Thursday Night Bowling League

Images courtesy: Christy Meador

For Christy Meador, Thursday night is bowling night. Not only is the sport a beloved hobby but her favorite Columbia, S.C., bowling alley is also where she met her future husband, Sgt. John David Meador II, known to most as "J.D."

"He also had a nickname of 'Maverick' because my favorite movie is 'Top Gun,'" Sgt. Meador's wife, Christy Meador, told "The Unknown Soldiers." "He looked a lot like Maverick."

After meeting in 2002, Christy and her Tom Cruise look-alike, who was working part-time as a bartender at the bowling alley, fell in love. But no matter where married life took the couple, they never missed league games with friends on Thursday nights.

"We would always bowl," Christy said. "He could bring a smile to everyone."

In October 2010 — the month of J.D. and Christy's birthdays — the ex-bartender stood up on a chair and announced to the entire alley that his wife was pregnant.

"He said, 'my wife just told me we got the best birthday present ever,'" Christy recalled. "He told them I was expecting."

Eight months earlier, J.D. made another huge announcement. After previously serving in the Army, he was re-joining the military as a member of the South Carolina Army National Guard.

"There was no discussion," Christy said. "It was just ... 'I'm going.'"

On June 27, 2011, Elana Meador was born.

"Now I look back, and it was just so meant to be," Christy said while starting to cry. "Because I don't know where I would be today had we not had (Elana)."

When J.D. deployed to Afghanistan, his wife knew being alone with their little girl would be a challenge. But like thousands of military spouses across America, Christy came through for her soldier.

"All I could do was support him," she said.

J.D. came home on leave in April, which gave him the chance to share unforgettable moments with loved ones, including his older daughter. The highlight was finally spending time with baby Elana.

"He got to see her, hold her and talk to her," Christy said.

When the 36-year-old soldier returned to eastern Afghanistan's Khost Province, the first thing he did was look above his bunk. Every month, his wife sent him new sets of footprints to remind J.D. how quickly their little girl was growing.

"He had gotten his Father's Day box," she said. "I already marked it 12 months because Elana's first birthday is (June) 27."

On June 19, the couple saw each other on Skype. Things had gotten "scary" over there, J.D. explained, and he needed Christy's prayers. Their conversation was interrupted by background noise from Elana, which immediately perked the soldier up.

"Go get my baby!" he said.

Before Christy could bring Elana downstairs, J.D. disappeared from the screen after his base lost power. The last text message Christy received from her husband was later that afternoon.

"Please kiss my baby for me," it read.

Christy was at work on June 20 when a strange car approached. As soon as she saw an Army officer's dress blues, she knew J.D. was dead.

"I am so sorry to tell you, but your husband was killed in action," the soldier said as Christy dropped to the floor.

The Pentagon said J.D. was killed when terrorists attacked his unit with small arms fire and an improvised explosive device. First Lt. Ryan Rawl, 30, and Sgt. 1st Class Matthew Thomas, 30, also lost their lives.

Before J.D. left for Afghanistan, his wife asked him to record two audiobooks for his little girl.

"We read them every night," Elana's tearful mom said.

Christy Meador is one of numerous military spouses to lose a loved one during the violent summer of 2012. This column exists to keep the military community's heroism in the spotlight.

"There are so many people out there, even good friends of mine, saying, 'I can't believe he left you and that baby,'" Christy said. "I say, 'You don't understand. It's something he wanted to do.'"

The Thursday night bowling league in Columbia, S.C., will always be missing a star player. But from the mountains of Afghanistan to the hearts of his loving wife and daughters, the selfless legacy of Sgt. John David Meador II rolls on.

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The Unexpected

Images courtesy: Laura Monk

When Spc. Austin Monk deployed to Iraq in August 2009, the soldier's wife expected the worst.

"When your loved one deploys to Iraq, you expect them to come home injured ... (physically or emotionally) wounded, or you expect them to come back dead," Laura Monk told "The Unknown Soldiers."

She never thought her 20-year-old husband's combat deployment would end with a shocking diagnosis of leukemia.

"You never expect them to come back with cancer," she said.

Laura met Austin on an early morning bus ride from her native Philadelphia to New York City in December 2007. After initially being too nervous to talk to the "cute soldier" from Texas as the bus made the short trip up Interstate 95, they struck up a conversation.

"Everything else that wound up happening in our lives showed we were meant to meet," Laura said.

Austin and Laura got married in March 2009, shortly after the soldier returned from Korea.

"It was awesome because we got to build our relationship through conversations, learn about each other over the phone and have an emotional connection," Laura said. "We just fell in love."

