good working relationship during my time there.

I went to see him and in his office I told him that I was going to be leaving as I had orders to pushout back home. SgtMaj Kent thanked me for all my efforts in supporting the mission and said, " Gee, I was just getting used to having you around..." He felt the Seabees had proven how well they could do as many of the Marines were intially unsure if having Seabees there with them in the command would work out.

I shook his hand and stated that it had been an honor and privilege to serve with him. He looked me in the eye and said, " SK1, you can go out with my men anytime...It's been great to have you here." While many would value a COM or a NAM for their efforts while deployed, I had gotten what I valued more than anything I could have asked for. I had the Sgt Maj's respect. He honored me by giving me his confidence and expressing he was thankful for the time we had together. I left his office prouder than if the Commander of IMEF had pinned an award on me as I had the respect of the Senior Enlisted Leader of IMEF and that is something I had worked hard to earn. He was the top War Fighter and the one all enlisted (USMC & Seabees) looked to as our Leader.

This rememberance came about due to reading a post at the USNI blog about SgtMaj Carlton W. Kent being relieved as Sergeant Major of the Marine Corps. I had not kept track of SgtMaj Kent's career but it is obvious why we was chosen for the post he held. He is a Marine's Marine, and the right man to take on leading Marines in their mission to defend our country and help others in need.

Bravo Zulu to Sergeant Major Kent. He has my respect and thanks for all the support he gave me during a very difficult time in my life. I remember him and I hope that some day, our paths cross again so I can thank him again for all that he did to help me and many, many others.

From the post at the USNI Blog:

On 8 June 2011, the United States Marine Corps conducted a post and relief of the senior enlisted Marine in the Corps at Marine Barracks 8th and I, Washington DC. SgtMaj Carlton W. Kent was relieved as Sergeant Major of the Marine Corps by SgtMaj Michael Barrett, who becomes the 17th Sergeant Major of the Marine Corps. The relief brings to an end SgtMaj Kent’s 35 year career in the Corps. He is a legend in our Corps, an inspiration and example to all Marines, but particularly to the SNCO, NCO, and junior enlisted Marines, to whom his dedication was boundless.

Navy roommates shared their lives, now lie together at Arlington National Cemetery

No other words are needed.....

Navy roommates shared their lives, now lie together at Arlington
Travis Manion and Brendan Looney, who became great friends at Annapolis, occupy neighboring graves at Arlington
By Childs Walker, The Baltimore Sun
9:42 a.m. EDT, May 28, 2011

That Travis Manion and Brendan Looney ended up side by side should surprise no one.

Loved ones had always been struck by the similarities between the Naval Academy roommates — both family men, both rugged athletes, both warriors who yearned to reach the heart of action.

Now, they needed to be together again. It was the only bit of comfort Amy Looney could fathom as she watched white-gloved soldiers carry her husband's casket from the back of an airplane at Dover Air Force Base last September.

Three years earlier, a sniper had shot Travis in Iraq after he exposed himself to enemy fire so he could drag wounded comrades from an ambush. Now, Brendan was gone as well, killed in a helicopter crash in Afghanistan.

Confronted with that cruel reality, Amy Looney was sure what had to happen next: Brendan, the absurdly tough Navy SEAL she had fallen for back in Annapolis, would want to spend eternity beside Travis in Arlington National Cemetery.

In life, they laughed at jokes that only they were in on, blended into one another's families and talked quietly of their hunger to fight where they were needed most. Amy Looney wanted all of that to endure beyond terrible loss.

"It was the only peace I could find in the whole situation," she says.

When she made her thoughts known, the Manions agreed that the men belonged together, even though that meant moving their son from a Pennsylvania cemetery.

Travis was reinterred at Arlington on a Friday in early October, and Brendan was buried to his left the following Monday.

There they lie.

Though undeniably tragic, the culmination of Travis and Brendan's bond is more than that for the people who loved them. It's a story of bravery, of goodness, of two men who died doing what they were put on the earth to do.

