|
 |
> Features > Exclusive: Embedded with The Marines > Observations from behind the lens
Observations from behind the lensEditor's note: As the photographer assigned to embed with the 1st Battalion 25th Marines, most of my reporting was from behind the lens of a camera. Though I used photography as a tool of capturing the story of these Marines, here are just a few of the thoughts that crossed my mind during those days.
By Natasha Clark
Reminder Assistant Editor
Only a few hours into my stay at Twentynine Palms, I realize my idea of civilization has changed. There are no frills and comforts here. Everything that I thought was a necessity fits neatly in a backpack. Later I find out that the real necessities a helmet, flack vest, water, my MREs (Meals ready-to-eat), film and cameras can be stuffed in my pockets and strapped to my body.
As my colleague Sarah and I ride along in a blood-red Durango, Staff Sergeant Fredy Tellocastillo and First Sergeant Garry Wilson introduce us to our surroundings and what lies ahead for the day. We are heading further and further away from the main base and deeper into the desert. Soon a mock Iraq city, complete with Mosques, police stations and role-playing civilians, comes into view.
I am faced with the stone-cold reality of the extremes some people must endure for freedom. Marines, mostly between the ages of 19-25, are putting their lives on the line for a greater cause. My personal reasons for being a journalist suddenly feel mediocre in comparison.
When I open the door and the new hiking boots on my feet touch the desert sand (Tellocastillo and Wilson laugh about Sarah's and my cleanliness. They're right, it doesn't last long), they hand us our helmets and flack vests.
We're now embedded with the 1st Battalion 25th (1/25) Marines, an activated reserve unit from the Northeastern and East coasts.
There are five companies to the Battalion each with about 200 Marines. There is H & S (Headquarters and Service) which conducts all the service and support operations for the battalion. It consists of command staff, administration, intelligence, operations, logistics and supply, motor transport, communications and Scout Sniper Team. There are three Line Companies "A" (Alpha), "B" (Bravo), and "C" (Charlie). These consist of infantrymen who do the principle mission of counter insurgency operations and general infantry missions. Sarah and I are embedded with "C". There is also a Weapons Company Marines who specialize in the heavy hitting fire power for the battalion.
Each company is broken down further and has the same five-level structure but called Platoons (about 30-40 men). For two days Sarah and I alternate between the 2nd and 3rd Platoon.
***
I follow a squad in the 2nd Platoon as they approach insurgents (role-playing Marines these Marines are not currently being deployed) exchanging fire.
There seems to be a switch inside them.
The Marine in front of me lays down on his belly and looks through the scope on his weapon. His fellow squad members are strategically placed around the mock village. Another weapon, shooting blanks, fires and Marines yell about a visual on its origin. I get down on one knee, crouching to his level and pull my own trigger, firing off a series of camera shots.
With all the tension, noise, yelling and clouds of dust you almost forget this thing is simulation. That is until I catch out of the corner of my eye the Marines' instructors watching them. I turn around and see Sarah leisurely walking and chatting with a freelance reporter. They're not even six feet away, but it seems like a different world.
Not even 20 minutes later Marines are sitting in the dirt, some in the tiniest amount of shade created by the houses, smoking a cigarette, eating or talking. It is as if a switch has been flipped, again. The hard focused eyes, the tight fingers gripping aimed weapons, the husky raised voices; they are all replaced by kind eyes, at ease fingers cleaning weapons, and laughter. I hold the camera back up to my eye, focus the lens on a face, tanned by weeks in the desert sun, and shoot. This is someone's son, brother, friend.
***
That evening we are called out of our tent. It's chow time and Major Jeffery Haines is making an announcement. It is amazing to see the entire company formed into a semi-circle. Some are sitting, some standing, but all at attention. Haines informs everyone that First Sergeant Ben Grainger is now officially the First Sergeant of Charlie. This announcement is followed by a "Oo-rah." Haines tells the Marines that he wants to bring everyone here back with him from Iraq. He does not want one casualty. Behind my camera lens I am suddenly filled with emotion and I fight not to cry in front of everyone. I look to Sarah who is also emotional and we go back inside the tent.
***
Following these conditioned Marines is not an easy task. They glide across the sand as if it were concrete, and me? My plus-sized body seems to be sinking deeper and deeper into the sand as I walk. The Marines just completed a search of a home where they dealt with the family respectfully which sometimes is the difference between a calm confrontation and a hostile situation.
Their instructors are yelling for them to move and the guys are high-tailing it back to the truck. I'm holding on to my cameras. Sarah long ago dropped my MRE when there was sniper gunfire, so now I'm running with one less item.
"Help the reporters!" someone hollers, and a young man up on the truck extends his hand and helps me climb up the ladder. I plop down on the shaky wooden bench next to Sarah and get off a few shutters before the truck behind us carrying the rest of the platoon is hit with a fake IED (Improvised Explosive Device). Our truck comes to a halt and some Marines jump off and back into the field. It's not even 9:30 a.m. yet.
***
Twenty years from now these Marines will have children. They'll tell them about Operation: Iraqi Freedom, the part they played, the brothers who fought beside them and the families that waited at home for their return. They'll be veterans with memories and emotions only those who were there with them will be able to understand.
The men I met will embark on that journey to Iraq any day now. But today, tomorrow, next month, 50 years from now in these photos they will always be young 20-somethings on the brink of greatness. Oo-rah!
Thank you to everyone who helped me to cover this remarkable event. The following people were my sponsors:
Mary Allen
Sabrina Allen
Noreen Brennan
Joan Clark
Christine Doyle
Eva Kealey
Jerome and Laurie Williams
|
|
|
|
|
