Tom Sileo (2 page)

—General John Allen, USMC (Ret.)

Prologue

JUST ANOTHER DAY

A
round every corner was a possible ambush. Beneath every roadway or garbage pile was a potential roadside bomb. Atop every roof or mosque tower was a possible sniper. In April 2007, Fallujah, Iraq, was arguably the most dangerous city in the world.

Stationed on a small forward operating base inside the war-ravaged terrorist haven was Travis Manion, a US Marine officer from Doylestown, Pennsylvania, near Philadelphia. At twenty-six, Travis was already on his second deployment to Fallujah, where American troops had fought some of the bloodiest battles since Vietnam.

Before heading out for another perilous patrol aimed at capturing and killing members of al Qaeda in Iraq, Travis, the son of a Marine Corps colonel, was finishing an e-mail to his friends and family back home. Eagerly awaiting his updates from the front lines was his close friend and US Naval Academy roommate, Brendan Looney, who was about to start training to become a Navy SEAL.

“We are a little over the halfway point of deployment,” Travis began. “We have been pretty busy and working hard.”

After explaining that times were tough in Fallujah, Travis, who was leading American and Iraqi troops into battle on a daily basis, closed his e-mail on an upbeat note.

“I'm excited to see the deployment end strong and leave the Iraqi battalion at a higher level than when we arrived,” the Marine Corps first lieutenant wrote. “I miss you guys and I'm looking forward to seeing you soon.”

Just a few days after sending the e-mail, Travis wasn't sure if he'd ever see his friends or family again. Surrounded by earsplitting rocket-propelled grenade (RPG) explosions and machine gun fire from enemy insurgents, a joint combat patrol on April 23, 2007, was quickly becoming a disaster for US and Iraqi forces. If the patrol couldn't quickly mount an effective counterattack, every US Marine and Iraqi Army soldier was in danger of not making it out of Fallujah's notorious industrial sector.

Most of the industrial area's streets were narrow and strewn with trash. Low-hanging electrical wires were everywhere, making it difficult to see rooftops, where the enemy would usually hide. On these joint patrols, the question wasn't if American and Iraqi troops would be attacked, but when.

Everyone, including Travis, was sweating and breathing heavily as the fierce battle's intensifying chaos exacerbated Iraq's already brutal heat. Enemy gunfire was raining down from multiple rooftops, making it difficult to hear and even harder to see. Bullets were smashing into buildings, creating a choking mixture of dust and concrete in the air as debris fell all around Travis's endangered patrol.

Several months into his second deployment, Travis knew Fallujah's streets almost as well as Philadelphia's. Shouting over enemy AK-47 and RPG fire, he told his Marines and their Iraqi partners where to go and how to get there. If the patrol was going to survive this attack, it was imperative that they get into proper fighting position.

Two Marines had already been wounded during the firefight, which made the situation even more urgent. They were lying behind a nearby Humvee, and Travis's first priority was reaching them. Braving enemy gunfire, Travis and his Marines made a beeline toward their injured comrades.

As Travis reached the most severely wounded American, he knelt over the Marine while continuing to direct his teammates.

“Keep moving!” Travis shouted to his men. “I've got to help this guy, or we're going to lose him.”

After taking out his first aid kit, Travis pressed down and tried to stop the Marine's bleeding.

“You're going to be alright, brother,” Travis said. “Just breathe.”

Travis was still keeping tabs on his Marines. When he saw one teammate take a step in the wrong direction, he yelled out “LEFT!” to make sure the Marine stayed out of enemy crosshairs.

After a few minutes, the wounded Marine's bleeding was under control. Travis was confident he would survive and passed him off to a Marine from an adjacent unit before turning back toward the bullet-riddled street.

Like a lion let out of its cage, Travis burst onto the street and began firing at enemy positions with his M-4 rifle and attached M-203 grenade launcher. Punishing gunfire from Travis and his Marines quickly silenced one rooftop, and in just a few moments, the momentum was with the Americans.

Then a massive blast rocked the city's industrial sector. The force shook buildings and sent a huge cloud of dust billowing above Fallujah's buildings and electrical wires. Travis had been encountering roadside bombs since his first deployment, but this was the loudest explosion he had ever heard.

Travis and his fellow Marines watched as—in what seemed like slow motion—two Americans flew out of an armored Humvee and landed on the street. The US vehicle from the adjacent unit had struck an improvised explosive device (IED) while trying
to move out of the kill zone, sending pieces of the Humvee flying so high into the air that Marines stationed several blocks away could see the blast's terrifying impact.

“MOVE!” Travis yelled as he took off running toward the two wounded Americans.

Upon arriving at what was left of the devastated Humvee, Travis found the first Marine pinned under a piece of the damaged vehicle. He asked a teammate to work on freeing the man while he ran toward the Humvee's turret gunner, who was the second casualty.

During the explosion, a huge piece of the vehicle had hit the Marine's head. The heavy chunk of metal had shattered his jaw and made it nearly impossible for him to breathe. He lay motionless in the street while Travis lifted a piece of the turret off his face and lifted him up.

