Eulogy: Fox Co, 2nd Bn, 5th Marines

Fellow Marines of Fox Company 2nd Battalion, 5TH Marines, The Arizona Territory-The veritable doorsteps of Hell-will always be foremost in our memories for those of us who served in that rice paddy hell. My purpose is to share with you my memories of when we served together in The Arizona more than fifty years ago. 

When not engaged in firefights, ambushes, movement to contact or under mortar fire, and RPG attacks for days, weeks, and months on end, we Marines of Fox Company were continuously exposed to the relentless monsoon rains and the ever-present threat of tripping boobytraps. Many of these memories will be directly relevant to what we collectively experienced, how we lived, and what we endured. I think you will agree that Once a Marine, always a Marine. This is our creed!!!

To be called a Marine is a distinction which, by definition, requires no further explanation of excellence. Nobody ever said the Marine Corps was perfect, and nobody promised us a rose garden (much less hot water in our fighting hole), but what separates the Marine Corps from the other services is a level of devotion (Semper Fidelis/always faithful), a set of standards, and a code of honor unmatched by any other military service. 

Those of us who stood shoulder to shoulder on that battlefield in Vietnam shared a distinct kinship. We knew in our hearts as "brothers" that we were enduring similar, if not parallel, experiences. Symbolically, if not in reality, we were kindred spirits, slogging through those mud-sucking rice paddies, enduring the sweltering heat of the leach-infested Asian jungle, while ever mindful of our duty and responsibility to our Marines, our "brothers" and to our Corps. 

While it is true we should not grow too fond of war, as Gen Robert E. Lee said, failure in our profession is unforgivable. Especially in view of the consequences it can have on human life, specifically those young lives which were entrusted to us at the fire team, platoon, and company levels. 
 
Being a Marine is about being strong but knowing when to be gentle, being brave but not foolishly reckless, being proud without being overbearing, being serious but not unreasonable, setting high goals but knowing when to settle for less, and being compassionate without being soft. 

The greatest mystery in life is knowing our inner self. We all have a choice. Being a Marine requires having the heart of a lion. And it demands a commitment to a cause greater than us. 

Our young Marines, such as those who served with me in that rice paddy hell, are the best investment in the future of our Corps. It is said that nothing lasts; well, being a Marine is FOREVER.

In the recesses of my memory, it seems like only yesterday when I think of that first sleepless night at Quantico, Virginia, where I took my first steps in my journey through life as a Marine. 

It wasn’t long thereafter that I arrived at the doorsteps of my war. My very first memory of that experience was while moving through the reception and departure center in Da Nang. 

On one side of the railing were the gaunt, bronze-faced worriers and worn-looking men of color, with a distant look in their eyes, wearing tattered sun-bleached uniforms and white jungle boots. I was soon to learn that those white jungle boots were a rite of passage caused by the constant abrasiveness of the numerous patrols through the muddy rice paddies for those who lived. 

On the opposite side of the railing were us, the recent arrivals. Soft-looking men of color, and likewise, I was pale colored by comparison, wearing a clean, starched, crisp uniform and shined boots. This contrast of appearance spoke volumes about two generations, only 13 months apart, which was a routine combat tour. 

For me, these are emotionally laden memories as I also vividly recall my first combat command as an Infantry Platoon Commander. That recollection is punctuated by the faces of the young Marines whom I was privileged to lead. In combat, your time is spent constantly living in the elements, continually aware of your environment, and knowing that your adversary is hunting you as well as you are hunting him. Although you and your Marines are continually exhausted, you must not fail to be situationally aware and extremely alert. Consequently, when your radio operator trips a booby trap, you must have the presence of mind to intuitively take immediate action. 

And, when the chaos is over, it is gratifying to see the undaunted spirit of your Marines. Even the Radio Operator, as you are filling out his medievac tag, asking him, "How do you spell your name, Tveit?" And in good humor, he responded, "T-V-E-I-T, sir, and I am going home." 

In combat, there will be occasions when you may want to brutalize your enemy because of such maiming and debilitating booby traps. Never forget, however, that in war, it is as much your duty to protect your enemy, once defeated and captured, as it was your obligation to close with and kill or capture him in the first place. You must give your Marines the skills to kill, the will to kill, but never the thrill to kill. 

That first combat tour was almost prematurely ended by an enemy machine gunner who, fortunately for me, misjudged his range. Permanently embossed in my memory is that unmistakable distant flicker of muzzle flashes from across the rice paddy, only microseconds before the stump I was seated on erupted with the ricochet of bullets. 

At the other end of the emotional spectrum, there is an indescribable emptiness you can only feel at the loss of a fellow Marine in combat. When, on another wet and drizzly night after the chaos and pandemonium of another firefight has ended and in the quiet darkness, you hear and feel your Marine’s last living breath leave his body. Unfortunately, this, too, is part of being a Marine. 
 
And why did we Marines of that time do such things? I agree with the words written by a fellow Marine from the 5th Marines, Jim Webb. That the men who fought WWII were our heroes and role models ‘The Greatest Generation.’ We honored our fathers by emulating their service, and we largely agreed with our father’s wisdom in attempting to stop Communism’s spread into Southeast Asia. 

Now, let me leave you with this image of the Marines from my youth while operating on the doorsteps of Hell. In my mind’s eye, I can still see them clearly in a drizzly world of wet misery. 

Day in and day out, they did their duty slogging through those mud-sucking rice paddies during the monsoon rains, eating in the rain, sleeping in the rain, patrolling in the rain, ambushing in the rain, and unfortunately for some, bleeding and dying in the rain. There will be those who read this and recall my proclivity for moving at night in the rain. Although it was miserable for us all, it covered our movement and concealed our new location from the enemy who stayed hunkered down during the rain. To survive, we had to outwit the enemy, indulge in stay-behind ambushes to kill or capture the enemy, and out-endure the illusive enemy we were fighting in both the rice paddies of The Arizona and in the surrounding triple canopy rain forest mountains. 

There were many times I wished that I could have been a fly on the wall among them to observe the intricacies of how this enemy functioned with so little and under such adverse conditions. I was fascinated then, and in the twilight of my fading memory, I am still impressed with how they operated against us. However, we were there for only a finite amount of time, whereas they were there for an eternity.   

For our Marines, deprivation from the amenities of life was the daily routine: rarely a restful sleep, seldom a hot meal, and bathing infrequently except in a muddy bomb crater. Aye, aye, these were better Marines than I, Together we fight, Together we die, Together we eat, Together we sleep, and together we cross the rivers deep.

But in the mind of every Marine, there was the belief that the tide of battle could be swayed by that one Marine who believed he COULD NOT BE STOPPED, that one Marine with absolute confidence of purpose, focus on the mission, and fidelity to his fellow Marines and to our Corps. 

"To Observe a Marine is Inspirational, To Be a Marine is Exceptional"