Estimated reading time: 9 minutes
This post was originally published by J.P. Snyder.
I was 9 years old when I realized I wanted to be a Marine. I was attending a flag retirement ceremony in my hometown in Florida when it happened. My parents took my sister and me to the event, and I remember being a little bit confused about the procession. It was muggy and my attention wandered as the summer sun beat down on us.
It was then that I made eye contact with what I learned to be was a Marine Corps recruiter, and immediately my attention focused. He was precisely the Marine you are imagining in your mind; tall, trim, and carrying with him a confidence and sense of duty that felt palpable. The way he handled the flag, white gloves and all, was enchanting. I looked up at my father and told him, “I want to do that.”
This was in 2003 and what seemed to be a time of patriotism and unity among Americans in a post 9/11 world. I was too young to really understand the reasons why we were at war, but every day since that ceremony I knew what I was called to do.
The journey starts
After four years of Junior ROTC in high school, I was fortunate enough to receive a Navy ROTC scholarship and headed to Blacksburg, Virginia in the fall of 2012 to enroll at Virginia Tech and actualize my dream of becoming a Marine Corps officer. The university’s motto “ut prosim”, or that I may serve, was a central tenet of the culture inside the ROTC program, the Corps of Cadets, and the university as a whole. Everyone in Blacksburg seemed to be on their way to great things.
As I grew and developed as a student and midshipman, it was enthralling to see the graduating seniors who I had grown to know and learn from (and share a few beers with) head off to Iraq and Afghanistan to earn their stripes and reach the pinnacle of what it meant to be a Marine Corps officer.
One of the things I admired most about the Marine Corps and its officer corps was that it sold itself as a meritocracy — either you had the ability to lead troops in combat, or you didn’t. I remember a common phrase at Officer Candidate School emphasized that dichotomy “we didn’t join you, you’re trying to join us.” The determination of your worth to the institution was that polar. You were either in, or you weren’t allowed through the door. When I commissioned and took my oath of office in the spring of 2016, deep down, I still didn’t know if I had what it took.
Eager to win
When I received orders to Hawaii I was beaming from ear to ear. I had gotten exactly what I asked for in an organization that has no interest in fulfilling personal desires. Following almost a year in the training pipeline, not only was I finally headed to the mythical “fleet,” I was headed to one of the most beautiful places on Earth that happens to house over 5,000 Marines.
As I donned my Service Alpha uniform and met with my first Commanding Officer, he reminded me about my purpose. To train Marines to be able to fight and win in combat. That sounded a little silly to me in the moment; I was surfing on Waikiki Beach and watching the sunrise with tourists just a few hours earlier. Nevertheless, I was nervous and excited to finally stand in front of a platoon. My platoon.
As I walked down to the motor pool to introduce myself I imagined my platoon in formation; perfectly aligned in columns and rows, war-mongering, gunpowder chewing, lords of discipline. What met me as I walked through the gate was something better; a rag-tag crew that resembled a gym class at the local high school. They stood around a Humvee that looked like it may have seen some action in Vietnam. But there I was, a young Lieutenant smitten with all 41 of my new sons and daughters.
Eager to lead
I had Marines from all over the country; some fat, some strong, some who spoke three languages, and some who could barely speak English. A microcosm of American society on an island 2,500 miles from the mainland. Luckily, I was blessed to have a quiet but deadly Guyanese platoon sergeant as my right hand man and the glue to keep the family together.
The weeks flew by and as our relationship grew, we found ourselves on the Big Island of Hawaii conducting machine gun ranges and running convoy training 24/7. I was in heaven. One afternoon, I got a notification on my phone that North Korea shot a missile passing over Japanese land, and following an emergency U.N. Security Council meeting President Trump said that “all options are on the table.”
Marines stationed in Hawaii are strategically aligned to the Pacific, so the news hit a little differently. I found myself thinking I may be that Marine boarding the plane to go fight; just like I had seen on the television a decade before. The rest of the night was quiet, and ended with me sitting in my tent and thinking ‘you’re about to get exactly what you asked for.’
