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Unknown Soldiers – Top Gun

March 25, 2011 By Tom Sileo, Creators Syndicate Leave a Comment

 

U.S. Navy Cmdr. Dave Mundy, executive officer of the Carrier Airborne Early Warning Squadron (VAW) 121, presents a U.S. flag to the widow of Lt. Miroslav Steven Zilberman during his memorial ceremony April 8, 2010, in Norfolk, Va. (U.S. Navy photo by Mass Communication Specialist 2nd Class William Wienert/Released)

When future U.S. Navy pilot Miroslav Zilberman lost his grandfather, a Russian World War II aviator who spent almost a full year as a prisoner of war, he searched for the right words to honor his hero.

“I will always remember him as a loving and caring grandfather,” Zilberman, then training to become a pilot, said at the cemetery. “The next time I come here, I will proudly be wearing my uniform, and with honor, salute my grandfather and remember his life.”

Zilberman, known as “Steven” by many of his relatives and friends, worked incredibly hard to turn his dreams into reality, becoming a Navy lieutenant. He grew up in Kiev, Ukraine, but quickly became endeared to America after moving here in elementary school, eventually even referring to Columbus, Ohio, as home. Yet other than his family, including a wife and two children, there is one thing he adored above all else.

Officers bow their heads aboard the aircraft carrier USS Dwight D. Eisenhower (CVN 69) during a memorial service for Lt. Steven Zilberman. (U.S. Navy photo by Mass Communication Specialist 3rd Class Chad R. Erdmann/Released)

“He loved to fly,” Zilberman’s mother, Anna Sokolov, told The Unknown Soldiers. “One time, I remember I called him, and he was in Texas, and he was not in a good mood, which was unusual. I asked him, ‘Did something happen?’”

Zilberman told his mom that bad weather conditions would prevent him from flying that day.

“I said, ‘So what, you’ll fly tomorrow,’ and he said, ‘Mom, you don’t understand,’” Sokolov recalled. “He breathed aviation.”

Assigned to Carrier Airborne Early Warning Squadron (VAW-21), Zilberman soared into the skies, earning numerous educational and training achievements as a naval aviator. But as a dear friend who once helped a young Steven learn English noted, he did not make these sacrifices at his family’s expense.

“At the same time, (Zilberman) fulfilled the lofty personal goals of remaining a loving son to his devoted parents, Anna and Boris (Zilberman), a loving husband to Katrina, the love of his life since age 18, and loving father to their two beautiful children, Daniel and Sarah,” Marylin Rofsky said.

Tragically, those touching remarks were made at a memorial service for Zilberman at Naval Station Norfolk, Va., on April 8, 2010. The 31-year-old pilot’s E-2C Hawkeye crashed in the Arabian Gulf on March 31 while returning to the USS Dwight D. Eisenhower from a mission over Afghanistan. Despite a frantic and extensive search, his body was never recovered.

“I thought that it could not be because I only had one child and I brought him to America for a better life,” an emotional Sokolov told me. “Everything was all right in our family, even though my father was in two wars before he died at 92. It was horrible.”

(U.S. Navy photo by Mass Communication Specialist 3rd Class Chad R. Erdmann/Released)

Zilberman’s selfless actions in the moments before the crash earned him the Distinguished Flying Cross. According to numerous accounts, the pilot urged his three crewmembers to bail out as he battled a mechanical failure, keeping the plane steady just long enough to save their lives.

“Without his courageous actions, the entire crew would have perished,” a Navy citation reads.

Zilberman’s parents were unaware of many of their son’s accomplishments until his memorial service.

“He was a top pilot, but we didn’t know,” his proud mother explained. “He was very modest and would never brag about his own accomplishments. To him, it didn’t matter.”

When we think of American military pilots, many of us still recall Maverick and Goose gliding around the skies in the classic ’80s film “Top Gun,” with roaring engines and rock music in the background. Yet as we are reminded by Zilberman’s call sign of “Abrek,” which means “valiant man” in Russian, the real protectors of the sky are in danger at this very hour, flying perilous missions over combat zones in Afghanistan and Libya.

Today, we find ourselves set where Lt. Miroslav “Steven” Zilberman once stood, searching for the right way to honor our heroes. Maybe we can start by living a little bit more like them: making our country better and following our dreams, while at the same time always putting our loved ones first.

 

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Unknown Soldiers – Holding His Hand

March 18, 2011 By Tom Sileo, Creators Syndicate 1 Comment

Former Senate Majority Leader and World War II veteran Bob Dole with Sgt. Rusty Dunagan, who was wounded in Afghanistan. Photo courtesy Susan Porter.

One fall day in Guthrie, Okla., Glenda Porter was preparing to call her younger sister to wish her a happy birthday. But before she could dial the number, her phone rang. It was Angie, the wife of her son, Sgt. Rusty Dunagan, who was deployed to an undisclosed location in southwest Asia.

“She asked me if I was sitting down, and I just started crying,” Glenda, 55, tells The Unknown Soldiers. “I said, ‘Just tell me he’s alive.”

This is the call that she, and every military mom with a son or daughter overseas, dreads beyond imagination.

