When we were back in the States and I was still the company clerk, there were a few Marines who stood out to me when they checked in to the Outlaws. Some I remembered because of their personality. Some I remembered because of their attitude. And then there were some I remembered because I became close to them down the road.

Within the first month of the Outlaws forming, we began to receive a lot of new guys, or what we called boots, who were checking in straight from infantry school or who had only been with the battalion a few months. On one particular day, three PFCs from Alpha Company checked in, and I remember it so well because they all had last names starting with D: Jeremiah Doub, Brett Durbin, and Scott Dougherty. I was only a lance corporal at the time, but they all reported to my desk and stood at parade rest until I told them to chill out. And they all did except the smallest guy in the group, Dougherty.

After I had finished checking Doub and Durbin into the company, I began taking Dougherty’s information. Dougherty was this small guy who looked no older than a high school kid. I figured he couldn’t be any more than fifteen or so. He just had a very young-looking face. As he stood there at parade rest, I began to take down his personal information to enter into the computer. I would ask him a question, and he would respond, ending each response with a “Lance Corporal.” I thought it was crazy that a PFC was addressing me this way since the low-ranking enlisted guys were all on the same boat. So I tried to calm him down, but he wanted none of it. It was as if he was afraid to get in trouble.

I resumed asking questions, and I began to notice another little quirk: he had a stutter. Initially, I thought it was because he was overly nervous. He was sweating, he seemed jittery, and his face was slightly red. As time went on, it got a bit worse. That was when I really started feeling bad. So I ordered him to sit down at the desk next to me so I could finish taking his information. I also instructed him to call me Tanner without the Lance Corporal title. He nodded in the affirmative, sat down, and finally looked more at ease. His stutter also seemed to slowly go away.

From that day on, we struck up a little friendship. I tried to watch over him and get him situated within the company. I started calling him my little son because I felt I was trying to mentor him. Eventually, after Dougherty relaxed a bit and got used to the Outlaw atmosphere, he began to call me Grandpa. For those of you who don’t know me, and even for those who do, I have a little problem: I’m follicly-challenged. Gunny Rossignol dubbed me Bobby Bald Spots on my first deployment. It was funny as hell too. So Dougherty, following in Gunny’s steps, began to call me Grandpa because of my hair, or lack thereof. I still like to think he looked up to me, even though it might have been the bald spots he kept looking at. In either case, we formed a good friendship.

Another guy who checked in to the Outlaws was Lance Corporal Mark Engel. Mark was a mechanic who had come from another company. When he came to the Outlaws, I knew he’d fit right in. Mark was about my height but with a thicker build. He had a playful and rambunctious personality. He’d call things as he saw them, regardless of rank, which got him in trouble at times. And what I liked most about him was that he was adventurous. Nothing was too crazy an idea to him. He was willing to take risks where others wouldn’t. It was truly inspiring.

Mark knew a few of the guys from the company already, guys like Corporal Klinger and Corporal Sprenger. Since I hung around those guys day in and out, I began to get to know Mark as well. He was a blast to hang out with. There were a few times he and I would jump into his Jeep Cherokee, blast some tunes, and head out to the beach. When the four of us went places, I knew it would be a good time because Mark would be the life of the party and would get the rest of us in a party mood. All in all, Mark enjoyed life and inspired others to see the world and life as he saw it.

Throughout our deployment to Iraq, even though some of my buddies were in other platoons and our patrol schedules were different, I made a point to check in on them and hang out for a bit. Sometimes Dougherty and I would goof around talking shit to each other. Other times, Dougherty would come out of the hooch before I was going on patrol and would hand me some Kool-Aid mix that he had gotten from back home to flavor my water. Engel would be in our portion of the hooch almost daily, complaining to us about this or that, telling jokes or just reminiscing about old times. But no matter what, we all checked in on each other and we became closer because of it.

On July 5, 2004, our platoon was scheduled to do our nightly patrol. Our patrol times had shifted to 6:00 p.m. until 2:00 a.m., so I knew I was in for a long, rough night, and I was already looking forward to getting back and sleeping. After Snipes briefed us on the mission for the night, we headed to our vehicles to mount up. I jumped into the back of my LAV, as did the rest of my scouts, and once Staff Sergeant Phelps was settled down in the vehicle commander spot, we were ready to go. All the vehicles went to the staging area right outside of the hooch, and we waited on Snipes to jump into his vehicle.

Dougherty was standing outside the hooch with a few other guys from Second Platoon and noticed we were about to take off. He walked over to my vehicle and, over the rumble of the engine, yelled, “Grandpa, you want some Kool-Aid for your water?” I looked over at him and gave him a smirk and a nod. He quickly walked away into the hooch, and a few seconds later walked out with a huge, zip lock bag of Kool-Aid powder. He poured some of the powder into a bag and then handed the little bag up to me. I thanked him, and he gave a little nod and wished me luck on patrol. That was the last time I saw little Dougherty.

