The Last Mission

Images courtesy: Staff Sgt. Brian Jopek (Ret.)

U.S. Army Staff Sgt. Brian Jopek was deployed to Iraq when his oldest son, Ryan, also volunteered to serve his country.

"He went to basic training when I was in Iraq," Staff Sgt. Jopek, who has since retired from the Wisconsin Army National Guard, told The Unknown Soldiers.

Brian also missed his son's high school graduation while serving in combat, but always stayed in close contact with Ryan to give him pointers on life as a soldier.

"Keep your eyes open, keep your head low, and don't get complacent," Brian often told his eldest son.

Born in Nebraska, Ryan spent his formative years in Kansas before attending the last two years of high school in Merrill, Wis., a small city on the picturesque Wisconsin River.

After suffering an early football injury, Ryan grew to love the basketball court, where he excelled from beyond the arc.

"It was just incredible to see him hit those shots," his dad said. "The other guys were a lot faster, but he was the one guy who could hit those three-point shots."

Ryan joined the Army National Guard in 2003, just as thousands of American troops were beginning to fight the nation's second war since the 9/11 attacks.

"We were very proud of him," Brian said. "He was willing to do just about anything for anyone else ... whatever he could."

Not yet old enough to legally buy a beer, Sgt. Ryan Jopek deployed to Iraq during one of its most volatile, violent chapters. With his dad's advice in the back of his mind, the Cavalry Scout would often patrol the war-torn country's streets while manning the "gun tub" atop an armored military Humvee.

Ryan loved trucks since he was a boy.

"I took him to a couple monster truck shows when he was a little kid," Brian said. "He liked to watch monster trucks."

Ryan owned a 1966 Chevrolet pickup truck that he affectionately named "Walter" — after his all-time favorite football player, Chicago Bears legend Walter Payton — which he meticulously washed and repaired. He took both "Walter" and a new car out for spins when he came home in June 2006 for a short break from his Iraq deployment.

"I think he was doing pretty well overall," Brian said of Ryan's spirits before returning to war. "He didn't want to go back, but he knew he needed to ... he didn't want to leave the guys he'd been deployed with."

On the night of Aug. 1, 2006, Brian was in a bar watching monster trucks on television when he thought of Ryan and their many fun-filled outings. With Ryan's deployment nearing its end, the dad was looking forward to spending even more quality time with his 20-year-old son.

"The next morning, I got the knock on the door," Brian said. "At first, I didn't think anything of it, but when I looked at the people and saw the two officers standing there, I knew."

According to the Pentagon, Sgt. Ryan Jopek was killed on Aug. 2, 2006, when an enemy improvised explosive device blew up next to his vehicle near Saddam Hussein's hometown of Tikrit. To this day, Brian is thankful that everyone riding with his son survived.

"The driver was able to get the Humvee out of the kill zone," he said. "Thank God — as bad as it was — that it wasn't worse."

The fallen soldier's father, mother and two siblings subsequently learned that Ryan's final act, carried out just a few days before he was scheduled to leave Iraq, was selfless and heroic.

"He volunteered to go on one last mission that he didn't have to go on," Brian said. "An opening came up on that last convoy, on that gun truck, and he took it. He said he'd go."

The day before what would have been Ryan's 27th birthday, Brian Jopek reflected, as he often does while driving "Walter" around Wisconsin, about his son's willingness to go on one final combat patrol.

"To me, that one last mission is a prime demonstration of what kind of kid he was," the Gold Star father and Iraq war veteran said. "When you're over there ... that's what it's about. It's about the guys next to you."

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Right On

In late March, Kennedy Johnston made a Facebook post about going to college to become a teacher. One of the first responses was from her big brother, U.S. Army Sgt. Michael Cable, who was serving in Afghanistan.

"Right on," he wrote.

Kennedy, 19, knew she could always count on Michael's support, as could their four siblings. In fact, Michael's favorite activity was being there for his friends and family, as well as making them laugh.

"Whenever he did talk, it was always something funny," Kennedy said. "He never really talked about anything negative."

Sgt. Cable joined the Army in the summer of 2007. Three years later, he was stationed at Fort Campbell, located on Kentucky's border with Tennessee, as a fire support specialist with the "Screaming Eagles" of the storied 101st Airborne Division.

"He's always been driven for other people, not just himself," the soldier's sister said. "(He wanted) to be all he can be for everybody."

When Michael first deployed to Iraq, his sister wasn't worried.

"It wasn't scary at all," Kennedy said. "If there was anybody in the world who could have went to war and not had any problems, it would have been him."

