Tom Sileo

BROTHERS
FOREVER

Copyright © 2014 by Tom Sileo and Thomas Manion

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without the prior written permission of the publisher. For information, address Da Capo Press, 44 Farnsworth Street, 3rd Floor, Boston, MA 02210.

Designed by Trish Wilkinson

Set in 11.5 point Goudy Oldstyle by The Perseus Books Group

First Da Capo Press edition 2014

Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data

Sileo, Tom.

Brothers forever : the enduring bond between a Marine and a Navy SEAL that transcended their ultimate sacrifice / Tom Sileo and Col. Tom Manion, USMCR (Ret.) ; foreword by Gen. John Allen, USMC (Ret.).

pages cm

Includes bibliographical references and index.

ISBN 978-0-306-82237-7 (hardcover)—ISBN 978-0-306-82238-4 (e-book) 1. Manion, Travis, 1980-2007. 2. Looney, Brendan, 1981-2010. 3. Iraq War, 2003-2011—Casualties—United States. 4. Iraq War, 2003-2011—Campaigns—Iraq—Fallujah. 5. Afghan War, 2001—Casualties—United States. 6. United States. Marine Corps— Biography 7. United States. Navy. SEALs—Biography. 8. United States Naval Academy—Alumni and alumnae—Biography. I. Title.

DS79.766.M36S55 2014

956.7044'34509730922—dc23

[B]

2013043846

Published by Da Capo Press

A Member of the Perseus Books Group

www.dacapopress.com

Da Capo Press books are available at special discounts for bulk purchases in the US by corporations, institutions, and other organizations. For more information, please contact the Special Markets Department at the Perseus Books Group, 2300 Chestnut Street, Suite 200, Philadelphia, PA 19103, or call (800) 810-4145, ext. 5000, or e-mail
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.

10 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1

For Brendan, Travis, and all the selfless patriots
of yesterday, today, and tomorrow
who define the “If not me, then who . . .” spirit
.

Contents

Foreword by General John Allen, USMC (Ret.)

Prologue: Just Another Day

     
1
  
Call to Arms

     
2
  
Earn It

     
3
  
Taking a Stand

     
4
  
“If Not Me, Then Who . . . ”

     
5
  
No Greater Honor

     
6
  
The Pizza Slice

     
7
  
The War Comes Home

     
8
  
Live Forever

     
9
  
Honor Man

   
10
  
Maggie's Prayer

   
11
  
Moving Forward

   
12
  
Mission 59

   
13
  
No Regrets

   
14
  
Warriors for Freedom

Epilogue: Maggie and Honor's Pledge

Acknowledgments by Colonel Tom Manion, USMC (Ret.)

Notes

Index

Foreword

“S
ir, casualties are inbound. One of the MiTTs [military transition teams] has been hit hard, and we have casualties headed to ‘Fallujah surgical.'” My head snapped up from my work; I quickly strapped on my 9mm and headed off to “Fallujah surgical,” the Level Two trauma and surgical facility on Camp Fallujah servicing the casualty and medical needs of the eastern portion of the Al Anbar Province in Iraq. I had made a habit of going to the operating rooms to see and encourage the wounded whenever I was in the command post of II Marine Expeditionary Force (MEF) (Fwd) at Fallujah.

As my aide, Ben Carruthers, and I made our way through the maze of buildings and walls of the camp, something told me to hurry. I quickened my pace, then began to run. I hadn't done this before, and I'm sure my aide was wondering what was up. As we rounded the corner of the hospital I could see the up-armored HMMWVs (Humvees) of the MiTT team and the Marines themselves, standing near the entrance. They had their hands on their hips, and their heads were down. “This is bad,” I thought. One of the Marines was lifting a set of body armor from the floor of a HMMWV, and it was covered with and dripping blood.

I quickly cleared my weapon at the clearing barrel and stepped into the facility. The medical personnel had become accustomed to my presence on these occasions and quickly briefed me on the situation: several wounded, one very seriously, and the survivors were down the corridor in an office. I hustled down to the office and quickly got a situation report from the team leader and others, one of whom was wounded and awaiting treatment. It had been a bad ambush, and the Marines had fought for their lives alongside the Iraqi troops they were advising. Then, looking up at me with an anguish you can only find in combat, the team leader said to me in a hushed tone: “We think Travis is dead.” I didn't immediately connect the name, but knew I needed to get down the corridor right away to the ORs where the incredible surgical teams were working frantically on the wounded.