Less than five months after their wedding, Spc. Monk deployed to Iraq's Al Anbar Province with an 82nd Airborne Division personal security detachment.

"This is what I signed up to do," Austin said to his wife. Austin first complained about a terrible headache during one of the couple's Skype conversations. Then, on Halloween 2009, Austin wrote Laura a MySpace message saying he had a 104-degree fever.

"Don't worry about me," Austin added.

A few weeks later, fellow soldiers found Austin lying on the floor of his barracks. The ordeal that followed, which took the soldier from hospitals in Iraq to Germany, left Laura feeling helpless as she agonized over her husband's condition from thousands of miles away.

"They initially thought he had mono or tuberculosis and that the headache could have been from his wisdom teeth," Austin's wife said.

When Laura was informed her husband was suffering from leukemia, all she wanted was to be by his side.

"I'll be there soon," she said.

After the Army flew Laura to Germany, she would rarely be separated from Austin again, except for one special week.

"He told me to go to Paris," Laura said. "Even though he was stuck in the hospital, he wanted to make it enjoyable for me."

Austin and Laura eventually ended up at a top cancer hospital in Houston. With Austin's cancer in remission after a May 2011 bone marrow transplant, the Monks were preparing to head home to North Carolina, where the soldier was stationed, with a renewed sense of optimism.

"We thought we were good," Laura said. "It was normalcy ... normalcy for us."

Austin collapsed just hours before the couple's flight. A few hours later, the soldier learned his cancer had returned.

"That was the last time he was ever outside a hospital," Laura said.

The Monks eventually returned to North Carolina, where Austin, 22, would spent his last days in a hospice facility. In the early morning hours of Oct. 5, 2011, Laura, who met the love of her life by chance on a bus, told her husband it was time for his next trip.

"It's okay for you to go," she whispered in Austin's ear. "I love you."

Even after three years of pain, Laura feels deeply inspired by the courage displayed by her husband, both as an American soldier and young cancer patient.

"I want him to be remembered as the smiling Austin, the guy who loved the Dallas Cowboys, the guy that no matter what the consequences, signed up and joined the Army," she said.

Spc. Austin Monk will always be with his wife. And due to the wonders of medical technology, Laura still hopes to bear his children.

"He would have been a great dad," she said. "But he'll be looking down on us."

Laura Monk expected the worst when her husband went to Iraq. But even after the unimaginable ordeal that followed, her outlook has changed for the better.

"I have to make the best of it because it's all I've got," she said.

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The Chosen Few

Image courtesy: Susan Coti

When Lance Cpl. Niall Coti-Sears decided to join the United States Marine Corps, he was emulating a hero.

"He wanted to follow in his grandfather's footsteps," Lance Cpl. Coti-Sears' mother, Susan Coti, told The Unknown Soldiers.

Niall's grandfather, Col. William Coti (Ret.), served in the Marines for more than 30 years. Before two tours in Vietnam, he fought in the bloody 1950 Battle of Chosin Reservoir — one of the Korean War's defining struggles. The heroes who clashed with Communist Chinese forces for 17 days in freezing conditions are known as "The Chosin Few."

Niall, who was home-schooled by his grandparents for two years, spent many hours learning in their basement, which his parents said resembles a Marine Corps museum. While Col. Coti never told his grandson to join the military, young Niall would often put on old uniforms and pretend he was in combat.

"One time I said, 'Niall, the gun jammed and the enemy is getting close, what are you going to do?'" Col. Coti recalled. "He picked up a grenade and threw it."

One day, Niall decided to become a Marine.

"Poppy, I want to be like you," he said.

When the teenager told his parents, both feared for his safety.

"My initial reaction was that I was completely against it," Niall's father, Paul Sears, said. "Not because of the Marines Corps or the military, but because of the way the world is today."

But when the aspiring Arlington, Va., warrior paid a visit to his father in Baltimore, Paul could see the focus in his son's eyes.

"I was 100 percent behind him," the Marine's father, who now lives in Arizona, said.

Image courtesy: Paul Sears

Still, both parents hoped Niall could avoid Afghanistan or Iraq's front lines.

"We begged him not to choose infantry," Niall's mother said. "We said, you could do anything; why would you want to go to Afghanistan as an infantryman?"

But that's exactly the path Niall, who grew up hearing his grandfather's war stories, chose.

"He was just ... a really fearless guy," Susan said.

"I believe that he needed to be part of something that was a lot larger than he was," Paul said.

Before leaving for Afghanistan, Niall spoke to 4th graders at the Washington, D.C., school where his mom teaches.

"One of the boys asked him if he was afraid," Susan said. "He said no ... he really believed it was something he needed to do."

