Intestinal Fortitude
The dictionary defines intestinal fortitude with only two words: Courage and Stamina.
Both of these things were important during my service and when I think back to remember my time in the Marine Corps, most often I think about the times when we needed some intestinal fortitude. But to me the phrase means more than just courage and stamina. It means perseverance, honor, dedication to duty, and doing the right thing even when it means doing the most difficult thing. I think these are the memories that I recall most often because of the mental reward I get from recognizing the hardships we faced and conquered. We conquered our fears, we conquered long odds, and we conquered self-doubt. Together, we conquered any and all obstacles thrown in our direction.
One of the more entertaining stories I can remember from my service in and around the city of Fallujah from the fall of 2006 until the spring of 2007 is a story of weapons platoon, Bravo Company, 1st battalion 24th Marines, to whom I belonged.
We lived in the train station on the north side of the city. We were one of three platoons cycling through three separate duties. One cycle was camp guard. During this cycle the platoon responsible would man posts around the train station in shifts. While half of that platoon was on guard the other half was responsible for manning the quick reaction force or QRF as we called it. QRF was basically a 911 force that consisted of a mobile fire station with casualty evacuation capabilities.
The second cycle manned observation posts throughout the city and watched over our commonly traveled pathways in order to deter the laying of IEDs.
Thirdly, there was main effort. Main effort was just like it sounds. When a platoon was on main effort they were in the company commanding officer’s hip pocket, to be used to carry out any task he saw fit, or to collaborate with other companies when word was passed down from battalion.
During this particular story, weapons platoon was on main effort and our mission was to walk the 5 or 6 kilometers out to the command post we had established at the water treatment facility in the farmland west of the city on the Euphrates River. A walk we had made a few times before, but a walk that was very taxing and always completed under the cover of darkness. The roads were extremely unstable out in Az Ragia and we knew that if we got into any trouble, we were pretty much on our own. So we definitely packed accordingly.
Food, water, and ammo for my 2 weapons. Clothing and sleeping gear. It felt like quite a bit, so I decided to weigh myself on the way out. With no gear on I weighed 165lbs, after dawning my armor and putting on my pack I was over 310 pounds, 312.5 to be exact, I still remember looking at the scale in awe, amazed that my body could handle the load.
Then we made movement out towards the CP. Along the way we had to navigate a few obstacles, one of which was a 2x4 layed across a 5 foot wide river of raw sewage that ran from the city out to the water treatment facility where we were headed. The strength of that 2x4 always impressed me and I was always very mindful of my footing while crossing.
We arrived at the CP and were immediately told to get ready for a briefing followed by one of the longest foot patrols we’d ever performed. Exhausted, one third of us headed to replace the marines on post so they could start their walk back, one third of us headed to rack out, and the remaining third geared up for a raid that would take us 3–4 hours to make foot movement to.
We didn’t have the normal personnel with us so some of us were in different roles than normal. Including my section leader, who was made point man because of his “map reading skills.” He was given a compass, but we didn’t have a proper hard copy map, so he had to get us there in a pretty round about fashion.
It wasn’t long before it started to rain. It was February, and the temperatures were probably in the low 40’s or high 30’s so it was pretty cold and fairly miserable while we made slow progress through the muddy farmland.
We came to a hill, not a steep grade, but fully coated in slick mud. I watched doc climb up about half way then slip and slide all the way back to the bottom, then he almost made it to the top on the second try before he lost his footing again. He wound up on his butt this time, and returned to the bottom of the softly sloping hill. He just sat there for a minute, probably wondering to himself how many more times he’d have to try to scale his own personal Mount Everest. I think that was the first time I remember hearing someone laugh. It was funny, not for doc, but it was definitely entertaining for those who got the opportunity to watch.
We finally made it to the target house, and the raid went off without a hitch, luckily. We found some weapons and some other munitions, blew them in place then started to make movement back to the CP. On the way back the rain started to pick up. It took about 3 hours to navigate our way back in the dark and rain, making a few wrong turns here and there. About an hour out, the rain started to come down like I had never seen before. At one point I thought we would have to swim the rest of the way back. We could have just been delusional from the lack of sleep, that is highly possible, but, we all started to look around at each other shaking our heads; and about 20 minutes from the end of our patrol we were all laughing hysterically. There was nothing left to do but laugh. At least we all made it there and back, at the end of the day that was all that really mattered.
You see, by this time in our deployment, we had learned that no matter how bad a situation seemed at the time, it absolutely could always get much worse.
Just as we finished up with the debrief and headed to our respective rooms to pass out of the stiff concrete floor, the rain started to break, and the sun came out
3 days later, on our walk back to the train station, that same section leader that got us lost in the farmland west of Fallujah slipped off of that 2x4. He was standing in raw sewage that was too deep for him to hold his head out of and he was being weighed down by all of the gear. If you ask him about his thoughts during that moment, he’ll tell you that he thought he was going to drown in sewage, a mile away from our destination. But he didn’t drown. He was only down in that sewage ditch for about 2 seconds before another Marine was able to drop his pack and dive in face first after him, without hesitation. Then we walked the rest of the way back, laughing again. Well, most of us were laughing. What a story this would be to tell one day!
It would have been easier to give up at any one of these steps along the way, but we had heard the words Intestinal Fortitude many times before. And we had heard the stories of the men and woman who came before us.
So for those of us who have had the honor to serve our county, Intestinal Fortitude means much more than just two words. It represents a lifestyle, and a promise we all made to each other. A promise to never quit or back down. A promise to meet adversity with effort and strength of mind and character. An unspoken promise to carry on the legacy of those brave men and women who made the ultimate sacrifice in order to preserve our way of life. So we carry on, always we carry on. In their honor, and in their memory.
