Wesley Gray - Embedded

With the runaways on the buses and the rumors of an additional thirty jundi quitting after the next leave run, we stood to lose an additional 30 percent of our battalion, bringing us to a grand total of 150 soldiers—for a battalion that was supposed to have 755. For all intents and purposes, our battalion no longer existed. There wasn’t even a unit to advise. The concept of standing up what is effectively a “Shia militia” in Al Anbar had failed.

Just as a game of poker started in the MiTT COC, Corporal Castro, an embedded Marine adviser who worked with 3rd Iraqi Company, came rushing into the COC. He addressed Doc with an odd request. “Doc, do you have a long plastic glove that goes up to your shoulder?” We all turned around and simultaneously said to Castro, “What did you just say?” I said, “Castro, I don’t really care about what goes on over there in the swahut you guys live in, but what sort of kinky stuff are you guys doing these days?”

Castro, embarrassed and smiling, said, “Gentlemen, I lost the Surefire light that goes on the end of my rifle.” Doc said, “Ouch, those are like five hundred bucks. But why do you need one of my long plastic gloves?” Castro, hesitating, responded, “Uh… well… I was in the Port-a-John [outhouse] and I was using my light to find the toilet paper so I could wipe my ass. The light fell out of my hands, everything went pitch black, and I heard a loud splash.” We burst into laughter. Adams summarized the situation. “So you lost your Surefire in the shitter? Wow, now that is a shitty deal.” Castro responded, “Sir, that is probably the worst joke I’ve ever heard.” That night Castro went fishing for his Surefire light.

One day in December was definitely the worst day of the deployment. The first piece of bad news came from brigade. They reported that the leave convoy had been hit once again with an IED—in nearly the same spot it had been hit the last time. Sixteen jundi were seriously wounded or injured. Thankfully, nobody had died this time around.

I was now very much on the side of the Iraqis. They had constantly bitched and complained that they shouldn’t be taking the same route and traveling with the American convoy on the leave runs because it made them an obvious target for the insurgents. We needed to change the road or change the route—at a minimum. I did not want to see any more of my Iraqi friends die for no reason.

A second piece of bad news came by way of an email I received from Dan Ballard, a friend from Okinawa, Japan, whom I had worked with at 3rd Marine Division before going to Iraq. The e-mail subject was “Did you see the news on Nate Krissoff?” Oddly, there was no information in the body of the e-mail. Concerned, I immediately sent an e-mail to Krissoff, my roommate in Okinawa and my best friend in the Corps, to see what the news was all about. Unfortunately, the email to Krissoff was never answered.

Within minutes of receiving the e-mail from Dan Ballard, I got a phone call from Lt. Jeff Brewer, a good friend, and the assistant intelligence officer (S2-A) for 2/3. I knew something was not good the minute I heard Jeff’s voice on the phone. He relayed the news. “Dude, Krissoff is dead, man. He died in an IED attack today.” The words sucked the life out of me. I responded calmly, “No fuckin’ way, dude. How the hell did that happen? I was just talking to him yesterday and he said he rarely even got the chance to go outside the wire. Are you sure?” Jeff responded, “I don’t know, man. I just got the information and figured you should know.” I hung up the COC wire-phone and sprinted to my SIPRNET computer to send another e-mail to Ballard. Ballard responded immediately with the details on what had happened to Nate.

He was definitely dead. There was no denying the fact I would never see my best buddy again. He had been on a convoy mission in Fallujah when his truck hit a pressure-plate IED that detonated directly under his seat in the back of the Humvee. He was the only one to die in the accident. The other Marines traveling with him were seriously injured, with shrapnel and burns, but they survived. Krissoff was apparently jammed in the backseat, knocked unconscious, and unable to get out of the vehicle before it burnt to the ground. May his soul rest in peace.

Nate Krissoff, or “Natedawg” as I called him, was one of the best guys I’d ever met, and it just plain sucked that he was dead. I wasn’t mad for myself, but I was furious for America as a nation. Nate was a guy that was going places way above and beyond the Marine Corps. I had been around Ivy League kids, successful hedge fund managers, Wall Street types, Nobel Prize winners, and many other highly successful and accomplished individuals in my life, but I could honestly say that Nate Krissoff was going places none of them had been before. He was that good. Even if his death meant we would save the entire country of Iraq and make it a democratic beacon in the Middle East, I still didn’t think it was worth it. He had a charisma and charm that were the best. He was a water walker.

I will never forget my times with Natedawg in Okinawa. We lived in the Bachelor Officers Quarters (BOQ) together and were roommates in a house that took us two painstaking months to find. I also got to share wild and serious times with him in the Philippines during the Leyte mudslide disaster and in Kumomoto, Japan, during the Yama Sakura bilateral military exercise. Natedawg and I were inseparable when we arrived at Okinawa in late 2006. We even got tagged to go to Iraq at nearly the same time. The only thing that really separated us was that he went to Fallujah and I went to Haditha.

As I write this I am still trying to get my head around the fact Krissoff is dead. Remarkably, I feel no self-pity. I know that warriors die so other men can live in peace, and that’s just how it is. I am proud and feel privileged to have known such a great warrior, a great Marine, and a great friend. His soul will live forever in my mind. Gunnery Sergeant Hartman put it best in the movie Full Metal Jacket : “Always remember this: Marines die. That’s what we’re here for. But the Marine Corps lives forever. And that means you live forever.” Nate Krissoff will live forever in the minds of warriors of the present and the future. Semper fi.

Tragedy befriended the United States Marine Corps in December. In addition to Krissoff’s death, a CH-46 helicopter missed the landing pad on top of the dam and landed in Lake Qadisiyah. Lance Cpl. Elliot Weeks and Lance Cpl. Michael Goble, two of the Marines working with our MiTT, had been on top of the dam at the time of the incident and witnessed the entire thing. Weeks recapped for me. “Sir, the bird was lifting off, and as it was moving past the edge of the dam structure, it just nosedived into the lake and then floated on the water’s surface. We ran to the scene, jumped in the water, and started pulling people to safety. It was crazy.”

Weeks and Goble’s immediate and selfless reaction was admirable. They were both heroes.

A rule of thumb in the Marines states that initial reports are always incorrect. But the initial reports we got on the helicopter crash were way off the mark. The 2/3 had one confirmed Marine KIA and three missing in action (MIA) but presumed dead. A horrific day for the U.S. Marine Corps. One of the MIA was the 2/3 operations officer, Maj. Joseph Trane McCloud. Losing him was a huge blow to the Marine battalion. This was terrible news to receive a few weeks before Christmas. My prayers were with their families.