This post is also available in audio format @ They Came in Peace
When I got to Penn State in the fall of 1985, I didn't have a military bone in my body. I was a dyed-in-the-wool, thoroughbred civilian. Ask anybody. That continued to be the case until at least the Spring of 1987, which was my second semester living in my fraternity house.
At the time, I was competing in the New York Golden Gloves, training with the University's boxing club, and commuting about weekly for my bouts. It was during this time that my "big brother," a guy by the name of Mike Sweitzer, subtly offered me a suggestion.
Mike, who came from a Marine Corps family and was already enrolled in the Platoon Leaders' Course officer program at Penn State, one day mentioned to me, "Hey if you wanna get an extra workout in every week, you can come down and train with the officer candidates on Sunday morning."
Now, to be honest, at that time, when I thought of Marines, or any member of the military, for that matter, I imagined the character Neidermeyer from the movie Animal House, the stiff, square ROTC cadet who was always seen with a long, filtered cigarette in his mouth, kinda like MacArthur and his pipe. However, I respected the hell out of my big brother, so I tried my best to be tactful in responding.
Unfortunately, it didn't come out that way.
"Thanks, Mike," I said. "But I have absolutely no interest in being a jarhead. Sorry."
But Mike wasn't deterred by my rebuff. Instead, he countered with, "That's okay. I'll just tell Capt Hough you wanna work out."
Ugh, okay. Fine.
So, that Sunday morning, following a house party at the fraternity the night before, I accompanied Mike to the Officer Selection Office in downtown State College, not completely hating the idea of getting in another workout. When we arrived at the office, there was a group of candidates there, and I remember thinking that they didn't look like complete freaks.
Mike then led me into Capt Dave Hough's office, where the recruiter was seated at his desk. Behind him was a wall-to-wall mural of an F-4 Phantom in flight. The Marine didn't need to say a word in order to exude an incredibly larger-than-life aura. You could just sense it.
"Good morning, sir," Mike said.
"Hey there, Sweitzer, good morning," the captain replied. And then, with a hint of a grin, nodded toward me and asked, "What do we have here?"
"Sir, this is Brian O'Leary," Mike replied. "And he's interested in the program."
Now, this clearly wasn't what Mike and I had agreed to as the reason for my making the trip that morning, but I remember not being in any way put off by him having said what he did. Then, the first words Capt Hough directed at me were a question.
"How's your vision?"
"Sir?"
"Your eyes," he clarified. "How's your eyesight?"
"Uh, 20/20, as far as I know, sir."
And that’s when it got interesting.
"Do you wanna fly jets?" he asked.
And I remember thinking, "Damn, this guy is good."
Spoiler alert: While my initial contract with the Marine Corps was a flight contract, I went on to be a ground combat officer.
Anyway, yeah, I worked out like a Marine that morning. We ran in formation and sang cadences. Then we went inside a local school gym and played "combat dodgeball," and did some other cool stuff. While I didn't consciously acknowledge it that day, I think I was pretty much sold.
And, so, I returned the following week, and the week after that, until one afternoon, between classes, I visited Capt Hough on my own.
"Hey, what's up there, O'Leary?" he inquired as I arrived in his office. "To what do I owe the pleasure?"
"Good afternoon, sir," I replied. "I'd like to start my package."
I think he may have been a bit surprised, seeing how much of a total civilian I still was at that point. But, I can clearly remember the manner in which he responded to the news. Now, this was a guy of impeccable military bearing, though with a really healthy and active sense of humor. Smiling surely wasn't his default facial expression, but maybe that made it all the more genuine when he so much as cracked a grin. In this case, the news I'd just delivered caused him to beam from ear to ear.
As he did, he rose from his chair, circled his desk, and shook my hand.
"Congratulations, young man," he fairly barked. "We're gonna make a Marine out of you."
And he was right. I fell in love with the Corps rather quickly, had an outright ball at Officer Candidates School that summer, genuinely enjoyed serving in three combat zones, absolutely cherished the unparalleled camaraderie, and mourned the loss of it all when I retired from the reserves after 30 years of service.
Now, when I refer to Dave Hough simply as larger than life, I have to point out the inadequacy of that characterization. The strength of his personality is really quite impossible to describe, but for evidence of it, you need look no further than my fraternity house.
