Meanwhile, Travis was making another visit to the East Coast, for the christening of his niece, Maggie Rose Borek, in Avalon, New Jersey. Travis had first met Maggie shortly after her June 16, 2006, birth, but getting the chance to hold his sister’s daughter was always special.
Adding to the August trip’s significance was Travis’s recent discovery that he would be returning to Iraq with the 3rd Battalion, 2nd Brigade, 1st Iraqi Army Division Military Transition Team (3-2-1 MiTT). Not only would Travis finally get the chance to spend almost every day leading Marines into battle, but he would also be tasked with training Iraqi Army soldiers to protect their country from insurgents and terrorists.
A crescendo of “Travis!” filled the house as the smiling Marine walked into the bright, bustling living room. After hugging his parents, who were excited to see their son for the first time in months, Travis walked straight toward Maggie, who was in her mother’s arms.
“Hey, Ryan,” Travis said to his blonde-haired sister. “Are you gonna give me that baby or what?”
“Hey, Trav,” Ryan said. “She’s all yours.”
Travis took Maggie and sat down on the couch, looking straight into her eyes and smiling while quietly whispering into her little left ear. For the rest of the day Travis treated Maggie like she was a bag of gold, holding her for hours at a time and rarely agreeing to let her go. After all, during Travis’s last visit Ryan had told him he was Maggie’s godfather, which reaffirmed his obligation to always protect her.
When looking at Maggie, perhaps Travis saw the generation he was shielding from fighting in future wars. Perhaps he saw the Iraqi children who wandered around Fallujah’s unforgiving streets, some of whom were killed and maimed by enemy roadside bombs or tragically caught in the crossfire of firefights with insurgents.
Not long after Travis returned to California after his niece’s baptism, he got a call from his former Naval Academy roommate, who was still deployed in Iraq. Brendan was at Camp Fallujah, where Travis had spent so much time from the summer of 2005 to the spring of 2006.
“Guess what, Travis?” Brendan said. “My lat transfer to the SEALs was approved.”
“Wow, that is awesome, man!” Travis said. “What did they say about you being colorblind? Didn’t you say they’ve never accepted a colorblind candidate before?”
“I guess they decided to give me a shot,” Brendan said. “I was lucky enough to get some good recommendations.”
“Man, that’s just great,” Travis said. “So when do you start training?”
“I’ll probably head out to San Diego next spring,” Brendan said. “BUD/S is going to be hard as hell, but it’s great to at least get a chance at it.”
Travis knew most candidates wound up quitting Basic Underwater Demolition/SEAL (BUD/S) training, but he also knew that his former roommate never quit anything. If anyone could handle the world’s most unrelenting audition, it was Brendan Looney.
“You’re going to kick ass,” Travis said. “The next time we hang out, I’ll take you on a run and whip you back into shape.”
When Brendan told Travis he would be home around November 2006—the same time Travis was scheduled to take a trip back east—the two friends planned a visit.
“I’ll have to check the schedule and see when the ’Skins and Eagles play each other this year,” Travis said.
“Sounds good,” Brendan said. “Eagles are going down!”
“We’ll see about that,” Travis said with a laugh. “Well look, man, congratulations and make sure to stay safe over there.”
“Thanks, Trav,” Brendan replied. “Oh, and don’t say anything to Amy about when I’m coming home. . . . I’m going to try to surprise her and my mom.”
Shortly after their phone call, Travis called his dad to tell him he had just heard from Brendan.
“Dad, Brendan got picked up to try out for the Navy SEALs,” he said.
“That’s great, Travis,” Tom said. “The SEALs made the right call.”
“Yep, Brendan’s as tough as they come,” Travis said.
Knowing that Brendan would probably become a Navy SEAL motivated Travis even more, just as hearing Travis’s stories from Fallujah helped push Brendan to continue pursuing special operations. Now that they were military officers, everything had a much bigger purpose than during their days at the Naval Academy. By driving each other to succeed, they were making each other better leaders.