“She said he was alive, but he lost both his legs,” Glenda says. “I started to lose it, and then she said, ‘He also lost his arm.’”

Glenda hung up, cried and began frantically contacting relatives. Her sister, Susan Porter, who had recently moved to Pennsylvania, was expecting some 48th birthday shenanigans from her sibling, until picking up the phone and hearing a sound she’ll never forget.

“She was screaming,” Susan says of Glenda. “She wasn’t making any sense to me, and I thought something happened to our father, but it was about Rusty.”

After realizing that there had been an explosion on Sept. 22, 2010 and that her nephew was fighting for his life in Germany, Susan asked Glenda how she could help.

“I told her that we need as many people to pray for Rusty as possible,” Glenda says. “I told her to get on Facebook and put it on there, and she did.”

What happened next has reinforced Glenda’s unshakeable belief in God and the nation her son fought for. Thousands upon thousands of compassionate citizens began joining the page, “Hold My Hand,” to send prayers to Rusty and his family.

“People have just been so kind,” Glenda says about the Facebook page, which now has almost 20,000 supporters. “It really shows you how great America is.”

Susan thinks her nephew’s resolve caused the massive outpouring on the Facebook page she created.

“We get so busy and caught up with life, we’re used to conveniences and certain things,” Susan, who is planning an Aug. 6 benefit for her nephew in their hometown of Guthrie, says. “But when we hear about tragedy, and you can really put a face and name to it … it becomes a resource for people to be encouraged and for people to do something.”

In the first days following the explosion, Glenda would wait for 4:30 a.m. phone calls from a friend at the hospital in Germany. News was sometimes encouraging and sometimes grim. When I ask the soldier’s mom how many surgeries Rusty has underwent since September, Glenda says she’s “lost track.”

“He almost bled to death during his first surgery, and it seemed like he was having surgeries and blood transfusions almost every other day,” Glenda painfully recalls. “But he’s really strong — Rusty is so strong.”

Today, Dunagan, 30, is continuing his long recovery in San Antonio. There have been bad days, but also some good ones, like when the wounded hero got to see his three stepchildren for the first time since the explosion.

“I was concerned about how that would go,” Glenda admits. “But they didn’t act like anything was wrong; they went straight up to him and started hugging.”

Dunagan, who has a nine-month-old baby with his wife, has gone through more uncertainty than most of us will in a lifetime. But through faith and genuine appreciation of his remaining blessings, this soldier is still fighting.

“Someone asked him why he’s so positive,” his mom says. “He said it’s because he didn’t pass out — he remembers the explosion — he looked down and saw his legs and an arm gone, and yelled for the medic.”

“He thought he would die then, and thought he would die after it happened,” Glenda continues. “But he didn’t, and he believes it’s a gift. That’s his attitude.”

When Glenda got that heartbreaking phone call from her daughter-in-law, she wanted to be told that Dunagan was alive. He is, with a grateful nation holding the hand he has left.

 

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Unknown Soldiers – It Is What It Is

March 11, 2011 By Tom Sileo, Creators Syndicate 1 Comment

Moments after making the most difficult decision of her life, Crissie Carpenter thought she heard her husband’s voice, softly whispering in her ear.

“It is what it is,” he said.

A simple saying, it was also Lance Cpl. Andrew Carpenter’s favorite. And it gave comfort to his wife, eight months pregnant, as she made the crushing choice to remove him from life support from roughly 4,500 miles away, unable to fly to Germany with her due date so near.

“I told his mom to hold his hand and that I didn’t want to be on the phone when it happened,” the Marine’s widow told The Unknown Soldiers. “I spoke to him three different times — they put the phone up to his ear for me.”

Five days earlier, on Valentine’s Day 2011, the love of Crissie’s life was shot through the neck by an enemy sniper in Afghanistan. It was a tragic moment that her husband knew was coming, as evidenced by their final conscious phone call, which occurred three weeks before he was shot.

“We said ‘I love you’ 20 times before hanging up on that last phone call because I wouldn’t say goodbye,” Crissie said. “I have a feeling that he knew.”

Andrew, 27, told his wife that he was often at the front of combat patrols while serving in Afghanistan’s volatile Helmand province with the 3rd Battalion, 8th Marine Regiment. He fought valiantly, but was also deeply worried about what would happen to his wife and unborn son, Landon, after he was killed.

I hope the events of Feb. 28 in Columbia, Tenn., put the fallen hero’s fears to rest. On that gray, somber Monday, I witnessed a city of 38,000 stand shoulder to shoulder with the Carpenters in a seminal display of genuine compassion and resounding patriotism. The funeral home’s chapel and overflow room were packed beyond capacity. Thousands of citizens, including children and the elderly, stood in the cold mist to salute the hometown Marine’s funeral procession.

“It means so much to me,” Crissie wants her fellow Tennesseans to know. “Andy was a hero — he is a hero. Having everyone’s support, even people I don’t know, it makes you stronger. It’s indescribable.”

In a memorial service full of touching moments, I learned about how Andrew, himself a child at heart, adored kids. He still collected action figures, even keeping the harmless secret from his wife. He loved to play soccer with his nephew, Caleb, an activity he missed deeply in Afghanistan, where millions of children still suffer in the shadows of terrorism.