Over the time I lived in the house, Capt Hough successfully recruited not only me but four of my brothers, as well. And, just like me, these guys hadn't previously shown any aptitude for —or serious inclination toward— a military career. It was as if his influence was hypnotic. It wasn't simply a matter of us not being able to say, "no" to the guy. It was much more a case of us all wanting to be just like him, and I know they'd all agree when I tell you that we completely idolized the guy.
One day, during my process of starting my "package," or application, I noticed a book on Capt Hough's desk, entitled The Root: The Marines in Beirut, by Eric Hammel. Being a complete dunce, at the time, about anything to do with the Marine Corps or its history, I politely asked him what the book was about.
He responded by giving me a brief, though pretty clear outline of the Corps' involvement in Lebanon from 1982 to 1984, including the tragic bombing of October 23, 1983. He then offered a modest footnote.
He's actually featured quite a bit in the book because he was there that day.
On July 10, 1981, the Palestine Liberation Organization (PLO) began firing Katyusha rockets and 130mm artillery rounds from Lebanon into Jewish communities in northern Israel. In response, on July 17, the Israeli Air Force (IAF) conducted a large-scale bombardment of PLO buildings in Beirut. The terrorist organization countered disproportionately by intensifying its shelling of communities in the north, forcing thousands of Jewish residents to flee to the safety of shelters for several days.
Fortunately, on July 24, US envoy Philip Habib was able to negotiate a ceasefire, and calm was restored to the border, for the time being. However, Habib and others were less than sanguine regarding the durability of the welcome quietude.
They were right not to bet the farm on it, because on June 3, 1982, a terror cell in London, part of the Abu Nidal Organization (a PLO faction sponsored by Syria, Lybia, and Iraq), tried to assassinate Shalom Argov, the Israeli ambassador to the UK. The head wound he sustained would leave Argov paralyzed until his death in 2003. When the international community attempted to remind the PLO of the ceasefire it had agreed to, the terror organization argued that the armistice was only applicable in the Lebanon region.
Okay, so we're doing this.
The day following the assassination attempt, the IAF attacked nine legitimate terrorist targets in Lebanon, belonging to the PLO and its Fatah branch. The terrorists responded by once again shelling civilian communities in the Galilee region.
At the time, the terrorists in Lebanon numbered about 23,000. They were well-armed, with light weapons, anti-tank and anti-air missiles, artillery, armored personnel carriers, and about 150 Soviet T-55 tanks. And, if that weren't enough, they were also directly supported by a reinforced Syrian infantry division.
Nonetheless, soon after commencing Operation Peace for Galilee on June 6, the Israeli Defense Forces (IDF) handily overtook PLO positions in the south, routed Syrian forces in the Bekaa Valley, and arrived in Beirut on the 9th, cornering the remaining PLO forces who ultimately surrendered, agreeing to evacuate to Tunisia in September.
In August, at the request of the Lebanese government, the United States, France, Italy, and Great Britain deployed a multinational peacekeeping force to the region in an effort to create a buffer between Israel, Syria, and the PLO.
Multinational Force (MNF) Lebanon included a contingent of 800 Marines from the 32nd Marine Amphibious Unit (MAU). Over the course of 17 days, US Marines, along with their British, French, and Italian counterparts, evacuated more than 6,000 PLO members from the country. Then, having completed their Mission on September 10, the Marines returned to their ships in the Mediterranean, handing responsibility for the city back to the Lebanese Armed Forces (LAF).
However, a mere four days later, Bashir Gemayel, the Lebanese president-elect, was assassinated by the Syrian Socialist Nationalist Party, leading members of the LAF to avenge his death by massacring more than 1,000 unarmed civilians. In response to Gemayel's killing and the ensuing unrest, President Reagan ordered the MAU back into Beirut to rejoin the MNF, and the Marines made their second landing in Lebanon on September 29, occupying positions in and around Beirut International Airport (BIA).
The MNF's objective was to simply provide a "presence" in order to maintain adequate stability to allow the Lebanese government to re-establish control of Beirut, and also to train the Lebanese Armed Forces to be able to protect the city themselves.
With the exception of the loss of one Marine who was killed during a mine-sweeping operation, the 32nd MAU's stint in the city was fairly uneventful. Their typical day was spent constructing defensive positions and making nice with the locals.
