Camp Lejeune
When the rest of Shawn's company returned from Helmand Province, Afghanistan, Robin, Pat, and Brandon were there to meet them. They held another memorial service fro Shawn on base, and we have a few pictures.
I have one written account of this trip that I have linked to elsewhere, but it is so moving that I want to also post it here with these pictures. I do not know the author, but his letter follows. Thank you, Stu, for your comforting words:
Spent last night at Camp Lejeune to attend the return from Helmand Province of ‘D’ Company, 2nd Amphibious Assault Battalion, 2nd Marine Division. Unit of assignment for one Corporal Vincent Chinn, son of old family friend MSG Fred Chinn, US Army retired.
This was the Family Reunion for these Marines, their wives, family, buddies and old folks like me. No formal ceremony…just here’s the buses, big cheers, mob scene, 3 hours late, but who cares now. Cold as hell.
They deployed as part of the 4,000 that went in to Helmand last June as part of the planned build up. “D” Company was the first unit to cross the LD/LC at 0300 that day.
Fred and I were able to speak at some length with both the CO and First Shirt. CPT Allegeardo from Maryland and First Sergeant Strickland from Ohio. These are hard core Marines, first class. Tough bastards; likewise their men.
Have no doubt; these young men all are true warriors. You screw with them at your peril.
What they have endured while America has been bitching since last summer:
One half…50 percent….were wounded. Legitimate Purple Hearts. And these were not the scumbag John Kerry types of wounds either.
They also lost 6 Navy Corpsmen WIA.
At one point they had run out of food and water for three days.
Another time, no showers for 18 days. 140 degrees….that’s correct….140.
They slept in or on their vehicles (big MRAPS…kinda like a tank). No tents. No Mess Halls. No TV. They ate MREs only. Except when one of them bought a couple of chickens and a melon from a local Afghani. In combat 24/7. Period.
Many, many IEDs which mostly lead to the high number of WIAs. Not one KIA while in an MRAP. Big kudos for those things, which if I’m not mistaken were mostly/partially developed by those blood suckers at BlackWater (sarcasm.)
Sadly Lance Corporal Shawn Hefner, a fellow member of “D” Company and Vincent’s good friend, was killed by a mine on 13 November, his last scheduled mission. Shawn’s parents and brother were there from Hico, Texas as Special Guests of the Commandant of the Marine Corps. We watched as each of Shawn’s buddies went up to the Hefners to offer condolences. This was completely unscripted and spontaneous. The emotions were not describable.
The Hefners are every ounce middle class Americans. Blue jeans, baseball caps, beards. No pretense. No bling. I don’t know how it possible Mr. Hefner kept his composure. It was as if he was consoling the young Marines on their loss. Mom and Shawn’s brother, not so much. One Lance Corporal comes up to me and asks “Sir, are you Mr. Hefner? Riveting. Invited to meet the Hefners, but after watching Mrs. Hefner, decided couldn’t do it.
Initially spent my time mingling around trying to find Marines who looked like they had no one there to meet them.
“Welcome Home, Son…..Thank You For Your Service.” Accompanied by a manly man handshake, naturally. I don’t know why I was surprised, but over half reached out and hugged me. I don’t consider myself a huggy kind of guy. Blew me away. The responses were “No problem, Sir.” “Thank You, Sir…I Appreciate That, Or That Means A Lot.” Some of these hugs were a hell of a lot longer than the obligatory short ones. Long, close and tight. And these boys are STUDS. To duplicate the feeling, try hugging a fire hydrant or telephone pole.
Average age of those present probably 21-22. Many babies, some meeting Daddy for the first time. Some very attractive young ladies on board to greet Hubby or boyfriend. One posted her bed sheet greeting sign with her underwear attached, but that’s another story.
At one point, Fred and I are warming up inside a barracks hallway. Marine comes around the corner four feet away; looks to be about 14 years old. My jaw drops. As he walks by, I notice his shoulders are about three feet across, no neck, chiseled body down to about a 28 inch waist with huge muscular arms. Not to be trifled with. Totally amazing.
Things start to wind down and Shawn’s brother is standing off to one side. Being mad/disappointed with myself earlier I try to man up. I walked up to him, asked if he was Shawn’s brother. He nodded. I open my mouth, but no words come out. Handshake goes immediately to hug. Long, long, long hug. He says “I know, I know.” Deeply emotional.
I spot his parents about to leave with their military escort. Mr. Hefner opened the door. We shake. The best I can do is “Sir, I Don’t Have The Words.” Again, right to hug. Mom is in the back seat. Gotta do it. No words were said. Just tears and holding. Long time.