“He loved kids, and I really liked that about him,” Crissie said. “He had a great, awesome personality — a very nice, genuine person. I never heard him say anything mean about anyone.”

The only comforting aspect of the last three weeks’ devastating events is that Andrew got a head start on meeting his little boy.

“He isn’t here yet,” Crissie poignantly wrote of baby Landon in his father’s funeral program. “Right now he’s still in heaven with Andrew.”

I asked Crissie what she would tell Landon about his dad.

“I want him to know how excited (Andrew) was about him, what happened in Afghanistan and why his father is a hero,” she responded. “When he writes a school paper about who his hero is, I want him to write ‘my dad.’

“The simple fact of knowing what type of person Andy was, I think, will make Landon a better person, too,” Crissie continued.

The last song played at the celebration of Andrew’s life was Sarah McLachlan’s ‘Angel,’ which brought about 500 people, from battle-tested Marines to funeral home employees, to an authentic moment of reflection.

“You are pulled from the wreckage

Of your silent reverie

You’re in the arms of the angel

May you find some comfort here.”

“Prayer and God are the main things getting me through this,” Crissie said. “I feel at peace with the way it was supposed to be.”

To sum up this overwhelming post-9/11 ordeal of tragedy, selflessness, bravery and sacrifice, Crissie Carpenter returned to her husband’s motto.

“It is what it is.”

 

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Unknown Soldiers – Badge of Honor

March 4, 2011 By Tom Sileo, Creators Syndicate 1 Comment

After six hours of driving to and from Jordan’s border with Iraq, an exhausted Maj. Gen. David Blackledge wrapped up an early dinner with fellow U.S. Army officers at Amman’s Grand Hyatt on Nov. 9, 2005.

As Blackledge’s group walked past the hotel bar, a man sat down and ordered an orange juice. Moments later, as the soldiers walked toward the elevators, he blew himself up.

“It was pandemonium,” Blackledge told the Unknown Soldiers. “Between people trying to get in and out, and the emergency workers, it was full of gridlock.”

Flashing back to a harrowing 2004 ambush he barely survived during his prior Iraq war deployment, Blackledge knew the enemy too well to believe danger had passed.

“I told my fellow officers: ‘We need to get out of here,’” Blackledge said.

The general’s racing heart was met by the pounding pressure of another nearby explosion, which everyone felt in their chests as they raced through Amman’s chaotic streets. Despite neck and shoulder injuries, Blackledge guided his group to an Italian restaurant, where officers were promptly whisked away to a safe house.

“The pain didn’t really manifest itself until the next day because of adrenaline,” the general said.

When Blackledge was blindsided by this terrorist attack on three hotels, which killed 60 and injured more than 100, he was still haunted by images of the ambush in Iraq 14 months earlier, which left him in a body cast. The general was heading to a tribal meeting near Iskandariya when heavy machine-gun fire blasted his convoy.

“My translator, who was sitting behind me, had been shot in the head,” Blackledge recalled in a quiet, subdued tone. “As bullets flew through the windows, I was convinced that it was all over, and the next round was going to hit me, but I was going to go down shooting.”

After narrowly escaping the flipped-over SUV and diving into a nearby ditch, the general ran back toward another one of three convoy vehicles, which had burst into flames.

“I tried opening the back door, got it open and saw it was just tangled bodies and blood,” Blackledge said. “Then the captain said, ‘Get me out of here,’ because a translator was on top of him.”

When Blackledge bent down to help his comrade, he felt a crippling shot of pain through his lower back. As the general later learned, his L3 vertebrae had been crushed in the SUV rollover. He was one of five injured in the enemy ambush, which killed one Iraqi translator.

While confined to a body cast for 11 months, Blackledge realized his injuries went far beyond his shattered back.

“I was constantly reliving the ambush,” the general said. “It was nonstop and kept rolling in my mind.”

Blackledge, who now commands the Army’s Civil Affairs & Psychological Operations Command (Airborne), admits that he returned to duty too quickly after being wounded the first time. The subsequent Amman bombings, coupled with the stress of leading men and women into battle, pushed him close to the edge.

“The thing driving me crazy the most was the short attention span and difficulty concentrating,” he explained. “My wife is an Air Force nurse with three combat deployments, and she had concerns about me.”

After some initial coaxing, this battle-tested military leader, who has received the Legion of Merit, five Bronze Stars and two Purple Hearts since 1975, set the bar for a new, unofficial badge of honor. He asked for help.

“It was like a weight coming off my shoulders,” the general said.

Blackledge, who still struggles with post-traumatic stress disorder but has benefited greatly from treatment, has an order for active duty service members and veterans. If you’re hurting inside, or know someone who is, it’s time to speak up.

“It’s just like helping out a soldier who has a physical wound,” Blackledge said. “We wouldn’t stop or hesitate at that, but sometimes we’re too reluctant when it comes to injuries we can’t see.”

While a general’s nightmares about a terrorist ordering orange juice and enemy bullets piercing his SUV may never cease, the stigma attached to post-traumatic stress disorder, at long last, is beginning to fade.