Sure enough, Michael returned home and spent time with his parents, grandparents, siblings and friends in Owensboro, Ky. Then, the soldier learned he would be deploying to Afghanistan in November 2012. Even though Kennedy knew she would miss her brother, she was similarly undaunted about his next combat deployment.

"I've never been worried ... I've never been concerned," she said. "He's the strongest person I've ever known and I didn't think anything could happen."

Kennedy communicated with Michael as often as possible while he served his country in the mountains of eastern Afghanistan.

"I talked to him a little on Christmas," Kennedy said. "He sent me pictures and he commented on my Facebook statuses about going to college."

Michael was particularly close with his grandparents, who heard from him almost every day. They were the first to sense the concern in the deployed soldier's voice.

"He was telling them that he loved them over and over again," Kennedy said. "You could tell it was way different than (Iraq)."

A few days after Michael's "right on" comment on Facebook, his sister was taking a break in between classes when she noticed something strange.

"I looked at my phone and saw I had 12 missed calls," she said. "My dad texted me and said, 'Hey baby, I need you to call me as soon as you can.'"

When she called, her father told her to leave school and come home as soon as possible.

"I started having really bad anxiety attacks because I didn't know what was going on," she said.

Kennedy's dad broke the news as soon as she walked into her grandparents' house. Michael was dead.

According to the Department of Defense, Sgt. Michael Cable, 26, died on March 27, 2013, from injuries suffered during an attack in the Shinwar District of Afghanistan's Nangarhar Province. The soldier was posthumously awarded the Bronze Star and Purple Heart for the heroism he displayed during his deployment.

Speaking to The Unknown Soldiers on Michael's 27th birthday, Kennedy courageously summoned her strength to describe two months of unimaginable confusion, pain and grief.

"We have people who don't even know Michael or never even met Michael who are hurting," she said. "It's not just us."

Some Americans may no longer be aware that American troops are still fighting a war in Afghanistan. That's not the case in Owensboro, where the city and surrounding communities quickly rallied around the grieving family of Sgt. Michael Cable.

"It's so appreciated that we can't even put it into words," Kennedy said. "People are coming in and hanging out with us because they don't want us to be alone."

I asked Kennedy how she wants her brother to be remembered.

"A hero," she said. "But he's not just a hero ... he's a friend. He was there for everybody."

Right on.

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Hot Dogs and Hamburgers

What does Memorial Day mean to you?

For some, it's about a rare weekday off to relax, spend time with family and friends, and perhaps grill some hot dogs and hamburgers. Pools are back open, baseball is on TV, and summer blockbusters have started hitting movie screens.

Of course, there is nothing wrong with enjoying a national holiday. But no matter how difficult or unpleasant, we must also remember the sacrifices that give us the freedom of enjoyment, especially in the aftermath of another terrorist attack on U.S. soil.

Duane Wittman lost his son, U.S. Army Sgt. Aaron Wittman, 28, earlier this year in Afghanistan. We exchanged emails a few days ago.

"I can't begin to explain the emotions that Carol and I experience every day," Aaron's dad wrote. "The grief is enormous!"

As the Taliban launches its annual spring offensive, thousands of U.S. troops are in harm's way. On May 4, five U.S. soldiers were killed by an improvised explosive device planted by terrorists in Maiwand, Afghanistan.

Image courtesy: U.S. Air Force/Roland Balik

After being flown to Dover, Del., five flag-draped caskets arrived in American towns and cities from Meridian, N.Y. to Meridian, Idaho. The fallen heroes were brought home with honor and saluted by their families, friends and neighbors.

U.S. Army Spc. Kevin Cardoza, 19, was the youngest soldier killed in the attack. Staff Sgt. Francis Phillips IV, 28, was the oldest. The other three soldiers — Spc. Thomas Murach, Spc. Brandon Prescott, and 1st Lt. Brandon Landrum — were 22, 24 and 26, respectively.

Less than two weeks after her son's death, Mary Murach wrote to his fellow soldiers still serving in Afghanistan on Facebook.

"Thank you so very much for your service to our country," she wrote. "Thank you for the sacrifices that you and your families make."

Even in their darkest, most difficult hours, the first instinct of America's Gold Star moms, dads, wives, husbands, brothers and sisters is often to thank others. While she will spend Memorial Day dealing with unimaginable pain, Spc. Murach's mother, like her son, sets a selfless example that every American should follow.

No matter what's going on in our lives, good or bad, we should always show appreciation to our men and women in uniform, veterans, fallen heroes and their families. While about one percent of our country volunteers to serve, 100 percent should be saying "thank you."