We completed our training on the Big Island as political rhetoric and tensions increased. “Spring Break in Pyongyang” became a humorous, albeit morbid catchphrase around the motor pool. We were then slated to conduct a combat readiness evaluation in California in January of 2018. My unit had not participated in an exercise like this in more than a decade, and the senior officers were talking about it like it was the Super Bowl.
Is this real?
As we boarded the planes for the desert I made the decision to not give a speech to my platoon but simply remind the Marines that this was a business trip, yet in the back of my mind I wondered if this exercise was legitimate preparation for combat. After six days of in-briefs and orientation my platoon was finally headed to the field to be evaluated. Just like back in Hawaii we were in the groove — moving well, shooting well, and communicating effectively. I felt like a proud dad, seeing his child ride a bike for the first time. It was around eleven o’clock on January 13 and we were prepping the trucks for another mission after being on the road until 0300 the night prior. Spirits were high and the conversations light. Then the phones started going berserk.
“BALLISTIC MISSILE THREAT INBOUND TO HAWAII. SEEK IMMEDIATE SHELTER. THIS IS NOT A DRILL.”
A few of the guys ran up to me and asked if it was true. “Sir, are we going to war!?” My pulse skyrocketed. I had to take a long deep breath before choking out something vague. My speech was short and not nearly eloquent enough to repeat, but the base camp was buzzing that night when we got back. Yes, the text was a false alarm, but it spoke to how high tensions with North Korea were, and how very real the possibility of armed conflict was.
In traditional Marine Corps fashion, the majority of my platoon was excited, anxious to go and earn a deployment ribbon and the Korean Defense Service Medal to wear on their Dress Blues. I too was nervous, but equally relieved to solidify my place in Marine Corps history as a “combat Marine.”
As time would tell, we never went to North Korea, and when my unit finished our training in California we flew home to Hawaii and went back to business as usual. After a year with my platoon, I was promoted and moved into a staff role. Behind the scenes work was never my forte, but I took pride in being selected for greater responsibilities and the opportunity to report directly to the boss.
The farewell to arms begins
Vehicle maintenance and equipment readiness became the new reason for my existence. I traded in my desert colored camouflage and flak jacket for data systems and a laser pointer. Corporate phrases like “moving the needle” and “achieving cost savings” became my lexicon. I spent more time aligning logos in PowerPoint and conditionally formatting in Excel more than I care to remember. A complete 180 from what I was doing just a few months prior, and certainly not featured on the recruiting commercials.
As my mind moved further and further away from a tactical mindset, it moved closer and closer to an identity crisis. My unit and I had just received some of the best training in the Department of Defense, yet questions lingered about our true combat readiness. The motto of the Marine Force in the Pacific is “Fight Tonight and Win.” If we had to, could we? What would the strategic outcome be? Weren’t we just landing in Korea 60 years ago?
As a young officer I had become so enamored with tales of combat and the zeal associated with it, that when the possibility of it faded I realized I had missed all of the other incredible things on display every day in the Corps. For over a decade I chased this elusive thing only to lose perspective of what it was I was chasing.
The final farewell to arms
As I begin to reflect on my short time in service I realize how lucky I am. I’m young and healthy and leaving with all of my limbs. I never had to fire a shot with the intent of killing a man. I got to jump out of airplanes, shoot guns, and play in the mud. The Marine Corps did not promise me a Rose Garden, and I wasn’t given one. I was given the experience of a lifetime.
First, the opportunity to prove to myself that I was capable of great things and overcoming challenges my mind thought insurmountable. The privilege to lead and mentor young Marines and be a positive influence in their lives was the most sublime responsibility I’ve known. I’m thankful for men like Peter Parris, my Guyanese platoon sergeant, for his patience and knowledge, and the Marine recruiter for volunteering to serve on that hot summer day in 2003. I’m thankful that missile didn’t hit Hawaii, and I did not have to go fight in a foreign land. I’m thankful that I will never have to feel the slings and arrows of writing a letter home to the mother and father of a Marine killed in action. I’m truly one of the lucky ones.
As I approach the end of my service, people ask me what I’m going to do next and to be honest I don’t know. They also ask me about my experience and I don’t really know what to tell them. I don’t have any war stories or deployment memories to chronicle. I leave with more questions than answers. But I do know now that I didn’t join the Marine Corps to go find a war; I joined the Marine Corps to find myself.
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