 

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Unknown Soldiers – Room At The Top

February 25, 2011 By Tom Sileo, Creators Syndicate 1 Comment

As Lona Parten stared into a sunrise atop the world’s tallest freestanding mountain, she reflected upon the darkest year of her life. The last 3,000 feet of her August climb to Mount Kilimanjaro‘s summit took seven hours, through frigid, pitch-black conditions. Yet she was determined to equal a feat that her sons, 1st Lt. Tyler Parten and 2nd Lt. Daniel Parten, once fulfilled together.

“Come hell or high water, I was going to do it myself,” Lona, 48, told The Unknown Soldiers.

On Sept. 10, 2009, her eldest son’s life ended on a mountain in Afghanistan’s Kunar province. Tyler, 24, was leading a platoon of the Army’s 3rd Squadron, 61st Cavalry Regiment toward a Taliban stronghold when he was struck by enemy sniper fire.

On that terrible day, a life devoted to faith, music and concern for children ended brutally. Lona said Tyler’s body remained on the hill for nearly 10 hours after his death, with enemy bullets repeatedly striking her son as fellow troops were pinned down by sniper fire.

“It is true pain … indescribable,” a tearful Lona said after recounting the dreadful details. Her voice shook throughout our conversation, on the day after what would have been Tyler’s 26th birthday.

“Every fiber of your body hurts and sometimes you can’t even breathe,” she added.

Her surviving son, Daniel, 24; daughter Anna Laura, 20; and ex-husband Dave, 55, all wear memorial bracelets identical to the one I noticed on Lona’s right wrist in a Birmingham, Ala. restaurant. The bracelets are never removed, nor are haunting images described by still-grieving members of Tyler’s platoon. Yet despite his deployment’s tragic ending, fellow soldiers said Tyler embraced his time in Afghanistan.

“They said he came into his own there and truly loved it,” Lona said, briefly perking up. “He was full of compassion, music and love.”

Tyler’s private journals, which Lona treasures and has spared no expense to copyright and possibly publish, reveal that the warrior’s heart was constantly aching for Afghan children savaged by terrorism, hate and war.

“When reading his journal entries, you see the pain and anguish, but then his words would end on a positive note,” she said.

The words Lona used to describe what transpired in the hours and days after her family learned of Tyler’s death — anger, blame, depression, screaming, crying — pierced my heart. But like his journals, the fallen warrior’s Marianna, Ark., memorial service ended on a positive note.

“My children sang, played guitar and did everything that Tyler would have loved,” Lona recalled, reminding me that her son loved to play music for kids in Afghan villages.

Few American moms face a second son deploying to war after losing their first born in combat. Lona said Daniel and his wife, 2nd Lt. Tara Parten, will eventually head to Afghanistan after they complete training. Like Tyler, both are West Point graduates full of bravery, patriotism and purpose. But that doesn’t make it any easier for a mother to bear.

“It is so hard to even think about him going into combat,” Lona replied after I asked about Daniel. “How will I sleep? How will I deal with the phone ringing or knocks at the door?”

The light at the end of the Kilimanjaro darkness has helped Lona cope with her constant fears and deep emotional scars. She may have lost her eldest son on a mountain in southwest Asia, but she rediscovered his spirit at Africa’s peak.

“When the sun came out, it all seemed better,” Lona remembered. “It’s not, but you have to come to peace with it.”

“Something snapped: I can’t continue to be sad all the time,” she continued. “I’m not going to lose Tyler or forget Tyler just because I’m happy.”

Perhaps the poignant closing sentence of 1st Lt. Parten’s journal can comfort the loved ones of more than 4,600 American troops killed in action since Sept. 11, 2001.

“If there is anything I’ve learned, though, it’s that the future is in God’s hands.”

For the families of America’s fallen heroes, there is still room at the top of the mountain where one mom found hope.

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The Unknown Soldiers – Closer To You

February 18, 2011 By Tom Sileo, Creators Syndicate 2 Comments

Horrific news from Iraq’s Al Anbar province was still sinking in when the Manion family’s phone rang in Doylestown, Pa. On the line was Brendan Looney, calling in the middle of grueling Navy SEAL training. The strong, aspiring warrior was bawling hysterically.

Earlier on that Sunday, April 29, 2007, Looney’s Naval Academy roommate and dear friend, 1st Lt. Travis Manion, was killed by a sniper’s bullet as he drew enemy fire away from wounded Marines. Manion, 26, was posthumously awarded the Silver Star and Bronze Star with Valor for heroism and gallantry displayed in combat.

Before Manion left for what would be his final combat tour, someone asked him why he had to go back to Iraq. The Marine’s response was simple, but direct: “If not me, then who?”

Looney asked himself the same difficult, poignant question as he contemplated quitting SEAL training to mourn his friend.

“(Brendan) just wanted to come back, but he couldn’t leave,” Travis’ older sister, Ryan Manion Borek, told the Unknown Soldiers. “My parents said ‘Brendan, you can’t quit. Travis would never want you to quit.’”

Looney went all in on Navy SEAL training, perhaps the most physically demanding 30-week program known to man.