While speaking earlier this year with the mother of fallen U.S. Marine Lance Cpl. Edward Dycus, 22, she said her son was shot in the back of the head by an Afghan soldier who turned against the U.S. forces trying to help him.

"It's hard to talk about," Carol Dycus said. "It's hard."

Carol deals with grief that very few of us can comprehend. She also makes an important point.

It's hard to talk about the horrors of war and the price that so many military families have paid during almost 12 years of constant conflict. Explaining the price of freedom to our children is even more complicated.

But more than any other holiday, Memorial Day is a springboard for that discussion. Stated simply, every American child should grow up learning about our country's fallen heroes and what they were willing to sacrifice.

Just weeks before he was killed in Afghanistan, U.S. Army Spc. Douglas Green, 23, wrote a letter to his loved ones.

"I will always love and cherish all the time I was given on this earth and am thankful for this life and everyone in it," the soldier wrote.

Memorial Day is about being thankful. It's about being grateful not only for a day off work and a chance to grill hot dogs and hamburgers with family and friends, but for the opportunity to live in a nation that brave men and women are willing to step forward and protect.

To thousands of families who've lost loved ones to war, Memorial Day is one of the most meaningful dates on the calendar. It's the one day of the year that the nation officially pauses to remember the men and women who've sacrificed their futures for America's tomorrow.

What does Memorial Day mean to you?

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Image courtesy: Erin Kirk-Cuomo

Rally Cry

Images courtesy: RallyPoint

U.S. Army Capt. Aaron Kletzing first felt the lumps while serving a 15-month combat tour in Iraq.

"Part of the way through the deployment I noticed these big lumps around my collarbone," Kletzing told The Unknown Soldiers. "I figured it was really badly pulled muscles."

After coming home, it became clear that something was seriously wrong.

"I got back from Iraq, and my body was really out-of-whack," Kletzing said. "I was sweating all the time and my energy was really off."

One Friday afternoon in the fall of 2009, Capt. Kletzing got a phone call he would never forget.

"Hey, this is the doctor," he was told. "You have cancer."

When the soldier deployed in December 2007 to a volatile area north of Baghdad, a cancer diagnosis seemed impossible.

"I turned 23 and 24 in Iraq, and I thought to myself that my next birthday, I'm going to have the biggest party ever," Kletzing said. "But my next birthday, I was doing chemotherapy in Chicago."

Kletzing, 29, followed in the footsteps of his older brother, Capt. Andrew Kletzing, when he graduated from the U.S. Military Academy at West Point in 2006.

"By then, both wars were going on, so I figured (serving) was the best thing to do," he said.

Kletzing then flew to Hawaii to prepare for war.

"I think the overall feeling is you have good nerves ... you're focused," the combat veteran said about getting ready for battle. "But there are also those nerves that keep you awake at night."

As his unit's company fire support officer, Kletzing spent seven months leading troops through Iraq's war-torn streets by day while sleeping in deplorable conditions at night.

"That was the world ... that was the universe," he said. "You're living there with Iraqi Security Forces ... living on top of each other with mice everywhere."

After several months without a shower, Kletzing and his soldiers initially welcomed a move to the east side of the Tigris River. The problem was that insurgents and terrorists were there wreaking havoc.

"For a while near (the new outpost) we had a cell of al-Qaida particularly adept at making homemade explosives," Kletzing said.

To this day, the veteran has images from Iraq burned into his memory.

"The thing I remember most vividly is seeing locals who had been hurt," Kletzing said. "(Many of) these people are maimed or shot, and those locals are brought into your aid stations."

Kletzing praised his fellow soldiers for helping him stay calm amid the madness.

"I just had to really rely on my buddies over there," he said.

Once he discovered the lumps near his neck, an already difficult deployment became even more challenging.

"All the way through Iraq, this was growing ... the cancer was spreading throughout my body," Kletzing said. "But I wasn't going to complain."

When the birthday he was so eager to celebrate finally arrived, the 25-year-old soldier, who lost his hair and eyebrows amid grueling chemotherapy treatment, hoped good news was on the horizon. The soldier's birthday wish was granted.

"I ended up doing scans, and it was in remission," he said.

Kletzing, now 29, was accepted to Harvard Business School. Not far from the Boston dorm room where Facebook was born, the U.S. Army veteran came up with a groundbreaking idea that a former Special Forces officer he met in Iraq helped him fully realize.

