J.R. Martinez is a name many will not immediately recognize. A veteran of the Iraqi war, his life mirrors a recent shirt from Ranger Up that states “All men are created equal; it’s what they do from there that matters.” His is a story that is not often told, but to those who hear it, is an inspiration.

The struggles in his life began as a child. Born to a single mother who immigrated to the United States from a war-torn El Salvador in the early 1980’s, Martinez has faced adversity since birth. He took that hardship and turned it into motivation, playing football for a state champion high school team in Georgia. His dreams were to receive a scholarship to continue his education and play collegiately and eventually play professional football. Those dreams however, were cut short due to an injury his senior year of high school.

Not one to sit around and do nothing, Martinez joined the Army, attended basic and advanced training at Ft. Benning, Georgia and was awarded the military occupational specialty of 11-Bang Bang, the infamous Infantryman. His first assignment was to the 2-502 Infantry of the 101st Airborne Division in Ft. Campbell where he reported for duty in January 2003. A mere three months later, Martinez and his Battalion were deployed to Iraq.

Just weeks into his tour, Martinez and his platoon were on a vehicular patrol when the Humvee struck a buried land-mine with the left front wheel. The three other occupants were ejected from the vehicle, but Martinez was trapped, unable to escape. His body engulfed in flames and lungs filled with smoke; Martinez was finally rescued by his fellow soldiers; amidst the screams and the inability to open his eyes, Martinez says he had two visions. The first was of his mother who was standing beside a grave with a folded military flag. The second was of a sister who had died at an early age, before Martinez met her. His sister told Martinez that he couldn’t go because their mother needed him.

Martinez was placed in a medically induced coma and was transported first to Landstuhl, Germany and eventually to Brooke Army Medical Center in San Antonio, TX. It was three weeks later that Martinez awoke to his mother at his side and it was Texas that Martinez would call home for the next 34 months. Martinez would endure countless surgeries and begin the healing, not just physically but emotionally.

The lowest point in his recovery was when he was able to see his scarred face for the first time. Being nineteen years his biggest fear was not being able to get girls…a valid concern for any red blooded American male. After speaking endlessly to his mother, Martinez realized that it was a blessing and that he was sparred death for a greater purpose. Soon he was approached by one of the nurses who asked him to speak to another extremely depressed soldier who was dealing with injuries similar to his own. It took 45 minutes for Martinez to turn his comrade around and make a life-changing realization of his own. He was meant to do this.

Over the next several years, Martinez began touring as a motivational speaker to those who had also suffered traumatic injuries. Seeing Martinez in the halls of Walter Reed and BAMC was commonplace. He touched the lives of many a veteran and helped them through their lowest points, like a good leader, providing purpose, direction and motivation. It was this leadership that induced the Iraq Afghanistan Veterans of America (IAVA) to award him with the Veteran Leadership Award.

His work with veterans created opportunities for Martinez as well. In 2008, he was cast as Brot Monroe on the ABC’s daytime drama All My Children. A part created specifically for him, Martinez’ role was that of an Iraqi Veteran who had suffered debilitating injuries during the war. Afraid of what his fiancée is going to think of his appearance, Brot fakes his death and then comes back to see the consequences of the act, all in typical daytime drama fashion.

Currently, you can see Martinez on Dancing with the Stars on ABC where is paired with professional dance and beauty Karina Smirnoff (and he thought he’d never be able to get hot chicks). He also continues to be a motivational speaker to all that will listen and is completely comfortable with his “new and improved” face.

It is people like J.R. Martinez, overcoming adversity, taking the bull by the horns, and making the best of what he has that inspire us. For that, we award him with the Ranger Up Hero of the Week.

Created in January 2010 in the aftermath of the tragic Haiti earthquake, the badass “Team Rubicon” bridges the critical time gap between large natural disasters and conventional aid response. They provide vanguard medical care by fielding small, self-sustaining, mobile teams of skilled first-responders, including combat veterans, firefighter/paramedics, and medical personnel. To deploy rapidly, they rely heavily on horizontal command structure, social networking technology, and the employment of local nationals.” In its relatively short life, Team Rubicon has been all over the world to Haiti, Chile, Burma, Pakistan, and Sudan as well as within the United States, each time in response to some sort of disaster.

