Living the Oath: Warriors Take It, Families Endure It

By RaeLynn Ricarte

Michael Martinez, a Marine veteran, stepped on a bomb during a 2010 patrol in Afghanistan and lost both legs…Christian Bagge, an Army veteran lost his legs to a 2005 roadside bomb blast in Iraq…The stories of Martinez and Bagge are featured in Living the Oath: Warriors Take It, Families Endure It. Their experiences, like those of the other subjects in the book, reveal how hardship and suffering can result in a greater awareness of what it means to be a human being. Despite their inner turmoil, these men and women did not falter as they spoke about the ugliness of war and how they have been forever changed by their time on the battlefield.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Black Opal Books
• Release date: Sep 7, 2013
• ISBN: 9781626940611

Book preview

Michael Martinez, a Marine veteran, stepped on a bomb during a 2010 patrol in Afghanistan and lost both legs...Christian Bagge, an Army veteran lost his legs to a 2005 roadside bomb blast in Iraq...The stories of Martinez and Bagge are featured in Living the Oath: Warriors Take It, Families Endure It. Their experiences, like those of the other subjects in the book, reveal how hardship and suffering can result in a greater awareness of what it means to be a human being.

Despite their inner turmoil, these men and women did not falter as they spoke about the ugliness of war and how they have been forever changed by their time on the battlefield. They agreed strongly with the purpose of Living the Oath, which is to educate Americans about the sacrifices being made by the one percent of the population providing national defense. This is their book, their message to civilians--it may sometimes be uncomfortable but it will always be enlightening.

KUDOS FOR LIVING THE OATH

Living the Oath: Warriors Take It, Families Endure It is a must read for anyone that has or desires to have the fruits of freedom. As a daughter, mother, and loved one of a veteran, I found this book to eye opening and a coping device to endure to the end. It will make interesting reading for any veteran or family member of a veteran. I highly recommend it. It gets down to the brass tacks of what it is to serve. – Taylor Jones, reviewer

Living the Oath: Warriors Take It, Families Endure It by RaeLynn Ricarte was a thought-provoking, eye-opening, down-to-earth account of what it takes to either be a warrior, or to be a family member/loved one of a warrior. We all hear about the casualties on the news and we all claim to be grateful for their sacrifices, but how many of us really understand just what those sacrifices are and/or appreciate that not only the warrior makes them? Ricarte made me laugh, cry, and shake my head in wonder—sometimes all on the same page. – Regan Murphy, reviewer

Each copy of Living The Oath: Warriors Take It, Families Endure It should come with a bucket of Iraqi dust, a blood-soaked bandage and an MRE. It's about the only way to make this book any more real in bringing home the sacrifices made by our deployed military. RaeLynn Ricarte has gone above and beyond being a Marine Mom with this book. She's used her experience of her own son, Jesse Atay (whose comments throughout are worth searching out for their keen insights) as both a goad to her own troop support activities and as a key to unlock the stories of troops and their spouses from all branches of the service. Ricarte's strong background as a journalist serves her well as she sets the context for the stories in each of the 35 chapters then lets the subjects tell the stories in their own words. – Rodger Nichols, News Director, Haystack Broadcasting

Acknowledgements

Deepest gratitude to Mark B. Gibson, ace photographer at The Dalles Chronicle who volunteered his professional services to create my cover photo and design my website. Your unique way of quietly pointing out when I had taken a pass on asking the tough questions challenged me to dig deeper and hear the message behind the spoken words.

The banner of polishing the warrior stories of Living the Oath went to Susan, one of the excellent editors at Black Opal Books. You paid me the greatest compliment of all by shedding tears over the tremendous sacrifices made by these military families and were the perfect person to be my first editor because you had also lived the dream.

Faith Caminski, the senior editor at Black Opal, provided me with strong encouragement and a gentle nudge now and then to keep me on schedule. I am very appreciative of your patience and guidance.

Pepper O'Neal and her G.I. Joe husband introduced me to Black Opal, and I am forever in your debt for making my debut into the publishing world so seamless. Military families really do take care of each other and we are everywhere--watch out world!

The Black Opal board of directors took a chance on an unknown and I am humbled by your belief in my efforts.