"The biggest frustration for people who are in the military — who really like being in the military and want to stay in the military — is that they have so little influence over where they're assigned," Kletzing said. "I felt like I'd figured out a way to change that."

Kletzing and Yinon Weiss launched RallyPoint, which they call a "LinkedIn for the military" and encourage all U.S. service members to join.

"We get excited emails every day from people saying 'hey, this is incredible,'" Kletzing said. "Our goal is to be the professional home for everyone in the military."

Today, Aaron Kletzing helps U.S. troops connect with one another in order to improve their lives and careers. He is also a proud Iraq war veteran and grateful cancer survivor.

"Thankfully, it is still in remission," he said. "I'm doing all right."

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Exit 41

Soon after taking Exit 41 off Interstate 85 just south of Atlanta, I saw the harsh reality of nearly 12 years at war in Afghanistan.

The pain in a young widow's eyes. The trepidation in a grieving father's voice. The empty spot in a loving mother's heart.

This is what America's longest armed conflict is about, not public opinion polls or the rhetoric of politicians. While some will have the luxury of pushing the war in Afghanistan aside once it's over, others will carry it with them for all time.

April 20 in Newnan, Ga., was a picturesque spring day. The sky was blue and bright, the sun was warm but not scorching, and a cool breeze gently enveloped the Newnan-Coweta County Airport for an emotional dedication ceremony.

With a long runway, two jets, and countless American flags as a backdrop, hundreds gathered to salute the life of U.S. Air Force Capt. Nick Whitlock, 29, who was killed in the African nation of Djibouti alongside three fellow airmen on Feb. 18, 2012. The foursome flew many special operations missions in support of U.S. troops in Afghanistan before the accident took their lives.

While you may have read about Nick before in this column space, the moving words of his family, friends and fellow airmen shed new light on the character of a young generation that has continually and unselfishly stepped forward since the 9/11 attacks.

"For those who knew Nick well, you will all agree that his charming demeanor and his gregarious personality made him very easy to befriend and get close to," Air Force Capt. Joshua Stinson, who served with Capt. Whitlock, said. "Nick and I started our training on the U-28 (aircraft), and early on I always remember hearing his unique, vivacious laugh down the hall and how he was always able to light up the classroom whenever he entered."

Other than birds chirping and the occasional light breeze, there was complete silence as Nick's father, Jimmy Whitlock, delivered a poignant tribute to his departed son. After thanking the military and political dignitaries in attendance, he looked directly at his wife.

"Thank you, Clare," he said before a heartbreaking pause. "I love you forever."

What the last year has been like for the Whitlocks is truly unimaginable. But just as Nick courageously flew above war zones, the airman's father stood in front of the Cessna airplane on which his son learned to fly and read the fallen hero's words.

"It is my desire to serve my country by becoming an officer and a pilot in the United States Air Force, a career that I believe will be most challenging and rewarding," Nick once wrote. "It is in the Air Force where I can combine my passions and abilities to serve my country anyplace, anytime and in any capacity that such an obligation requires."

Nick's words sum up the mindset of so many brave young men and women who have willingly deployed to some of the world's most violent places since the World Trade Center, Pentagon and a now-sacred field in Shanksville, Pa., first smoldered.

"Nick literally died trying to be the very best that he could be," his dad said.

Ashley Whitlock is still trying to adjust to life without her husband, who she last saw on Valentine's Day 2012. Through her immense character and infectious strength, the Gold Star wife inspired everyone in attendance.

Images courtesy: Captain Nicholas Schade Whitlock Foundation

There are thousands more young women and men like Ashley, who've lost so much, yet soldier on. There's no telling what their loved ones could have accomplished if they'd made it home from Afghanistan or Iraq, but as Ashley's brother-in-law said, it's up to us to keep their memories alive.

"If we live our lives as the best people that we can be, and encourage people to be the best that they can be ... we'd have a lot better world than we live in now," Nick's brother, Iraq war veteran James Whitlock, said.

After hugging the Whitlocks and getting back on I-85, I saw a brand new Exit 41 sign for the airport that now bears a new, distinguished name.

"I am truly excited to imagine what future American history will have its beginnings here at Whitlock Field," Capt. Stinson said.

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Love on the Battlefield

Images courtesy: Master Sgt. Jennifer Loredo

As soon as Master Sgt. Jennifer Loredo went into labor, she wondered if her husband, Staff Sgt. Eddie Loredo, would make it to the hospital on time.

"He was on his way home from Iraq for two weeks of leave," Master Sgt. Loredo told The Unknown Soldiers. "So I basically wound up having to go to the hospital and start labor knowing he was on the airplane from Iraq."