After just a month, they were relieved by the 24th MAU, which expanded the presence mission, conducting dismounted and motorized patrols throughout the city, and providing more specialized training for the LAF.
Ironically, perhaps the most serious threat to the Marines during this time was the Israelis. IDF units were frequently ambushed by PLO fighters, whom they believed were hiding in the Marine area of operations (AO). As a result of this suspicion, the IDF fired into or near Marine positions with increasing frequency.
The next rotation took place on February 15, 1983, with the 22nd MAU relieving the 24th. As the 22nd MAU was simply a re-designation of the 32nd, many of the Marines were already familiar with the AO and were able to simply resume the mission, with many of them moving into their previously occupied positions.
Still, this time around, something felt different.
At the time, there were upwards of 40 militias of various allegiances operating in Lebanon, many of whom had grown weary of the foreign military presence. On April 17, an unknown enemy fired on a Marine position, barely missing the sentry, who then returned fire. This was a big deal in that it was the first incidence of a Marine pulling his trigger in anger during the mission in Beirut.
However, the significance of that event would quickly take a back seat, as the following day, a terrorist driving a truck bomb, detonated his payload at the US Embassy, killing 63, including 17 Americans. The mission of the MNF now took on an entirely different tenor.
The overly restrictive rules of engagement (ROE) for the Marines were soon tweaked, to a degree, allowing for Marines to return fire if they "perceived" a threat. The locals quickly got the message. One Marine would later recall that when he and his fellow Devil Dogs fired at an approaching vehicle to force it off the road, "the word went out that, yeah, we do shoot back and that we hit what we're shooting at."
While the violence had increased over the preceding few months, when the 22nd MAU rotated out in May, the state of the city was relatively serene, and it would remain so while the 24th MAU, including its Battalion Landing Team of 1st Battalion, 8th Marines (BLT 1/8) settled in.
Of course, the state of relative tranquility didn't last long.
On July 22, local militia forces fired small arms, rockets, and mortars at Marine positions in the airport. On August 5, a burst of machine gun fire at a Marine position led Major George Converse to conclude that the militia were sending a warning to the Americans over their increasing cooperation with the LAF.
Later in August, as the Israeli forces readied themselves to depart the capital as part of a May agreement between Lebanon and Israel, the situation on the ground grew significantly dicier. Anticipating the departure of the well-trained and equipped Israeli forces, various factions in the country began to ratchet up their aggression toward each other, as well as toward the MNF.
In the past, when things had flared up like this, the Israelis would simply "run a tank out and shoot at both sides until they quit."
The absence of the IDF would create a vacuum that allowed the warring factions a lot more latitude to act stupidly. Unable to rely on Israeli support, the MNF tried to use the LAF to fill the gap. Unsurprisingly, though, the Lebanese forces weren't in the same league as the IDF and, as the violence escalated, Marines frequently found themselves on the receiving end of militia fire, both targeted and random.
Throughout the rest of August, the turmoil around the airport intensified, until Sunday the 28th, when it reached an entirely new level.
The fighting that day was likely instigated by the desecration of a Maronite Christian church by Shiite militiamen from the Amal Movement, who, early that morning, had plastered the building with posters of Ayatollah Khomeini. In response to the insult, members of the Christian Phalange militia adorned a nearby mosque with signs depicting assassinated president Bashir Gemayel.
This led both factions to take their indignation to the streets, forcing the LAF to respond, and putting them in direct contact with the Amal fighters.
All of this took place in a Shiite area the Marines had affectionately dubbed "Hooterville," simply because they couldn't find an official name for it on any of their maps.
The servicemen most exposed to the disturbances in Hooterville were the Marines of Bravo Co 1/8, commanded by Capt Monte Hoover, and housed at the Lebanon University Library, east of the airport. That day, however, most of Bravo's Marines were enjoying a Sunday routine, which included a cookout.
Meanwhile, Bravo Company's 2nd Platoon was occupying three positions southwest of the company headquarters. Second Squad was providing security for a communications site and Third Squad was manning Checkpoint (CP) 35, in Hooterville.