There are a couple of things that really stand out about Team Rubicon. First, every member is a volunteer and majority of them are military veterans. The reason they utilize veterans is best explained by them…”On the streets of Port-au-Prince, TR’s military veterans had an epiphany: natural disasters present the same problems that face troops in Iraq and Afghanistan: unstable populations, limited resources, and horrific sights, sounds and smells. The skills cultivated on those same battlefields—emergency medicine, risk assessment and management, teamwork and decisive leadership –are invaluable in disaster zones.”

In the span of just over a year and a half, Team Rubicon has grown to a cadre of almost 500 and is still receiving applications. Those are 500 people who are willing to drop what they are doing and head out to some pretty shitty conditions of a disaster zone all in the name of humanitarianism. This is also why veterans are a perfect fit for the calling. No where else in the world can you draw from a pool of highly trained candidates who are not only willing to live in crappy situations but can thrive and use their combat experiences to assist in the saving of lives.

Second, Team Rubicon makes McGyver look like McGruber! The highly trained field medical professionals make due with what they have to treat any possible case presented; up to and including field surgeries. All of the equipment and supplies utilized by Team Rubicon are donated or procured by cash donations. When they find themselves in a situation that requires more than what they have; they do what every service member does best, “Ranger the Fuck Up”. In crisis situations, this can be the critical time frame in which a life is saved or lost.

Another asset Team Rubicon has is its size and mobility. Because TR operates in small fire-team type elements it is able to, and routinely goes, where large relief organizations often take weeks to reach. Combine that with their approach to social media by utilizing the latest in satellite communications, TR is able to convey situation reports of remote areas to help create the “bigger picture”.

Most recently, Team Rubicon had boots on the ground 14 hours after the deadly tornados ravaged Joplin, Missouri. Drawing from their volunteer corps, they were soon at work helping with search and rescue and clearing debris. The word quickly spread through the veteran community that they were there, and soon TR was busting at the seams with volunteers asking to do nothing more than help.

Lastly, Team Rubicon has dedicated its stance to help in the transition of this great nation’s warrior back from active duty and into their respective communities and are passionate in the help and treatment of those who suffer the horrific effects of PTSD. Team Rubicon is always looking for another few god men and women to add to their ranks, the next catastrophe could be minutes away.

Team Rubicon, your willingness to step up and go where others fear, and your dedication to the veterans of America is absolutely out-freaking-standing in the eyes of Ranger Up. You have earned yourself our moniker of Hero of the Week! Thank you and keep up the good work!

Learn more here

TEAM RUBICON 2 min Promo from TEAM RUBICON on Vimeo.

“>Check out this video of TR

This weekend a hero by the name of 1^st SGT CJ Sadell was buried in Ms. Rooney’s town of Weston, Missouri.   Sadell died from wounds suffered in Afghanistan.   Weston, a small town right on the Kansas/Missouri border was told that Fred Phelps and his group of, umm, “church members” were going to be protesting the funeral.  The Westboro Baptist Church applied for and was granted the appropriate permit to assemble as is their 1^st amendment right, the day of the funeral.  They also made it clear they were going to show up.

Mrs. Rooney and other members of her community decided that wasn’t acceptable.  She took a second to assess the situation and came up with the most effective counter to Westboro’s protests and message of hate: beat them at their own game.

Mrs. Rooney and her fellow town members got to the spot early.  With flags, patriotic music, respect and love in their hearts they stood on the very ground that the Westboro folks had planned to protest.   They took all the parking spaces close to the site, brought an American flag so large that the hateful signs couldn’t be seen, and took up as much of the space as they could to shield 1^st SGT Sadell’s grieving family.  Westboro’s people took one look at the town armed with pride and respect and did what cowards do: ran, quickly.

Edmund Burke once wrote that all that was needed for evil to thrive was for good people to do nothing.  It’s an overused and sometimes cliché thing to say, but moments like this are a great reminder of the truth inherent in the statement.  For a few hours on a Saturday morning a community decided to care about their neighbor.  They decided that it was important to honor a man who had sacrificed his life for their freedom and safety and that it was not acceptable for a few people that belong in the loony bin to harm such a man’s family.

It’s also the game plan for stopping nut jobs like Fred Phelps.

“I think they didn’t do their opposition research very well,” Mrs. Rooney “If they knew Weston, it’s a patriotic town.”