“He dedicated the rest of his training to Travis,” Brendan’s sister, Erin Looney, told me. “He would never give less anyway, but he was going to give that much more for Travis — that extra little edge.”

Left to right: Travis Manion and Brendan Looney, brothers in arms, are buried side by side at Arlington National Cemetery. Photo courtesy the Travis Manion Foundation.

On June 22, 2008, Lt. Brendan Looney graduated as “Honor Man” of his class. With his wedding and a deployment to Iraq just three weeks away, Looney made an emotional journey to Pennsylvania his top priority.

“When he graduated from SEAL school, the first thing he did was visit my parents,” Ryan, 31, said.

Looney made it home safely from his first combat deployment and would fight overseas three more times, with “if not me, then who?” always in the back of his mind.

“Brendan never wanted us to worry or think about him being in danger,” his younger sister, 23, said. “He was always going to protect us — even protect us from worrying and stressing about him being over there.”

On Sept. 21, 2010 in southern Afghanistan, Looney, 29, boarded a Black Hawk helicopter with three fellow SEALs and five soldiers. The chopper crashed in Zabul province, killing all nine American service members aboard.

Erin, one of Brendan’s five siblings, was sitting at work on that tragic September day, half a world from the crash site. She still mourned Travis, who “was like another older brother,” when she lost Brendan.

“Our family is really close, and seeing everyone else upset is what upsets you the most,” Erin said.

“The Looneys are an amazing family,” Ryan, the executive director of the Travis Manion Foundation, emphasized. “They are very tightknit, like we are.”

Amid dual tragedies that could tear any family apart, the Looneys and Manions came together. After Brendan’s wife, Amy, said she wanted her husband resting close to his best friend, Travis’ parents agreed to move their son’s grave from Pennsylvania to Virginia. The heroes now rest side by side at Arlington National Cemetery.

“The ceremony was amazing, beautiful and heartbreaking,” Ryan, who witnessed her only brother’s burial for a second time, said.

Erin said that as kids, she and her siblings, three of whom went on to serve in the military, always wanted to hang out in Brendan’s room — “the cool room” of the house. Today, she spends hours sitting in the Arlington grass, next to her big brothers in arms.

“We were so lucky to get to know them and be a part of their lives,” Erin said, bringing tears to my eyes. “One is rare enough, but to have two, both brothers to you, is on a whole other level.”

This new column’s mission is to introduce you to the men and women who defend our freedom. As these stories arrive on your kitchen table every week, I hope you will feel as close to the wars in Iraq and Afghanistan as I did on Christmas morning, while bowing my head at the graves of 1st Lt. Travis Manion and Lt. Brendan Looney. Surrounded by fellow Americans, they will never be divided.

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The Unknown Soldiers – Family Reunions

February 11, 2011 By Tom Sileo, Creators Syndicate 1 Comment

About two years after receiving their psychology degrees from East Carolina University, Pfc. Lane Higson and Pfc. Casey Higson, who are identical twins, signed up to serve their country.

The Myrtle Beach, S.C., natives are now Army communications specialists serving with the Enhanced Combat Aviation Brigade, 1st Infantry Division in Iraq. Spc. Roland Hale recently interviewed the twins at Camp Taji.

“We do everything together, obviously, and we’ve done lots, but we never thought we’d be doing this,” said Lane.

“We’re very lucky to get to work here,” said Casey. “We get to help people, sometimes if it’s just by talking to them.”

With shared dreams, college degrees, warm personalities and great smiles, the Higson twins could have done anything they wanted. They chose to put on identical uniforms and protect America. The 28-year-old sisters are scheduled to return home from Iraq — together, of course — in March.

Sgt. John Williams III is serving in Iraq with Company B, 1st Battalion, 21st Infantry Regiment, 2nd Advise and Assist Brigade, 25th Infantry Division. Luckily for the soldier, his dad has a job that allows the son to see his father in war zones. John Williams Jr. is band manager for country music star Trace Adkins, who supports the troops by performing on USO tours.

As Sgt. Shawn Miller explains, the father and son saw each other in Afghanistan during Adkins’ 2008 USO concert series. Yet due to mission priorities and geography, they didn’t expect to see each other during recent performances in Iraq. Unbeknownst to his father, Sgt. Williams reached out to his superiors and asked for some help.

“My chain of command was very supportive, and then I started working details on surprising my dad,” he said.

On Nov. 1, the soldier’s dad received an incredible welcome to Contingency Operating Base Speicher. With Adkins at their side, the father and son embraced, shared some laughs and treasured some unexpected bonus time.

“This is just a thrill that is hard to describe,” exclaimed the elder Williams. “These long deployments are hard on everyone, and just to get to see him here is unbelievable.”

Cpl. Brandon Edgerton works hard as a supply warehouse clerk in Afghanistan. His dedication led the Medical Logistics Company, Combat Logistics Regiment 15 (Forward), 1st Marine Logistics Group (Forward) to award a well-deserved Good Conduct Medal to the Marine. But Edgerton didn’t initially expect to receive it from a very special guest.