Moments later, Staff Sgt. Loredo ran into the hospital room to witness his wife giving birth to their son.

"He literally made it just in time," Jennifer said. "That was a pretty special time."

Jennifer was introduced to Eddie by a mutual friend in 2004, while both U.S. Army soldiers were stationed in Vicenza, Italy. They quickly fell in love.

"He deployed (to Afghanistan) a month later, but we kept in touch that entire time he was gone," she said. "We wrote love letters."

Immediately after returning, Eddie told Jennifer he wanted to marry her. They tied the knot just before returning to the United States and reporting for duty at North Carolina's Fort Bragg.

Two weeks after the birth of his son, Eddie returned to Iraq for another nine months. Then, in December 2009, the soldier left for Afghanistan. This combat deployment would be much different than his previous three, however, because his wife was headed to the war zone, too.

"It was my first deployment," she said. "At times it was overwhelming, but I had a great support system of family and friends who helped me out with my kids and were always there for me."

Jennifer left their son and her 12-year-old daughter from a previous relationship with relatives when she deployed in May 2010. While Eddie fought in the volatile south with an infantry unit, Jennifer was setting up dental facilities for U.S. troops to the north.

"It was very hard to communicate when I got to Afghanistan," she said.

During a rare phone conversation on Father's Day 2010, Jennifer was surprised when Eddie didn't sound like his normally energetic, enthusiastic self.

"The unit had lost several teammates," she said. "My husband was concerned about his soldiers' well-being."

On June 24, 2010, Jennifer's commanding officer brought her to his office and asked her to sit down. After he said two words — "Sergeant Eddie," which is how soldiers referred to her husband — the anguish quickly set in.

"Tears started rolling down his face," Jennifer said.

Eddie, 34, was severely wounded in a roadside bomb attack that had already taken his left leg. A numb, dazed Jennifer immediately boarded a plane to Kandahar, where she would stay by her husband's side.

After a frantic flight, Jennifer rushed into the hospital, much like Eddie on the day their son was born. Upon entering the room, she saw her husband lying quietly and peacefully.

"I ran to him and kissed him right away," she said. "As soon as my lips touched him, I knew he didn't make it."

Hours after collapsing into an Army Chaplain's arms, Jennifer was staring at her husband's flag-draped casket during a long, excruciating journey home from Afghanistan. While their two-year-old son probably wouldn't understand that daddy was gone, Jennifer knew her 12-year-old daughter would be devastated by her stepfather's sudden death.

"I did have a huge fear of telling my children," Jennifer said. "But I got through it."

The military and civilian communities rallied around Jennifer and the kids.

"To this day, I have so much support ... it is so overwhelming and so appreciated," she said. "The bad thing is there are many people in my situation who don't experience such a supportive environment."

Now 37, helping military families is Master Sgt. Jennifer Loredo's new mission. Stationed at the Pentagon, she supervises Master Resilience Training to assist Army families, including those who've lost loved ones, in coping with the enormous challenge of serving in a post-9/11 world.

Image courtesy: U.S. Army

"I wanted to make (Eddie) proud and my kids proud, too," she said.

When Jennifer puts her young son to bed, they talk about why daddy is a hero.

"Mommy is a soldier, daddy was a soldier, and we loved being soldiers," she said. "He gave his life for the well-being and protection of our country."

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Boston Strong

Images courtesy: U.S. Air Force

U.S. Air Force Col. Robert Valin was an airline pilot on Sept. 11, 2001. He once lived in Khobar Towers, the Saudi housing complex that was bombed by terrorists on June 25, 1996. His family also lived in Newtown, Conn., just around the corner from Sandy Hook Elementary School.

"The ties to these tragedies have always kind of been there," Col. Valin told The Unknown Soldiers.

On Apr. 15, the Massachusetts airman was watching live coverage of the Boston Marathon from Afghanistan, eight and a half hours ahead of Eastern Standard Time.

"I had actually watched a little bit of the marathon on TV for 20 to 30 minutes before the (attack) happened," Valin said. "The following morning, I learned more about what had happened."

Valin, who grew up in Lexington and Belmont, Mass., and plans to eventually retire in Charlestown, experienced an "ugly feeling" while seeing his beloved city under siege from thousands of miles away. But he was also filled with appreciation.

"There's the pride in Boston, Bostonians and the people of New England," he said.