As I stepped into the first OR the surgical team were just finishing their work. One of the nurses was crying openly. They'd been unable to save this Marine, and he had died just seconds before I stepped into the OR. As I walked to the end of the gurney, I was stunned to see Travis Manion, the wonderful youngster I'd known as one of my midshipmen while I was commandant at the Naval Academy. I had known his family: his dad, Tom, a Marine colonel himself, and his mom, Janet, a stalwart of the family. Travis had selected the Corps from Annapolis, and though I had not seen him during this tour in Fallujah, I'd heard repeatedly of his courage and bravery as an advisor. One by one the doctors and nurses left the OR, leaving me alone with Travis. I don't think I had ever prayed so hard for anyone or anything in my life as I did while alone with him in that empty OR. His loss was very personal to me.

Three years later, while I was deputy commander at CENTCOM and headed ultimately to command the US forces in Afghanistan, I learned of an incident the previous night that had taken the lives of some of our magnificent special operators,
SEALs from SEAL Team 3. They had been operating in the Zabul Province south of the Hindu Kush in Afghanistan and had generally made the lives of the Taliban miserable the entire time they had served there. One of the finest of the young leaders in this SEAL Team, Brendan Looney, looked and lived every aspect of the ethos of being a SEAL, this now-legendary strata of the American special ops community. That night we lost Brendan Looney. As with Travis, Brendan's death was not simply a loss to their respective units and missions. Losing them was a terrible blow to America, which would now never benefit from the extraordinary qualities of these two men.

The irony of their relationship and their seemingly unrelated deaths was nearly as tragic. They had been roommates at the United States Naval Academy, growing up together at this most hallowed institution of our naval service. They had faced the challenges of Navy and had emerged committed in ways few can understand without experiencing the powerful formative forces of Annapolis. And in their intense sense of duty and their desire to serve, one sought to be a Marine, the other a SEAL. Remembering the times, it didn't take a fortune-teller to guess where this would lead them both: to war in Iraq, or Afghanistan, or both. And to war it did lead them, extracting from them long separations from their families as they grew into the full realization of their roles as combat leaders. But it also extracted from them their last full measure—their young lives—willingly sacrificed for their country and these causes.

Tom Manion has done us a great service in initiating the effort to tell this story. Yes, it's about war, but it's less a history of two wars than it is about the human experience of war and what this newest generation of American warriors has experienced. It ties together these precious young lives and their growth together as warriors, as leaders, and . . . as brothers. This book celebrates what we hear more and more frequently: that these young
Americans, on whose broad, strong shoulders we have fought two wars and who have kept the wolf from the door in innumerable other places, are the new “Greatest Generation.” The reader sees all of this unfold in the maturing of these young lives, their interactions with their Annapolis classmates, and in the units in which they served, but very importantly as well in their interaction with their loving families, and in Brendan's case his wonderful young wife, Amy. Then the authors, Tom Sileo and Tom Manion, bring these two wars home for all Americans to understand what this country has really sacrificed in these causes. With less than 1 percent of our population in uniform, fewer and fewer Americans bear the brunt of the responsibility for military service, and fewer and fewer understand the sacrifices made by men like Travis and Brendan and their precious troops. In that context, we are given a glimpse of the impact of that sacrifice as the authors describe in heart-wrenching detail how two families navigate the grief and pain of losing their sons and a husband.

All of us who fought in these wars now pray that in the end the outcomes will justify the cost to America and its allies. Those of us left behind must ensure these sacrifices were not in vain, and that these lives lost will have meaning and purpose, now and in the future.

Within Arlington National Cemetery there is a portion, Section 60, which has taken on an iconic meaning, for here in this very small spot can be found the entire sweep of American sacrifice in the modern wars of the Republic. One can find the graves of the World War II generation and those of our Korean and Vietnam war veterans, but now, and poignantly, Section 60 is the final resting place of our most recent honored dead, those young American warriors who have perished in Iraq and Afghanistan. It should come as no surprise, then, that the families decided to inter Travis and Brendan side by side in Section 60. And there they lie. Roommates at Annapolis, they shared so much . . . their sense of duty . . .
their courage . . . their willingness to give their all for something bigger than themselves. And beneath this hallowed ground they lie shoulder to shoulder, the ultimate symbol of American selfless sacrifice and the ultimate emblem of the courage of their age. In virtually every sense, they had become brothers in life, and now in death they rest together . . . brothers forever. No regrets.