Niall deployed to southern Afghanistan with the 1st Battalion, 7th Marine Regiment in March. He was in frequent communication with his family until around Father's Day, when he went behind Taliban lines for a dangerous mission.

"That's when I got worried," his father said. "And when his birthday came, I got really worried."

On June 21 — Niall's 23rd birthday — his mother got a box of flowers.

"Just because you're always here for me, mom," Niall's card read.

Two days later, Niall was killed in Afghanistan's Helmand Province. His mom, dad, and grandfather said he stepped on an enemy improvised explosive device.

Commanders informed the Marine's parents that not long before his death, Niall was in a ferocious firefight. Just like the pretend battle in his grandpa's basement, Niall picked up grenades and fearlessly hurled them toward the enemy.

"Everyone who knew Niall knew his greatness," Niall's platoon commander, 2nd Lt. Kenneth Conover, wrote to the family.

Col. Coti is immensely proud of his grandson. But pride doesn't erase the pain he and other members of Niall's family are experiencing.

Image courtesy: U.S. Air Force/Adrian Rowan

"It's been a complete blur," Niall's dad said six weeks after his son was killed. "To me, it just happened yesterday."

"It's hard to believe he's gone," the Marine's mother said.

Niall was laid to rest at Arlington National Cemetery, where he is surrounded by heroes of the battles in which his grandfather once fought.

"He was always looking out for other people's welfare," Col. Coti said.

While delivering Niall's eulogy, Paul read a Buddhist quotation that inspired his son.

"The greatest achievement is selflessness," it begins.

Like Col. William Coti in Korea and Vietnam, Lance Cpl. Niall Coti-Sears selflessly stepped forward to serve in Afghanistan. In choosing to his risk his life for others, a proud grandson didn't just emulate a hero. He became one.

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Image courtesy: Cpl. Mark Garcia

Into the Light

Image courtesy: Jon White Photography

As Amy Looney dove into cold, choppy English Channel waters in the dark of night, the faces of three people filled her thoughts during a grueling, hour-long July 14 swim. The first image she saw was her husband, LT SEAL Brendan Looney, who was killed in Afghanistan on Sept. 21, 2010.

Amy met Brendan, a stoic, driven varsity athlete at the United States Naval Academy, on Memorial Day weekend in 2003. The future Navy SEAL was so nervous that friends had to coax him into talking to the pretty girl by the bar.

"He was the shyest person I'd ever met," Amy said. "But by the end of the night, he asked for my number."

Images courtesy: Amy Looney

Brendan had just become a SEAL when he married Amy on July 12, 2008, just 48 hours before a combat deployment to Iraq. While memorable, the Annapolis, Md., ceremony also had a backdrop of profound sadness due to a groomsman's absence. Brendan's Naval Academy roommate, Marine 1st. Lt. Travis Manion, had been killed in Iraq just 14 months earlier.

Amy's thoughts shifted to Travis as the 50-degree water felt like a straitjacket around her arms, which were trying to navigate the Channel.

"I thought about Brendan a lot, but I thought about Travis too," Amy said. "I know they're probably up there laughing."

Brendan and Travis became close friends while learning how to become leaders after 9/11. It was in the Navy where both Midshipmen showed early signs of the everlasting brotherhood that makes the military America's most revered institution.

"One night when we went out, someone bumped into me so hard that I almost fell over," Amy said. "Travis went over to the guy and was like 'you need to apologize ... you don't bump into my friend's girlfriend.'

"It showed how quickly Travis was there to back Brendan up," she continued. "Brendan would have done the exact same thing for him."

Travis' Apr. 29, 2007, death at the hands of an enemy sniper in Fallujah, Iraq, devastated Brendan, who was about to start Navy SEAL training. But Travis' mom, Janet Manion, encouraged him to soldier on.

"Think about what Travis would want," the grieving mother told Brendan.

On his wedding night, Brendan, who graduated as "Honor Man" of his BUD/S class, presented his SEAL Trident to Janet.

"I need you to have this," Brendan said. "I wouldn't have gotten through it without Travis."

With the sky even darker and seasickness filling her stomach, Amy saw Janet's face. She also thought of Brendan's parents, Kevin and Maureen Looney, and her husband's five siblings. Their courage motivated Amy to keep swimming.

After Brendan's shocking death in a tragic Afghanistan helicopter crash, which killed nine American service members, Amy frequently clutched Janet's arm and told her she wanted Brendan and Travis buried side-by-side. The Manions bravely moved their son from Pennsylvania to Arlington National Cemetery, where he rests for eternity beside Brendan.

Bonded by immeasurable loss, Amy grew close with Janet, her husband, Col. Tom Manion (Ret.), and their daughter, Ryan, especially as Travis' mom suffered from cancer.