Our patrol was uneventful. We drove up and down the main service road and some of the side roads numerous times and didn’t find much of anything. On the nights that there was no action, it became painful to be on patrol. Having been up all day in the heat of the sun and then having to continue to be alert through the wee hours of the night was rough. All I could think about was taking a nice, long snooze on my cot. After what seemed like days, we headed back to Camp Baharia, parked our vehicles, cleaned our gear, and made our way back to our hooch to get some rest.

As our platoon entered Camp Baharia, Second Platoon was heading out for their shift. It was about two in the morning, and it was pitch black outside. Just as we were instructed, Second Platoon's mission was to conduct counter-IED and mortar patrols. Rather than leave the same way we did, they mixed it up a bit and headed over to Camp Fallujah, drove through a portion of it, and then headed out the south gate.

They started their patrol off by heading north toward Abu Ghraib. Instead of taking the main route toward Abu Ghraib, they decided to use the side roads. The one that Second Platoon decided to take had a canal running along its left side, which was why they decided to take it. The insurgents typically liked these types of routes because they presented an opportunity to ambush our patrols. So rather than disappoint, we liked to encourage the fight and patrol these side roads to see if we could fight on our own terms.

This particular night happened to be very dark. The moon was barely visible, and there were few stars in the sky. It was quiet and peaceful and almost made you forget that we were in the middle of a war zone. As was typical with night patrols, no lights were allowed when traveling these routes. Everyone was equipped with night vision goggles (NVGs), and the vehicles had both night vision and thermal imaging. As they were traveling along the feeder route, the road made a slight right to the east and crossed over the canal. The lead vehicle, White 2, crossed over and began to move east. Shortly thereafter, Lieutenant Kevin Knox Nunnally’s vehicle, White 1, and Staff Sergeant Michael Woods’s vehicle, White 3, crossed over and followed White 2.

BA-BOOM!

The dark night turned to day as a tremendous explosion shook the earth, sending up a huge cloud of fire and smoke. It was so loud and so bright that some of the guys back at Baharia heard and saw it.

At first, no one was sure what had happened. Nunnally thought they had come under attack and began to call back to the command center to inform them of the ambush. He sent White 2 into a blocking position on the east side of the blast and moved his vehicle onto the west side, creating a defensive perimeter around the blast site. It wasn’t too much longer before Nunnally and the rest of Second Platoon realized what happened. White 4, Sergeant Nicholas Santiago’s vehicle, never made it over the canal crossing.

Once it was reported back to the command center what had happened, Lance Corporal Duarte came running into our hooch and told us Second Platoon had been hit. He had a shocked look on his face and was trying to get us up and ready to head back out. I was just getting ready to lie down on my cot and was in no mood for one of his pranks. I wasn’t alone either. Duarte was known as a prankster, so everything he said you had to second guess because you never knew if he was playing a trick. Everyone else began to tell him to pipe down and save his pranks for another time. However, when we began to study the look on his face, we could tell he was serious. I’m not sure why Third Platoon wasn’t on QRF that night, but it didn’t matter. Everyone in our platoon jumped up and began gearing back up to get out there and respond.

Within fifteen minutes, we had all gotten dressed, started our vehicles, and were ready to go. It was only another twenty minutes before we made it to the site of the blast. As we approached the scene, we could sense the devastation in the air. There was a peculiar smell that permeated the air, and bullets were cooking off left and right. My vehicle pulled up within a hundred yards of the blast site. My scouts and I dismounted and began to take up a defensive spot around the scene.

When I finally got everyone settled down, I glanced over at the vehicle and was awestruck by the destruction that had occurred. The vehicle had flipped upside down from the blast, and its scout doors were wide open. The interior was a charred mess. The area around the vehicle was littered with rounds that were cooking off, and anything that was in the vicinity was burned to a crisp. To the left side of the vehicle, I saw a charred body in the upright position leaning against it. I wasn’t quite sure who it was, but it didn’t matter. All I knew was that I had lost a lot of good friends that day.

After Nunnally had briefed Lieutenant Snipes, Snipes got the rest of the platoon into a defensive perimeter around the scene so we could take over for Second Platoon as they made their way back to Baharia. Sergeant Jones and I met up at the scene of the blast along with Snipes, and I was given a brief summary of what had happened. I probably would have found out more had it not been for the ammo box of rounds about ten feet from us cooking off. That was when Snipes told us to clear the area and find some cover.