Fred said it best; The Hefners did not have one son get off those buses tonight. They had a couple hundred sons.”
Freedom Isn’t Free
Stu
Spent last night at Camp Lejeune to attend the return from Helmand Province of ‘D’ Company, 2nd Amphibious Assault Battalion, 2nd Marine Division. Unit of assignment for one Corporal Vincent Chinn, son of old family friend MSG Fred Chinn, US Army retired.
This was the Family Reunion for these Marines, their wives, family, buddies and old folks like me. No formal ceremony…just here’s the buses, big cheers, mob scene, 3 hours late, but who cares now. Cold as hell.
They deployed as part of the 4,000 that went in to Helmand last June as part of the planned build up. “D” Company was the first unit to cross the LD/LC at 0300 that day.
Fred and I were able to speak at some length with both the CO and First Shirt. CPT Allegeardo from Maryland and First Sergeant Strickland from Ohio. These are hard core Marines, first class. Tough bastards; likewise their men.
Have no doubt; these young men all are true warriors. You screw with them at your peril.
What they have endured while America has been bitching since last summer:
One half…50 percent….were wounded. Legitimate Purple Hearts. And these were not the scumbag John Kerry types of wounds either.
They also lost 6 Navy Corpsmen WIA.
At one point they had run out of food and water for three days.
Another time, no showers for 18 days. 140 degrees….that’s correct….140.
They slept in or on their vehicles (big MRAPS…kinda like a tank). No tents. No Mess Halls. No TV. They ate MREs only. Except when one of them bought a couple of chickens and a melon from a local Afghani. In combat 24/7. Period.
Many, many IEDs which mostly lead to the high number of WIAs. Not one KIA while in an MRAP. Big kudos for those things, which if I’m not mistaken were mostly/partially developed by those blood suckers at BlackWater (sarcasm.)
Sadly Lance Corporal Shawn Hefner, a fellow member of “D” Company and Vincent’s good friend, was killed by a mine on 13 November, his last scheduled mission. Shawn’s parents and brother were there from Hico, Texas as Special Guests of the Commandant of the Marine Corps. We watched as each of Shawn’s buddies went up to the Hefners to offer condolences. This was completely unscripted and spontaneous. The emotions were not describable.
The Hefners are every ounce middle class Americans. Blue jeans, baseball caps, beards. No pretense. No bling. I don’t know how it possible Mr. Hefner kept his composure. It was as if he was consoling the young Marines on their loss. Mom and Shawn’s brother, not so much. One Lance Corporal comes up to me and asks “Sir, are you Mr. Hefner? Riveting. Invited to meet the Hefners, but after watching Mrs. Hefner, decided couldn’t do it.
Initially spent my time mingling around trying to find Marines who looked like they had no one there to meet them.
“Welcome Home, Son…..Thank You For Your Service.” Accompanied by a manly man handshake, naturally. I don’t know why I was surprised, but over half reached out and hugged me. I don’t consider myself a huggy kind of guy. Blew me away. The responses were “No problem, Sir.” “Thank You, Sir…I Appreciate That, Or That Means A Lot.” Some of these hugs were a hell of a lot longer than the obligatory short ones. Long, close and tight. And these boys are STUDS. To duplicate the feeling, try hugging a fire hydrant or telephone pole.
Average age of those present probably 21-22. Many babies, some meeting Daddy for the first time. Some very attractive young ladies on board to greet Hubby or boyfriend. One posted her bed sheet greeting sign with her underwear attached, but that’s another story.
At one point, Fred and I are warming up inside a barracks hallway. Marine comes around the corner four feet away; looks to be about 14 years old. My jaw drops. As he walks by, I notice his shoulders are about three feet across, no neck, chiseled body down to about a 28 inch waist with huge muscular arms. Not to be trifled with. Totally amazing.
Things start to wind down and Shawn’s brother is standing off to one side. Being mad/disappointed with myself earlier I try to man up. I walked up to him, asked if he was Shawn’s brother. He nodded. I open my mouth, but no words come out. Handshake goes immediately to hug. Long, long, long hug. He says “I know, I know.” Deeply emotional.
I spot his parents about to leave with their military escort. Mr. Hefner opened the door. We shake. The best I can do is “Sir, I Don’t Have The Words.” Again, right to hug. Mom is in the back seat. Gotta do it. No words were said. Just tears and holding. Long time.
Fred said it best; The Hefners did not have one son get off those buses tonight. They had a couple hundred sons.”
Freedom Isn’t Free
Stu