Valin has been serving his country in uniform since the Reagan administration. With nearly 6,500 flying hours in F-16 and A-10 fighter jets and commercial planes, he's navigated the skies under almost every circumstance. But ever since arriving in Afghanistan, the brave men and women under his command have consistently inspired him.

"Some folks come out here and kind of expect that all the leaders will be very inspiring kinds of people and the vast majority are just that," the Colonel said. "But the opposite also happens ... the leaders are themselves inspired by the soldiers, sailors, airmen and Marines doing the job."

After two months in the war zone, Valin marveled at the heroism he's already witnessed.

"There's nothing more inspiring than seeing everything from an airman going outside the wire to someone manning a tower to a surgeon sewing up horrible wounds to a maintenance technician miraculously fixing an airplane that didn't look fixable," he said. "As you see more and more of these things around you, you're swamped with inspiration."

As director of staff for the Air Force's 455th Expeditionary Wing, Valin and his fellow airmen have wide-ranging, far-reaching responsibilities that tangibly impact the war and its ultimate outcome.

"We have airmen responsible for not only defending the airspace here at (our base) ... they actually get out into Afghanistan and frankly the whole area around (the base) to meet the people and get to know the local and national police and the Afghan army," Valin said.

While the Colonel admitted it's tough on everyone to be apart from their loved ones, he and his fellow service members are embracing the opportunity to make history.

"Having the chance to serve is very gratifying," he said.

As horrifying images from the Boston bombings filled television and computer screens on his base, Valin and his colleagues, especially those from New England, watched intensely as an unprecedented manhunt for two suspected terrorists unfolded before the world's eyes.

"We used to live very close to the Watertown line," Valin said of the town engulfed by police as they hunted the younger suspect. "The wing commander and I were actually walking down that exact same street a couple years ago on our way to a Red Sox game."

Like his fellow Bostonians, Valin felt a sense of relief and enormous gratitude to Boston's police, firefighters and first responders as news of the younger suspect's capture spread through his Afghanistan base.

"I lived in Khobar Towers. I was at the top of the World Trade Center with my son a month before 9/11. I was flying 757s for United Airlines at the time of the attacks," he said. "From that, I've seen and learned to see the resilience of people."

As he works to prevent further terrorist attacks and to improve the lives of Afghans, Col. Robert Valin wears his Boston Red Sox gear with patriotism and pride. While grieving for the families affected by the attacks on his city, his faith in Boston's ability to overcome tragedy is unflinching.

"I also know the people," he said. "And they're strong people."

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The Marathon Runner

Image courtesy: Ossur

After Cpl. Jake Hill stepped on an improvised explosive device during a chaotic battle in Afghanistan's Helmand Province, the young Marine radioed his squad leader.

"This is Hill," he said. "I just stepped on an IED, but I'm fine."

Through a dizzying haze of dust, smoke and ongoing gunfire, the Rapid City, S.D., native looked down at his feet.

"What I saw was a really badly broken left ankle," Cpl. Hill told The Unknown Soldiers. "I was like 'OK, this is fine, people break their ankles all the time.'"

Hill was later shocked when a doctor presented him with two difficult choices: replace his shattered foot with a cadaver bone or amputate his left leg just above the knee.

"The heel bone was gone ... just pulverized," Hill said from the Walter Reed National Military Medical Center in Bethesda, Md. "I kind of made up my mind right (there) that I wanted it cut off."

Few are forced to make such excruciating decisions, especially at age 19. But Hill, who was in elementary school on 9/11, later chose to join the Marine Corps because he believes it's noble for young Americans to serve their country.

"In the World War II days, everybody thought that was something you had to do, and it was, but nowadays it really is not," he said. "Not a lot of people do that anymore."

About two years after graduating high school and leaving South Dakota, Hill was guiding Marines through Afghanistan as a team leader.

"It's an odd thing to have to tell your friends to go get in combat and get into danger," he said.

On Sept. 16, 2010, Hill could have been at the movies, playing video games or hanging out with friends. Instead, he was on patrol in the rugged district of Sangin, one of Afghanistan's most dangerous places. Hill said nearly half the American and Afghan troops battling the Taliban were struck by bombs or bullets during the day's patrol.

"There were two (Afghan soldiers) who died and everyone else was wounded and taken back," Hill said. "We couldn't land (helicopters) because the fighting was so heavy out there in the combat zone."

As soon as members of his patrol were hit, Hill, who was serving with Company L of the 3rd Battalion, 7th Marine Regiment, took it upon himself to tend to the wounded.