For the Marines, Hooterville took on a unique tactical importance, from an intelligence perspective, due to the soccer field located there. There seemed always to be Lebanese kids playing on the field, so when they suddenly departed, the Marines knew some action by one of the militias was likely afoot.
Located on what the Marines called "Shit River," due to its heavy content of pollution, CP 69, which was being manned by First Squad, was the most vulnerable of Bravo Company's positions, and so it was reinforced, and personally supervised by the platoon’s commander, 2ndLt Dave Hough. That day, Hough listened as the LAF sergeant overseeing a nearby post informed him that Muslim militias in the area were planning attacks on the Marine positions that day.
He wasn't lying.
Hough soon observed a group of Shiite gunmen moving from the foothills of the Shouf Mountains toward his end of Hooterville. He grabbed his radioman, Lance Corporal Jeffrey "JJ" Firda, and reported the development to Capt Hoover, who simply told him to sit tight.
At about 1400, seven machine gun rounds hit the LAF position near CP 69. Then, at about 1600, a group of workers who had been harvesting mint leaves in a nearby field suddenly fled. Ten minutes later, Amal militiamen opened fire, employing AK-47s, mortars, RPGs, and 106mm recoilless rifles against the Marine position.
Lt Hough was quickly inundated with requests from his men to be allowed to return fire. However, the highly professional officer was not about to engage a civilian militia without explicit authority from his company commander.
At this point, LCpl Firda was standing radio watch and so was not, as he normally would be, within arm's reach of his platoon commander. Suddenly, an AK-47 round struck his radio antenna, clipping it in two. While Firda knew that the ROE authorized him to respond in kind to "direct fire," he first radioed Bravo's operations center, to inform them of the incident. The instruction from the company was that, if he and his squad leader were able to positively identify the targets, they should "fire 'em up."
Still, even with the go-ahead from company HQ, Firda wanted to first check with Lt Hough. He left his fighting hole and ran to Hough's position, where he relayed the word he'd just received. The lieutenant instructed the Marine to contact the company CP once more, to confirm the instruction. He contacted the company commander's radioman, who reiterated the authorization.
Overhearing the transmission from Firda’s radio, Hough decided that he'd be the first to join the fray. He shouldered his M-16, zeroing in on an Amal gunman. He then squeezed the trigger and delivered a 5.56 round right where he intended, squarely in the enemy's chest.
He then gave his Marines the order to engage, while he and the platoon's guide, Sgt Bob Davis, directed their fire.
Over the next four days, more than 100 rockets and mortar rounds pelted Marine positions. Following the withdrawal of the last of the IDF contingent, the situation only grew more chaotic, with Marines frequently involved in all-night firefights.
Making the situation even more challenging, the Marines' ROE mandated that they observe the rules of proportionality, meaning that, if they found themselves taking small-arms or mortar fire, they couldn't respond with assets like artillery, close air support, or naval gunfire. So, notwithstanding their superior arsenal of weapons, this restriction left the Marines at a disadvantage and, by mid-October, would contribute to six Marines being killed and countless others wounded.
The situation would turn a corner on September 19, when a Lebanese commander reported that his unit was about to be overrun by a collection of militia groups. In response, MAU Commander, Col Timothy Geraghty, cleared a naval gunfire mission against the aggressors. While he would maintain that, given the information available at the time, he made the appropriate decision, he also clearly recognized that it would forever change the nature of the MNF-Lebanon mission.
Throughout September, Bravo Company's positions continued to be on the receiving end of incoming militia fire, and on the 23rd, Lt Hough made the decision to consolidate his entire platoon at CP 69. That day, Hough was notified by an LAF officer that 250 Druse and PLO fighters were massing in the chocolate factory to the east, commanded by four Syrian officers, and bolstered with six T-55 tanks.
Incoming fire continued throughout the day, though it was mostly limited to small arms. That afternoon, however, as Lt Hough was relieving himself in the communal "piss trench," an LAF 155mm artillery shell landed just a few hundred meters from him, with large shards of shrapnel falling within feet of him.
Then, just before sunset, Hough's Marines observed about 15 Muslim militiamen, transporting a significant amount of weapons and ammunition, just west of their position. Unfortunately, the still restrictive ROE prevented the Marines from initiating contact. The LAF, on the other hand, were not burdened by any such restrictions and opened fire with .50 caliber machine guns, AK-47s, and M-16s. All who witnessed the exchange agreed that the Lebanese soldiers had "definitely killed" at least 10.
