Madam Speaker, I submit the following for the Record: What follows is an abridged transcript from The American Thinker by Alan Fraser of an extraordinary speech given by Lieutenant General John F. Kelly USMC on November 13, 2010. What…
Madam Speaker, I submit the following for the Record:
What follows is an abridged transcript from The American
Thinker by Alan Fraser of an extraordinary speech given by
Lieutenant General John F. Kelly USMC on November 13, 2010.
What renders it so is that General Kelly's son, First
Lieutenant Robert Michael Kelly, was killed in action in
Sangin, Afghanistan only four days before Lt. Gen. Kelly gave
this speech. Lt. Gen. Kelly's eldest child is also a U.S.
Marine.
The American Thinker wrote earlier about this incident to
which the general refers in his speech of Corporal Jonathan
Yale and Lance Corporal Jordan Haerter. Recall that it
occurred at a time when it appeared that our troop surge in
Iraq had perhaps stabilized what had been for several years a
horrific situation. Now think about how that troop surge--in
fact, the entire war--would have been viewed had fifty of our
Marines been massacred in their sleep on that April night in
2008. And finally, as we are in the season, it's good to
remind ourselves that it is only because of men like Yale,
Haerter, Gen. Kelly, and his brave sons that we are able to
celebrate our holidays and not those of our enemies.
[Semper Fi Society of St. Louis Speech]
(By LTG Kelly on Nov. 13, 2010)
Nine years ago two of the four commercial aircraft took off
from Boston, Newark, and Washington. Took off fully loaded
with men, women and children--all innocent, and all soon to
die. These aircraft were targeted at the World Trade Towers
in New York, the Pentagon, and likely the Capitol in
Washington, D.C. . . . Three found their mark. No American
alive old enough to remember will ever forget exactly where
they were, exactly what they were doing, and exactly who they
were with at the moment they watched the aircraft dive into
the World Trade Towers on what was, until then, a beautiful
morning in New York City. Within the hour 3,000 blameless
human beings would be vaporized, incinerated, or crushed in
the most agonizing ways imaginable. The most wretched among
them--over 200--driven mad by heat, hopelessness, and utter
desperation leapt to their deaths from 1,000 feet above Lower
Manhattan. We soon learned hundreds more were murdered at the
Pentagon, and in a Pennsylvania farmer's field.
Once the buildings had collapsed and the immensity of the
attack began to register most of us had no idea of what to
do, or where to turn. As a nation, we were scared like we had
not been scared for generations. Parents hugged their
children to gain as much as to give comfort. Strangers
embraced in the streets stunned and crying on one anther's
shoulders seeking solace, as much as to give it.
Instantaneously, American patriotism soared not ``as the last
refuge'' as our national-cynical class would say, but in the
darkest times Americans seek refuge in family, and in
country, remembering that strong men and women have always
stepped forward to protect the nation when the need was
dire--and it was so God awful dire that day--and remains so
today.
There was, however, a small segment of America that made
very different choices that day . . . actions the rest of
America stood in awe of on 9/11 and every day since. The
first were our firefighters and police, their ranks decimated
that day as they ran towards--not away from--danger and
certain death. They were doing what they'd sworn to do--
``protect and serve''--and went to their graves having
fulfilled their sacred oath. Then there was your Armed
Forces, and I know I am a little biased in my opinion here,
but the best of them are Marines. Most wearing the Eagle,
Globe and Anchor today joined the unbroken ranks of American
heroes after that fateful day not for money, or promises of
bonuses or travel to exotic liberty ports, but for one reason
and one reason alone; because of the terrible assault on our
way of life by men they knew must be killed and an extremist
ideology that must be destroyed. A plastic flag in their car
window was not their response to the murderous assault on our
country. No, their response was a commitment to protect the
nation swearing an oath to their God to do so, to their
deaths. When future generations ask why America is still free
and the heyday of Al Qaeda and their terrorist allies was
counted in days rather than in centuries as the extremists
themselves predicted, our hometown heroes--soldiers, sailors,
airmen, Coast
Guardsmen, and Marines--can say, ``because of me and people
like me who risked all to protect millions who will never
know my name.''
As we sit here right now, we should not lose sight of the
fact that America is at risk in a way it has never been
before. Our enemy fights for an ideology based on an
irrational hatred of who we are. Make no mistake about that
no matter what certain elements of the ``chattering class''
relentlessly churn out. We did not start this fight, and it
will not end until the extremists understand that we as a
people will never lose our faith or our courage. If they
persist, these terrorists and extremists and the nations that
provide them sanctuary, they must know they will continue to
be tracked down and captured or killed. America's civilian
and military protectors both here at home and overseas have
for nearly nine years fought this enemy to a standstill and
have never for a second ``wondered why.'' They know, and are
not afraid. Their struggle is your struggle. They hold in
disdain those who claim to support them but not the cause
that takes their innocence, their limbs, and even their
lives. As a democracy--``We the People''--and that by
definition is every one of us--sent them away from home and
hearth to fight our enemies. We are all responsible. I know
it doesn't apply to those of us here tonight but if anyone
thinks you can somehow thank them for their service, and not
support the cause for which they fight--America's survival--
then they are lying to themselves and rationalizing away
something in their lives, but, more importantly, they are
slighting our warriors and mocking their commitment to the
nation.
