Received this in support of Patriot Guard Riders funeral for CPT Sean E. Lyerly in Pflugerville, Texas.
As you prepare to do a mission in support of CPT Lyerly and his family,
I thought it would be appropriate to send you an article that I've
written for my sister's hometown newspaper based on last week's events.
This article is the latest in a series that the newspaper has asked me
to write during my tour.
- CPT Randy Stillinger
A Fallen Angel
Saturday, January 20th, 2007
Today was a bad day. The possibility of what happened today has
been in the back of our minds for over a year now. While working in my
office I heard chatter on the radio, the type of chatter that could only
mean one of a few things. One of those events is a "Fallen Angel," the
code word for a downed aircraft. Details were sketchy at first, but we
soon learned it was a UH-60 "Blackhawk" helicopter and it was from our
brigade.
With the radio call of "Fallen Angel," all operations in the
Iraqi theatre turn their focus on the rescue effort. Our Tactical
Operation Center (TOC) went into high gear as our battalion learned how
we would be assisting the rescue of the crew and passengers. As an
Apache battalion, our part was to help provide aerial security for the
rescue team as they went to work.
Pilots, including myself, lined up to offer assistance and fly to the
crash site if needed. While waiting for details or instructions, four
of us sat and talked about what could have gone wrong based on the few
bits of information we had coming in at the time. We wanted to help,
but there wasn't much we could do at the moment.
I had every intention of leaving the office a little earlier
than normal today, perhaps even before the sun went down. I spent the
better part of yesterday flying over one of the most dangerous areas in
Iraq and was looking forward to a relatively short day. As reports
started coming in, I knew that I couldn't go back to the room until I
knew more about what happened northeast of Baghdad.
It was evening when I got word that all soldiers on board had
been killed, and that one of the pilots was a friend of mine. It was
now a very bad day. Captain Sean Lyerly and I were both lieutenants
when we met over 7 years ago while assigned to the same company that I
now command here in Iraq. Sean had every intention of flying Apaches,
but events changed things and he went to the Blackhawk course after
flight school instead. He later transferred to the brigade headquarters
and deployed with them in September. When I realized that there was
nothing more I could offer to help, I left for the day.
The non-secure phone lines and internet service had been shut
down almost immediately after the incident. This is standard procedure
to prevent news from reaching the families of those killed through the
grapevine. On my way to my room I took a stab in the dark and went to
an AT&T phone center to see if I could make contact with Sharon at home.
The phone made a busy tone when I picked up the handset, but the soldier
in the booth next to me said to try it over and over again. I finally
got through. My conversation with Sharon was very short. I told her
that I was fine and asked her to notify our family that I'm OK. I
didn't give her any details, but we've been through this before and she
knows what it means.
When I returned to my room, I turned on the news as I usually do
at the end of the day. Within 10 minutes, live CNN coverage cut in with
breaking news of a helicopter crash near Baghdad, but with no details.
It actually happened over 8 hours prior and I knew more details than I
ever cared to know. As I watched the breaking news, I wondered how many
families back home were now worried that it was their loved one on
board. I was relieved that I had gotten through to mine.
I got tired of watching the news of the day, most of it being
bad, and started flipping through the few channels we do have.
Ironically the movie showing on one channel was Blackhawk Down, the
tragic story of the battle in Mogadishu, Somalia where two UH-60s were
shot down. I like this movie and it's one of the few that I own on DVD,
but not tonight. It was too personal and all too real. I turned off
the TV and went to my laptop and started typing.
It is now past midnight and two F-16s just took off using their
afterburners. The sound is deafening and it rattled my room. Although
you tend not to notice them after awhile, they serve as late night
reminders that there is a war going on here. Well, I don't need a
reminder tonight. I'm not sure when I'm going to fall asleep, but it's
going to be a while. There are families back home that will get a knock
on the door, most likely within the next 24 hours. On the doorstep will
be the visitors that they hoped would never come. That is the image
that is going to keep me awake tonight.