"I thought about the challenges she went through and how motivated she was by the impact she had on others," Amy said. "Janet's words echoed through my mind."

Janet Manion died on Apr. 24. Yet as Amy finally saw a boat's light in the English Channel's darkness, she heard Janet speak.

"Brendan would be so proud of you," she said.

Amy swam the English Channel relay to honor the fallen with six fellow Americans deeply impacted by war, including military widows and combat veterans. Five swimmers received funding from the Travis Manion Foundation, the organization Janet founded and Amy later joined, to complete their journeys. Each has a compelling story.

When Janet Manion was laid to rest, a silver bracelet with Travis and Brendan's names was on her wrist.

"Warriors for freedom," it reads. "Brothers forever."

In less than five years, Amy Looney, 31, saw the darkness of losing her husband and two close friends. Yet every single day, she keeps swimming toward the light.

"It's not about the goal," Amy said. "It's about the journey and the people you meet to get there."

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A Reluctant Star

Images courtesy: U.S. Marine Corps

Lance Cpl. Jeffrey Cole received the Silver Star for his gallant response to an enemy ambush in Marjah, Afghanistan. Yet even while describing the battle's harrowing events, the 22-year-old Georgia native insisted that his fellow Marines are more deserving of recognition.

"I didn't do anything comparative to what they did," Lance Cpl. Cole told The Unknown Soldiers. "I was shot, but I was not wounded, which allowed me to do what I did, and then in the process of me doing that, I got wounded."

While genuine humility is common amongst the roughly 1 percent of Americans who volunteer for military service, Cole's modesty, even after recently receiving the nation's third-highest military honor, is nevertheless striking.

"They deserve the award and not me," he said. "What I saw that day was the most impressive thing I've ever seen in my life."

Cole, eight fellow Marines, and a Navy Hospital Corpsman were on an Aug. 17, 2010, reconnaissance mission in southern Afghanistan's searing heat when the Taliban staged a sneak attack.

"It just erupted," Cole said. "It came out of nowhere."

Cole was hit by rapid fire at virtually the same moment as five fellow Marines. The difference was that Cole's body armor stopped the enemy rounds while the other men were bleeding.

"I got back up after being shot and I was mad, obviously, because I was shot and everyone else was shot," the Marine said. "I just started shooting in the tree line 100 yards away at all the Taliban that were there."

Over the next 30 minutes, the Marines, including Cole and all five others who'd been hit, took the fight to the enemy using only a ditch as cover. As a machine gunner lay bleeding, Cole volunteered to fill his role and confront the enemy head on.

"I was like 'hey, you're wounded and I'm not,'" Cole said. "So I'm gonna take the (machine) gun and I'll give you my rifle."

Cole unleashed a hail of bullets as the terrorists, who were moving closer to the ditch, scrambled for cover. Standing up and exposing himself to the enemy, the Marine continued firing until he was struck by three more bullets. And this time, body armor couldn't protect him.

"I had two go through my arm," Cole said. "It threw me back into the ditch and they put a tourniquet on me."

As the sweaty Marine lay in the ditch with blood spraying from his left arm, which was almost completely numb after one of the bullets severed a nerve, Cole knew his patrol had to move to a safer position, and fast.

"At that point I was the sixth wounded Marine out of only ten," he said. "So it was like, 'all right, we gotta get out of here now.'"

After making it into a nearby compound, the Marines frantically fixed a broken radio to call in air support while securing a perimeter to prevent further attacks. Finally, with the Taliban approximately 30 yards away, U.S. helicopters arrived to evacuate the outnumbered, decimated patrol. All six wounded Marines survived.

Almost two years after bravely grabbing a machine gun and temporarily halting the enemy advance, Cole has endured seven surgeries and countless hours of physical therapy, leaving him with about 40 percent usage of his left arm. Instead of taking any credit for his heroic actions, though, the Marine is focused on regaining his strength.

"I can curl a 15-pound weight now, whereas...almost two years ago I couldn't even lift my arm...I couldn't even lift a finger on my arm, literally," Cole said. "It's taken me a long time and a lot of hard work, but I'm doing a lot better now."

With a Silver Star medal to his name, Cole is recovering at North Carolina's Camp Lejeune while occasionally visiting his family in Woodstock, Ga. He hasn't decided how long he'll stay in the military, although he's committed to always helping other wounded warriors, no matter where his career path ultimately leads.

While reluctant to embrace the term "hero," warriors like Lance Cpl. Jeffrey Cole and his fellow troops deserve adulation. During uncertain times, they are shining stars that every American can be proud of.

