Wesley Gray: Embedded

Maj. Tom Ross once mentioned to me that his success as a Marine officer could be visualized as a turtle sitting on top of a fencepost—it was obvious he didn’t get there alone. For this project, I felt like a blue whale sitting atop Mount Everest—without massive amounts of help, I would still be stuck on the bottom of the ocean.

First, I would like to thank the United States Marine Corps for giving me an opportunity to serve with an elite group of warrior citizens who are second to none. Specifically, I want to thank my advising teammates, who taught me about life, leadership, and how to be a better Marine (in no particular order): Doc, Nuts, V, Slip, Legger, Cpl. Sal, Mac, Moto McCoy, Wonder Twin #2, the Boss, D, Superhero, and Mighty Morgan—oohrah! And thanks to Eric Earnhardt for teaching me how to be a motivated Devil Dog.

The folks at the Graduate School of Business at the University of Chicago went beyond the call of duty in supporting me during my “sabbatical,” for which I am extremely grateful. Thank you also to the many friends and family, too numerous to list here, who supported me during my deployment. My biggest fans were (and always have been) my parents, Bill and Jill Gray. Thanks for the unwavering support.

Many friends and family also gave me insightful feedback and razor-sharp editing on early drafts of this book. Mike Beimer, Mike Bennett, Cliff Gray, Mike Hollander, Anne and Craig Jorgensen, Ben Katz, Andy Kern, Gabe Klehr, Sandy Li, Ronica Licciardello, James McGinnis, Maurice Medland, Scott Miller, and Dave Woodworth were all extremely helpful. Of course, Rick Russell and Elizabeth Bauman of the Naval Institute Press have been with me through every step in the publishing process and have really made me feel at home as an author with their organization. Special thanks to Karin Kaufman for her superb copyediting services.

Finally, my sincerest thanks go to my wife, Katie, my lead editor and best friend for life.

“Gray, nice fuckin’ brief. You wanna volunteer for some time in Iraq and train some Iraqis?” Caught off guard after completing an important intelligence brief to Brig. Gen. Mastin Robeson and a room full of Marine and Japanese military officers, I replied out of instinct, “Sir, hell yeah. When would I leave?” The granite-hard Col. Steven Manning, a legend in the Marine Corps intelligence community, peered into my eyes. “July time frame,” he said. “We’ll talk about it later this evening. Oohrah!”

We never did get a chance to talk about it that evening. Over the next few weeks that February, I participated in the bilateral Japanese and U.S. military Yama Sukura war game in Kumamoto, Japan. At the conclusion of the exercise, Colonel Manning directed me to participate in a joint military operation with the Filipino army in the Philippines until mid-March. After spending almost two months traveling around Asia, Iraq was the last thing on my mind. But this all changed when I returned to my home base in Okinawa, Japan.

On March 14 I strolled into the intelligence offices at the 3rd Marine Division Headquarters at Camp Courtney, a small Marine Corps base in the center of the island of Okinawa. I had had the time of my life in the Philippines participating in real-world operations, working with the Filipino army, and meeting new people. Life was good. I hollered to Lt. Nate Krissoff, who came stumbling into the office. “Krissoff, dude, I can’t believe those chicks you got in the Philippines. You are da man!” Krissoff, my best bud in the Marines, had partied too much while in the Philippines and was still feeling the aftereffects. He smirked and said, “Gray, hey brother, what happened in the Philippines… stays in the Philippines!” I laughed. “Nate, my lips are sealed—until I need something from you.”

I sat at my computer and opened my e-mail box. I had 150 unanswered e-mails, only one of which seemed interesting. The subject line was “RE: MiTT members from Okinawa coming in on March 19th.” I opened the e-mail out of curiosity, thinking it must have been addressed to the wrong Second Lieutenant Gray. But it was addressed correctly and would change my life.

At first I could make no sense of the e-mail. According to it I was supposed to be in Hawaii in five days to start training for a “MiTT”—whatever the heck that was. I sprinted to Colonel Manning’s office, believing he would know what was happening. Manning examined the e-mail’s contents. “Hrmm. Gray, it looks as though you will be going on a MiTT about four months sooner than I anticipated. Congratulations. Head to the operations shop upstairs and tell them Colonel Manning sent you. Tell them you need priority to get the hell off of Okinawa and into the fight.” I answered, “Roger that, Sir.” But I had one remaining inquiry for Manning. “One question for you, Sir. What exactly does MiTT stand for?” He laughed. “Gray, for an Ivy League graduate you aren’t that bright, are you?” He paused then said, “MiTT stands for military transition team. You are going to be America’s main effort. I wish I were in your position, you lucky bastard!”

I rushed upstairs and spoke with Master Sergeant Hampton, always the man to turn to in an urgent situation. He calmed my nerves. “Sir,” he said, “don’t worry about a thing. You are now on my priority list. This Sunday you will arrive in Hawaii, conduct your predeployment training with the MiTT, and by mid-July you will be enjoying the Iraqi sunshine.” Crap, I thought to myself, how am I going to tell my wife?

Master Sergeant Hampton was not lying. On March 19 I arrived in beautiful Honolulu, Hawaii, with my military gear, an M-9 service pistol, an M-4 assault rifle, and not a friggin’ clue as to what was going to happen next. I knew I was now on a military transition team heading to Iraq. I knew I had to train my ass off. And I knew this was a special duty assignment hooked up through Colonel Manning. I was afraid, but I was excited to get things rolling. I was heading to war.

It was 0800—show time. As the intelligence officer for the MiTT team, I was about to give the predeployment enemy situation brief at the 3rd Marine Regiment classified material vault. I took my job seriously, but those in attendance would rather have been surfing or tanning on the beaches of Hawaii. I started the brief with a shallow warning, which at the time I found witty. “Gentlemen,” I said, “the biggest threat has gone from a mild sunburn on Waikiki Beach to bullet wounds. Let me tell you how the enemy plans to kill you.”

My intention was to get the MiTT members into a combat mindset. My efforts fell flat. The Marines in front of me were “salty dogs,” a Marine term for experienced combat veterans. Many of the Marines on the MiTT had spent ten to fifteen years in the Corps and had experienced multiple combat tours. One thing I had learned in my short two years in the Marines was that although the salty dogs bring a lot of wisdom and experience to the table, they also bring a certain amount of complacency and laziness. I now know the value of eager and motivated second lieutenants for the military: they make up for the apathy of the salty dogs.