"They're probably the two best guys I've ever known and the two best guys I ever will know," says their friend and academy classmate Ben Mathews. "I think it means something that they're together. It's terrible that they had to give their lives, but they're shining examples of what Americans can strive to be."

Brendan was days from beginning SEAL training in San Diego when the news of Travis' death tore his world asunder. His sister, Erin, had always viewed him as indestructible and was taken aback to hear him hurt so badly. "That was the toughest part," she says. "It was the first time I ever saw Brendan in a different light. Not that he wasn't still tough, but maybe he was a little more vulnerable."

The Navy would not allow Brendan to leave for the funeral. In his fury, he briefly considered quitting. Instead, he dedicated his training to Travis and won the coveted "Honor Man" spot as the top graduate of his class.

On missions in Iraq and Afghanistan, Brendan wore two personal items — his wedding ring and a metal wrist band Travis' parents gave him to commemorate his friend. At his wedding reception in 2008, he handed Travis' mom, Janet, the gold trident pin he received for completing SEAL training.

"I only got this because of Travis," he said.

Destined to be a Marine

Travis Manion grew up in Doylestown, Pa., a borough of tree-lined streets and tidy shops 30 miles north of Philadelphia.

The foundation bearing his name, which gives grants to wounded veterans for community service projects, is housed just off Main Street. Janet Manion's office is a mini-shrine to her son. Photos of him in his wrestling uniform and combat gear surround her desk. On the window sill sits a note from local elementary-schooler Luke Sliwinski, who wrote, "I always try to do things that would make Travis proud. He is my hero. Semper Fi."

The Manions are well-known in Doylestown. Hundreds lined the streets to watch Travis' flag-draped casket proceed from a downtown church to a cemetery on the outskirts of town. Travis' father, Tom, ran for Congress the following year, arguing that too many people in government had set aside the needs of American troops. He didn't win but spread his son's story as a symbol of daily combat sacrifices that are too often out of sight, out of mind.

Janet walks into her favorite sandwich shop on a pleasant fall afternoon, less than two weeks after her son was buried at Arlington.

"I can't even comprehend how difficult that must have been," the shop's owner says. "But it's a beautiful place. He's near his buddy."

She smiles and says yes, that's a comfort.

Travis was born at Camp Lejeune, N.C., and the family moved around in his early years, when Tom was still an active-duty Marine colonel. The boy loved to put on his dad's camouflage gear and protect his buddies during imagined backyard combat. He and his older sister, Ryan Manion Borek, often belted out the Marine Corps hymn on the family couch.

"He wouldn't hurt a butterfly," Janet says. "If someone was mean to him, he'd really take it to heart."

The Manions moved to Doylestown when Travis was in elementary school so his father could take an executive job at Johnson and Johnson. Shortly after, Janet got an early glimpse of her son's sense of justice.

He became fast friends with Steve Brown, one of the few black students at his school. One afternoon, the boys went to get pizza at Travis' favorite downtown shop. Brown ordered a slice of pepperoni, but the man at the counter looked right past him and asked Travis what he wanted. Brown again asked for a slice of pepperoni and again, the man looked past him and asked for Travis' order.

"I'd like a slice of pepperoni," Travis said. The sixth-grader got his pizza and quickly handed it to his buddy, according to Janet. "You know what. We're not going to come back here," he told the counterman who had ignored Brown. Sure enough, Janet says, he boycotted the joint from then on.

Travis grew into a strapping kid who earned top grades in history and math and loved to question just about everything. At La Salle, the Catholic school he entered in ninth grade, he starred on the football, wrestling and lacrosse teams and fit easily into the popular crowd.

Travis grew up around family friends who had attended the Naval Academy, but his parents were surprised when he insisted on Annapolis as his only possible destination for college. They cajoled him into applying to a few less selective schools. But during a family move a few years later, Janet found the application forms, never sent, in one of his drawers.

Travis adjusted to plebe summer more easily than most. He was plenty strong for the physical challenges and plenty bright for the intellectual ones. "Your son's going to do great," an officer told the Manions when they visited him for the first time.