Just prior to Thanksgiving 2006, Travis flew to Philadelphia to spend a few weeks with family and friends. He had been home in June and again in August and was planning to take a trip to Australia with friends before his mom pleaded with him to visit again before deploying to Iraq. Like most sons, Travis occasionally rolled his eyes at his mom’s protective nature, but at the same time, he knew how important it was to spend time with her before going back to war.
One of the first things Travis did was meet up with Marine Major Steve Cantrell, an assistant Navy wrestling coach and economics professor whom Travis looked up to and respected. Cantrell had both coached and taught Travis in Annapolis and subsequently developed friendships with Tom and Janet after he moved to Pennsylvania.
Even after Travis had left the academy and come back, Cantrell had admired the young man’s strength of character. He saw Travis’s will to succeed over and over again in the wrestling room and also noticed how his hunger for success carried over into the classroom. Cantrell, who had served on a selection board that ultimately determined the path Naval Academy graduates would take inside the military, was thrilled when Travis had made the Marine Corps his goal.
Cantrell was subsequently assigned as the future first lieutenant’s mentor. Aside from guiding Travis’s physical training, including a rehabilitation program after a second surgery on his badly injured shoulder, Cantrell had also helped Travis prepare mentally for TBS and the rigors of becoming a Marine officer.
“You were a leader on the wrestling team,” Cantrell often told Travis. “Now you’re going to be a leader on the battlefield.”
Even though Travis was a much younger, less seasoned Marine, he managed to inspire his mentor. Not only did Cantrell, who had graded Travis’s essays and exams, know this young man was bright enough to do anything he wanted in life, he always marveled over how Travis strove for tough assignments. Because he had excelled so greatly at TBS, Travis had been permitted to pick his unit, and he chose the 1st Reconnaissance Battalion with full knowledge that at least one combat deployment was on the horizon. Cantrell admired Travis’s courage and determination.
Travis and Cantrell decided to spend a few days in New York City, where Cantrell had arranged a visit to the New York Fire Department’s Rescue 1 headquarters. Located in Hell’s Kitchen, Rescue 1 had become a revered place over the past five years. The small Manhattan building, which was still fully functioning, had been the home base for eleven firefighters—almost half the unit—killed in the September 11, 2001, terrorist attacks.
When Travis walked through Rescue 1’s open red garage door, he saw men who had sacrificed and endured. It reminded him of the brave Marines he had seen on the front lines during his first deployment. The firefighters were welcoming, especially when they learned that Travis would soon be heading to Iraq for a second time.
The firefighters assembled several tables of mementos for Travis to look at, including patches from the uniforms of several firefighters killed on 9/11. The names of every fallen Rescue 1 firefighter were carved into one of the tables, and Travis did his best to remember all eleven names after he left the firehouse.
“Steve, I still can’t believe what these guys were willing to do,” Travis said to his friend and mentor. “I don’t know if I could run into a burning building.”
“You’ve already done it, Travis,” Cantrell said. “There’s nobody more prepared to get the job done than you are.”
As they were leaving the firehouse, one firefighter and former Marine thanked Travis for coming to visit.
“Lieutenan
t Manion, I want you to have these hats and shirts,” the Marine Corps veteran said. “No matter how crazy things get over there, you can always put one of these on and remember what you’re fighting for.”
Upon returning to his parents’ house, Travis headed down to the lower level, where his dad was working in his home office. When Tom asked his son about his trip, Travis said that though he and Cantrell had had some fun, the Rescue 1 visit was clearly the highlight.
“I’ve never seen anything like it,” Travis said. “The truly awesome thing is how much they support us.”
After talking more about the day’s events, Travis pulled a blue hat out of his bag. With the Rescue 1 FDNY logo on the front and “9–11–01 Never Forget” on the back, it was a symbol of the war that had begun when al Qaeda attacked the United States.
“Dad, I want you to have this, and please wear it while I’m gone,” Travis said. “No matter what happens, always remember that this is what we’re fighting for.”