Mrs. Rooney, to you and the rest of the town of Weston, Missouri thank you for reminding all of us what happens when a few of the good guys step up to the plate and say “Not in our town.”  Thank you for standing up for the troops and for caring and supporting those in your community.  Thank you too, for giving others a blueprint on how to keep Westboro Baptist “Church” permanently in Douchebagistan.

Over one third of his life since this nation was attacked was spent putting rounds down range and defending the freedom we all hold so dear.  Spent feeling the grit of sand on his face from a dust storm or helicopter landing, hearing rounds crack over his head so often it became common, going through cycle after cycle  to get ready for and then deploy to combat.  Growing from a private or tabbed spec-4 to a team leader to a squad leader and finally to a PSG, leading men into harm’s way the entire time.

You can’t read a story about SFC Vogeler without reading how devoted and loving a father and husband he was.   His family by all accounts was the center of his life, and it showed in how hard he worked to be a father and husband when he wasn’t deployed in our nation’s service.  When he died he left two children, a wife, and soon to be born baby behind.  Having such a great family is no easy task with the extremely high divorce rate amongst Special Operations troops.

SFC Vogeler was so respected for his faith and the strength of his character he was ordained as a minister, mostly so he could perform the rites of marriage for his troops.   Search his name and you’ll read the stories of how his guys might not have always believed as he did, but he was the only person they’d have trusted to officiate the day that they said “I do.”

Part of me isn’t sure how to finish this up.   How to convey to anyone reading this just how incredibly dedicated a guy like a Lance Vogeler is.  To tell you how much everyone in our nation should be thanking whatever God they believe in that we have men like him kicking doors down in the middle of the night and teaching young Rangers how to do the same.   To show you just how hard it is day in and day out to grind the way he did, as a member of the Ranger Regiment for our freedom.

I personally didn’t know SFC Vogeler, but if I’d remained on active duty and had been blessed enough to stay in the Ranger Regiment, I’d be in roughly the same spot he was in that day in the Helmand Province.  Same pay grade, same level of responsibility, same everything.  I loved being a Bat Boy, hands down the greatest time in my life.   I also haven’t forgotten how hard it was.  The all night patrols, the marathon marches, week after week of getting 3-4 hours of sleep a night in training and in combat to do things I still can’t believe I was able to do in the middle of the night under a set of PVS-14’s.  I did it for 5 years and two tours.  He did it for nine years, twelve tours.  I led a team, he was leading forty hard charging muldoons out into harm’s way, and until he died you’d never have known he was doing it.

Isaiah 6:8 goes: “And I heard the voice of the Lord, saying, Whom shall I send, and who will go for us? Then I said, Here am I; send me.”

SFC Lance Vogeler went again and again and again to keep us free and to keep us safe.  People wonder sometimes why I am so proud to have served in the Regiment, it’s because I was blessed enough to serve with men like him.

Rest in peace brother, and one for the Airborne Ranger in the Sky, you will be missed.

RLTW!

I will never accept defeat. I will never quit. I will never leave a fallen comrade; this is the heart and soul of the Army’s Soldier’s Creed. Inside of your military’s proud ranks we often look to a precious and rare few who, against all odds, adhere to these core beliefs and either give their lives in service to these ideals or show such an indomitable will that they come out the other side. We hear stuff like this in the military all the time. Lately in the war on terror it’s been all about men who made the ultimate sacrifice. Some of us have often wondered what it’d take for a man to be considered for our nation’s highest award and survive. Finally, after nine years of fighting in the war on terror, we will have a hero in the ranks that has lived to tell the tell, (now) SSG Salvatore Giunta.
SSG Giunta will be awarded the Medal of Honor for actions under fire as a member of “Battle Company” 2nd Battalion, 503rd Infantry, 173rd Brigade Combat Team out of Vicenza, Italy, while serving in the now infamous Korengal Valley, Afghanistan, which if you haven’t read Sebastian Junger’s “War” or seen “Restrepo,” both of which deal with fighting in the Korengal, you definitely need to check those out.

