Nov. 2024. Blues Vol 40 No. 11

LIFE AFTER IN MEMORY OF

LIFE AFTER IN MEMORY OF A BELOVED SON, SSGT. ALEJANDRO A. In memory of our beloved son, SSgt. Alejandro A. Ramon III USMC, 12/06/15, and in honor of all who served. Especially those who gave all. Those who came home wounded and those who returned with amputated souls and no prosthesis to aid them. The following true story was an essay written by our son for his English class. It is a true account of a day in combat seen through the eyes of an 18 yr old Marine grunt. It shocked his college freshman class. ***The names were changed to protect the privacy of the Marines involved. RAMON FAMILY The lights flickered on, it must have been about zero four thirty in the morning. Everyone groggy from the patrol a few hours earlier, but little or no sleep had become the standard routine. I started putting on my desert utilities, they were stiff as if they had heavy starch but it was just dirt and sweat, a common problem when you have no washer or dryer. I picked up my flack jacket, which had to weigh about fifty pounds and began the long walk down the side of the dam to the “track”, or AAV’s. AAV’s stands for amphibious assault vehicle, a lightly armored transport vehicle used only by Marines. They have two weapons systems, a fifty caliber and a forty millimeter automatic grenade launcher. These vehicles proved good in water but not in a country where bombs littered the roads. When I arrived to our track, Corporal Belz began to do his pre-mission check. Corporal Belz, a mellow tempered guy, had a half ass mustache he recently decided to grow. He was an excellent leader AND one of the few guys I trusted with my life. “Ramon, do you have a full camel back?” “Check” I replied. “Are you good to go on ammo and frags?” “Yes I am corporal!” He then moved down to Lance Corporal Uhl. Uhl was a weird guy, he had multiple tattoos and was into heavy metal. He was the guy who would always get his ass chewed by Corporal Belz. Still a good kid, but he was young and “wet” behind the ears. When he finished correcting Uhl, we loaded into the back of the track. I hate tracks, along with everyone else. The idiot who designed them thought it would be a good idea to put the engine right next to the troop compartment, and the exhaust, where I posted for security. When all of our squad loaded up, the back hatch of the track began to close. As it closed, I knew the next time that door went down, bullets would be flying. Right then, the thunder of the huge diesel engines fired up, the clanking of the metal tracks turning, signaled we were leaving the dam. I stood up and posted my machine gun off the left flank. As I stood, I felt the intense heat from the exhaust blistering my flesh. The brakes slammed and the ramp lowered, “1st team, take forward security, 2nd and 3rd flank, follow!” Corporal Nino yelled. Corporal Nino was our new appointed squad leader, our previous one was shot two weeks earlier. As I ran out, I saw the rest of the company exiting their tracks and beginning to get into combat formation. The tanks pushed forward to the edge of the city, they let the enemy know the Marines are here. “3rd squad, staggered column, move out!” Corporal Nino yelled. We approached the city at a few strides short of a sprint. We began to kick in the doors and search the houses. Any house with a lock, we used a shotgun or C4 (plastic explosive) to breach the door. Everything was going smooth until the silence was broken by the loud blast of a machine gun burst. The fire fight was two houses down from our squad. I immediately ran to the roof and began to look for targets. To my left, I saw the set of houses where the intense noise of machine guns, AK-47’s and M16’s were all changing lead. The heavy fire did not cease, explosions rattled me. Then from out the back, three insurgents in “man dresses” darted out. They were all heavily armed, 102 The Blues - November ‘24

DEATH RAMON III USMC I focused my sites on the three insurgents and pulled back on the trigger. My weapon let off a few rounds before jamming. One round hit home, and dropped the insurgent, but it did not kill him. He jumped up and joined the others who ran into a rubble house. “Corporal Kropp is down” I heard over the radio. I felt my heart sink and blood start to boil. I wanted blood. Then our call came over the radio. We ran down to the street and I laid down covering fire as the squad ran across. We maneuvered back around the house where the Iraqi special forces and the rest of our platoon rallied. Running up, I saw one of the Iraqi soldiers who had taken shrapnel to the head. The pink brain matter was leaking from his skull. Another Iraqi solider with blood soaked camouflage held his lifeless body and was crying. We continued to the building where our platoon was held up at and ran inside. Our platoon commander was waiting for us on the roof. “Corporal Nino”, Captain Delgado yelled with emotion, “I want you to take your squad and clear that building, I want bodies.” Captain Delgado reminded me of a yeti, who reeked of cigarettes. He discussed what the plan of action was with Corporal Nino, and then informed the rest of the squad. The plan was the tank would fire a main gun round into the building, and that would be our queue to move into the house. I remember waiting in the living room with the rest of the squad, U.S. Marine Staff Sgt. Alex A. Ramon III The Blues - November ‘24 103