Tom Sileo (26 page)

The warm messages of support helped replace the cold feeling Ryan had felt in Dover. She also noticed reporters from every major Philadelphia-area television station and newspaper, which helped the audience appreciate the significance of the heartrending moment they were about to witness.

Dave, who wore an American flag pin on his dark suit, thought again of what his brother-in-law had said after the Eagles game in December—“If not me, then who . . .”—and marveled at the quote's unmistakable meaning. Though Travis had said it in passing, without the slightest hint of bravado, he had backed up his words with decisive, selfless actions.

Nobody in the packed hangar knew what to expect as an anxious calm blended with what would have been an ordinary, comfortable spring day. From eastern Pennsylvania to Iraq, where the Marines of 3-2-1 MiTT and their Iraqi counterparts were holding
a memorial service for their brother in arms, this was a time of utter uncertainty.

Janet heard the faint sound of helicopters approaching, gasping as she looked toward the partly cloudy skies. She squeezed her husband's arm in anticipation.

Tom also looked up at the sky, which he had shouted at in anger four days earlier after realizing Travis was dead. Ever since that excruciating moment, however, he had been determined to hold the family together.

When the sound of the choppers grew louder, Tom stood at attention and tried not to cry as the helicopters appeared over the distant treetops. Janet gripped both her husband's and daughter's arms. In a few agonizing moments, Travis would finally be home.

The audience's heartache was palpable as the helicopter carrying Travis flew over the treetops, descended slowly, and landed gently on the warm Pennsylvania concrete.

To Tom and Janet, the helicopter was carrying a beloved son. To Ryan and Dave, it was carrying a trusted brother. To Travis's relatives, it was carrying a grandson, nephew, or cousin. To the Marines standing at attention, it was carrying a brother in arms. To everyone else, the chopper was bringing home a young man who was willing to sacrifice everything to protect others.

When the helicopter's rear hatch opened and six Marines carried Travis back to the place where most of his formative years had been spent, onlookers saw a young man's casket covered with the flag that so many heroes of current and prior generations have fought to preserve.

Major Steve Cantrell, who had taken Travis to the Rescue One firehouse in lower Manhattan and comforted the twenty-six-year-old Marine after the first time he struck down an enemy fighter on the battlefield, rode in the back of the helicopter that brought Travis back to Pennsylvania. He had spent the previous night guarding Travis and even slept in front of his casket. From Fallujah to Doylestown, the fallen Marine was never alone.

As Cantrell watched his fellow Marines march Travis toward his loved ones, a bagpipe played the first, dramatic notes of “Amazing Grace.” The timeless hymn echoed through the hangar, causing Tom, Janet, Ryan, Dave, and almost everyone else in the audience to weep.

Many who watched in person and on Philadelphia-area television sets were shocked to see such an emotionally visceral ceremony. Since Vietnam, the public had been largely sheltered from seeing the toll of war unfold before their eyes. But as Tom and Janet often said, Americans had to see war's consequences in order to grasp the burden military families were enduring. While Ryan and Dave chose to shield Maggie from the confusion of seeing her uncle's coffin being carried off the helicopter, older children in attendance got their first glimpse of the military community's enormous sacrifices.

Brigadier General Dave Papak, who had immersed himself in every detail of Travis's homecoming since first receiving the devastating e-mail from his commanding officer in New Orleans, summed up the ceremony's meaning in three words: “Welcome home, warrior.”

The Manion family was exhausted by the time they collapsed into a limousine to follow the hearse to the funeral home. That's when Krista Brown, a close family friend who had grown up with Ryan and Travis, looked up with a blank expression after receiving a shocking text message.

“Colby Umbrell was killed today in Iraq,” she said.

“Oh, my God,” Ryan said. “We went to high school with him.”

“What?” Janet said, covering her mouth with both hands. “Oh no, it can't be . . . that poor family.”

After a moment of silence, Janet took Ryan's and Krista's hands.