As Tom took a long look at the hat before putting it down carefully on his desk, he felt an immense sense of pride. As a Marine himself, Tom knew the sacrifice Travis was making for his country. But as a father, Tom also recognized the danger on the horizon, and he was worried about his only son.
“Now remember, you’re an advisor, so that means you tell the Iraqis what to do and then step back and watch them execute,” the Marine colonel said.
Suddenly Travis went silent. When his dad asked if he understood, the younger Marine finally spoke up. “Yeah, dad, I’ve got it.”
But Tom knew his son had no plans to “step back.” As a warrior and US Marine Corps officer, Travis would always lead from the front.
On December 4, 2006, a few weeks before Travis was scheduled to leave for California to embark on his second Iraq deployment, he attended a Philadelphia Eagles–Carolina Panthers game with his sister Ryan’s husband, Dave Borek, at Lincoln Financial Field. Travis had been going to Eagles games with his dad since he was a little boy, and Dave, who grew up in the Jersey Shore community of Avalon, where Ryan first met him during a summer trip, was also a big fan.
This was an important Monday night football game for the Eagles, and Travis and Dave approached it as they always did, with a first-rate tailgate party, cold beer, and hearty laughs. But as the sounds of rabid football fans filled the dark, foggy sky, Travis and his sister’s husband were well aware of the night’s significance, even if they shied away from discussing it. In less than a month Travis would be involved in bloody urban battles in one of the world’s most dangerous places.
By any measure, Travis was ready for the streets of Fallujah, especially after his previous combat tour and two rounds of predeployment training. He was well prepared, focused, and except for maybe his junior year as a Navy wrestler, in the best physical condition of his young life.
Even so close to going back to Iraq, Travis’s demeanor was calm. He was doing exactly what he wanted with his life, and instead of complaining about spending the next twelve months in a war-ravaged city that could justifiably be labeled a hell hole, he felt fortunate for the chance to put all the hard work of the last eight years to good use.
As they listened to one of Travis’s favorite iPod playlists, which consisted of everything from Johnny Cash and Elton John to Ben Harper and The Roots, Dave took a sip of his beer and leaned against his car in silence as his visible breath blended with smoke from a small grill to fill the chilly air near the two-man tailgate. Dave knew young Americans were dying in Iraq almost every day, including a soldier named Private First Class Ross McGinnis, who had died the previous weekend in Baghdad. The nineteen-year-old Knox, Pennsylvania, native, who dove on top of a grenade to save the lives of fellow Army soldiers, would later become the fourth US service member to be awarded the Medal of Honor for heroism displayed in Iraq.
Dave was an avid reader, particularly of military-themed books and magazines, and was following the war closely. He knew Travis faced severe risks in Fallujah, particularly in a unit that guided Iraqi soldiers around the city’s hostile streets. Though he never mentioned the full scope of his fears to Ryan, or for that matter Travis, he was worried about whether he would see his brother-in-law again. In fact, part of him wished he could talk Travis out of leaving, even though he knew it would be an exercise in futility.
“Hey, Dave, are you alright?” Travis asked.
“Yeah, buddy, just thinking about the big game,” Dave said with a nervous grin. “Let’s head inside.”
The Eagles came from behind in the fourth quarter to defeat the Panthers, 27–24, in a game that would spark a five-game winning streak and an NFC East division title. But as the crowd hooted and hollered while filing out of the stadium after the big win, Dave couldn’t get out of his mind the images from Iraq he had been seeing on television: burning cars, crumbling buildings, and huge explosions.
As they reached a flight of stairs near the Lincoln Financial Field exit, Dave, with a clear hint of humor, finally conveyed his concerns to Travis.
“Hey, Trav, if I tripped you right now and you fell and broke your ankle, do you think they’d let you sit this deployment out?” he asked.
Travis chuckled at Dave’s joke, but didn’t say much in response. A brief moment of slightly awkward silence followed, while drunken Eagles fans shouted and chanted all around them. Suddenly Travis spoke up.
