The U.S. Marines and their Army brothers are storming Fallujah. This is good news for Iraqi Prime Minister Iyad Allawi and the Iraqi people who wish to govern themselves. This is bad news for any terrorist who lacked the good sense to get out of Fallujah while the getting was good. Johnny jihad has no idea what he’s going to be up against. As a result, the jihadists will be killed by the bushel basket.
The jihadists are going to run into guys like Lance Corporal Anthony Orsini. Orsini was a typical Marine, if there is such a thing, a member of unit in which I served. He was nearly as wide as he was tall, not in a Buddy Hackett way but rather in an athletic way. He had short powerful legs, a barrel chest and that kind of linebacker neck where you cannot tell where the shoulders end and the neck begins. Orsini hailed from Illinois, somewhere close to Chicago but too far South for him to say that he was actually from there. But after looking at him and listening to him for a while you might think, if he’s not from Chicago he ought to be.
Orsini had a tattoo the size of a bath mat on his left arm, which itself seemed as big around as the tube of the 155mm howitzer he helped to man. The tattoo had the eagle, globe and anchor, the Marine Corps’ emblem. It had a skull with a combat knife smashed through it and a snake with huge fangs twisting around both the skull and the knife. Underneath all of it in a neat semicircle were the words “Death Before Dishonor”. One hot day, I saw the tattoo and commented, “Nice tattoo Orsini.” He replied, “Thanks sir. I told my brother if anything ever happened to me he should cut it off and make a lampshade out of it.”
He carried the biggest hunting knife made slung low from his web belt. The knife was so big that on his short frame it more like a sword than a knife. One day I asked him why he carried that knife. His perfect answer was, “You never know when you might need to cut something.”
We were doing cold weather training one year. We divide up into six man groups. Each group was given its cold weather equipment weighing well over 100 pounds. The equipment was loaded onto an Akio sled. The Akio was designed to be pulled by four men across the snow. The other two men in the team could rest, provide security etc. Every time looked over I’d see the unmistakable profile of Orsini dragging his team’s sled by himself. It seemed he could drag it forever, only requiring help on the steepest of hills. I told him the other guys ought to be helping out. He said that they would. When we got to where we going, the others would have to set everything up, cook and take his fire watch.
While Orsini could drag the Akio to hell and back again, because of his stature he had a great deal of trouble with the three mile run. Twice a year Marines are required to perform a physical fitness test which consists of pull ups, sit ups and a three mile run. Each event has to be performed to a certain standard. Try as he might, Orsini was always on the ragged edge of failing the run. One day after a particularly poor showing, even by his standards, I looked at him and said, “Damn Orsini, my sister can run faster than that.” To which his only reply between mad gasps for air was, “Sign her up, sir!” I had to turn quickly to keep from laughing out loud and giving away that I wasn’t mad anymore.
I don’t know what happened to Orsini. One of us got orders and moved on and I’ve never seen him again. He might be in Fallujah. But if he’s not, there are thousands and thousands of Marines like him who are. The jihadists are just beginning to learn of the hell that they have brought down on themselves. The unbearably sad part of this is that some of our heroes will be lost in the process of killing the people who desperately need to be killed.
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