It was there that then Specialist Giunta’s unit took heavy fire from an L-shaped ambushed and the two troops up front were severely wounded right away, and worse, they were instantly separated from the rest of the Platoon. Specialist Giunta sprang into action and started maneuvering his team to get his buddies back, despite the enemy trying to do their best to stop him. He took a round to his front plate, he kept going. He took one to the AT-4 on his back, which thankfully didn’t go boom, kept going. He got to hand grenade range of the Taliban fighters and started chucking grenades, he kept moving. The LT. was on the radio trying to get air support but the friendly’s were just too close to the bad guys, even for the AC-130’s on station, didn’t matter to Spc. Giunta, he just kept moving. Finally getting to point man, SGT Brennan he saw two fighters, including a man suspected of being an HVT, Mohammed Tali, trying to drag SGT Brennan off. Tali died and his buddy ran off with a few new holes in him, all courtesy of SSG Giunta.

Then he brought his buddy back while rendering first aid. Ultimately, and unfortunately, Sgt. Brennan would die on the operating table at Camp Blessing, Afghanistan. But he wasn’t left. His family was able to honor their son and pay their respects.
There have been some who’ve said “he only is getting this for politics and all the Junger stuff,” or “I read story X and all that guy/girl got was a Silver Star, they should have gotten an MOH instead.” My personal thoughts on that: shut it.
No air support, in the middle of an ambush where American technology counted for little and the enemy owned the terrain, out gunned, out manned, and his buddies cut off from the rest of the platoon, it didn’t matter. Salvatore Giunta decided that he wasn’t going to tap out, he wasn’t going to quit and he sure as hell wasn’t going to leave his buddy to fall into the hands of Taliban. Dude blasted an HVT and brought his buddy back, what more to do you want? SSG Giunta, thank you for showing us the courage of the American soldier, for being the latest in a line of heroes who remind us just how great the men and women who serve us every day really are.

Last night Jack saved the World again, and yet rumors abound that Fox is cancelling 24. Good call Fox. Maybe you can run more episodes of American Fucking Idol or Bones? I’ve never seen Bones, but after 24 the previews told me the two main characters are finally going to date…that’ll probably help ratings…after all it worked for Moonlighting…

Doth mine eyes deceive me or is he...aiming?!

Better yet, please run some more generic Lawyer, Cop, or Medical dramas. That would be fan-fucking-tastically original! Come on Fox! What else does this American Icon have to do to keep his show?!

Jack Bauer has been a staple of asskickery and military manliness since 9/11. In eight days and one fairly terrible two-hour movie, Jack has killed over 250 terrorists, tortured another 300, pulled a handful of Presidents asses out of the fire, saved the World a dozen times, lost his wife, lost his girlfriend, lost his next girlfriend, drove his most recent girlfriend virtually insane, been captured and tortured at least a baker’s dozen times, and had to rescue his dumbass daughter twice or thrice. Does he complain? No. He just Rangers the Fuck Up (Bauer is tabbed, as one would expect) over and over again.

This season, Jack was hung by his wrists, beaten, electrocuted, and stabbed. You know what happened next? He kicked the terrorist cocksucker in the face and triangle choked him from the air. That’s not only a 9 on the Badass Richter scale, it’s also an incredibly embarrassing way to die, and yet oddly plausible – what I like to call the Bauer Trifecta.

And this isn’t the first time Bauer has escaped from capture. Once when his torturer leaned in to whisper some tough guy sweet nothings into Bauer’s ear, he latched onto the assclown’s throat like a Vampire Pit Bull and spit his larynx across the room.

Jack will eat the fuck out of you if he has to...

You know what else Jack does? He realizes that sheet rock doesn’t stop bullets. He shoots dumb terrorists through walls. You know what that is? That’s outstanding is what that is.

Hey, I’m a woman terrorist. Jack can’t kill me! He’ll have to have his token female co-hero fight me or it won’t be fair and he’ll look bad!

Wrong, terrorist tartlet!

Jack Bauer is not sexist. He is an equal opportunity terrorist killer. You’ll never read this though, because you’re already dead. But he is currently wearing your face so he can pose as you and infiltrate another terrorist lair.

Wait for it…now they’re dead too…

Bottom line, Fox: For a decade Jack Bauer has kicked ass, taken names, and given us a hero willing to sacrifice anything to save the nation and defend the constitution. He was an island of creative terrorist destroying awesomeness in a sea of sappy emotional pap, canned jokes, and general unrestrained lameness and douchebaggery.

If you take him from us, Fox, and your only answer is Human Target, well…we’re probably gonna hate you.