We were told that a mortuary team and a lowboy truck were on the way to the scene, so we had to stay put. I got back into position behind a mound with Lance Corporal Shearer by my side. I just sat there looking out into the distance, not really seeing anything. It was as if nothing was registering anymore; all I could think about was the body on the side of the vehicle and my friends who had been inside of it. I thought of Engel and the picture that he, Sprenger, and I were supposed to take of a Hooters flag on the top of the command center. I thought of Dougherty and how he had just given me flavored powder only a few hours ago. I thought of Corporal Jeffrey Lawrence, who was telling everyone that his wife was due to give birth any day now. I thought of PFC Rodricka Youmans, who had a little boy at home and was planning to get married to his fiancé when we got back. And I thought of Lance Corporal Justin Hunt, a big, jolly guy who always had a smile on no matter what was thrown his way. The images of these five guys kept running through my head over and over again, like a broken record.

The sun began to creep up over the horizon, which was when I finally began to come back to reality. Captain Shepard had arrived at the scene and was walking around inspecting the area and talking to each of us. He came upon Shearer’s and my position and asked us how we were doing. I could see the pain in his face, and I’m sure he could see mine. Shearer and I both gave a quick nod, and Shepard continued on his way.

Once the mortuary team showed up, I just sat and watched as they began to load bodies into black bags and put them on the truck. That blank stare came back, and I began to get tunnel vision. Everything around me became blurred, and I just began to focus on each of the bags as they were loaded onto the truck. Once they were all loaded, the vehicle itself was lifted and placed on the lowboy to be taken back to Camp Fallujah. When the scene was cleared, we loaded into our vehicles and headed back to Baharia.

When we got back, it felt as if we were arriving at a funeral. Everyone seemed to be totally taken aback by the whole situation. We had just suffered a great loss five days ago, and this was totally unexpected. A few of the guys from Second Platoon were huddled in a circle praying. Some other guys had tears running down their face.

After we parked our vehicles and put our gear away, I headed over to Sergeant Travis Madden to find out how this all had happened. He began to lay out the details, which I had already found out earlier, but then he told me where it had occurred. That was when I realized our platoon had passed over the same spot earlier that evening. Apparently, everyone in Second Platoon had barely missed it as well, but White 4 must have had a tire run over the spot, and that was what set it off. Also, the IED was no ordinary IED. It was an anti-tank mine that was modified with some sort of liquid that acted like napalm. When White 4 ran over it, the sheer impact of the explosion shot Sergeant Santiago, Corporal Gabriel Wakanabo, and Lance Corporal Engel out of the vehicle like bottle rockets. Santiago and Wakanabo landed in the canal and suffered significant shrapnel injuries, mainly to their legs as well as some burns.

Engel was badly burned in the explosion and was found on the north side of the road. Nunnally had called in a medivac for Engel before we arrived. When it arrived, Doc Weldon, Second Platoon's corpsman, assisted in bringing him to the helicopter. Apparently, Engel never lost his great sense of humor because as Doc was helping to load him onto the helicopter, Engel looked at Weldon, and rather than complain about the pain or ask if he was going to make it, he asked him if his penis was still there. Weldon chuckled and told him it was, to which Engel let out a sigh of relief. We later found out that Engel suffered third-degree burns to over 60 percent of his body and also scorched the inside of his lungs. He was taken to Germany a couple of days later to receive additional treatment where he would later pass away with family surrounding him. Lawrence, Hunt, Youmans, and Dougherty were most likely killed by the initial blast, as they were confined to the scout compartment of the vehicle and had little chance of escaping.

First Sergeant Sprague came out later that day and had us all gather around the command center. Once again, as he always did, he gave another inspiring speech. As each word left his mouth, I could tell it was becoming harder for him to say the next word without breaking down. Nearly the whole company was sobbing or shedding tears. I looked over and saw the biggest guy of us all, Corporal Keith Bridges, physically shaking from the sadness of our loss. The impact of the loss of our brothers that day, as well in days past, was beginning to take its toll on us.

We all headed back to our hooches to mourn some more. Sprenger and I headed back to our cots, and we sat across from each other looking at each other waiting for someone to say something. Sprenger finally broke down and began to sob, and then I did alongside him. A few others joined in as well. We all had lost good friends that day. Some were closer to the fallen than others, but we were all Outlaws, and the losses hurt all the same.

It wasn’t too long before someone updated the Outlaw memorial. At the base of the memorial now stood eight plaques for each of the Outlaws we had lost. Tributes would appear on the memorial, and guys could be seen kneeling in front of it paying their respect.

We had been through so much together as a company up to that point, and we would endure a lot more in the final months. The loss of a fellow Marine affected us all, and those five men, along with the three others who passed before, will never be forgotten, for they were our brothers.