“I've got you!” Travis said, carrying the Marine to safety. Travis and his teammates had already eliminated enemy gunfire from one rooftop, but sporadic shots were still ringing out from another.

Quickly recognizing that the gagging Marine's airway was blocked, Travis reached into his first aid kit and pulled out a nasopharyngeal tube. Pushing the device into the Marine's bloody nose, Travis comforted the frightened young American as he struggled to breathe.

“You're going to make it,” Travis said. “I'm with you, man.”

After a few tense moments, the wounded Marine's gasps for air became normal breaths, which allowed Travis to turn his attention to helping the adjacent unit organize a medevac to transport the wounded to hospitals on nearby bases. Eventually it became clear that all the injured Americans would survive.

For Travis, the day wasn't over when the medevac was complete or the enemy gunfire subsequently died down. Furious after seeing fellow Marines shot and nearly crushed by debris, Travis ran toward the crater left by the massive IED and found the command wire that enemy forces had used to detonate it. He organized
a team, which carefully followed the wire to the inside of a nearby building, then rounded up several suspected terrorists and took them in for questioning.

Less than a week later, that harrowing patrol would pale in comparison to another vicious battle on the war-torn streets of Iraq's Al Anbar province. For the warriors of Fallujah, April 23, 2007, was just another day.

1

CALL TO ARMS

B
rendan Looney was heading out to football practice at the US Naval Academy in the spring of 2001 when he heard the quiet strumming of a guitar as he walked by a room. Travis Manion was playing the opening chords to the Dave Matthews Band song “What Would You Say.”

“Hey, man, that's pretty good,” Brendan said. “I saw them at Nissan Pavilion—it was one hell of a show.”

“That's in Virginia, right?” Travis asked, laying the guitar on his lap while looking up at Brendan. “You from around here?”

“Yep, Owings, Maryland, and now Silver Spring,” Brendan said. “What about you?”

“Philadelphia,” Travis said. “About forty minutes away in a place called Doylestown.”

“Uh-oh,” Brendan said. “Eagles fan?”

“Yep,” Travis responded.

“Shit,” Brendan said as the young midshipmen shared a laugh. “'Skins all the way.”

The die-hard Washington Redskins fan knew this Philadelphia Eagles supporter was on the wrestling team, but he couldn't remember his name, so Brendan decided to introduce himself.

“I'm Brendan Looney,” he said.

“I'm Travis Manion,” said Travis. “Great to meet you.”

“Good to meet you, too,” Brendan said. “I gotta get to practice.”

“Me, too,” Travis said. “Football?”

“Yep,” Brendan answered. “You're wrestling, right?”

“Yeah, I had to retire from football,” Travis said. “I knew I'd never be good enough to make the Eagles, and I didn't want to end up on a team like the Redskins.”

After another laugh, the varsity athletes headed to separate practices. The Naval Academy freshmen (or plebes, as members of the youngest class are called) might have played different sports and rooted for different NFL teams, but each had just made a new friend.

Few wanted to line up across from Brendan at Navy football practices. As a slotback for the Midshipmen, who famously specialize in running the option, Brendan's job was to blast anyone trying to tackle the ball carrier with a crushing block. He wasn't a starter, but in practice, he was among the team's most feared players.

Before Navy and the Naval Academy Preparatory School (NAPS), Brendan played high school football at DeMatha Catholic High School. In the Washington, DC, area, “DeMatha” was synonymous with “powerhouse,” as the Hyattsville, Maryland, all-men's school has been a force in high school athletics for decades. Two of its most notable football players are Brian Westbrook, who starred for many years on Travis's Eagles, and his brother, Byron Westbrook, who went on to play for Brendan's Redskins.

Ben Mathews, a Navy linebacker, became friends with Brendan after observing his almost superhuman work ethic in the weight room. After introducing himself and quickly realizing that Brendan was a warm, friendly guy, Mathews wanted to see if he could keep up with his teammate's workout regimen, which included countless squats.

The experiment ended with Mathews throwing up on the weight room floor. Brendan was an impressive physical specimen, and few could keep up with him in any setting involving athletic challenges.

On one particularly hot, stuffy day Mathews, exhausted after studying all night for an exam, was going through the motions during team drills. The first teammate to notice his lack of intensity was Brendan, who would never give anything less than 100 percent on the practice field. He reacted fiercely when he saw anyone not doing his part to prepare for the next game.

As the whistle blew, Brendan, the slotback, ran straight toward Mathews, the linebacker. While Mathews trotted toward the tailback, Brendan came seemingly out of nowhere and hammered his friend, who hit the ground almost as quickly as Brendan reached out to help him up. With blood spraying from his broken nose, the confused, disoriented linebacker took the hand of the teammate who had just embarrassed him with a bone-crushing blow.

Brendan was a man of deeds, not words, and while helping the injured player off the turf, gave him a look that Mathews interpreted as “if you want to be first team, play like it.”