“You know what though, Dave?” Travis said with an unmistakably serious look on his face. “If I don’t go, they’re going to send another Marine in my place who doesn’t have my training.”
“If not me, then who . . . you know what I mean?” he continued. “It’s either me or that other guy who isn’t ready, so I’m the one who has to get the job done.”
Dave was worried that he had offended Travis, but he also fully understood his point. His brother-in-law would spend the next year fighting insurgents and terrorists in Fallujah, and there simply wasn’t any guarantee he was coming home safely. It was a tough pill to swallow, but this was the nature of warriors like Travis and Brendan.
Travis wasn’t angry with his sister’s husband. Just like Ryan and her parents, Dave simply wanted him to come home safely. But tonight wasn’t about the heavy stuff. Travis just wanted to listen to some music by the car, watch the postgame traffic dissipate, and enjoy the Eagles’ victory.
“Don’t worry,” he said to Dave, patting him on the back. “Everything’s going to be alright.”
Nearly seventy thousand green-and-white-clad Philadelphia Eagles fans packed Lincoln Financial Field that night, but only a handful had fought for their country in Iraq or Afghanistan. Travis was one of them, and probably the only fan who would spend Super Bowl Sunday patrolling the streets of Fallujah. Even after a prior Iraq deployment, it was impossible for the seasoned Marine officer to predict what would happen after leaving the City of Brotherly Love. Travis was only sure of one thing: he was willing to die for every single person in that stadium.
After Dave got home from the game and gave his wife a hug, Ryan asked him how the night went. Dave said it was fun, but at the same time, he couldn’t stop thinking about the exchange he’d had with Travis as they left the stadium.
“I hope I didn’t offend Trav by joking around about tripping him and breaking his ankle,” Dave said to his wife.
“Oh come on, Dave, I’m sure he knows you’re just worried about him,” Ryan said. “We all are.”
“Yeah, but one thing he said afterward really stuck with me,” Dave said. “He talked about the Marines who’d have to go over there instead if he didn’t go back.”
After a pause, Dave repeated Travis’s words.
“If not me, then who . . . “
A few days later, Amy was at work in Arnold, Maryland, when a surprise visitor walked in. She gasped.
It was Brendan, who smiled and opened his huge arms to give her a hug. The Navy officer had just come from nearby Silver Spring, where he had surprised his mom, and couldn’t wait to embrace Amy af
ter three months in Iraq. He was finally home.
Later in the week, Brendan was calling friends to let them know he was back in the States. During one call, Amy wasn’t sure who was on the other end of the line.
“It’s your favorite,” Brendan said with a smile.
Amy knew instantly that it was Travis. He and Brendan were coordinating hanging out during Travis’s planned visit to Annapolis, where he would serve as a groomsman in the wedding of his friend Ben Mathews, whom Brendan had once given the friendliest of bloody noses at football practice.
“I can’t believe Brendan surprised me like that,” Amy said to Travis. “Did you know?”
“Guilty as charged,” he said with a laugh.
“Well listen, Trav, I’m thrilled to have him home, but I want you to stay safe over there, too,” Amy said. “I’ll probably be at work when you come down to Maryland, so if I don’t see you, good luck over there.”
“Thanks, Amy,” Travis said. “Take care of the big guy for me.”
A few days later Travis and Brendan met up for the weekend in Annapolis before attending the Sunday Washington Redskins–Philadelphia Eagles game at FedEx Field in nearby Landover.
When they had gone to previous Redskins-Eagles games together in Philadelphia, Brendan had boldly entered a notoriously hostile environment to cheer on his hometown team. But sporting their sense of humor and mature realization that the winner of a football game didn’t have a huge impact on the world, Brendan and Travis would occasionally trade jerseys and pretend to root for the opposing team. One time when Travis was being yelled at by a fellow Eagles fan, Brendan collapsed into his seat with laughter.
As always, the afternoon was filled with cold beer, great stories, and some friendly trash talk after the Eagles pulled out a 21–19 victory. The former roommates had once again switched jerseys to fool the fans around them.
Tom Sileo Page 8