The following day, the 29th, two Marines were killed and 14 wounded when dozens of rocket, mortar, and artillery rounds landed on the eastern side of the airport. On September 6, another two Marines were killed and two wounded by rocket attacks.
Two days later, as LtGen John Miller and MGen Al Gray were inspecting the Marine compound at the airport, a Druze militia battery in the Shouf foothills began shelling their location. In response, the US Navy unleashed its firepower for the first time since the MNF mission began. The frigate USS Bowen fired four rounds from its 5-inch guns, while Capt Bob Funk’s Charlie Battery augmented the fire support, firing six 155mm rounds at the insurgent position.
At about 1300 on September 24, the LAF post nearest to CP 69 started taking fire. Lt Hough ordered his Marines to don their helmets and flak jackets and to man their fighting positions. The Marines could plainly see Muslim militiamen moving between their prepared positions and taking aim. However, once again, the ROE prevented the Marines from firing first. They knew what was coming but could do nothing to preempt it.
The first RPG flew over the heads of Hough's Marines at about 1345, followed by a massive barrage from .50 caliber, 12.7mm, and ZU-23 machine guns, plus RPGs and 106mm recoilless rifles. This was the big one.
The Marines had all immediately hit the deck when Hough ordered them to provide a measured response. He then directed the fire of two of his M-60 machine gun crews. The intense incoming fire obliterated several olive trees within the compound and within the first hour, at least 40 RPG rounds impacted within the Marines’ perimeter.
Although Hough's Marines and their LAF counterparts poured out a massive amount of fire, the attackers just kept coming, hundreds of them.
Hough requested mortar support from Bravo HQ, but the request was denied, leaving the entire Marine contingent at the checkpoint understandably disconcerted. He then asked the senior LAF sergeant at the position to bring his Jeep-mounted 106mm recoilless rifle to bear against the enemy. When the sergeant expressed his uncertainty over his authority to employ the weapon, Marine Sgt Malcolm Howell, a team leader in Bravo’s Assault Section, asked Hough for permission to man the weapon himself. The lieutenant gladly granted the Marine his wish. Howell had trained with 106s for years before the Corps replaced them with the M47 Dragon system.
Hough then identified his desired targets and relayed them to Howell, who quickly scored direct hits on two enemy bunkers across the Shit River. However, the bunkers were so sturdily built that each of them took four rounds to destroy.
As the fighting continued, a Marine tank commander in the vicinity identified a number of appropriate targets to engage with his 105mm main gun and requested permission from Battalion to proceed in doing so. His request was denied and so Dave Hough's one-man show continued.
At one point, a couple of LAF privates left the relative safety of their compound and ran to Hough's position, where one of them asked the lieutenant for permission to employ his RPG against the attackers. Hough didn't hesitate in obliging the Lebanese soldier, and even selected his first target.
Now, the back-blast from an RPG is no joke, so as soon as the trooper raised the weapon, Hough and his Marines stepped aside. The gunner then shot Hough a sly grin, but then inexplicably turned in a direction that exposed the Marines to the back-blast. As the Marines yelled, "No!" and "Shit!" the trooper squeezed the trigger, launching the RPG and bowling over several Marines with the back-blast. The goofy private then ran over to Hough, giggling, "RPG good! RPG good!"
The lieutenant's response was not quite as pleasant.
Hough was eventually able to get permission from his CO to employ his 60mm mortars at an enemy staging area several hundred meters to the east. However, due to technical difficulties, the mortar rounds were wildly off-target. When the company commander, Capt Hoover, saw how badly inaccurate the rounds were, he ordered the firing halted.
Then, at about 1600, Cpl Rod Cliff, who was manning a position on the south wall of the compound, called Hough to notify him, "Sir, they're getting online. Looks like they wanna come in."
Lt Hough hastily contacted Capt Hoover, requesting an "immediate suppression" mission from the battalion's 81mm mortar platoon, and the CO gave the go-ahead. Hough, who had been a mortar platoon sergeant during his enlisted days, selected the targets. His first priority was the enemy trench system in the olive grove to the south of his perimeter.
