The Sun at Dawn - The Fight for Ramadi

Foreword

As a Marine, I would deploy seven times. The first two were pre-combat deployments. Those were on a Western Pacific (WESTPAC) tour where Marines board naval shipping and literally maintain a presence in the Pacific region. It was fun times mingled with serious times as we were a quick reaction force for the United States. We would spend time at the Administrative Support Unit (ASU) in Bahrain (something we called the Alcohol Support Unit because they had copious amounts of beer available) and then head to Operation Northern Watch on the border of Kuwait and Iraq.  We would party it up in Australia one day after training and be in East Timor helping civilians get back on their feet the next. We were scuba diving in Seychelles when we got recalled to the boats to respond to the horrific attack on the USS Cole, where 17 sailors lost their life. This was the life of pre-9/11. We spent 18 months working up and then we'd deploy for 6 months on something we'd affectionately call a booze cruise. Sometimes we worked, sometimes we chilled out, sometimes we partied. That was the life of the WESTPAC while touring dozens of countries and what their port cities had to offer. Women, alcohol and parties. Life rapidly changed in 2001 thanks to that asshole Osama Bin Laden and his cohorts. The Marine Corps would jump headfirst into war and  was turning over units as quickly as they could to keep up with the demands of combat units in two theaters of operations. Iraq and Afghanistan. Stories of partying in the Philippines would transform into heroic stories of Marines in combat. Longtime friends would receive medals of valor and others would be maimed or killed in action. In the span of a few years, we'd become a generation of warfighters that experienced combat operations to the fullest. Young men and women who were part of a generation of misfits who welcomed the grunge scene and had apathetic attitudes towards society and those in charge of it would go on to becoming some of the greatest warfighters in the 21st century. 

In the previous book, I wrote extensively about my limited time with Alpha Company, 1st Battalion, 7th Marines and our movement to the heart of Baghdad. In 2003, we were an invading force. It was unrestricted combat operations and unlike anything Marines that I knew had experienced up to that point. The stories of bravery and reinforcement of those leaders who excelled in combat became the normal mantra within the force. There was no doubt this generation was warfighters. 

When I moved to 1st Battalion, 5th Marines; I would do two more tours with them. The first was to Ar Ramadi, Iraq and the second to Okinawa, Japan for a tour with the 31st Marine Expeditionary Unit. Starkly differing experiences there. One was full of combat, the other was full of scuba diving, training and drinking. After that, it was two more tours to Afghanistan with two different units and then rapidly towards the window of retirement from the service.

Prior to the 2005 deployment, I would experience the toll of combat operations. At that time, I was dealing with a wet reckless in the state of California. I was slowly waking up to the fact that I was becoming an alcoholic. I was in a marriage that I wanted out of for some reason. I was slowly rending my way down a road of destruction and I hadn't even realized it yet. I'm not saying that to receive some sort of sympathy. It was just the facts of that time period. Being an infantryman, we were expected to be the toughest of the tough. I worked hard to be that man every minute of my 20 year career. Deploying into combat was the pinnacle of an infantryman. As I was slowly destroying the things around me, I was heading into one of the wildest deployments of my time in the Marines. It was this odd juxtaposition between a civilian life that was falling apart and a military life that was excelling to the fullest. All due to these experiences written on the pages of these books.

 There are many people who suffer with post-traumatic stress. It is not limited to combat operations. Looking back on that time period, Ramadi would stick out as the most personal, most kinetic time of my career. Things happened up close and personal in Ramadi. So, after I started writing, I realized that the tone of the writing is much more violent in nature compared to the first book "Into the Fray". I specifically remember the slow degradation of human to animal in the seven months of living and fighting in Ramadi. I remember the thoughts that each time we left the wire was the time one of us would probably be maimed or killed. I was the lead vehicle and got to enjoy the love of IEDs and gunfire. But, I was no hero. I went there to do my job. The real heroes were the men who were next to me that entire time. The ones who braved enemy contact and dealt with the situations we were subjected to over that entire time period. I did my very best to highlight the most amazing things I either witnessed them do or saw the aftermath of what they did. Many of them had their own stories and their own versions of how things went down and I have taken every single thing I could think of and put it on these pages. 

Doing my research and allowing them to read the documents while constantly making changes to correct the past is the intent of The Sun at Dawn. This is the living story of one unit for one snippet of time on a much larger history of the Marine Corps. Many of us won't be remembered or idolized in the minds of future Marines. There was never really an expectation of that. We were there, as the saying goes, for each other. Keeping the guy alive next to you was the most important thing on earth. It was a volunteer force, subjected to heavy combat operations for a period of seven months. 

I was honored to serve next to all of them. They are legends in my mind and the men who deserve recognition for the time in Ramadi. Any inconsistencies in the storytelling are mine to own. Any Marine I served with that wishes to weigh in on the subject or help me change the scenery of these books are always welcome to do so. I'm always open to criticism, redaction and changes. This is there story. 

In 2015, members of the Weapons Company got together to commemorate the 10th reunion of the Battle for Ramadi. We meet up in Lake Tahoe and received a great deal of support from several donations and help from members of the Battalion to make it possible. It was an amazing time watching these Marines fall back into their old roles 10 years prior. The class clown was still the class clown, the serious guy was still the serious guy. A few of them were long gone out of the Marine Corps and doing drugs like cocaine, meth and weed while there; but they were still our brothers. For the most part, it was the most amazing experience I had ever had. Seeing those men and getting all those laughs and tears after years of not seeing them compelled me to start writing. It was the Marines of Whiskey 4 that I remember the best. They were awesome at what they did and they put their best foot forward for the entire deployment. I couldn't have asked for a better group of guys to spend my time in a shithole like Iraq. For that, I thank every single one of them. I wish we were all stuck in a gated community together and that I got to see them every single day. Today, they are spread across the country and the world. If I was able to say one thing to them, it would be that I love them. 

With that, this book is dedicated to all of the Marines of Weapons Company, 1/5 who served during this deployment. We served with with an amazingly led 1st Battalion, 5th Marines in 2005. I would be remiss to not mention that there was an entire, super deadly, fighting force operating in Ramadi right next to the Weapons Company. This story also belongs to those men who served during this time period. 

More importantly, I know that they wouldn't let me go without recognizing the real heroes in our story. Those injured in combat and killed in action hold a special place in my heart. I often hold the memorial pamphlets in my hand that I've kept all of these years. Every few months I stop at San Mateo, California to pay respects to these Marines and I see those of you who make it up First Sergeant's hill to pay your respects to those who fell in combat. One day, I plan to climb that fucking hill and touch those crosses and dog tags that sit up there overlooking the camp. I've just not worked up the courage to do that yet. 

As of this writing, it was fifteen years ago that these Marines stepped into harm's way to change the face of a nation and ensure successes in the future of Arab communities in that region. Your efforts were not forgotten and they will never be for as long as I walk this earth. I'll write 9,000 more stories if that's what it takes. 

Make Peace or Die.