Plumley by Johnny Atkins

“Hey man – shot in the dark, but do you happen to have an NCO waistplate for dress blues?”

“Uh… yeah, actually I still do, but it’s back at the house. I’d have to dig around my shed some. What for?”

“AJ’s  dad died yesterday. He wants to wear his blues to the funeral, but he’s missing a few things.”

There have been quite a few missions that I’ve taken part in, volunteered for, been voluntold to take part in, or just plain found myself in the middle of during my years in the Corps. Every once in a while one comes along that doesn’t need explaining or forethought. You just do it.

AJ had been in my Platoon while I was a Platoon Sergeant at the newly formed Wounded Warrior Battalion. He was combat-wounded, and was one of the few Marines I rarely had to micromanage or babysit. He’d figured out pretty soon after returning stateside that he would be unable to continue his Marine Corps career. Despite all that, he was one of those guys who comes along all too rarely who love the Corps and wanted nothing more than to be the best Marine he could until he got out. I like to think that sense of duty, that spirit, was redoubled the day he was blown up in Iraq.

“Okay, you got me that list yet?”

“Yeah, I just sent it to you. White belt, web belt, waistplate, two-ribbon slide, CAR, and a Sea Service. He doesn’t have a dress cover, but I was gonna buy him one.”

“Don’t worry about it; I have an extra one.”

When I first met AJ, he had multiple diagnoses, to include moderate-to-severe PTSD, Traumatic Brain Injury (TBI), nerve damage, joint pain, and some other issues. Yet every single morning, he was there before my 0700 formation doing one thing – taking care of Marines. Granted, some days that involved a bit more effort. More than once I remember him walking down the passageway to a certain barracks room with the Duty NCO, pounding on the hatch like he was the DEA, and snatching a PFC out of the rack to get him in formation on time. To be fair, I also remember seeing him pull aside other Marines frequently – whether they were in our Platoon or not – and talking to them face to face, man to man, just to see if they were doing alright. Offering encouragement. Helping them get their head straight. He’d break his ass to help anyone who was giving their best effort and coming up short. If a Marine was putting himself before others in the unit, AJ would break that guy’s ass – and brag about it all day afterward.

“Were you able to send the package?”

“Yeah, man – that shit cost $140 for guaranteed delivery to Idaho for Monday morning.”

“Fuckin’ hell! I’ll split that with you. Let me go get some cash.”

Earlier this year, AJ’s dad fell critically ill. He called me at around 2300 the night he got the word. Next morning, I went in an hour early, met him on the quarterdeck, and got him started on the Emergency Leave process. He had Company Commander’s approval before 0800… but still no airline ticket when he called me a second time that afternoon. I made a few calls, kindly offering to call the Sergeant Major at home if this airline ticket would be a problem. AJ was on a plane home within hours – with an order from me to call as soon as he got to his dad’s house.

He made it safely, no glitches this time. While we talked, his father took the phone from him and thanked me personally. I somehow just barely managed to keep my bearing while explaining that this was just part of my job, and that I took care of AJ every day so that AJ could take care of him now.

His dad stabilized after a few days, but was forced into constant professional homecare. A few months later, AJ was medically retired with an 80% disability rating, and already had a job lined up working at the Naval Weapons Facility in Crane, Indiana. When he was checking out, he told me how thrilled he was that he would be working every day with Marines. I honestly think that meant as much – probably a lot more – to him than the pay, benefits, location, or anything else.

Somewhere in Idaho this week, there will be a twentysomething combat veteran and retired Marine attending his father’s funeral. He’ll be easy to spot – we’ve always had the sharpest dress uniforms. I don’t know much about his relationship with his father, but I know damn well that he loved and respected the man. I can’t understand why or point to anything about my own character that clarifies it… but he loved his fellow Marines just as much, and I like to think that he also respected me as a Leader of Marines. That’s something that’s difficult to explain to anyone outside the tribe. I thank God that it’s something that’s still fairly commonplace in the Corps.

There are times that I’m fortunate enough to see or be around something so right and so just that it’s unquestionable. A military novelist once referred to it as “keeping the faith”. On these occasions, it’s not a matter of who does it, who knows about it, how it happens, or if there’s any credit or thanks given. It’s just something automatic, something you don’t even think about because it’s righteous and good and it’s greater than ourselves.

Even a walnut-brained Marine like me can sum it up in two simple words: Semper Fidelis.