By October, however, Travis had his doubts about academy life. He heard his sister's tales of carefree college nights and bristled at the restrictions on his time. He had to finish the semester, his parents told him. But when Travis went home for winter break, he arranged a transfer to Drexel and left Navy behind.

Big brother

Brendan Looney grew up in Calvert County, the oldest of six siblings in an affectionate but tough Irish Catholic family.

"We expected a lot out of them," says his father, Kevin Looney. "We told them that you're given a lot, so we expect a lot."

Brendan took his role as big brother seriously. When Christmas approached, he called conferences with his two brothers and three sisters so they could synchronize their lists and maximize the gift haul for the entire tribe. He practiced tackling and wrestling with his little brothers, Steve and Billy, making sure that if anyone ever tried to pick on them, they'd be ready.

Brendan's sister, Erin, remembers how hard the younger siblings worked to earn his favor. He liked to construct challenges that pitted one against the other. One day, it might be a race to see which little sister could jump through the ceiling fan without getting her head whacked. The next, Brendan might strap Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtle pillows to their arms and coach them through a wrestling match. The prize? His weight belt wrapped in tinfoil.

Time in his room was an even greater reward.

"I don't even know that we were allowed to talk," Erin says. "But just getting to hang out with him, you would think, 'Man, this is a good day.'"

Erin could only laugh when war-hardened SEALs approached her at Brendan's funeral and told her how they had cherished any chance to hang in her brother's quarters.

All the male Looneys went to DeMatha for high school, and there was no doubt Brendan would follow the line to Hyattsville. He threw himself into sports, starting on both offense and defense for a football powerhouse that sent players to major Division I programs and the NFL. Even after a hard afternoon practice and an hour-long ride home, Brendan often ran up and down the quarter-mile hill behind his family's home.

"When it came to the fourth quarter of a game, he wanted to know that he had worked harder than the other guy," says Kevin, his voice catching and tears welling in his eyes.

He was the type who ran every practice sprint as hard as he could, stayed late to coach younger players and changed games with his reckless hits.

"Without a doubt, Brendan was the leader of that team," says longtime DeMatha coach Bill McGregor. "There might have been better athletes, but he was the leader."

Because he was only 5-foot-10 and lacked the speed of a pro receiver, Brendan did not draw attention from the flashy football schools that recruited his friends. But he wanted to play Division I and that goal steered him to Navy, which often recruits undersized but tough prospects.

Brendan started at the academy's prep school in Rhode Island, because he was colorblind and there were only so many slots in Annapolis for colorblind midshipmen. He stood out from his first day, says another former roommate, Neil Toohey. He met standards easily and in his spare time, helped others reach them. He even folded Toohey's socks and underwear so his friend wouldn't get in trouble during inspection.

"He had a leg up on the rest of us, but rather than show us up, he helped us out," Toohey says. "Who else would fold my laundry?"

Birth of a friendship

In April of his first semester at Drexel, Travis called his mother from a bar, where he was partying with fellow lacrosse players.

"I want to go back to the academy," he told her. "These guys don't take college seriously enough."

Travis had lapped up the regular college life he believed he was missing in Annapolis and had decided the taste didn't suit him. But as hard as the academy is to enter in the first place, it's even harder to re-enter.

Tom Manion drove his son to Annapolis and sat in the parking lot as Travis tried to talk a colonel into letting him come back. The teenager said time away had taught him that he needed to be at a school where every day was lived with purpose. He got his readmission.

Travis returned in the winter of 2001 to resume his plebe year with a batch of midshipmen who had never met him and had spent months forging bonds without him. Brendan was in his new company.

But they didn't know each other well until the academy paired them as roommates in their sophomore year. The living arrangement proved auspicious, bringing two kindred spirits together.

"Brendan and Travis are so similar, so similar," Erin Looney says.

Travis visited the Looney house in Silver Spring on weekends, forming tight bonds with Brendan's brothers, who were academy-bound, and keeping a watchful eye on his friend's sisters. In turn, Brendan loved to relax at the second home the Manions kept in Annapolis, near the academy campus.