Thanks to early readers Neita Cecil, Jade McDowell and Kathy Ursprung, my co-workers at The Chronicle, who kept the red pen handy to mark up my rough drafts. Thanks also goes to Rose Chance and Thomasina Campbell for giving me feedback on my work that mostly built up my ego but also allowed me to dream about what this book might accomplish.

Stacey Methvin and Esther Smith provided me with much needed breaks when spending a weekend at war proved too taxing on my spirits. Our urban adventures and chats over a glass of fine wine--or whatever bottle we got on sale--was more of a balm to my spirit than I would ever admit. Lee Montovan and her amazing family took me in when I needed a getaway and helped flesh out the issues of military life that I needed to explore in these stories.

Aaron Rodas and Genaro Chacon, thanks for stepping forward to be the models for my front cover without even having to be bribed. I was prepared to do so.

To anyone who helped out and has been left off this list, please forgive me--you know that I operate on only one brain cell and it sometimes falters...

All of the military families who agreed to be interviewed deserve my deepest respect and I am here for anyone who needs my help now and in the future. Debbie Lee, Monica McNeal, Nancy Pfander and Christina (Goetz) Bixby, I am driven to be a better American because of the horrendous sacrifices your families made to give me the freedom to make good life choices. There are no words to adequately portray my thanks to you and to your Fallen Angels; I hope you feel the love.

Cody Standiford, you were my first interview and gave wings to the project by telling me that you were in if I agreed not to mask the ugliness of war. Your willingness to lower the shield and provide America with a glimpse into the anguish and the humanity of your soul set the tone for the book and helped me realize how much I was asking of the warriors who participated. There is no end to my respect...

Russell McCullough, you wandered into my world on an almost 200-mile stroll to the coast at the time I was growing weary of writing about war. Watching you suffer to achieve your goal for a greater purpose renewed my determination to succeed at my own.

I was introduced to you, Jonathan Pablik, in the sands of Iraq so long ago and our lives intersected at a time when we had both set out to change the world. You taught me as I typed away to look at life from a whole new perspective and I am proud and honored to now have you as part of the family. You are that tree perched on the edge of a cliff that withstands the storms of life by digging in deep. The idea for this book was spawned while taking care of you and a group of badass Marines during a deployment that has forever changed us all.

Finally, to Jesse without whom this book would never have been written. I tried to match your footsteps on this side of the pond but, no matter how fast I ran, I could never keep up with you. Son, may your battered soul now find peace; you have done your part for the good of the order and it is time for you to find some tropical beach and bask in the sun while you write your own books.

LIVING THE OATH:

Warriors take it, families endure it.

RaeLynn Ricarte

A BLACK OPAL BOOKS PUBLICATION

Copyright 2013 RaeLynn Ricarte

Cover Art by

Copyright 2013 All Rights Reserved

EBOOK ISBN: 978-1-626940-61-1

DEDICATION

To USMC Gen. James N. Mattis: You exemplified living the oath with unwavering and uncompromising leadership. You are a true warrior and America owes you a great debt of gratitude. Thank you for your service, your men would have followed you to hell.

When people ask what I'm in the service for, I tell them '5 minutes.' I tell my guys that 100 years from now we'll all be bones in the ground, but if we've each bought 5 more minutes with our lives, if nothing more than to keep our people breathing free, or to protect the things we love, it justifies all the suffering in between. -- USMC Captain Jesse Atay, veteran of Operation Iraqi Freedom and Operation Enduring Freedom.

PREFACE

During the past several years, I have noted an alarming rise in the level of bitterness among troops serving in Afghanistan as part of Operation Enduring Freedom and those who have participated in Operation Iraqi Freedom or Operation New Dawn.

They believe the horrific memories of nearly 3,000 Americans dying in the September 11, 2001, terrorist attacks on U.S. soil have faded enough for people to just go on with life and forget the sacrifices made by the 1 percent of the population that serve as its defenders.

America isn't at war. We are at war and America's at the mall, is one popular saying amongst Marines, a ground assault force that, along with the Army, has experienced high casualty rates during multiple deployments.

It becomes easy for the vast majority of citizens to shelf thoughts about the war during the course of busy lives. No one is really comfortable thinking about young men and women fighting for their lives every day in a foreign land and suffering injury or death in those battles.

Because little media coverage is given to combat deaths that are not spectacular in nature, it takes an active effort by the general public to monitor the list of fallen warriors on the Department of Defense website or some other online source.

