For the "Magnificent Bastards" battalion of 2/4 US marines, stationed in the heart of Iraq's Sunni triangle, taking battle casualties is an almost daily occurrence. Off duty, life continues only in the shadow of elaborate rituals of death.
With 31 "KIA" - killed in action - and 178 wounded since their arrival less than four months ago, the unit of 1,100 men has suffered the highest attrition rate of any in Iraq.
The latest marine to die was Sgt Kenneth Conde, 25, killed instantly when a piece of shrapnel from a roadside bomb hit him just above the right eye.
At a memorial service held this week outside a palace once owned by Saddam Hussein that now serves as battalion headquarters, Sgt Conde's comrades gathered to pay tribute to a man who became a legend in their midst on April 6.
That day, when 12 marines were killed in the city of Ramadi, a bullet ripped through Sgt Conde's shoulder but he continued to lead his men and fight on for several hours afterwards. "He fought at times like a man possessed," recalled Lt Col Paul Kennedy, the battalion commander.
"He was one of the few, one of the proudest, one of the special marines we held above all others, an exemplar of our corps . . . he was so dearly loved and respected the full impact of his loss has not fully been felt."
After he was wounded, Sgt Conde joked that he was pleased the bullet had not spoilt the "Ride or Die" tattoo he had emblazoned across his back. In a videotaped account of the action, he barely mentioned being hit.
"We had a shootout with those guys, killed them," he said, describing a battle with insurgents armed with AK-47s and machineguns. "After about the first 30 minutes, I was shot from a cross street."
The battle lasted all day and Sgt Conde and his squad were in the thick of the action again the next morning. "After that it started getting easy," he concluded in his videotaped account. "That's it."
The devastating scale of casualties inflicted on enemy insurgents - approaching a thousand dead - is a measure of the superiority of American firepower.
But the battalion takes its own losses to heart. After the memorial service, marines filed past Sgt Conde's M-16 rifle, on which his dog tags and helmet had been placed. Some paused to weep quietly. Others bowed their heads in prayer or clasped the dead man's boots in silent contemplation.
For some marines, the memorial services have become too much. "I don't have time for it," said Sgt Damien Coan, 26, who became a platoon commander when a lieutenant died of his wounds after being shot in the face. "I prefer to deal with it when we get back to the States."
The deaths had affected his men in different ways, he said. "I do have one marine who's a little too aggressive," he said. "We have to put him on a leash a bit. If it was up to him, he'd probably shoot everybody in Ramadi."
Most tend to bottle up their emotions. "They spend a whole lot of energy keeping it in," said Maj Kevin Roberts, a combat stress officer at brigade headquarters.
"It helps them keep on the job but it may not be the most effective long-term coping mechanism."
After a death, marines are encouraged to write to the bereaved families.
"We tell them their sons were courageous and warriors," said Capt Kelly Royer, who has lost 21 men from his Echo Company.
He uses the danger of being killed, or of causing the death of a comrade, as a powerful motivator.
"Let's not put any more of our guys in body bags," he told a young marine sniper manning an observation post overlooking the entrance to Ramadi.
"If you see someone out there with binoculars, put a bullet in his head. Then you get to celebrate and high five and everything."
At the end of the memorial service, before the playing of Taps and the volleys of gunfire, the first sergeant of Weapons Company stepped forward to conduct a final roll call.
"Sgt Kenneth Conde," he boomed. No reply. "Sgt Conde." No reply. "Sgt Kenneth K Conde, killed in action, July 1 2004, Ramadi, Iraq."
News Telegraph Story
With 31 "KIA" - killed in action - and 178 wounded since their arrival less than four months ago, the unit of 1,100 men has suffered the highest attrition rate of any in Iraq.
The latest marine to die was Sgt Kenneth Conde, 25, killed instantly when a piece of shrapnel from a roadside bomb hit him just above the right eye.
At a memorial service held this week outside a palace once owned by Saddam Hussein that now serves as battalion headquarters, Sgt Conde's comrades gathered to pay tribute to a man who became a legend in their midst on April 6.
That day, when 12 marines were killed in the city of Ramadi, a bullet ripped through Sgt Conde's shoulder but he continued to lead his men and fight on for several hours afterwards. "He fought at times like a man possessed," recalled Lt Col Paul Kennedy, the battalion commander.
"He was one of the few, one of the proudest, one of the special marines we held above all others, an exemplar of our corps . . . he was so dearly loved and respected the full impact of his loss has not fully been felt."
After he was wounded, Sgt Conde joked that he was pleased the bullet had not spoilt the "Ride or Die" tattoo he had emblazoned across his back. In a videotaped account of the action, he barely mentioned being hit.
"We had a shootout with those guys, killed them," he said, describing a battle with insurgents armed with AK-47s and machineguns. "After about the first 30 minutes, I was shot from a cross street."
The battle lasted all day and Sgt Conde and his squad were in the thick of the action again the next morning. "After that it started getting easy," he concluded in his videotaped account. "That's it."
The devastating scale of casualties inflicted on enemy insurgents - approaching a thousand dead - is a measure of the superiority of American firepower.
But the battalion takes its own losses to heart. After the memorial service, marines filed past Sgt Conde's M-16 rifle, on which his dog tags and helmet had been placed. Some paused to weep quietly. Others bowed their heads in prayer or clasped the dead man's boots in silent contemplation.
For some marines, the memorial services have become too much. "I don't have time for it," said Sgt Damien Coan, 26, who became a platoon commander when a lieutenant died of his wounds after being shot in the face. "I prefer to deal with it when we get back to the States."
The deaths had affected his men in different ways, he said. "I do have one marine who's a little too aggressive," he said. "We have to put him on a leash a bit. If it was up to him, he'd probably shoot everybody in Ramadi."
Most tend to bottle up their emotions. "They spend a whole lot of energy keeping it in," said Maj Kevin Roberts, a combat stress officer at brigade headquarters.
"It helps them keep on the job but it may not be the most effective long-term coping mechanism."
After a death, marines are encouraged to write to the bereaved families.
"We tell them their sons were courageous and warriors," said Capt Kelly Royer, who has lost 21 men from his Echo Company.
He uses the danger of being killed, or of causing the death of a comrade, as a powerful motivator.
"Let's not put any more of our guys in body bags," he told a young marine sniper manning an observation post overlooking the entrance to Ramadi.
"If you see someone out there with binoculars, put a bullet in his head. Then you get to celebrate and high five and everything."
At the end of the memorial service, before the playing of Taps and the volleys of gunfire, the first sergeant of Weapons Company stepped forward to conduct a final roll call.
"Sgt Kenneth Conde," he boomed. No reply. "Sgt Conde." No reply. "Sgt Kenneth K Conde, killed in action, July 1 2004, Ramadi, Iraq."
News Telegraph Story