Since this generation's ``day of infamy'' the American
military has handed our ruthless enemy defeat-after-defeat
but it will go on for years, if not decades, before this
curse has been eradicated. We have done this by unceasing
pursuit day and night into whatever miserable lair Al Qaeda,
the Taliban, and their allies, might slither into to lay in
wait for future opportunities to strike a blow at freedom.
America's warriors have never lost faith in their mission, or
doubted the correctness of their cause. They face dangers
every day that their countrymen safe and comfortable this
night cannot imagine. But this has always been the case in
all the wars our military have been sent to fight. Not to
build empires, or enslave peoples, but to free those held in
the grip of tyrants while at the same time protecting our
nation, its citizens, and our shared values. And, ladies and
gentlemen, think about this, the only territory we as a
people have ever asked for from any nation we have fought
alongside, or against, since our founding, the entire extent
of our overseas empire, as a few hundred acres of land for
the 24 American cemeteries scattered around the globe. It is
in these cemeteries where 220,000 of our sons and daughters
rest in glory for eternity, or are memorialized forever
because their earthly remains are lost forever in the deepest
depths of the oceans, or never recovered from far flung and
nameless battlefields. As a people, we can be proud because
billions across the planet today live free, and billions yet
unborn will also enjoy the same freedom and a chance at
prosperity because America sent its sons and daughters out to
fight and die for them, as much as for us.
The comforting news for every American is that our men and
women in uniform, and every Marine, is as good today as any
in our history. As good as what their heroic, under-
appreciated, and largely abandoned fathers and uncles were in
Vietnam, and their grandfathers were in Korea and World War
II. They have the same steel in their backs and have made
their own mark etching forever places like Ramadi, Fallujah,
and Baghdad, Iraq, and Helmand and Sagin, Afghanistan, that
are now part of the legend and stand just as proudly
alongside Belleau Wood, Iwo Jima, Inchon, Hue City, Khe Sanh,
and Ashau Valley, Vietnam. None of them have ever asked what
their country could do for them, but always and with their
lives asked what they could do for America. While some might
think we have produced yet another generation of
materialistic, consumeristic and self-absorbed young people,
those who serve today have broken the mold and stepped out as
real men, and real women, who are already making their own
way in life while protecting ours. They know the real
strength of a platoon, a battalion, or a country that is not
worshiping at the altar of diversity, but in a melting pot
that stitches and strengthens by a sense of shared history,
values, customs, hopes and dreams all of which unifies a
people making them stronger, as opposed to an unruly gaggle
of ``hyphenated'' or ``multi-cultural individuals.''
I will leave you with a story about the kind of people they
are . . . about the quality of the steel in their backs . . .
about the kind of dedication they bring to our country while
they serve in uniform and forever after as veterans. Two
years ago when I was the Commander of all U.S. and Iraqi
forces, in fact, the 22nd of April 2008, two Marine infantry
battalions, 1/9 ``The Walking Dead,'' and 2/8 were switching
out in Ramadi. One battalion in the closing days of their
deployment going home very soon, the other just starting its
seven-month combat tour. Two Marines, Corporal Jonathan Yale
and Lance Corporal Jordan Haerter, 22 and 20 years old
respectively, one from each battalion, were assuming the
watch together at the entrance gate of an outpost that
contained a makeshift barracks housing 50 Marines. The same
broken down ramshackle building was also home to 100 Iraqi
police, also my men and our allies in the fight against the
terrorists in Ramadi, a city until recently the most
dangerous city on earth and owned by Al Qaeda. Yale was a
dirt poor mixed-race kid from Virginia with a wife and
daughter, and a mother and sister who lived with him and he
supported as well. He did this on a yearly salary of less
than $23,000. Haerter, on the other hand, was a middle class
white kid from Long Island. They were from two completely
different worlds. Had they not joined the Marines they would
never have met each other, or understood that multiple
America's exist simultaneously depending on one's race,
education level, economic status, and where you might have
been born. But they were Marines, combat Marines, forged in
the same crucible of Marine training, and because of this
bond they were brothers as close, or closer, than if they
were born of the same woman.
The mission orders they received from the sergeant squad
leader I am sure went something like: ``Okay you two clowns,
stand this post and let no unauthorized personnel or vehicles
pass.'' ``You clear?'' I am also sure Yale and Haerter then
rolled their eyes and said in unison something like: ``Yes
Sergeant,'' with just enough attitude that made the point
without saying the words, ``No kidding sweetheart, we know
what we're doing.'' They then relieved two other Marines on
watch and took up their post at the entry control point of
Joint Security Station Nasser, in the Sophia section of
Ramadi, al Anbar, Iraq.