My reason for putting pen to paper with this book is to help you understand that post 9/11 veterans and their families need your support now more than ever. They need to know that America still cares about the hardships they endure, the injuries they suffer, and the tragic losses they bear. A tiny segment of this nation's population has stepped forward to protect more than 316 million people from an enemy who lurks in the shadows and preys on the innocent.

My son, USMC Captain Jesse Akamai Atay, 31, says 9/11 is the defining moment of his generation and he has given up his 20s to either train for war or go into combat. He has survived five deployments and earned decorations for saving the lives of others on the battlefield. He refers to those incidents as doing something suicidal and stupid but is reluctant to claim them as noteworthy out of the belief that any Marine would have done the same for him.

My son and I have both been forever changed by his transformation as a defender but it was not enough to just share with you the struggles and successes of one family. This book needed to be a chronicle of our military culture, the realities of combat, and how both the warrior and his or her loved ones survive the monumental stresses.

To tell this story accurately required many angles and perspectives so that Americans without someone in uniform could better understand the challenges that their neighbors and co-workers grapple with.

I have wept over the pain that has been shared by warriors and their spouses who, with quiet dignity, have invited you all into some of the toughest times of their lives. These stories were not told without a price. I have had warriors exhibit symptoms of great emotional distress while reliving their experiences. They have sometimes been embarrassed and always, always watchful to see how I reacted to the horrors that they shared.

What I have witnessed is an absolute and unshakeable belief, and pride, among these veterans that they have kept the wolves from America's door for more than a decade.

In this book you will primarily meet military figures with ties to Oregon because that is where the Gorge Heroes Club, a troop support group I founded, is based and where I have gotten to know many warriors. I also felt it was highly appropriate to have a larger percentage of my subjects drawn from those serving in the National Guard because more than half of all U.S. troops deployed in these wars have been citizen soldiers.

Although the people in this book are primarily from one geographic area, I have interacted with enough troops to feel confident that the viewpoints of my subjects are representative of the military as a whole.

Whatever judgments you may make about these testimonials, please don't use them to fuel a political agenda. This book has been written with great love and respect for the many warriors who walk among us. I have never felt safer than when in their midst.

This place is about taking care of business and when the pain recedes and the body restores, I'm glad I came. I've learned that the Marines won't give you anything you don't already have. They just force you to go places you never thought you could. -- Jesse Atay in a June 2002 letter from Marine Corps Recruiting Depot in San Diego, California.

CHAPTER 1

Retrospective

Lance Corporal Jesse Atay makes his debut as a new Marine with mother RaeLynn Ricarte at the 2002 Veterans' Day ceremony in Hood River, Oregon. Atay had just completed boot camp three months earlier and was enrolled in the Platoon Leader Program on a career path to become an officer after completing his education at Oregon State University.

My son stood ramrod straight and stoic in his dress blues on Veteran's Day in 2002. The fall sunlight filtering through the naked branches of an oak tree on a nearby hill seemed to be concentrating its energy on this handsome young warrior. My new Lance Corporal had worn the formal uniform of the Marines, which incorporates all three national colors, because I had pleaded with him to let me show him off at the annual ceremony in Hood River, Oregon, that pays tribute to those who have served. Jesse Akamai Atay, who enlisted in 2001, had just completed boot camp three months earlier and was, in truth, just as proud to be representing the Marines as I was to have him at my side.

I was the flag-waving military mom that day and nothing has changed in terms of my patriotism, although my life hue over the past decade has become much more camouflage-colored as idealism has given way to reality. That moment, at the beginning of this incredible journey, is forever etched into my memory. It is a photograph that was never taken but, nevertheless, will never fade or be forgotten.

I was looking at my son on that cold and clear day from a short distance away while engaged in brief conversation with a political figure after the ceremony had ended. Jesse was patiently waiting for me in the crosswalk of a street that had been closed off to accommodate the large crowd of people who were still milling around Overlook Memorial Park, a place honoring the town's war dead.