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Erika and Erica

Image courtesy: Sgt. James Taylor

At just 24 years of age, U.S. Army Reserve Sgt. Erika Bagley has already been to Afghanistan twice.

"It's something I always wanted to do since I was little," Sgt. Bagley told The Unknown Soldiers about serving her country. "I did a semester of college and decided it wasn't for me, so I just decided to join the Army."

While the western New York native was deployed to different areas of Afghanistan in 2007-08 and 2010, she had frequent interactions with the civilian population, whom the U.S. military has been helping for almost 11 years.

"Of course, there are some locals who don't like us there," the soldier said. "But all the locals that I met and that we worked with ... they were very appreciative of everything we've done for them."

Being thousands of miles from home isn't easy for anyone, but Erika handled it about as well as a deployed soldier could.

I emailed my mom a lot, so I definitely kept up communications with (my family)," she said.

Erika's unit helps combat troops stationed on remote forward-operating bases stay connected to the outside world. She is currently preparing for her third overseas deployment.

"It hasn't been harder than I expected it to be," the married satellite communications system specialist said. "I enjoy every minute of it."

Having spent nearly two years of her young life in Afghanistan, Erika is well aware of the sacrifices being made there. Sadly, a tragic July 8 incident is a sobering reminder of the daily risks that thousands of brave men and women in uniform face.

On that violent Sunday in Afghanistan's Wardak province, the Pentagon said six soldiers with the 93rd Military Police Battalion, based at Texas' Fort Bliss, died when an improvised explosive device blew up in the mountainous city of Maidan Shahr.

One of the soldiers killed was U.S. Army Spc. Erica Alecksen, 21, a military police officer from Eatonton, Ga., a small city about 75 miles southeast of Atlanta. The fallen warrior leaves behind her husband, her parents, and a brother.

"What some people don't realize is that the sacrifice is real," Erica's aunt, Lydia Ivanditti, said just 16 days after her niece was killed. "This isn't a video game. It's a heart-wrenching, devastating experience to lose someone you love."

Despite a petite frame, Erica volunteered for difficult duty, which often involved carrying heavy gear that added up to more than half her body weight.

"When she came home from boot camp, I asked her about the experience," Ivanditti said. "She looked me straight in the eye and said, 'I never let them see me cry. Not once.'"

Many tears were shed on July 18 as Erica's flag-draped casket was driven from the Greene County Regional Airport to her family's church. But as the soldier's grieving relatives rode in the motorcade, there was reason for hope as citizens lined the streets.

"We would gasp as we came around the bends and saw throngs of people ... thousands of people," Erica's aunt said. "You'd see people on their front porches with hands on their hearts and little boys saluting."

Afghanistan is barely mentioned on the news these days, even though cities and towns across America continue to suffer the devastating effects of war.

"It wasn't like she just affected one group of people," Ivanditti said about her niece, who was posthumously awarded the Bronze Star. "She affected us all."

Like Sgt. Erika Bagley, Spc. Erica Alecksen went to war because she felt a deep sense of obligation.

"She was excited to go Afghanistan and serve," her aunt said. "It was a source of honor and pride that she was getting to go."

Only the most devoted Americans put on a uniform and say, "I'll go." They are the real celebrities of our culture, not actors, politicians, sports stars, or musicians.

This July at Wisconsin's Fort McCoy, Sgt. Erika Bagley was the only woman participating in the Army Reserve's Best Warrior Competition. By continuing to challenge herself as she prepares for a third deployment, she pays tribute to her fellow troops, including those who made the ultimate sacrifice, like Spc. Erica Alecksen.

"It's an honor to do this," she said.

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Image courtesy: Alecksen family

The Click

Images courtesy: Kim DeTample

Every time her 19-year-old son would call from Iraq, Kim DeTample would hear a distinctive sound before his voice.

"I would know it was him because there was a click...a delayed response because of where he was," Kim told The Unknown Soldiers. "I remember the click of the phone to this day."

After Pfc. Nathaniel DeTample arrived in Bayji, Iraq, an industrial city about 130 miles north of Baghdad, in May 2005, he told his mother about the country's inexorable heat.

"He told me to put my face up against a blow dryer," she said. "That's how hot it was."

Despite the harsh conditions, Pfc. DeTample was fulfilling a lifelong dream by serving his country.

"When he was a little guy, about three years old, he got his first buzz cut," the soldier's mother said. "From that day on, he always had that buzz cut."

Nate, as his mother calls him, joined the Boy Scouts at age 10, where he excelled and eventually attained the top rank of Eagle Scout. He also starred on the wrestling mat.

"He was a real determined young man," Kim said.

During his junior year of high school, Nate, whose father and grandfathers served in the military, committed to joining the National Guard.