"With one of his team members injured by a rocket-propelled grenade, (Hill) exposed himself to enemy fire a second time and ran to aid his Marine brother," a Marine Corps citation said. "He applied first-aid and led the rest of his team through 200 meters of fire-swept terrain to extract the casualty."

Like so many combat veterans I've spoken with, Hill skipped over his gallantry during our interview. He is too humble to take credit for his courageous, life-saving actions.

"Three or four days after my injury, my platoon commander told me that he was going to be putting me up for an award," Hill, now 22, said. "I said 'no, I don't want it.'"

In October 2011, Hill showed the world that no matter the challenge, Marines will never quit. On that chilly Washington, D.C., morning just before Halloween, the wounded hero ran the Marine Corps Marathon.

"It was awesome ... it made me realize that I really, really wanted to be a Marine again," Hill said. "I was always a Marine, but I wanted to do Marine things again."

Even though his lower left leg is now metal instead of flesh, Hill ran 26.2 miles in less than four hours.

"I was ecstatic," he said.

On June 14, 2012, Lt. Col. Clay Tipton, Hill's former commanding officer, presented him with the Silver Star for his heroic actions in Afghanistan.

"Everybody did things equally as brave," Hill said. "It's an award for the whole unit."

Cpl. Jake Hill's award should also serve as an example for young Americans, especially after the horrific terrorist atrocity in Boston. The next time you're presented with a seemingly impossible challenge, think of what a 19-year-old Marine said after stepping on a powerful roadside bomb.

"This is Hill," he said. "I just stepped on an IED, but I'm fine."

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Tree of Life

Image courtesy: Wreaths for Warriors Walk

Just before leaving for Afghanistan in November, Sgt. Aaron Wittman pointed toward a majestic, tree-lined walkway at Georgia's Fort Stewart.

"Do you know what that is?" Sgt. Wittman asked his father, retired U.S. Army officer Duane Wittman, and his mother, Carol Wittman, who also served. "That's the Warriors Walk, and that's one place I don't ever want my name."

The Warriors Walk honors fallen post-9/11 heroes of the Army's 3rd Infantry Division, as well as departed warriors from attached units. According to Fort Stewart's website, each soldier is honored with an Eastern Redbud tree as a symbol of life.

Not only did Aaron's parents serve in uniform, his brother and sister both volunteered for the Armed Forces and deployed to Iraq.

"We're a military family," Duane told The Unknown Soldiers. "Everyone in the family is either serving in the military or ex-military."

Aaron, who used to dress up in his dad's fatigues as a young boy while playing flashlight tag with his friends, grew up near military bases around the globe. After seeing some of world's most luxurious and less fortunate places, Aaron decided to pursue a difficult, selfless path.

"He never really had any desire to go anywhere other than The Citadel," Duane, a 1975 Citadel graduate, said. "He just loved it and loved Charleston."

Images courtesy: Aaron Wittman Foundation

As freshmen, Aaron and four fellow Citadel cadets joined the South Carolina National Guard. As seniors, they were presented with a difficult choice: go to war or stay in school and graduate on time.

"All five seniors went to Afghanistan," Aaron's father said. "That's what the citizen-soldier concept is all about."

In 2007, all three of Duane and Carol's children, as well as their daughter-in-law, served in either Afghanistan or Iraq.

"In three and a half months we deployed all of them," Duane said. "I always had target dates for when the kids were going to come home."

About two weeks after Aaron arrived in Afghanistan's mountainous border region with Pakistan, a terrorist blew himself up between two U.S. Army vehicles. After helping his wounded comrades, the young soldier realized how lucky he was to be alive.

"It was a hard awakening — real quick — into the IED (improvised explosive device) world," Duane said. "It wasn't but a couple months later that his Citadel buddy, Sam, was very severely injured from shrapnel in the chest."

Upon his return, Aaron fulfilled a promise to his mom by graduating from The Citadel. He fell even deeper in love with his girlfriend, Sarah. Then, just before his 28th birthday on Nov. 6, 2012, Aaron once again deployed to Afghanistan, with big plans for when he came home.

"He was looking for, sooner or later, a U.S. Army Commission and a family life," Duane said.

Just over two months after sitting with her son outside the Warriors Walk, Aaron's mother heard a voice inside her head.

"Carol, you need to go home," the voice whispered.

After returning to her Virginia residence, Carol saw two Army officers approach the front door. They told Duane and Carol that their youngest child was killed by a rocket-propelled grenade on Jan. 10, 2013.

"We want Aaron to be remembered for his life, not his final moments," Carol said.

The roller coaster of emotions that followed, which included seeing their oldest son bring his fallen brother home, was filled with pride and pain.

