(no subject)
Most people will never witness a Repatriation Ceremony from a soldier’s point of view. A Repatriation Ceremony is where a soldier who has paid the ultimate price is brought home in a final act honoring their sacrifice. The general public typically sees only the final stage as pictures of flag draped caskets in Dover, Delaware flash across the evening news. So bear with me as I try and put into writing the thoughts and feelings that go hand-in-hand with this somber ceremony.
It was a rather chilly morning and I was the first person up in my tent. I had been feeling a little under the weather and as such had not slept well the past couple of nights. This past night was no different and rather than inconveniencing my tent mates by continuing to toss and turn in my restless state, I made a cup of tea, bundled up, and went outside to read. Halfway through my tea and two chapters later, our Sergeant Major found me and informed me that a soldier in one of our adjacent units had been killed when a VBIED (Vehicle Born Improvised Explosionary Device) detonated near his vehicle on a local patrol. He was beginning his repatriation journey back to the States and the Sergeant Major asked if I would be willing to line up alongside the road he was going to be on and pay my respects. He also requested that I ask a few of my men to join me to show unit support. I knew that there was no way that I would refuse a request such as this but, since it was still rather early in the morning, I doubted that I would be able to find very many awake volunteers that would be willing to do the same. In fact, in my scouring, I only found one person that too was an early riser this particular morning. He told me that he would take care of finding some more men to join us, that they would meet me there, and that I should go on ahead. So gathering up my weapon and equipment, I took a short walk to the field hospital where the line was to begin. A large group of soldiers was already present and I had to make my way through a few twists and turns in an attempt to find a place in line. Now I don’t know how they did it, but all the soldiers from my unit were already there. Note that I said all the soldiers; not just a couple, all. The one lone soldier that I had found had told a few, who had told a few more, who had told even a few more, and it was not long before everyone was up and out of bed rushing to pay their respects to a soldier they hardly knew but were nonetheless connected to by the red, white, and blue flags worn on our right shoulders. With a lump in my throat (the first of many for the day), I squeezed in shoulder-to-shoulder with my brothers, my family, to wait. Someone (a First Sergeant I’m sure) called all of us to attention and I heard a HMMWV in the distance start its engine. Carrying a flag-draped casket the vehicle drove slowly. One-by-one as the vehicle got closer, soldiers on either side of the road saluted and held that salute until their brother had passed by. There are few words that can describe the feelings of patriotism that go through a soldier whenever they think of our nations flag. There are no words that can describe the emotions we feel when that flag covers one of our own. It is a silence reserved and shared only by those of us who have been there, who have served, and who have experienced the loss of a friend or loved one. Fallen comrade, my brother-in-arms, I pray for your journey, I pray for your family, I pray that you will finally find rest, I pray that the peace of God which transcends all understanding will guard the hearts and minds of your loved ones. May your sacrifice not be in vain. I pledge to you that I will never forget you or the others who have so willingly laid their lives upon the alter of freedom.
Then I heard the voice of the Lord saying, “Whom shall I send? And who will go for us?” And I said, “Here am I. Send me!” - Isaiah 6:8
CPT Jonathan C. Schmidt, 75th Rangers
"In everything that you do, do it with such passion that people question your sanity."
It was a rather chilly morning and I was the first person up in my tent. I had been feeling a little under the weather and as such had not slept well the past couple of nights. This past night was no different and rather than inconveniencing my tent mates by continuing to toss and turn in my restless state, I made a cup of tea, bundled up, and went outside to read. Halfway through my tea and two chapters later, our Sergeant Major found me and informed me that a soldier in one of our adjacent units had been killed when a VBIED (Vehicle Born Improvised Explosionary Device) detonated near his vehicle on a local patrol. He was beginning his repatriation journey back to the States and the Sergeant Major asked if I would be willing to line up alongside the road he was going to be on and pay my respects. He also requested that I ask a few of my men to join me to show unit support. I knew that there was no way that I would refuse a request such as this but, since it was still rather early in the morning, I doubted that I would be able to find very many awake volunteers that would be willing to do the same. In fact, in my scouring, I only found one person that too was an early riser this particular morning. He told me that he would take care of finding some more men to join us, that they would meet me there, and that I should go on ahead. So gathering up my weapon and equipment, I took a short walk to the field hospital where the line was to begin. A large group of soldiers was already present and I had to make my way through a few twists and turns in an attempt to find a place in line. Now I don’t know how they did it, but all the soldiers from my unit were already there. Note that I said all the soldiers; not just a couple, all. The one lone soldier that I had found had told a few, who had told a few more, who had told even a few more, and it was not long before everyone was up and out of bed rushing to pay their respects to a soldier they hardly knew but were nonetheless connected to by the red, white, and blue flags worn on our right shoulders. With a lump in my throat (the first of many for the day), I squeezed in shoulder-to-shoulder with my brothers, my family, to wait. Someone (a First Sergeant I’m sure) called all of us to attention and I heard a HMMWV in the distance start its engine. Carrying a flag-draped casket the vehicle drove slowly. One-by-one as the vehicle got closer, soldiers on either side of the road saluted and held that salute until their brother had passed by. There are few words that can describe the feelings of patriotism that go through a soldier whenever they think of our nations flag. There are no words that can describe the emotions we feel when that flag covers one of our own. It is a silence reserved and shared only by those of us who have been there, who have served, and who have experienced the loss of a friend or loved one. Fallen comrade, my brother-in-arms, I pray for your journey, I pray for your family, I pray that you will finally find rest, I pray that the peace of God which transcends all understanding will guard the hearts and minds of your loved ones. May your sacrifice not be in vain. I pledge to you that I will never forget you or the others who have so willingly laid their lives upon the alter of freedom.
Then I heard the voice of the Lord saying, “Whom shall I send? And who will go for us?” And I said, “Here am I. Send me!” - Isaiah 6:8
CPT Jonathan C. Schmidt, 75th Rangers
"In everything that you do, do it with such passion that people question your sanity."