"He believed in our country," his mother said. "He was one of the little kids who'd always stand for the pledge of allegiance."

After graduating high school, the eastern Pennsylvania native enrolled at Shippensburg University, near Harrisburg. But as other freshmen adjusted to college life, including the party scene, Nate's country came calling.

"I remember when he called and said he might need to report within 24 hours," Kim said. "That drive out (to Shippensburg) to pick him up, I felt like my son was going off to war."

On the morning of Aug. 9, 2005, Kim picked up the phone and heard the usual clicking sound. It was Nate, with whom she hadn't spoken in nearly two weeks, calling from Iraq.

"We're very fortunate that we got to talk to him that morning," she said. "It was truly a blessing that I'll never forget."

Less than 24 hours later, Kim got an early morning knock on the door. Standing outside was a U.S. Army officer.

"It's not good, is it?" the stunned mother said.

"No ma'am, it's not," the soldier replied.

According to the Pentagon, Pfc. DeTample, 19, Spc. John Kulick, 35, Spc. Gennaro Pellegrini Jr., 31, and Sgt. Francis Straub Jr., 24, were killed when a mine exploded and enemy forces attacked their patrol with small arms fire. All four soldiers were serving with a Philadelphia-based Army National Guard unit.

Nate's youth made it particularly difficult to accept his death.

"He was 19 when he died," Kim said. "He was a teenager when he died."

One of the grieving mother's only comforts is knowing that in her son's final moments, he was surrounded by fellow heroes.

"He served with the best," she said. "Three others died, and we will always remember them."

An outpouring of community support has helped the DeTample family cope in the years since. But almost nothing could have prepared Kim for having a son deployed in combat all over again.

Sgt. Staten DeTample, 25, left for Afghanistan almost exactly seven years after his brother arrived in Iraq. Driven by Nate's memory, Sgt. DeTample is making his entire family proud, even if his mother spends every day worrying.

"I know he's going to be fine," Kim said. "But on the other hand, you always think about Nate and the reality that a war is going on in Afghanistan. Hopefully people will remember that."

As her surviving son fights in Afghanistan, Kim is preparing to embark on her own journey to Iraq. Inspired by one of the last videos shot by Pfc. Nathaniel DeTample, in which soldiers are seen handing out shoes to Iraqi children, she wants to perform similar acts of compassion in a healing country where so many Americans and Iraqis made sacrifices.

"It's not just to remember Nate's spirit," she said. "It's to remember all the spirits."

In the meantime, Kim DeTample waits by her phone to hear Sgt. Staten DeTample's voice.

"It's back to the click," she said.

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Note: The Travis Manion Foundation is helping Kim DeTample travel to Iraq and embark on her mission to help Iraqi children. To learn more about the Travis Manion Foundation's Challenge Grant program, please click here.

Our Generation

Images courtesy: Sgt. 1st Class Eric Pahon

If you spend a few minutes watching MTV, it's easy to brand this generation as selfish, materialistic and unpatriotic. But if you talk to fine young people like U.S. Army Spc. Alfred Kollie, who recently spoke to The Unknown Soldiers from Afghanistan, you'll realize there are still Americans willing to fight for freedom.

Spc. Kollie, 26, wasn't even born in the United States. He grew up in the West African nation of Liberia, one of the most violent, impoverished countries on the planet.

"We saw a lot of death," Kollie said. "We went through days where it was difficult to find food or eat, but by His grace, we were able to make it through some of those difficult times."

As Civil War engulfed their homeland, the Kollie family fled to Ghana, where they spent eight agonizing years in a refugee camp.

"Living in a camp without electricity, without proper sanitation...people got sick," he said. "My dad also got sick numerous times, and it was very difficult."

Surrounded by brutality, illness, and death, the young refugee still saw light at the end of the tunnel. Kollie's sister, who fled to the United States years earlier, was working to bring her family to America. But as the years went by, the wait became excruciating.

"The whole process just seemed like it was taking forever," Kollie said. "We all got tired...we wanted to go back to Liberia but we couldn't...we were just stuck in the middle."

Amid pain and hardship, a moment arrived that Kollie will never forget.

"Finally, we got the word that we were coming to the States after eight years of waiting," he said. "It was one of those days of my life that I was very happy."

As he arrived in New York from a Ghanaian refugee camp, Kollie realized the light at the end of the tunnel was the Statue of Liberty's torch.

"Arriving in the States was one of the most exciting days of my life," he said. "Everything about the States was seen on TV, and we were actually here."

After moving to Louisiana and then Maryland, Kollie worked his way from salesman to sales manager. But despite his success, the young immigrant wanted to challenge himself even further.