They often described themselves as "brothers from another mother," the Manions say.

Erin Looney laughs, recalling how Travis was just as likely as Brendan to cast a skeptical eye at a Looney sister and say, "Why are you looking at that boy?"

"It was like jeez, Travis, I've already got three of these guys watching everything I do," she says.

Once, Brendan phoned from California and insisted that his youngest sister, Kelly, put her boyfriend on a conference call with the brothers. "How many pull-ups can you do?" he asked the poor guy. "How many push-ups?"

Exasperated with the answers, Brendan said, "Well what can you do?"

When Brendan went on dates with his future wife in Annapolis, Travis often tagged along. The roommates split the cost of a guitar and taught themselves to play, albeit not very well. Travis' greatest hit was an improvised goof called "Orange Sherbet." At other times, they might sit together in silence and suddenly burst into laughter at the same moment.

"It was almost like they could read each other's minds," Janet Manion says.

Peers regarded Travis as the more philosophical of the two. His classmate, Mathews, remembers walking into his room and finding a plastic box full of notecards, each with a quote that had struck Travis as meaningful. He became fascinated with the ancient fighting Spartans and could happily pass a day watching the whole run of HBO's series "Rome" in the family basement.

"Every movie he watched, any book he read, any girl he met at a bar, he tried to take some kind of learning lesson from it," Mathews says.

When talking about Brendan, classmates often resort to expletives to convey their awe at his physicality and determination.

"Whatever was put in front of him, he always just did it," Mathews says. "He was very stoic, but he had a presence about him. He did not want to surround himself with people who weren't trying to do their best."

Neither wanted to be on sidelines

Brendan's Navy football career stalled when a new coaching regime came in. So he turned to lacrosse, a sport he had barely played. It's extremely unusual for a novice to have any shot at playing for an elite lacrosse program, but the challenge thrilled Brendan. He didn't mind practicing rudimentary skills like throwing a ball off the wall and catching it with his stick.

Former Navy coach Richie Meade unreservedly calls him the toughest kid on the team, a fast bundle of muscle who would fly in after the faceoff and obliterate a key opposing player. He did just that against No. 1 Maryland his senior year, setting the stage for a Navy upset.

"It was a rough game, and he was the roughest guy on the field," Meade recalls. "You just felt good going in, knowing that Brendan was on your team and not the other."

Brendan played extensively his senior year, when his brothers were also both on the team. Together, the three Looneys helped take the Midshipmen to the NCAA championship game.

"He was the real deal," Meade says. "Everything that, as an American, you would want this institution to instill in a leader, Brendan Looney was all of that."

Travis, meanwhile, wrestled in the 184-pound weight class for Navy. Though he lacked elite quickness and flexibility, he built enormous strength in the weight room and was rising in the national rankings when he hurt his shoulder as a junior. Surgery and rehabilitation never got him back to where he hoped.

"He went through a grieving process with it, wanting to do more, getting angry and then reaching acceptance," says Navy wrestling coach Bruce Burnett. "He got to the point where he said, 'If I can't do this, what can I do?'"

For the Army meet his senior year, Burnett asked him to go through the ardors of dropping weight so he would be eligible to wrestle even though he would not actually compete. By putting Travis in the lineup, Burnett forced a strategic switch in Army's lineup that ultimately helped Navy win. Travis made the effort without complaint, though he was too hurt to train off the pounds easily.

The mentality that made Brendan and Travis similar as athletes also informed their approach to service after graduation in 2004. Both wanted to make a difference in battle as soon as they could.

"They were always players," Janet Manion says, drawing the connection between their athletic and military mindsets. "They didn't want to sit on the sidelines. It's who they were."

Travis chose to follow his father into the Marines. He aced officer training school and wanted to go infantry. Instead, much to his frustration, he was assigned to a logistics unit for his first tour of Iraq. His only real thrill was guarding a polling place when the reconstructed country held its first election.

"I don't want to say he was bored," his sister says.

"But he wanted to go on more missions," Janet Manion cuts in.