Not only was the white of Jesse's peaked hat gleaming, so were his brand-new white dress gloves and white web belt that fit snugly over his midnight blue jacket that was trimmed in red and had a standing collar. The stiffness of the neckband made it extremely uncomfortable for my Marine to do anything other than hold his head high, so he was expecting a challenge at the lunch I had promised as part of the outing. Sunlight refracting off the gilt brass buttons on Jesse's uniform made him seem like an exalted being standing among ordinary mortals--something that he, with Marine arrogance earned in battle, would now concur was likely the case.

I was not the only one looking at the resplendent 20-year-old man. People were either casting looks his way or coming over to shake Jesse's hand and thank him for his service. Several of those who had attended the ceremony took photos of my son that were later given to me for his military scrapbook.

But no one captured the image that still has the power, even after all these years, to move me to tears and to touch my soul with its nobility.

I noticed while wrapping up my conversation that an elderly woman using a walker had begun to carefully move my son's way. The woman was tiny in stature and appeared both ancient and frail as she worked her way off the curb and into the crosswalk. The organizers of the event had begun removing chairs from the pavement and were dismantling the sound system. The woman seemed oblivious to the chaotic scene going on around her and people moved out of her way as she headed toward Jesse, even altering her path when he stepped back to provide her with extra room for passage.

When she was directly in front of my son, the woman stopped and, without saying a word, held out a feeble hand that clutched one of the red silk poppies passed out by the Veterans of Foreign Wars organization at patriotic ceremonies. The poppy stands for blood shed on the battlefield, as noted in the poem Flanders Field, and pays tribute to America's fallen heroes.

Jesse, while thanking the woman, bent down slightly and extended his gloved right hand to accept her gift. She laid the crimson flower on the white cloth and that moment represented, to me, what is best about this nation. There was respect mutually exchanged between these two generations. It almost seemed to me as if the torch of patriotism had trustingly been passed from the elder to her young defender and a silent acknowledgement of that transfer had taken place.

In juxtaposition with the purity of that moment, I recall a more recent photo of Jesse standing in the middle of the desert in Helmand Province, Afghanistan, inside a ring of sandbags protecting a large tent and a fire pit where the Marines burned their feces at night in hopes of preventing dysentery. My son is shown next to another Marine and an Afghani interpreter who calls himself Sam and has become my adopted son. All three men have sweat running down their faces from the extreme heat and the few inches of hair on their heads is spiked. I am surprised to see that Jess has hair at all since, at the age of 31, he has long preferred to be clean-shaven. The men are all wearing combat gear and holding assault rifles in hands that are encased in filthy and bulky gloves of an undetermined color.

My son informed me almost six months after I received the photo that the Marines were preparing for an attack by the Taliban and had chosen to open a bottle of hair gel that someone had sent in a care package to give themselves a new do for the occasion. They had also taken a couple of shots of mouthwash in .50 caliber shell casings as part of their impromptu warrior ceremony.

When they finally came they didn't know that we were waiting for them and about 100 of us opened fire. That was pretty much the end of the story, wrote Jesse in his explanation of the picture.

Other photos that I treasure feature my hard-eyed son posing with Marines and, often, Iraqis or Afghanis that he has worked with on one of his five deployments to the Middle East. Somewhere along the way, I quit being a spectator to this drama and put down my flag to begin packing boxes to care for my child's bodily needs, much the same as I did during his infancy and childhood but minus the protection. Every package contains wet wipes that allow Jesse to clean up in the weeks between showers, anti-fungal foot cream and clean socks to keep his feet in good enough shape to leap over canals during running battles and to track the enemy who are killing his brothers with roadside bombs and sniper fire.

The day is long gone when I can get my son to go anywhere in public in any type of a uniform. He no longer has to prove anything, nor does he want to draw attention that could result in having to listen to someone's opinion about the wars he has fought in and the horrors he has witnessed and survived.

My son has flirted with death more times than I will ever know and he seldom talks of his experiences. But, when he does, I realize how blessed I am that he lives and that his soul can still recognize beauty in a world that he now knows is full of dark places.

All it takes is all you've got. -- Recruit Jesse Atay.

CHAPTER 2

The Die is Cast

Worried mom, RaeLynn Ricarte, gives son Jesse Atay a hug during an open house held on his last day as a civilian and intended to take his mind off the ordeal of boot camp. Although Jesse is smiling for the camera, his eyes reflect worry about the trials yet to come in the 13 weeks ahead. Two hours after this photo was taken, RaeLynn dropped Jesse off at the recruiting center in Gresham, Oregon, and his transformation into a warrior began.