And for those of you out there questioning Jack Bauer’s awesomeness and perhaps wondering why we’d allow a “fictional” character to be Hero of the Week, I leave you with this real life conversation with Supreme Court Justice Antonin Scalia at a conference in Ottawa, Canada:

During a panel discussion about terrorism, torture and the law, a Canadian judge remarked, “Thankfully, security agencies in all our countries do not subscribe to the mantra ‘What would Jack Bauer do?’ ”

“I don’t think so.”

No, sir, we would not. We’d have covered him while he moved.

Rhino Den, ATTENTION!

PRESENT ARMS!

ORDER ARMS!

Thank you, Mr. Bauer, for your distinguished service.

Jack Bauer’s Military Honors:

Combat Infantryman’s Badge

Kuwaiti Liberation Medal

“How you doing today, Major?” an old guy in civie clothes says to me one afternoon in Afghanistan. I wasn’t surprised by the greeting as much as where it happened-in the JOC. My JOC. I was the JOC chief and some old guy had just invaded it like he was Josey Wales and even greeted me politely. Cheers to that, but my only thought was, “who let this guy in here?” Before I could utter as such, a small crest on his shirt that I immediately recognized as the Medal of Honor stopped me in my tracks.

Holy fuck, was about all I could get my mind to think before he shook my hand. “I’m good, Sir. How are you?” I replied, suddenly humbled.

His name was Robert Howard and he was about the studliest son of a bitch you’ll ever hear about. I call him a son of a bitch with the full reverence of a fellow soldier in complete awe of his accomplishments and because I know that’s what he would have wanted. He was the epitome of a grunt, selfless and patriotic, bereft of ego, and made of something few people (myself included) will ever know. He was a last vestige from the days of wooden ships and iron men and it wasn’t until his death a few weeks ago that I discovered he was the highest decorated soldier since WWII. Besides his MOH, he had two DSC’s, eight purple hearts, five tours of Vietnam, and a tossed salad of bravery that would make the real 300 Spartans at Thermopylae bow in deference. He was Vietnam’s answer to Audie Murphy, a man who displayed undaunted courage as frequently as the rest of us catch a cold.

Yet when cancer finally dragged him down like a pack of hyenas swarming an injured lion, he was relegated to the back pages of most newspapers, subjugated to the more important headlines of the day, like which of Tiger Woods’ new mistresses came out of the closet.

Are you fucking kidding me?

It’s no secret that entertainers are the apple of America’s eyes. It’s a necessary evil of being a secure, rich, strong country with nary an enemy on the horizon of the two oceans that protect us. We’re comfy and lazy and would rather hear about the balloon boy and Simon Cowell’s reduced role in the upcoming season of American Idol than pay respects to a man who was killing zips in the jungle while we were learning the phrase, “mommy…poop!”

As much as I’d like to throw contemptuous bags of shit at the walls of the New York Times, it’s really our own fault. Americans want to be entertained and we place those who provide our entertainment on a pedestal to be scrutinized on the same level as our elected leaders (which begs the question, why would you want that life?). When asked, the typical American teenager will list Brett Favre, Johnny Depp, and 50 Cent as their heroes instead of true leaders like Dwight D. Eisenhower, Ronald Reagan, or (God forbid) their own fathers.

I want to be angry that we worship actors (people who simply pretend to be someone else) instead of our brave warriors. But I can’t blame people who don’t have a care in the world when men like Colonel Robert Howard created it for them. I can only hope they get a healthy dose of perspective (preferably from their responsible parents) and realize America’s most precious asset is not Angelina Jolie in her Beverly Hills mansion, but Sergeant Angel Jiminez in his fighting position in Balad.

Brian Williams of NBC News says Howard leaves behind a grateful nation. Bullshit. Michael Jackson left behind a grateful nation full of weepy fans. Robert Howard left behind a small, yet very appreciative group of people who understood who he was and were proud to meet him, even if it was in a tent in Afghanistan on the eve of his passing. Rest in peace, Sir.

Read more about Colonel Robert Howard here.

Standing on the Cliffs of Pointe Du Hoc

by

Tommy Batboy

One of the first books I remember reading as a child was from a series of books on World War II. I was seven or eight and I picked the book because even as a child war fascinated me, and the title was simple: D-Day. Twenty years later, as I got out of the Eurovan in a recently paved asphalt parking lot, I thought of that book again for some reason.

“Just down that path and to the right are the cliffs, I’ll be waiting here for you,” my driver told me.