I pray that the families of those killed today will be strong.
I hope that the American public will honor the sacrifices made by each
of them. I pray for Sean's wife Csilla, and their son Zack.
Today was a bad day. It's an understatement, but that's the phrase I
heard mentioned a number of times as tragic events unfolded in front of
us. Despite what transpired today, the mission will continue tomorrow.
There will be little time to grieve as the war does not stop for us, but
we will honor them at the right time.
Monday, January 22nd, 2007
It's been about 48 hours and life is getting back to normal
after Saturday's tragic events, with one exception. Today was a day to
honor the four soldiers from the brigade who gave their lives for a
cause greater than themselves. The Army's memorial services are rich
with traditions meant to honor the fallen for their sacrifices. This
one was no exception.
An hour before the service, hundreds of soldiers began filing
into the building in silence. Some went to the front to take a closer
look at the memorial that was so carefully arranged. On a platform in
the front were 4 pairs of desert combat boots lined up side by side.
Behind each pair of boots was an M-16 turned upside down, but with a
magazine loaded and ready. Dog tags, which are sometimes used as a
fashion statement in the U.S., were hung from the weapons and they
remind us of the horrific, but true purpose of this part of our
uniforms. An aviator helmet sat on top of each weapon with four sets of
Night Vision Goggles turned on and lowered in front of the visors. The
eerie green glow of the NVGs peered out across the soldiers who had come
to honor them. Pictures of smiling soldiers accompanied each set of
symbolic items.
No introduction was needed as the drum roll prior to the
National Anthem played and the crowd stood in unison, going to the
position of Attention. Prayers from the Chaplain and speeches from both
the Brigade and Battalion Commanders were followed by eulogies, one for
each of the dead, that couldn't have been more appropriate or more
heartbreaking. An exceptional soloist then sang "Amazing Grace" as the
large group of soldiers sat in silence.
From the back of the building, the symbolic roll call was done.
The calls went out one after one, each sounding a little clearer and a
little more desperate than the one before, as if maybe, just possibly he
hadn't heard his name called.
"Captain Lyerly!" No response.
"Captain Sean Lyerly!" There was still no response.
"Captain Sean E. Lyerly!" He was not there.
He wasn't there so they went on to the next soldier. CPT
Michael Taylor, First Sergeant William Warren, Staff Sergeant John
Brown, and my friend Sean Lyerly were not there. They were absent. A
rifle squad fired three volleys into the air followed by the sound of
Taps, which was played as crisp and clear as I've ever heard it. At the
end of the service, each soldier waited patiently to go to the front,
pause in front of each memorial, and salute the fallen heroes before
filing outside.
I've been asked by several people what it's like to fly in the
skies over Iraq. One word that I use is "vulnerable." I trust the
aircraft and I trust the pilots I fly with. We've been well trained to
do this job, but you can't help but feel vulnerable to the enemy and
their pure hatred for our way of life, our freedom, and our desire to
help a country oppressed and tortured by an evil dictator for so many
years. As the 23rd Psalm was read during the memorial service, one
sentence stuck out among the rest. "Yea, though I walk through the
valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil, for You are with
me." There are times when our mission calls us to fly through that
valley and you can't help but fear the evil that wants nothing more than
to take us down. As the investigation continues, it is looking more and
more like that is what happened on Saturday.
I'm saddened by the loss of a friend, a fellow aviator, a
husband, and a father, in addition to the other eleven soldiers on board
that I didn't know personally, but today's ceremony helped us close this
chapter. It is now the families' turn to grieve for their loved ones as
we have a job to continue. When we return home it will be our job to
ensure that the families are taken care of and to ensure that the
children know that their dads died as heroes for a cause that is
honorable and worth fighting for.
CPT Randall M. Stillinger
Commander
HHC, 1-149th Attack Helicopter Battalion LSA Anaconda - Balad, Iraq