On Nov. 23 at Camp Leatherneck, 1st Sgt. Evan Unstead, who serves with the Army’s Distribution Company, Brigade Support Battalion, 1st Brigade Combat Team, 10th Mountain Division, awarded the Good Conduct Medal to his son. Cpl. Shannon McMillan covered the Afghanistan ceremony.

“It’s the first time we both are in the same place on active duty in uniform,” Edgerton said.

Unstead was thrilled to be able to make the ceremony, and the longtime soldier is also very proud that his son chose a career in the military.

“It keeps him on the straight and narrow,” Unstead said. “So far I have heard nothing more than good things about him. It makes me proud.”

The wars in Iraq and Afghanistan have deeply impacted thousands of military families, and in some tragic cases, torn them apart. While war’s harsh realities cannot be ignored, these inspiring stories shouldn’t be cast aside either. These families have lent their names to a calling they feel is bigger than themselves, and serve with honor under tough conditions. While we are at home spending time with our loved ones, we thank Edgerton, Unstead, Williams, and the Higson twins for their sacrifices. You give America a reason to celebrate.

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The Unknown Soldiers – Mementos

February 6, 2011 By Tom Sileo, Creators Syndicate Leave a Comment

As veterans, troops and dignitaries gathered at Arlington National Cemetery on Veterans Day 2010, I reflected on a few moments I recently spent at the final resting spot of Pfc. Sam Huff, one of our nation’s fallen heroes from the Iraq War.

Buried on the sacred grounds of Arlington’s Section 60, where many of our post-9/11 heroes rest, Huff’s headstone was surrounded by several touching mementos on this gray, unusually humid late October day. They included a bright pink heart, a royal blue flower, a red rock and an American flag. While these precious items were presumably left by relatives or friends for their own reasons, there are parallels between these touching tokens of appreciation and the soldier’s compelling story.

The bright pink heart

Huff was a tough 18-year-old warrior, but also a “girlie-girl,” according to a 2005 article by Alex Fryer of The Seattle Times. She loved wearing long false eyelashes and often joked to fellow soldiers in Iraq that she could be in an air-conditioned studio modeling for Gap, where she had once landed a contract, instead of enduring the brutal desert heat. Huff loved to dance, especially with her fiance, with whom she had the romance most young women dream of.

The royal blue flower

Embedded inside this “girlie-girl” heart was a strong spirit of service. Fryer writes that the only child, just 16 at the time, stunned her parents when she told them she planned to leave Tucson, Ariz., to join the Army and later the FBI. Yet as soon as she came to boot camp and eventually Iraq, her noble dedication to the mission, balanced with a flower’s beauty, astonished fellow soldiers and even commanders.

“Within two weeks of her arriving in our unit, even I knew who she was,” Lt. Col. James Switzer said. “Battalion commanders get to know their soldiers for two reasons. They got in trouble or they are very unique individuals. Pfc. Huff was a unique individual. Her smile could light up a room. She could lighten the mood of any hardcore (noncommissioned officer) and even bring a smile to an old warrior’s face.”

The red rock

The young woman had a “backbone of steel,” according to Sgt. Sam James, her team leader. As noted in a 2005 article by Pfc. Dan Balda, the sergeant had a tremendous amount of respect for her intelligence and warrior instincts.

“You would be hard pressed to find a soldier that could learn and retain knowledge as fast as she did,” James said. “If I wrote down every positive quality I’d want in a soldier, Huff would still be better. She was the kind of soldier that made being a leader in the Army fun.”

Like a rock, as Bob Seger sang in the hit tune released the same year Huff was born, she was strong as she could be.

The American flag

Romantic as a Julia Roberts movie, motivated like Hilary Swank’s “Million Dollar Baby” character, gorgeous as the Gap models she could have worked with and tough as nails, Huff believed she was “in the right place, doing the right thing, with the right people,” as her parents conveyed to the military journalist. She loved America, and despite the uncomfortable uniform and unbearable Iraqi sun, Huff enjoyed serving with the 170th Military Police Company, 504th Military Police Battalion, 42nd Military Police Brigade, based out of Washington’s Fort Lewis.

On April 17, 2005, an improvised explosive device detonated near Huff’s Humvee. She sustained catastrophic injuries and tragically passed away at a Baghdad hospital.

At her Forward Operating Base Falcon memorial service, Switzer made a prediction about his soldier’s burial at Arlington National Cemetery.

“I can bet you the sun will be shining that day, and up in heaven, a bunch of old warriors will be smiling.”

Almost five and a half years after her Arlington funeral, Huff is buried next to her mother, retired Marine Cpl. Margaret Williams, who passed away from cancer on April 24, 2009, according to the Arlington National Cemetery website. While I didn’t realize I was visiting a mother and daughter at the time, I will make sure to say another prayer when I return to the cemetery.

On Veterans Day, many of Pfc. Sam Huff’s fellow troops who made it home from Iraq still miss their friend. Like millions of veterans around the country, they live with the pain of losing someone they hoped to share combat memories and new adventures with for the rest of their lives. Yet even amid tragedy and sorrow, the pink heart, royal blue flower, red rock and American flag show us that the beauty of this soldier’s wonderful life and service to our country will never fade.