“Thank you,” I said a little nervously. After years of wanting to see it, after all the stories my old squad leader had told me, all the reading, and the privilege of talking to some of the battles survivors; I was about to go stand on the cliffs of Point Du Hoc.

If you where a Private in the 75th Ranger Regiment, you grew up knowing about Point Du Hoc. If you were a private in 2nd Ranger Battalion you learned it the way Catholic grammar school children learn the Bible. On D-day the men of 2nd Ranger Battalion drew one the hardest missions of the invasion: Scale the sheer and unprotected cliff faces of Point Du Hoc to destroy the captured French 155mm artillery pieces – the big guns that could rain hell on both the Omaha and Utah landing beaches – the guns that could jeopardize the success or failure of the Normandy landings. The mission was equally impossible and critical and its success hinged on Colonel James Rudder’s 225 men. They were equipped with ladders borrowed from the London fire department and ropes with grappling hooks.

Tommy Batboy at Point Du Hoc

The mission started poorly. The land craft got mixed up and the Germans spotted the Americans on their way to the cliffs. When they got there, they had to scale the cliffs under heavy fire. The Germans were putting grenades in mason jars before dropping them, using the glass to increase shrapnel and lethality. Firing straight down at the men at the base of the cliffs as they climbed proved incredibly lethal. 225 men started; by the end of the two-day mission only 90 were fit to fight.

In the time that it took me to walk 150 meters, I’d be standing where these proud and brave men had fought, and where many of them had died. An eerie feeling of the past settled over me. I started to walk down the path and towards the cliffs. Rounding the corner and coming face to face with the bunker complex was surreal. Unlike many of the battlefields of World War II that have been paved over or converted to tourist traps, the French government has left Point Du Hoc unchanged. 65 years later there are still 5 foot or deeper gouges in the Earth where American Naval fire or German counter battery fell. Even with all the effects from the rain and wind and weather, sixty-five years later the Earth still looks horribly scarred from the events of that day. If you stare closely you can see where American and German rifle fire chipped away at the reinforced concrete on some of the bunkers. Written in rusty, twisted rebar, cold crumbling concrete and a cratered surface similar to that of the moon, you can see the ugliness of what D-day was for those brave men.

A ringing cry shook me from my daze, turning to my left I saw a group of French teenagers, who appeared to be on a field trip, running up one side of a shell crater and out the other, playing grab ass in hopes of impressing the girls that were along on the tour.

I got very angry for a second. Remembering how The Weid, my first squad leader in 2nd Battalion, took our squad through the battle on a dry

The Barbed wire and concertina wire still sit at Point du Hoc.

erase board in the squad room. I remember him explaining that once the Rangers made it up the cliffs they found nothing but logs where the guns should be. The German Army, fearing Allied aerial bombing had moved the guns in-land. Even despite the bad and the rapidly mounting German counter attack the men of 2nd Battalion still fought on, found the guns a mile and a half inland, and completed the mission. I started thinking about meeting two of the men who’d climbed the cliff when I was at the Ranger Hall of Fame Ceremony in 2004, hearing one tell us about watching his friends get shot off the ropes as they climbed – telling us there was nothing to do but to just keep climbing. I was amazed at the matter-of-fact way he said it, and wondered if I could have been half as brave if it had been me on that rope going up the cliffs. The area is listed as a graveyard on the French registry, to see kids disrespect it like that was not an easy pill to swallow.

A deep breath later I started to move towards the cliff faces themselves. Fifteen feet or so from the cliffs there is a fence with signs written in both French and English telling you to stay back for your safety. “They didn’t serve in 2nd Bat,” I told my friend as I hopped right over the fence and marched towards the barbed wire ringing the cliff face, undoubtedly meant to keep people like me from getting right up on the edge. I walked right up the to wire, found a spot that got me just a couple of inches closer and leaned.

“Oh my God,” I muttered, watching the waves crash against the base of the cliffs below me. There is nothing, nothing to protect a man as he climbed. It is as sheer and steep a cliff face as I’ve ever seen. To say these men had no protection but the covering fire from the landing craft is a gross understatement. The moment I looked down I understood why so many men died in training on the Isle of Wright.