"Since I'm here in America, a land of opportunity, I have to better myself," he said. "Not just for today, but I need to better myself for the future."

Kollie also felt an obligation to better the world. While he wanted to get an education, the frightening experiences of his youth helped mold a yearning to free the oppressed.

"All my life, I really admired the United States military as a fighting force that has set a mark on this planet," he said. "When I got my green card, I was like...I should go ahead and join the Army."

Before he signed his name, however, Kollie reflected on the cruelty he witnessed in Liberia. Like his native land, Afghanistan has been filled with violence for decades, and he knew that by joining the U.S. Army, he would likely be thrust into the middle of another armed conflict.

"At one point, I was like, 'I just came from a country and a situation that was all about war,'" he said. "But sometimes you have to make a move and hope for the better."

Kollie, who enlisted in September 2010, deployed to Afghanistan last fall. As he spoke from a remote forward operating base near the Pakistani border, the soldier had almost no complaints. Other than the searing, unrelenting heat, Kollie enjoys being part of the war effort.

"Everything's going well, and we can't wait to go home," the 82nd Combat Aviation Brigade petroleum specialist said July 5. "It's been a long ten months, and we're doing our best."

From Liberian refugee to American soldier, Spc. Alfred Kollie's journey is extraordinary. His courage also represents scores of young people who have stepped forward since Sept. 11, 2001. While Hollywood often shines the spotlight elsewhere, this generation of volunteer warriors embodies the very best of America.

"I just feel blessed to be part of this country," Kollie said. "It's so amazing to know you have people — a country — that will accept you."

COPYRIGHT 2012 CREATORS.COM

Fields of Gold

Image courtesy: Sgt. Cali Cavanary

Even while Spc. Arronn Fields was in Afghanistan, he was working on his favorite project: restoring a 1969 Ford Mustang Mach 1.

"He was ordering car parts to the U.S.," the soldier's older sister, Sgt. Cali Cavanary, told The Unknown Soldiers. "There were boxes from FedEx everywhere."

The Indiana native had an affinity for muscle cars, and almost nothing mattered more to him than making his prized Mustang whole again. But when Spc. Fields got the opportunity to deploy to Afghanistan, the soldier felt an obligation to serve, even though he'd already fought in Iraq.

"If I don't go, then someone married with kids will have to and that wouldn't be right," Sgt. Cavanary quoted her brother as saying before his January deployment.

Not surprisingly, Fields' job in Afghanistan was to drive military vehicles. And he treated U.S. Army property exactly like his precious Mustang: with reverence.

"He named his vehicle over in Afghanistan Mona," Cavanary said. "He detailed it and took pride in it."

Despite a substantial age gap, Fields and his big sister shared a special bond since childhood.

"He was kind of like my little kid in a sense," Cavanary explained. "I was always constantly watching him ... being put into that kind of parental role of taking care of him."

When his older sister joined the Indiana National Guard, Fields was watching closely.

"I remember when I graduated from basic training in 2002, he came down to Fort Hood, Texas," she recalled. "He was really proud of me and had a big smile on his face."

Fields followed in his sister's footsteps a few years later. While Cavanary was worried to see her little brother deploy to Iraq, he made it home safely in December 2008.

"We didn't talk about Iraq very much," she said. "Soldiers sometimes don't want to talk about it."

Back in Indiana, Fields would do his duty by day and work on his car by night. But as Fields continued to mature, particularly after his first deployment, Cavanary's admiration for her brother continued to grow.

"He was a better soldier than me, to be honest with you," Cavanary said.

When it came time to leave for Afghanistan, the soldier's sister had an uneasy feeling.

"I would tell him it was dangerous, and he would just laugh me off," she said.

Fields had a busy deployment with the 81st Troop Command of the Indiana National Guard, leaving him with barely enough time to correspond with family and friends.

"He called me one time when he was over there, and I missed the call," Cavanary said, adding that he left a voicemail.

Just after midnight on May 22, Fields' sister, who lives in Indianapolis, got a phone call from her mother, who was hysterical.

"She was crying and I couldn't understand her," Cavanary said. "I handed the phone to my husband."

There was a moment of silence before Cavanary tearfully recounted the painful moment when she found out that Spc. Arronn Fields, 27, was killed by enemy grenade fire on May 21 in Qal-ah-ye Mirza Jal, Afghanistan.

Image courtesy: U.S. Air Force/Adrian Rowan

"I didn't think it could be true," the grieving sister said. "But then there was anger. ... Then I wanted to go to Afghanistan and kick some (butt)."

Western Indiana turned out in full force to honor its fallen hero, as residents put up signs on their homes and businesses to salute the hometown soldier's ultimate sacrifice.