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The Unknown Soldiers: Surprise of a Lifetime

February 4, 2011 By Tom Sileo, Creators Syndicate Leave a Comment

When Jodi Foster stepped onto Nashville’s LP Field during the Tennessee Titans-Washington Redskins game on Nov. 21, she thought she was simply being recognized for an essay she wrote about her husband, Sgt. Mark Foster.

Standing beside the couple’s 12-year-old daughter, Kayla, the 33-year-old Army wife got a nice surprise when a video message from her husband, who was deployed with the 101st Combat Aviation Brigade in Afghanistan, played on the NFL stadium’s Jumbotron.

While it certainly made for a poignant memory, the mother and daughter would still have to head home after the game and join Cody, 18, and Hunter, 17, to prepare for another Thanksgiving holiday without dad. Maybe Sgt. Foster would get to call from his remote Forward Operating Base that day, but that would be about as much face time as they would get.

Then, just after the video message played, nearly 70,000 football fans started screaming, quickly growing louder and louder. The military wife sensed that something big was about to happen.

“I was looking around the field and didn’t really see anything except the huge Jumbotron” Jodi told The Unknown Soldiers. “I could not believe it; he wasn’t due on leave until (December), but then I saw him coming out on the golf cart.”

As soon as Jodi and Kayla saw their soldier, they ran quicker than any NFL running back closing in on the end zone, and clutched him tighter than a defensive lineman pulling down a quarterback for a sack.

As they embraced on the 10-yard line, a capacity crowd and many more watching at home saw what it really means to be a nation at war. Fox Sports play-by-play announcer Dick Stockton put it best when he said, “This may be the highlight of this game.”

Of the almost 70,000 people inside the stadium that day, the surprise meant the most to young Kayla, whom the couple call “daddy’s girl.”

“My dad loved me enough to adopt me,” Kayla is quoted as saying in the family’s winning essay. “No one gave me to him, mom. He picked me.”

The improbable, emotional moment that captivated many around the nation was one that the soldier himself never thought would occur.

“I didn’t expect to go out on the field,” Sgt. Foster told me from his family’s home on Fort Campbell in Kentucky. “In fact, I didn’t find out until after I landed in Nashville. But it was one of the hardest things I’ve ever had to do, keeping it secret from my family that I was coming home.”

Many good folks inside the Army, Tennessee Titans football team and the Camp Crossing housing community where the Fosters live came together to give this military family a much-needed holiday boost.

This is Sgt. Foster’s fifth combat deployment, having served four previous tours with the Screaming Eagles in Iraq, and with a concerned wife and three children at home, it hasn’t been easy. In addition to missing his family, the soldier has also been dealing with the loss of brothers in arms like Staff Sgt. Brandon Silk, a fallen hero with whom Foster served.

“Staff Sgt. Silk was a great guy; there’s nothing bad that I know of or can say about him, and so many of us knew him on a personal level,” Sgt. Foster said of his fallen comrade. “People knew him when he was in Korea, and when he first got to Fort Campbell, and he was just an awesome guy, a great guy, who is truly going to be missed by a lot of people.”

Silk, a 25-year-old Black Hawk helicopter crew chief who was nicknamed “Silky Smooth” in high school before developing a tough-as-nails reputation in the Army, was killed in a June 21 Afghanistan helicopter crash. The Orono, Maine, paratrooper is survived by his wife, parents and two brothers.

“Emotionally, we’re all in this job, and we know what we’re up against,” Sgt. Foster explained. “It sucks, and next to losing a parent, spouse, or child, I don’t know of a harder feeling. But we all know the risk involved when we join. We also know that, yes, we have a fallen comrade, and we’ll all take time to mourn, but we still have a job to do.”

While there are many unsung heroes of America’s post-9/11 conflicts, the courage displayed by spouses of our deployed troops and returning veterans is frequently overlooked. I asked Foster’s wife how she manages the household, children, finances and many other critical responsibilities during her husband’s frequent deployments.

“Like I tell my mom, I have to put on my brave face,” Jodi quickly responded. “I have to … I have no choice, because if I fell apart, what happens to my kids?”

The newest member of the Foster family, adopted about two years ago, has been a rock during the last eight months, despite being just 12 years old.

“She’s stronger than I am,” Kayla’s proud mom said. “(After) we first dropped him off to deploy, I spent a few days crying and in bed, but she got me up, told me he’d be fine and kept me strong.”

Four days after the surprise of a lifetime, the family celebrated Thanksgiving together.

“It’s the best feeling ever, having him home after eight months,” the soldier’s wife said. “It’s been amazing.”

“It’s been a whirlwind, but it’s great being home,” Sgt. Foster added.

About a week after our conversation, the soldier returned to Afghanistan to finish his deployment. The humble warrior calls himself “lucky” to be assigned to a Forward Operating Base with better communications capabilities than most in the rugged, war-torn nation where the Sept. 11 attacks were planned. Despite relatively reliable phone lines and a decent Internet connection, some of the calls back home are tense.