The first round was fired and the Marines could hear it detonate, but no one could see it. However, after a few adjusting rounds, Hough radioed the mortar platoon and instructed, "Fire for effect."
Four mortar tubes each fired multiple rounds on the militia trenches 150 meters to the south, with the rounds impacting directly on their intended target, and blowing olive wood and body parts all over the grove. The Marines were also relieved to see a large contingent of militia fleeing at top speed through the shattered trees.
Hough then turned his attention to the mint field, from where fighters in five well-concealed bunkers had been menacing the Marines all day. After just one adjustment, thirty-six 81mm mortar rounds rained down on the target, silencing the enemy fire in that position.
While the fire continued from the north and east, the Marines now found the situation somewhat more manageable. However, the incoming fire continued through the night, with voices out in the darkness announcing that Marines would die in the morning.
The following day, just past 0700, Hough was informed that a radio intelligence detachment had intercepted messages indicating that CP 69 would be the target of a massive assault later that day — and that this time around, the post was likely to fall.
Battalion HQ ordered Capt Hoover to close the CP immediately and to instruct Lt Hough to pack up and be prepared to abandon the position within the hour. At about noon, after passing a large amount of ammo to the LAF soldiers who would remain there, the Bravo Marines at CP 69 departed the position and braved their way through the narrow streets of Hooterville, carrying essentially everything they owned. They were engaged by several Amal gunmen along the way but returned to the University compound with no casualties.
Later that day, Marines on the roof of the University library watched helplessly as the LAF soldiers at CP 35 surrendered without a fight to the Amal, who then ransacked the post. Later that day, several naked or almost naked LAF troopers walked into the University compound and reported that their senior officer had been tortured and murdered and that his naked body was then dragged through the streets of Hooterville.
On September 26, after several meetings between the major warring factions, Saudi and Syrian mediators announced a ceasefire, which managed to last but a few days. Heavy, if sporadic, fighting soon resumed, resulting in several Marine casualties, including one KIA.
Another Marine was killed and three others wounded on October 16 when, for the second day in a row, they came under fire by gunmen operating in an abandoned cafe in the Amal-controlled area of Hay Sallum. Marine snipers responded to the attack, killing five Amal gunmen and wounding another 10.
The Marine death toll was now at six since the MNF mission began.
However, no one anticipated the magnitude of what would happen next.
At 0622, on the morning of October 23, an Islamist from the terror group that would come to be known as Hezbollah floored the accelerator of his Mercedes Benz truck, blowing past a Marine checkpoint and crashing the vehicle into the headquarters building of BLT 1/8. He then detonated his 2,000-pound payload of explosives, instantly collapsing the building into a mass of rubble.
The detonation of the compressed-gas-enhanced bomb inside the building that housed more than 300 men was the largest non-nuclear explosion ever recorded, and it wasn't until the mushroom cloud had begun to clear that members of the MNF were able to begin to realize the degree of the destruction.
A short time after the first explosion, the MAU received a report of another truck explosion, this one at the nine-story building that housed the headquarters of the French MNF contingent. That attack killed a total of 58 paratroopers from the 1st and 9th Parachute Chasseur Regiments.
For a time, many were under the impression that the MNF was simply under attack by artillery or missiles. Col Geraghty shared this belief until he received the report of the truck bomb at the 1/8 barracks. So, amid the fog of war, the Marines scrambled to orient themselves to the situation on the ground. To further complicate matters, there was a period when BLT headquarters lost radio communication with its line companies.
Rescue and recovery operations commenced immediately, but were complicated by the sheer devastation of the building. The Navy quickly landed medical personnel and working parties from the ships stationed offshore, saving the lives of countless Marines. However, the massive explosion had caused many more deaths than injuries, with the initial death toll estimated at 220 Marines, 18 sailors, and 3 soldiers.
Red Cross workers, along with Italian, French, and British soldiers quickly responded to provide assistance, as did several Lebanese civilians. When the rescuers began to encounter rubble that was too much for organic Marine equipment to handle, LAF Commander, General Ibrahim Tannous, secured the assistance of Lebanon's largest construction firm, Oger Liban, which provided heavy equipment to assist in the effort.