A few minutes later a large blue truck turned down the
alley way-perhaps 60-70 yards in length--and sped its way
through the serpentine of concrete jersey walls. The truck
stopped just short of where the two were posted and
detonated, killing them both catastrophically. Twenty-four
brick masonry houses were damaged or destroyed. A mosque 100
yards away collapsed. The truck's engine came to rest two
hundred yards away knocking most of a house down before it
stopped. Our explosive experts reckoned the blast was made of
2,000 pounds of explosives. Two died, and because these two
young infantrymen didn't have it in their DNA to run from
danger, they saved 150 of their Iraqi and American brothers-
in-arms.
When I read the situation report about the incident a few
hours after it happened I called the regimental commander for
details as something about this struck me as different.
Marines dying or being seriously wounded is commonplace in
combat. We expect Marines regardless of rank or MOS to stand
their ground and do their duty, and even die in the process,
if that is what the mission takes. But this just seemed
different. The regimental commander had just returned from
the site and he agreed, but reported that there were no
American witnesses to the event--just Iraqi police. I figured
if there was any chance of finding out what actually happened
and then to decorate the two Marines to acknowledge their
bravery, I'd have to do it as a combat award that requires
two eye-witnesses and we figured the bureaucrats back in
Washington would never buy Iraqi statements. If it had any
chance at all, it had to come under the signature of a
general officer.
I traveled to Ramadi the next day and spoke individually to
a half-dozen Iraqi police all of whom told the same story.
The blue truck turned down into the alley and immediately
sped up as it made its way through the serpentine. They all
said, ``We knew immediately what was going on as soon as the
two Marines began firing.'' The Iraqi police then related
that some of them also fired, and then to a man, ran for
safety just prior to the explosion. All survived. Many were
injured . . . some seriously. One of the Iraqis elaborated
and with tears welling up said, ``They'd run like any normal
man would to save his life.'' ``What he didn't know until
then,'' he said, ``and what he learned that very instant, was
that Marines are not normal.'' Choking past the emotion he
said, ``Sir, in the name of God no sane man would have stood
there and done what they did.'' ``No sane man.'' ``They saved
us all.''
What we didn't know at the time, and only learned a couple
of days later after I wrote a summary and submitted both Yale
and Haerter for posthumous Navy Crosses, was that one of our
security cameras, damaged initially in the blast, recorded
some of the suicide attack. It happened exactly as the Iraqis
had described it. It took exactly six seconds from when the
truck entered the alley until it detonated.
You can watch the last six seconds of their young lives.
Putting myself in their heads I supposed it took about a
second for the two Marines to separately come to the same
conclusion about what was going on once the truck came into
their view at the far end of the alley. Exactly no time to
talk it over, or call the sergeant to ask what they should
do. Only enough time to take half an instant and think about
what the sergeant told them to do only a few minutes before:
``. . .let no unauthorized personnel or vehicles pass.'' The
two Marines had about five seconds left to live.
It took maybe another two seconds for them to present their
weapons, take aim, and open up. By this time the truck was
half-way through the barriers and gaining speed the whole
time. Here, the recording shows a number of Iraqi police,
some of whom had fired their AKs, now scattering like the
normal and rational men they were-some running right past the
Marines. They had three seconds left to live.
For about two seconds more, the recording shows the
Marines' weapons firing nonstop . . . the truck's windshield
exploding into shards of glass as their rounds take it apart
and tore in to the body of the son-of-a-bitch who is trying
to get past them to kill their brothers--American and Iraqi--
bedded down in the barracks totally unaware of the fact that
their lives at that moment depended entirely on two Marines
standing their ground. If they had been aware, they would
have know they were safe . . . because two Marines stood
between them and a crazed suicide bomber. The recording shows
the truck careening to a stop immediately in front of the two
Marines. In all of the instantaneous violence Yale and
Haerter never hesitated. By all reports and by the recording,
they never stepped back. They never even started to step
aside. They never even shifted their weight. With their feet
spread should width apart, they leaned into the danger,
firing as fast as they could work their weapons. They had
only one second left to live.
The truck explodes. The camera goes blank. Two young men go
to their God. Six seconds. Not enough time to think about
their families, their country, their flag, or about their
lives or their deaths, but more than enough time for two very
brave young men to do their duty . . . into eternity. That is
the kind of people who are on watch all over the world
tonight--for you.
We Marines believe that God gave America the greatest gift
he could bestow to man while he lived on this earth--freedom.
We also believe he gave us another gift nearly as precious--
our soldiers, sailors, airmen, Coast Guardsmen, and Marines--
to safeguard that gift and guarantee no force on this earth
can every steal it away. It has been my distinct honor to
have been with you here today. Rest assured our America, this
experiment in democracy started over two centuries ago, will
forever remain the ``land of the free and home of the brave''
so long as we never run out of tough young Americans who are
willing to look beyond their own self-interest and
comfortable lives, and go into the darkest and most dangerous
places on earth to hunt down, and kill, those who would do us
harm. God Bless America, and . . . SEMPER FIDELIS!