“(Jodi) still gets to hear my voice, and I get to hear hers,” he said. “But sometimes there is incoming fire in the background, and I hate when she has to hear rounds and (the call drops), and she has to sit here for hours pondering.”

Sgt. Mark Foster will almost certainly be wishing his family a Merry Christmas over the phone or Skype this year. But with the memories of the family’s special, unexpected Thanksgiving together still fresh, Jodi insists that her deployed husband will still be joining his loved ones for Christmas dinner.

“We’ll put his picture on the head of a chair, and maybe even put a video camera on the chair. We’ll stay connected. He may not be here this year, but he’s still a part of Christmas and our lives.”

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The Unknown Soldiers – Iron Man

January 31, 2011 By Tom Sileo, Creators Syndicate Leave a Comment

As Lance Cpl. Thomas Rivers Jr. patrolled Afghanistan’s volatile Helmand province, he knew God had his back. The Marine often carried a Bible, but even on days he didn’t have room for anything but essential combat gear, Rivers felt protected by Psalm 91:1, which was tattooed on his back.

He who dwells in the shelter of the Most High will rest in the shadow of the Almighty.

Faith guided Rivers from youth into manhood. In an essay the future Marine handed in to his ninth-grade teacher on Nov. 12, 2003, Rivers explained why he had been yearning to serve his country since age 10.

“I think if I put my mind to it, and with God’s help, I could make it in the Marines,” Rivers wrote. “I believe that joining the Marines would be a good experience for me because it will teach me to rely on God to make it through.”

For Rivers, joining the Marine Corps would not be so simple as signing a piece of paper. The Marine’s father, Dr. Thomas Rivers Sr., told The Unknown Soldiers that dyslexia made classroom work very difficult for his son, who also faced some early physical limitations that made success in sports equally elusive.

“He was my hero before he joined the Marines,” Dr. Rivers said. “He overcame so many obstacles to transform from a thin child into a ripped warrior.”

Dr. Rivers credits the Marines for giving his son extra motivation to hit the books, as well as the gym, with an unbreakable vigor.

“He was the iron man,” Dr. Rivers said with pride. “He struggled in high school until one of the Marine recruiters told him he needed a diploma to enlist. We never heard a word about low grades after that.”

While basic training and deployments change almost everyone, Rivers stuck to his strong values in the unforgiving humidity of South Carolina’s Parris Island and raw desert heat of the new Iraq. He returned from his first overseas tour in February 2009 to his proud parents, friends and relatives in Birmingham, Ala. During his Iraq deployment, the Marine’s loving mother, Charon, often whispered her son’s favorite Psalm verse during frequent prayers for his safety.

Word soon came that Rivers and the 1st Battalion, 2nd Marine Regiment, 2nd Marine Division, II Marine Expeditionary Force were needed in Afghanistan. The young Marine, now 22, already had a combat tour under his belt and prepared for another deployment with the same focus, faith and strength that guided him through Iraq. Both of his grandfathers had served in the military, and protecting America in the years following the 9/11 attacks was a duty Rivers believed fell to him.

“He was never a conformist,” Dr. Rivers explained. “Thomas always knew he was a warrior.”

During a six-week period in Afghanistan, Rivers started a Bible study with one of his best friends, Lance Cpl. Matthew Proctor. With weapons in their laps but their Bibles open, the Marines would search for answers on how people could love one another, even in the ravaged mountains of the war on terror’s central front. Before a Wednesday mission that Rivers volunteered for after a fellow Marine suffered severe exhaustion, he prayed with Proctor before leaving together on patrol.

According to the Pentagon, Rivers was killed on April 28 in Afghanistan’s Helmand province. Three military messengers arrived at the Rivers household in Birmingham just hours later to deliver the solemn news, and his devastated parents, who are still “numb,” according to Dr. Rivers, hoped to get more details on their son’s final moments. As friends, family, fellow churchgoers and the Birmingham community sprang into action to support Dr. and Mrs. Rivers, a phone call came from Afghanistan from someone also in deep mourning. It was Proctor.

“He told us that after Thomas stepped on the IED, three of his best friends in the Marine Corps, including Matthew, kneeled down beside him,” Dr. Rivers recounted the day after receiving the phone call. “Matthew held his hand, and they said the Bible verse tattooed on Thomas’ back.”

After the grieving father thanked Lance Cpl. Matthew Proctor and his family for their selfless service and extraordinary support, Dr. Rivers said something, through a father’s tears, that moved me deeply.

“It is comforting to know that Thomas was with three people who loved him when he died.”

In the final hours before Rivers deployed to Afghanistan, he also held hands with his mom and prayed. Six weeks later and half a world away, he would hold hands and pray with three beloved fellow volunteer warriors in his last moments on earth. Today, I believe this brave Marine is holding hands with his two grandfathers, praying for the loving family and grieving nation he left behind.

Lance Cpl. Thomas Rivers Jr. stood for overcoming obstacles, finding common ground, and offering love, even amid uncertainty and violence. To truly honor his sacrifice, we can learn from how he lived, and another Psalm verse, 91:4, that deeply struck his passionate heart.

He will cover you with his feathers, and under his wings you will find refuge; his faithfulness will be your shield and rampart.

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