As the blast had occurred while many Marines were asleep, the task of identifying the dead was particularly challenging. Many were sleeping in PT (physical training) gear, and not wearing their dog tags. Additionally, the BLT's medical records were in the basement of the building and wouldn't be recovered for days after the explosion. The BLT might have solicited the assistance of its own Marines in identifying the dead, but anyone who might have been able to help in that regard was either dead or wounded.
Rescue workers continued to work tirelessly, however after that first day, no additional survivors were found. By October 30, all of the BLT's Marines were accounted for, and the remains of all of the dead recovered. Once the numbers were added up, October 23, 1983 would be recorded as the single deadliest day for the Marine Corps since the 1968 Tet Offensive and, before that, the battle of Iwo Jima.
But, here's the thing: The Marines who survived still had a job to do in Beirut. The MAU and its BLT couldn't simply say that they'd had enough. Of course, though still charged with maintaining a "presence," the mission understandably took on a much more defensive posture, with Col Geraghty employing Navy Seabees to fortify defensive positions and bunkers, and the Marines of 1/8 curtailing their patrols outside the airport.
Nonetheless, Marines continued to be wounded by small-arms and mortar fire. At this point, Col Geraghty loosened the rules of "proportionality," giving the Marines a greater degree of latitude with which to protect themselves and their brothers. On February 6, 1984, the less restrictive ROE allowed Marines to call in both close air support and naval gunfire in response to attacks on their positions.
Throughout February, fighting between the Lebanese military and the various militias spiked significantly, inspiring large numbers of Muslim members of the LAF to desert, severely affecting the combat readiness of the nation's armed forces.
The situation on the ground continued to spiral out of control, forcing the Marines, on February 7, to commence the evacuation of embassy personnel and other American civilians from the city. Then, on February 18, the MAU received the order to evacuate its remaining personnel from Beirut by the end of the month.
The Marines conducted the redeployment operation on Sunday, February 26, leaving the whole mess in the hands of the LAF, and marking an end to the Corps' 18-month involvement in Lebanon, a mission which had cost the lives of 238 Marines, with another 151 wounded.
On the afternoon of the tragedy, the Beautification Appearance Commission of Jacksonville, NC, home to Camp Lejeune and 1st Battalion, 8th Marines, determined to plant memorial trees along Lejeune Blvd. Their decision prompted an immediate response from the general public, both locally and nationally, and funds quickly began to pour in to support the project.
At nearby Northwoods Park Middle School, Mrs. Martha Warren's class initiated a campaign to write letters of condolence to the families of the fallen Marines. They also helped raise funds for the effort with one ninth grader auctioning her Cabbage Patch doll for $1,500, which she contributed to the memorial project.
The Commission went forward with its original plan, planting a tree for each of the lost servicemen, with the final tree dedicated on March 24, 1984. But the contributions continued to come in, so the members began to explore a means of erecting what they had envisioned as a simple marker to honor the fallen.
Then, when Camp Lejeune's leadership offered 4.5 acres at the corner of Lejeune Blvd and Montford Landing Rd, the Commission decided to expand its vision for the memorial, and a more robust fundraising effort was initiated.
The design selected for the memorial was submitted by graduate students at North Carolina State University's School of Design. It consists of two walls separated by a niche meant to depict the crumbled walls of 1/8's bombed headquarters and was dedicated on October 23, 1986, with about 2,000 people in attendance.
However, the Commission still had funds remaining and, as they'd constructed a pedestal between the two walls, intended to support a statue, they commissioned sculptor Abbé Godwin to create one. At her very first meeting with the Commission, Godwin expressed her passionate desire to undertake the project and substantially lowered her usual fee, agreeing to complete the project for the Commission's remaining funds, about $60,000.
A year later, on Long Island, Godwin personally oversaw the casting of the exquisite bronze memorial, which was dedicated on October 22, 1988, a day shy of five years after that tragic day in Beirut. An annual commemoration has been held at the memorial ever since, attended by families of the fallen, military personnel, and local residents.
They came in peace. Semper Fidelis.
Brian O'Leary is a retired Marine Corps colonel, who served for 30 years, including deployments to Somalia and Iraq, and command of an infantry battalion in Afghanistan. Additionally, he has spent 25 years in the financial services industry. Brian earned his BA in English from Penn State University and his MA in National Security Studies from the US Army War College.