"Since I'm in the military, sometimes I think we're taken for granted," she said. "But people do care."

Cavanary, whose deep faith in God has helped calm her initial anger, still wants to serve in Afghanistan.

"Even if I'm not on the front lines, I just want to go and do my part," Cavanary said.

Almost every night, Sgt. Cali Cavanary plays the last voicemail her younger brother left her. While she hopes to one day finish what he started on the battlefield, she's also determined to finish rebuilding his treasured 1969 Ford Mustang.

"He just really loved cars," she said. "That was his favorite thing."

Spc. Arronn Fields also loved America. As his bright, shiny Mustang someday travels down roads surrounded by Indiana's golden fields, the soldier's legacy will roar even louder than the car's powerful engine.

COPYRIGHT 2012 CREATORS.COM

Fly Like An Eagle

Image courtesy: U.S. Army

Despite an intrinsic fear of flying, Pfc. Brandon Goodine volunteered at age 18 to become a U.S. Army paratrooper.

"The first time he was on a plane was to jump off it," the soldier's mother, Mandy Watson, often says.

As I drove down a rural Georgia highway on June 18, the classic Steve Miller Band song "Fly Like An Eagle" started playing on my car radio. But despite the soothing music and bright sunshine, this wasn't just another hot summer morning in McDonough, Ga.

Less than a mile from my destination, I encountered a stark reminder of the day's importance that commanded every motorist's attention.

Surrounded by blue flashing lights, American flags, and Patriot Guard Riders on motorcycles, a hearse carrying the flag-draped casket of Pfc. Goodine made a slow right turn. As the procession reached the church, soldiers greeted the fallen warrior's coffin with salutes, while onlookers stood with their hands on their hearts.

As I walked into the small Baptist church, one of two banners hanging above Goodine's flag-draped casket stood out. On it was a majestic bald eagle, along with "God Bless America."

The first speaker, U.S. Army Maj. Gen. Pat Donohue, told the grieving audience about four qualities that made Goodine, 20, a great 82nd Airborne Division paratrooper.

"He was selfless. He was fearless. And he was a friend," Donohue said, later adding that the fourth quality was the soldier's authentic love for his family.

Goodine and fellow paratroopers in the 4th Squadron, 73rd Cavalry Regiment showed extraordinary bravery, the General said, by confronting terrorists in the Maiwand District of Afghanistan's Kandahar province on June 7.

"Everyone in Brandon's unit knew it was a dangerous place when they learned of their mission," he said.

After Goodine was severely wounded by an improvised explosive device, his fellow soldiers made a heroic attempt to carry him off the battlefield. Tragically, a second improvised explosive device then detonated, robbing one paratrooper of his legs and leaving another, Staff Sgt. Andrew Mills, the subject of a recent column, badly injured.

According to the General, Goodine died a few moments later on a helicopter.

"Despite the dead and wounded, they pressed forward," Donohue said of Goodine's valiant brothers in arms.

The General said he recently corresponded with the brigade commander, who stressed that the tremendous sacrifices made that day helped secure a crucial area near the Arghandab River.

"I can't believe the progress since that operation," Donohue quoted the brigade commander as writing in an email. "They made a difference."

As the General's address concluded and Toby Keith's "American Soldier" began to play, I looked to my right and saw a burly, tough-looking young man overcome by pain. With his head pressed against his knees, he was crying uncontrollably. Even though Afghanistan is thousands of miles from our shores, the ongoing war affects ordinary Americans every single day.

A subsequent speaker, Rev. T.J. Boyd, explained that before becoming a soldier, young Brandon, who was living in Luthersville, Ga., was headed down the potentially destructive path of a troubled teenager. Recognizing imminent danger, he decided to change his life.

"A lot of people say folks from Luthersville can't amount to anything," the pastor said, looking directly at the soldier's grieving parents. "I beg to differ. Your son became a hero."

One of the service's most touching moments came when Rev. Boyd spoke to the soldier's three-year-old daughter, Katy.

"He stepped up and showed everyone he was a good daddy," the pastor said.

Even though Goodine wasn't old enough to buy a beer, his resolve to fight was so persistent that it took not one, but two powerful enemy bombs to end his life.

The terrorists ultimately lost the battle of June 7. They also failed to kill Goodine's spirit, which lives on through his family, fellow troops, and an entire community of heroes.

While soldiers carried Goodine's casket out of the church, I looked at the cover of the funeral program, which shows a bald eagle gliding above snow-covered mountains.

As a boy, Pfc. Brandon Goodine was afraid to fly. As a young man, he sacrificed his life so others could be free. Today, he soars like an eagle through the skies of heaven.

COPYRIGHT 2012 CREATORS.COM