I understood even more deeply than I had before why the 6th stanza of the Ranger Creed is “Readily will I display the intestinal fortitude required to fight on to the Ranger objective and complete the mission, though I be the lone survivor. Ranger’s lead the way!” Through all the adversity, all the hell, through the rifle fire and the grenades, the glass and, even the heavy boulders thrown their way; the men of the 2nd Ranger Battalion climbed. They knew that their buddies were dying and were scared that they might be next, but still they climbed – hoping at least one of them would make it to the top to complete the mission.

Never in my life have I felt so humbled as I did in that moment.

Still standing concrete bunker at Point du Hoc

After taking some pictures and walking around I climbed back over the fence. I walked through the bunkers. I walked around and in the craters. Feeling the chilly, brisk early spring breeze on my face, I stared out into the English Channel, dreary and gray with low clouds that reduced visibility. I wondered what it must have been like to ride in those landing craft, pondering just how much the men that had ridden in them knew. I marveled at the bravery and strength of character a man must possess to take that ride. I wondered what Colonel Rudder would say about my generation of Rangers, and hoped that he’d think we were living up to the standards his men had set on this spot. Standing on the cliffs of Pointe Du Hoc I said a silent prayer of thanks for the sacrifices of Col. Rudder and his men.

“What time is it?” My friend asked me quietly.

“It’s time to go,” I said, checking my watch and turning back towards the path that led to the parking lot.

We walked slowly back towards the van as I looked around the top of the cliff and then back into the English Channel. I was thoroughly humbled by the courage of conviction it must have taken my forefathers to take in the same view on that fateful day in June so many years ago.

RLTW.

We had spent the morning with our wounded soldiers at Walter Reed and had given out about a hundred shirts, each of which was signed by nine-time UFC Welterweight Champion Matt Hughes and Tim, the only three-time All Army Combatives Champion. Kelly Crigger and Soldier’s Angels had spoken with the UWC about a discounted ticket price for our wounded heroes and they had graciously provided 25 free tickets. Uncle Jimbo from Blackfive was there covering the entire event, and he and I spent an hour with the Walter Reed CSM as well as the Regional CSM to determine what else we could do to help the boys and girls of Malogne House.

There had been one bleak moment when, after all the effort everyone put in; Soldier’s Angels couldn’t find transportation for our heroes to get to the fights. Ranger Up chartered a bus.

I sat there and thought that with every day that goes by, Ranger Up is making more and more of a difference. We’re taking care of our own. I was proud. This is what it was all about. This is why we existed.

Tommy looked over his shoulder and then hopped up. He said he’d be back in a few.

I figured he’d gone to hit the head or get a beer or do something obnoxious.

About ten minutes later, one of our wounded soldiers showed up.

He had Tommy’s ticket.

I looked back and saw that Tommy had gone to sit with our wounded heroes. He had given his ticket up. For the rest of the night, they would take turns sitting in Tommy’s chair, only a few feet away from the cage. Tommy is the biggest fight fan I know.

Now, understand that I am writing this behind Tommy’s back, and when he sees his name posted next to our other heroes, who have saved lives, generally at great risk to their own, and oftentimes paid the ultimate sacrifice, he will be upset. He won’t want his name on the site next to theirs, and I appreciate that sentiment.

But this acknowledgement is not just for Tommy.

I’ve been out of active duty for a few years now, and sometimes you forget what it’s like – you forget the men you served with. You forget the quality of their character.

In the NCO Creed there is a stanza that states, All soldiers are entitled to outstanding leadership; I will provide that leadership. I know my soldiers and I will always place their needs above my own.

Tommy lived the creed without fanfare. No one asked Tommy to relinquish his seat. He didn’t call attention to himself when he did it. He just quietly stood up and attended to the business of being a great NCO – and didn’t even realize that there is something special about that.

I grinned a little as I remembered my first platoon sergeant, SFC Stewart, explaining to me that it was his job to train me to be a good platoon leader. He taught me most often not by sitting down and giving speeches on leadership, but by quietly doing his job at a high level and taking care of our guys, whether they liked him for it or not. Looks like no matter where I go, I can’t shake having an NCO remind me of what’s important.

Quit smirking.

Tommy’s favorite toast is “Here’s to us and those like us. We grow fewer every day.”

I’d like to modify that a little.

To Tommy and the Gentlemen (term used loosely, of course) of the NCO Corps, here’s to you. Never forget who you are and what you stand for – no matter where life takes you. You gentlemen make all the difference, and if you grow fewer, we’re in a whole lot of trouble, because quite frankly, there is no one else like you.