Jesse was born a Marine, disgruntled with the world before he had even cleared the womb, and stubbornly demanding movement of his newborn body that was not yet possible. He was a difficult baby, refusing to be held in any position but upright and facing outward so that he could keep an eye on the perimeter.

For years during his childhood, I would laughingly say that all I could remember from Jesse's infancy was seeing the back of his head. My eldest hated to sleep because he had things to do--either climbing the nearest bookshelf or performing experiments to satisfy his curiosity about life. One of his scientific ventures involved pouring cat food and water down a heating vent so that the horrible smell of decay permeated the entire house a few days later and we were forced to crawl around with our noses to the floor in an attempt to track the origin of the odor.

It was no surprise to Jesse's younger brother, Luke, and I that he would choose to join the Corps after checking out what the other branches of the armed forces had to offer. We knew he would not be able to resist the allure of the Marines' legendary boot camp that extends 13 weeks, longer than any other service. He was intrigued by the opportunity to overcome rigorous obstacles designed to teach recruits how to dig deep and find the hidden strength to keep going in spite of food deprivation and absolute and total exhaustion.

Jesse never allowed himself to back down from a challenge.

He trained with a military mentality during high school football and soccer seasons--running until he vomited, enduring the pain of bone chips in his ankle, and refusing surgery until the last game had been played. He was an honor student but academics were just his way of filling in the time between physical education and after-school sports. His father, my ex-husband, nicknamed Jess Bubba somewhere in a childhood that started with 5 a.m. demands for breakfast and ended with 8 p.m. protests over succumbing to sleep. That name has stuck through the years and seems appropriate for a son who has broken his nose three times during boxing matches and won rounds in the ring before a punch was even thrown by menacing his opponent with an unwavering stare that promised violence.

My preferred plan for Jesse was to have him finish college, where he also excelled in his studies, and then enter the Marines as an officer because, in my naivety, I thought that would afford him better protection. I also knew he was intelligent and an over-achiever so he would end up extremely frustrated if he did not have some input into the decision-making processes that concerned his life and welfare.

Jesse's preferred plan was to voluntarily go through the enlisted boot camp so that, when he did become an officer, his men were not calling him a 90-day wonder because he had been only to Officer Candidate School, which many saw as less arduous. In addition, he wanted to earn the respect of his future platoons by showing the men that he could achieve success in their arena as well as his own. My son was, and is, a firm believer that people willingly follow a leader who has demonstrated superior skills. A couple of weeks before Jesse left for boot camp, I borrowed the book Making the Corps by Thomas Ricks from a friend and read to my son about the chaos that would reign after he and the other recruits were processed at Marine Corps Recruiting Depot in San Diego, California, and introduced to their Drill Instructors, the three to five men who would actively work to make their lives hell for the next couple of months.

To offset the horrors that lurked in his immediate future, I shared with Jess a reassuring chapter about the peace and order that would prevail toward the end of his training cycle. The Marines' strategic plan through all of the mental and physical hardship is to break down the selfish will of an individual and build him or her into a warrior who puts the good of the team and the mission before his or her own needs.

I read but did not yet understand the full implications of what it meant for the Marines to be the tip of the spear in a combat situation. I didn't spend much time reflecting on the mentality of men who referred to themselves as Modern Day Spartans and American Samurai. I knew that the Germans had named the Marines Devil Dogs during World War I because of their ferocity on the battlefield where they specialized in controlled chaos and violence. In my infancy as a military mother, I never thought about the bloody reality behind that mindset.

All I really knew was that my son was headed for a tortuous ordeal and I could offer him no protection or assistance, which made the Mother Bear in me very uneasy. I felt it was right and good that he had stepped forward to defend the nation from a dark threat that had taken root in the Middle East. How terrorism would be eradicated was beyond my comprehension, but I did fully understand that at some point in the future my son could be in mortal danger while fighting that war.

I had surmised that Jesse would be wrestling with his own worries on May 23, 2002, his last day as a civilian, so I decided to distract him by holding an open house for friends and family members. Although he was kept busy visiting with the people who dropped by our house in the Columbia River Gorge to wish him well, pictures from that day reflect the fear lurking in his eyes despite his stoic demeanor.

On the 45-minute drive