“Let's all lower our heads and say a prayer,” she said.

Twenty-six-year-old US Army First Lieutenant Colby Umbrell was killed in action on May 3, 2007, by an enemy IED in Musayyib, just south of Baghdad. In a cruel twist of fate, two sons of
the small community of Doylestown serving in Iraq were killed just four days apart.

“Two in one week,” Tom said before rephrasing his sentence as a question. “Two in one week?”

Shock and disbelief gripped Bucks County, Pennsylvania, during the difficult days that followed. But as stores sold out of American flags and schoolteachers brought children outside during both funeral processions, there was a sense of pride and patriotism not seen in the Philadelphia area since the entire nation rallied in unison on September 12, 2001.

The day after learning of Umbrell's death, Ryan, who had never met her onetime classmate's parents, went with her Uncle Chris to the family's house to pay her respects. They exchanged hugs, tears, and stories about their loved ones.

For US Marine Captain Brian Stann, who had seen the horrors of war up close on the bloody, bombed-out streets of Iraq, Travis's death was another devastating blow.

From May 8–14, 2005, then Second Lieutenant Stann was instrumental in holding down a bridge after his unit was ambushed by enemy fighters using IEDs, machine guns, and rocket-propelled grenades. The Scranton, Pennsylvania, native had also directed casualty evacuations that helped save the lives of several wounded Marines.

“Inspired by his leadership and endurance, 2nd Lt. Stann's platoon held the battle position on the Euphrates River for six days protecting the Task Force flank and isolating foreign fighters and insurgents north of the river,” read Stann's Silver Star citation.

Stann rarely spoke about his gallantry in combat and consistently refused to take any credit, even after receiving the military's third-highest honor. He had told Travis about those hellish events, however, to help prepare his friend for what he would soon encounter in Iraq.

The Marine officer had endured the loss of Naval Academy friends, explained to weeping mothers that sons under his command weren't coming home, and seen the limbs of fellow Marines blown off by roadside bombs. But when Stann arrived at the Reed-Steinbach Funeral Home in Doylestown, he felt lost.

As the Iraq war hero waited in a long line that stretched outside the funeral home, he turned to his wife, Teressa. During his first deployment, Travis had e-mailed Stann from Iraq to congratulate Brian and Teressa on their engagement. He couldn't wait to see them again upon returning from his second deployment.

Shaking his head, Stann said to his wife, “I can't believe Travis is gone. I can't believe it.”

As Stann waited, he saw everyone from Naval Academy buddies and fellow Marines to Travis's high school friends and grieving relatives. Police officers and firefighters were everywhere, and the Patriot Guard Riders, pledging to protect the fallen hero's farewell from any potential protests, surrounded the premises with Harley Davidson motorcycles and American flags. Though Stann could hardly bear the day's emotions, it was heartening to see the solemn event being handled with so much dignity. The patriotism was palpable.

Stann recalled how, after returning from Iraq, he would calmly and patiently listen when Travis called from Fallujah during his first deployment to voice frustrations about not being able to leave his base to go outside the wire on a daily basis. While Stann knew how much it hurt Travis to be stuck mostly on the sidelines, he had encouraged the young Marine in the same way Travis had inspired him to push toward becoming a professional mixed martial arts fighter.

“Keep after it, Trav,” Stann often repeated.

The tragedy wouldn't seem real to Stann until he saw Travis's body for himself. He was sick to his stomach upon seeing the buttons, ribbons, and medals on his buddy's uniform. The sight of
Travis, with his “wrestler ears” and closed eyes, made grief's cold hands grab Stann by the throat like an opponent's crushing head-lock. He broke down.

“Travis wanted a family someday,” Stann said through tears. “Travis wanted a wife and children.”

As his wife consoled him, Stann quickly pulled himself together before going to speak to Tom, Janet, Dave, and Ryan. They were standing next to Krista, who was keeping the line organized and making sure the family had everything they needed.