Brendan found his early years of service even more frustrating. He wanted to be a SEAL but couldn't because of his colorblindness. Instead, he was assigned to an intelligence unit in South Korea, where he lived his worst nightmare — sitting behind a desk analyzing data all day.

"You don't want to be a nose picker like I am," he told his brother Billy.

Salvation finally came in the form of a new waiver allowing colorblind sailors to enter SEAL training. Brendan would get to test his physical prowess the way he wanted. He began Basic Underwater Demolition (BUDs) training in the spring of 2007.

Dying the way he lived

The Manions have zeroed in on one conversation to illustrate the service ethic shared by their son and Brendan.

Travis was home on leave at a Philadelphia Eagles game with his brother-in-law, Dave Borek. As they approached an escalator at the stadium, his brother-in-law joked that he could shove Travis down in hopes that he might break an ankle and miss his next combat tour.

Travis turned with a serious look and said, "Dave, if not me, then who?"

He left for his last tour of Iraq the day after Christmas in 2006. This time, he would be embedded with an Iraqi unit in Fallujah, helping the soldiers learn to fight insurgents. Early in the tour, he told his dad, "It's pretty serious over here now."

At the same time, he relished bonding with the Iraqi soldiers he advised. He listened to tapes to improve his Arabic and helped build a new mess hall.

Last year, Tom Manion used his military connections to arrange a trip to Fallujah, where he met some of the Iraqis who served with Travis. They remembered staying up late with him to share philosophical talks about the mission.

"Manion was different," Tom remembers them saying. "He reached out to us and tried to build relationships. He cared about us as people."

Travis' reports grew more dire as his tour went on. During one conversation, his sister made a casual remark about his deployment being half over. "Just because I'm halfway doesn't make it any safer or easier," he said.

In March, a roadside bomb rocked his vehicle, leaving him dazed. But Travis, at 200 pounds plus gear strapped all over him, busted out of the wreckage and chased down the trigger man. His Iraqi peers wanted to execute the enemy, Tom Manion says, but Travis talked them into escorting the insurgent to prison. He posthumously won the Bronze Star for his actions that day.

The last time he spoke with his parents, his connection kept cutting off, but he kept calling back as if he had something important to get out.

"I don't know if the American people know this, but we're doing a lot over here," his father remembers him saying. "We're fighting every day in the streets, and we're making a difference."

"It was probably the most intense talk we ever had," Tom Manion says.

Janet Manion doesn't know why, but on the following Sunday, she invited a passel of friends and family to the house for a picnic. They planted flowers, kids played ball in the backyard and smoke poured off the grill. "It was almost like he called us together," she says.

She answered a ring of the doorbell and saw a uniformed man standing outside.

On patrol in Fallujah that day, Travis' unit had fallen into an ambush by enemy snipers. The citation for Travis' Silver Star says he pulled a wounded Navy medic from the line of fire, then emerged from cover again to pull a Marine to safety. He emerged one last time to lay down fire so his wounded comrades could be rescued. In that exchange, a sniper shot and killed him. He was 26.

Rob Sarver, another academy classmate, got the call on his cell phone as he and Brendan readied their gear for the start of SEAL training. "Something bad happened to Travis," the voice on the other end said.

"I had never seen Brendan emotionally upset," Sarver recalls. "But I could really tell it hit him like a ton of bricks. He just said very quietly and very stoically, 'This training means more now than it did before. We have to go back and continue fighting where Travis died.'"

Brendan listened to Travis' funeral on speakerphone in San Diego. He bawled in calls home to his mother and Amy.

He kept his vulnerability to himself during SEAL training.

The 14-month preparation amounts to consensual torture. The candidates run four miles uphill with 35 pounds of weight in their packs. They wade shirtless into chilly water and then do hundreds of calisthenics in the rough sand. Nothing slowed Brendan. He performed so well during "Hell Week" that fellow trainees rechristened it "Camp Looney."

"In the two-mile swims and the four-mile runs, there was just no comparison," Sarver says. "Brendan physically crushed them."