"I always thought I would be the first one in this family buried in Arlington," Duane said.

Nine days after Aaron's death, his sister gave birth to a healthy baby girl. It was a proud, bittersweet moment, similar to the emotions the Wittmans expected to experience when Tree 445 of the Warriors Walk was named after their son.

"It gives us strength to know we aren't alone," Carol, who thanked the community for their support, said.

"Aaron was all about life," Duane added.

Before our phone call ended, Aaron's mother spoke of a letter she received from a soldier who witnessed her son's final act of heroism.

"His quick reaction and reflexes saved many lives that day," Carol said. "He felt he needed to be in that position to ensure his men were safe."

Indeed, Sgt. Aaron Wittman was all about life.

COPYRIGHT 2013 CREATORS.COM

Note: Sgt. Aaron Wittman's family and friends have partnered with The Citadel Foundation to honor his memory by creating a memorial scholarship fund.  Please click here to support the Aaron Wittman Foundation.

JAG 28

Images courtesy: Mark Forester Foundation

Thad Forester always knew his brother as Mark, even after he joined the U.S. Air Force. Pilots flying dangerous missions in Afghanistan, however, knew the 29-year-old Air Force combat controller as "JAG 28."

"Mark developed a great relationship with the pilots," Thad, 36, told The Unknown Soldiers. "They tell me that he had such a great sense of humor, but he also commanded respect and knew what he was doing."

Senior Airman Mark Forester didn't become a special operations warrior with a cool-sounding call sign overnight. His journey to a remote forward operating base in Afghanistan, where he directed airstrikes and confronted some of America's worst enemies, was as long as it was improbable.

"He was serving a mission for our church at the time of September 11th," Thad, one of Mark's three older brothers, said."He was angered, he was outraged, and he felt like he needed to do something."

It would be almost six years before Mark volunteered for the armed forces. Before he could serve his country at the highest level, the Haleyville, Ala., native, wanted to strengthen his mind, body and relationship with God.

"Mark was pudgy and baby-faced with narrow shoulders," his big brother said. "He got up to 230 lbs. on the (church) mission."

As soon as Mark returned to Alabama, he hit the gym with a brand of intensity that surprised even those who knew him best.

"He was fully committed," Thad said. "It was a drive I'd never seen in Mark before."

After enlisting in 2007 and completing a grueling Air Force and special operations training regimen, Mark was hand-picked by senior officers for a crucial assignment at Afghanistan's Forward Operating Base Tinsley.

"When he told us where he was going it didn't really mean anything to us," Thad said. "All we knew was it was Afghanistan."

The humble warrior didn't tell his family that being tapped to help defend the Uruzgan Province base, located in the heart of a dangerous, Taliban-infested combat zone, was a remarkable assignment for a senior airman going on his first deployment.

"He said 'Thad, don't tell anyone where I'm going right now, but it's a very active area and I'll have a lot of action,'" Thad said. "It didn't really sink in ... at least to me ... I feel like I was so oblivious to everything."

Mark never shared the details of an Aug. 6, 2010, battle that earned him the Bronze Star with Valor or other instances where his actions saved American and Afghan lives. Like so many of this generation's volunteer warriors, JAG 28 instead chose to lead by example.

"He had full awareness on the battlefield," Thad, who is researching his brother's deployment for an upcoming book, said. "One of Mark's teammates told me he got them what they needed -- not just bombs, but food."

On Sept. 29, 2010, Mark was on the second day of a combat mission when his unit's medic was shot by an enemy sniper. Without hesitating, JAG 28 ran toward his wounded comrade.

That same day in Tuscaloosa, Ala., Thad woke up with no premonition of his brother's final act of heroism.

"When they confirmed we were both home, they knocked on my parents' door first," Thad said. "Then they knocked on my door and delivered the news to me and my wife."

Senior Airman Mark Forester, the church missionary who transformed himself into a warrior, was killed while trying to save another man's life. He was posthumously awarded the Silver Star. The community sprung into action to support the Foresters, which deeply moved Mark's grieving parents and siblings.

"There were signs all over town like 'thank you Mark Forester and your family' and 'God Bless America,'" Thad said.

Seven months before Navy SEALs killed Osama bin Laden, Mark devoted his last full measure to a cause he believed in. While mourning, reflecting, and writing about his youngest sibling, Thad marvels at Mark's metamorphosis from little brother to JAG 28.

"We all have missions on this earth and some of them are different for each person," Thad said. "One of Mark's was to help defeat terrorism, and he did it."

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