Upon greeting Krista at the front of the line, Stann extended his hand to the steely, composed colonel, who was determined to put on a brave face to honor his son.

“Sir, I just want you to know how much Travis meant to me and how sorry I am,” Stann said. “I'll spend every day of my life trying to be like him.”

Tom hugged his son's friend and thanked him. Stann's condolences meant a lot. After Stann told Janet how sorry he was for her loss, she also expressed her gratitude.

Janet took solace in the endless stream of well-wishers. During an earlier, private viewing she had sobbed uncontrollably.

When she first saw Travis, Janet held her son's hand, kissed him, and finally got to give Travis the hug she had been longing for since receiving the painful news.

“I love you,” Janet told Travis, whose eyes were closed just like when he was a baby. “I am so proud of you.”

Before the public viewing started, Janet said a prayer, as she often did in difficult situations.

“Lord, help me to remember that nothing is going to happen today that you and I together can't handle,” she whispered. Even with her son's casket just steps away, Janet managed to compose herself and hug every single mourner.

Ryan took intermittent breaks after becoming panic stricken during the private viewing. After rubbing his head, much like when
they were little kids, Ryan secretly hoped Travis would wake up, then realized that he never would. Without Dave and Krista at her side and the relatives who had volunteered to watch Maggie, Ryan, who told Stann she couldn't believe Travis was gone, never would have made it through the morning viewing and early afternoon funeral services.

As Stann stood over his friend's body, he thought of all the times Travis had been there for him, starting with the night at the Naval Academy when they watched
Vanilla Sky
and were the only two guys who admitted that they liked the occasionally sappy film.

“Isn't that what being young is about? Believing secretly that you would be the one person in the history of man that would live forever?” says the movie's main character, played by Tom Cruise.

Few possessed a better understanding of mortality than Captain Brian Stann. But in that moment, as he again marveled at a line that stretched well outside the funeral parlor's front door, Stann realized that Travis had died doing exactly what he had written as they flew to their mutual friend's funeral: standing for what was right.

“You earned it, man,” Stann said, channeling one of his and Travis's favorite
Saving Private Ryan
quotes. “Good-bye, Trav.”

Though too humble to admit it, Stann, like many of his classmates and fellow warriors, had also earned it. Just over a year before his death, Travis had been ecstatic when his friend was singled out for some well-deserved praise.

“I appreciate the service of people like Marine 1st Lt. Brian Stann, a former Navy linebacker who was awarded the Silver Star last month for his actions and his bravery in Iraq,” President Bush had said on April 25, 2006.

After serving as a pallbearer at Travis's funeral, Brian Stann would become a champion mixed martial arts fighter, television analyst, author, and president of Hire Heroes USA, which helps veterans find employment. Before and after Travis was killed, Stann knew he would always be in his corner.

Along with Stann, Mike Bigrigg, Steve Brown, Sean Kent, Steve Kovach, Carlo Pecori, and Croft Young, Brendan was listed as a pallbearer. Not being able to pay his respects in person hurt more than any of the punishing challenges he would soon experience in BUD/S training. Instead Amy, who was also devastated by Travis's death, attended the funeral and burial with her boyfriend's immediate family. She had never lost a close friend and didn't know how she would handle saying good-bye to Travis.

The procession to and from Our Lady of Mount Carmel Catholic Church was the most inspiring sight that Amy, Stann, or anyone else who witnessed it had ever seen. All along Highway 611, from Doylestown to the Pennsylvania Turnpike junction at Willow Grove, fire truck ladders joined together to hang huge American flags over Pennsylvania streets and highways. Parents, teenagers, children, and the elderly all put their hands over their hearts and waved American flags. Veterans and active duty troops stood in silence to salute a fallen brother in arms. Pennsylvania governor Ed Rendell ordered a section of the Pennsylvania Turnpike closed to support the fallen Marine's massive procession, which included at least three hundred slow-moving vehicles.