As soon as Brendan came home from training, he drove to Pennsylvania and sat at the Manions' basement bar, crying and telling stories about Travis. The night before 120 people ran the Marine Corps Marathon in Travis' honor, Brendan spoke to them with tears in his eyes about how much he loved his roommate.

Together again

Brendan loved being a SEAL lieutenant — the crazy rigor of learning to ride a horse or a dirt bike so he'd know how to do it on covert missions.

"The more strength and the more skill it took, the more Brendan enjoyed it," says his uncle, Chris Parker.

In a company of tough men, he represented a rugged pinnacle that others aspired to reach. If he ate fish one night, they ate fish. If he took two scoops of veggies, they took two scoops. He cultivated a wilder look, letting his hair grow long and his beard fill out. His college lacrosse coach, Meade, joked that when Brendan returned to campus, younger midshipmen stayed a step back from him, as if Thor had entered their locker room.

Brendan first served a tour in Iraq and then deployed to Afghanistan on March 9 of last year. He sounded happy on calls home, though he couldn't say much about his covert missions. In typical fashion, he complained that his unit could be doing more. As the end of his five-year commitment neared, he signed on for another five.

Brendan's tour was almost over when he hopped on the helicopter in late September. A replacement SEAL team had arrived in Afghanistan, and back home, his mother was making plans with Amy for a visit to San Diego, where the young couple lived.

The accidental crash that day killed nine servicemen, including Brendan. He was 29.

Eighty people, including the Manions, drove to Delaware to greet his casket. Those who loved Brendan struggled with the idea that he was the one coming off the plane that September day. He had seemed so indestructible.

"To see a coffin come out with a flag on it and know that's Brendan Looney, it's tough," says Meade, his former lacrosse coach. "I said to my wife on the way back from Dover, 'Brendan would have been a better father than me.' I'm never going to be the same."

In the days of mourning that followed, Brendan's mother, Maureen, often sought Janet Manion for a hug. "I don't want you to leave," she told Travis' mother. "You're the only one who knows what this feels like."

As it happened, the Manions had felt misgivings since burying Travis near their home. Before his death, he had told several people he wanted to be interred at Arlington. His sister had pushed her parents to move him. Now, Amy Looney was saying that her husband and Travis belonged together.

Cemetery officials said they could not hold a spot next to Brendan but said the roommates could be side-by-side if the Manions acted quickly.

"It just felt like the right thing to do," Janet Manion says.

So one burial became two.

Marines, SEALs and friends from as far back as elementary school poured in to pay their respects and tell the families stories of how Brendan and Travis had touched them. The SEALs sported fresh tattoos of skeletal frogs adorned with Brendan's initials.

Many shared the same solace, that both men died doing what they were meant to do, that both lived according to the principles they shared.

"It's the old Braveheart thing," Mathews says. "Would you rather die in bed many years from now or would you rather give your life for something like freedom?"

The Looneys endured the pain knowing that their other two boys would be back to Navy service a few days later, Billy as a supply officer at the academy in Annapolis and Steve as an intelligence specialist in San Diego. "We all still believe in what they and Brendan were fighting for," says Maureen, wearing a bright green Navy T-shirt.

Erin Looney says her brother was drawn to tight communities in which he felt a powerful common purpose. She knows that whenever she visits Brendan's marble headstone, she'll see Travis to his right. The pilot of the helicopter in which he died is buried to his left.

"Even when he's gone, he's got this tight crew around him," she says. "He has his guys with him

Security deal sealed in southern Afghanistan....a large serving of "crow" is due for the President who has been proven wrong

My time in Fallujah was during the height of the battle there....Fall 2004 - Spring 2005. The place was the " Wild West ". When we spoke with Command, they would tell us that we should get used to the place, as we would likely be coming back here for a good long time....They estimated it would be 5-10 years worth of fighting before Fallujah and Anbar Province would be calm. This was the reality of the world we lived in.

Now, we look back at " The Surge " and how our President and his ilk stated "it would not work"...they were on the TV each night deriding the commander on the ground, General Petraeus, who was betting his career that he knew better than a bunch of idjits like Senator "Barry from Chicago" who didn't have a clue. By the end of 2007, Iraq had turned a corner, and those who had served in battle knew better than a bunch of Washington Liberal Elite Dems.

Flash forward to today - POTUS has had to eat his words as the strategy he said wouldn't work, did. Not only worked, but succeeded wildly. Iraq is not like middle America, but it sure as hell isn't like it used to be....The Tribal leaders turned on the foriegn fighters and that was the end of their stupid games.

Now, we are seeing the same idea work in Afghanistan where the local tribal leaders in Helmand Province are turning against foreign fighters, just like they did in Iraq.

One large serving of crow for the idjit-in-charge as he was too stupid to listen then and too sanctimonious to come out and and admit it worked again. John McCain was right both times but doesn't need to say so as the sober satisfaction of having the Honor to stick to your principles is something he knows well, and something "Barry-from-Chicago" will never know.


Rare security deal sealed in southern Afghanistan: Officials
AFPJanuary 4, 2011

Afghanistan - International forces have brokered a rare deal with elders in an area of southern Afghanistan to keep the Taliban out in return for commitments on patrols and development, officials said Tuesday.

The agreement was struck in a part of the Sangin district of Helmand province, one of the bloodiest battlegrounds of the nine-year battle between Taliban militants and NATO-led troops, who now number around 140,000.

The pact, thought to be the first of its kind for several years, covers Sarwan Qala, one of the biggest villages in Helmand and its surrounding rural area, where around 4,000 families are thought to live.

Under its terms international forces will only conduct operations in co-ordination with Afghan troops, local officials said.

"The elders will not let foreign Taliban enter the area, Afghan Taliban will not be allowed to conduct attacks in the area," Helmand provincial spokesman Daud Ahmadi said, describing the deal.

"Government will launch uplift projects like clinics, schools and road construction in the area.

"ISAF (the International Security Assistance Force) will not conduct any arbitrary operations in the area. If there is a need for an operation, ISAF will only conduct operations in co-ordination with Afghan security forces."

The agreement is thought to be the first of its kind since a controversial deal struck by British forces with insurgents in nearby Musa Qala which broke down in 2007.

The new agreement was also confirmed by coalition forces in Helmand, although a spokesman for the mainstream Taliban strongly dismissed the announcements, calling them "propaganda".

Major General Richard Mills, ISAF's commanding general in the region, said he was "cautiously optimistic" it could succeed.

"The tribal elders presented the Afghan government and coalition leaders a document signed by seven Taliban commanders who agreed to follow the direction of the elders (to stop fighting)," an ISAF statement said.

"In exchange, the elders asked that Afghan forces lead searches of area compounds, that all patrols in the area are partnered and for commitments for short-term and long-term reconstruction and development projects."

© Copyright (c) AFP

The Iraq Experience....This Seabees' view and why the MEDIA has no standing.

The picture above shows Seabees from my unit showing their pride in the New England Patriots and being proud of being from New England. Good Stuff.

I have listened to the political wrangling, posturing & all the noise coming from the media regarding the Iraq conflict and the close of combat operations.

I was there in Iraq for the Battle of Fallujah. It was a difficult mission and the Iraqi people needed our help before and after we ousted a ruthless Dictator who brutalized his people, and allowed others (especially his sons) to rape & murder at will.

The key was that we did our duty, we upheld our core values and we had empathy for those who were there who only wanted to live in peace.

The measure of victory that I gained was that we went into Fallujah at the height of the battle with 130 Seabees and when our tour was done, we brought 130 Seabees home safely.

No other measure of success was more important or mattered more to me & my fellow Seabees.

That we were able to help Iraq start on a path toward a better country was important, and the ability to help her citizens cannot be understated, but most importantly, we brought ALL our troops home to their families alive and in one piece.

I'll leave the blathering to the pundits, mainly as they have no standing as they were only observers and they didn't have "skin" in the game. Me & mine did and that is why we can speak with an understanding of what was important and what isn't. The pundits can all just go about their business, thank you very much. They are highly inconsequential and their opinions rendered moot.