Devil dog makes his last flight home Published June 22, 2010 By Staff Sgt. Carolyn Viss (Commentary) 376th Air Expeditionary Wing Public Affairs TRANSIT CENTER AT MANAS, Kyrgyz Republic -- From the moment I looked into the yawning mouth of the back of the C-17, I felt a lump in my throat begin to form. It was a yellow flag heat condition day in humid Kyrgyzstan, and 50 Airmen and I were lined up on the tarmac, waiting to greet a young Marine who was coming home. If only he was coming home the right way, I thought, as I heard the troop commander call the group to parade rest. I'd picked the sunny side of the plane. With combined heat and humidity well into the 90s, at 3 p.m. the sun's rays were at their strongest. I'd picked the sunny side on purpose. It's the least I can do to stand in the sun for just a few minutes, in order to greet this Marine the right way, I thought. It was the very least I could do. If this Marine were alive, he'd probably have picked the sunny side, too. He was an E-3, that Devil Dog. 29 years old. I was trying to wrap my mind around the reality of death ... yet again. I shut my eyes briefly. In my mind's eye, I could picture his lifeless body, in a uniform that was probably still crusty with dirt, lying peacefully in the flag-draped coffin. I knew once they got him to Dover they would make sure every piece of his uniform and body were pristine, but for now I was betting his eyes were closed and he just looked like a battle-weary boy. I wondered how he died. But before I could imagine too much farther, I opened my eyes and flicked an eyelid, trying to scare off a pesky bug without moving too much. Group, tench-HUT! We all snapped to attention as the mortuary affairs detail appeared with the box and began to descend the ramp. The lump in my throat rose. Present-ARMS! 50 Airmen rendered honors to our fallen brother with a slow, respectful salute, and held it while the pallbearers marched in step. It took six of them to carry his body. As the casket passed, the field of blue with 50 stars draped over his head and his heart, I thought of his mother. I thought of his brothers, maybe his sisters. A bead of sweat trickled down my back. Military bearing, Carolyn - remember your military bearing. I tried so hard to hold back the tears, and I almost did. But one tear fell. One tear made a track down my cheek, and dripped off my chin, as I stood at attention to honor my comrade. I don't really know exactly why I cried. Maybe it was because his short life was well lived. Maybe it was because his good life was cut short. All I know is, bearing or no bearing, this Marine deserved my tear. That tear was for his mother. For his brothers. Maybe his sisters. That tear was for the men and women of Afghanistan who he died trying to help. For the Marines in his unit who would carry on without him. And for the Americans whose freedom he defended. Maybe it was a tear he never even shed as he shed the very last of his own blood, in service of his country and in the name of freedom. Order-ARMS! The Marine was ready for his last flight home. Goodbye, my brother, I said in my mind. You served well. Dis-missed. May you rest as well as you lived. ========================================================================================== This Marine's dignified transfer occurred on the flight line of the Manas International Airport by Airmen of the 376th Air Expeditionary Wing, Transit Center at Manas, Kyrgyzstan.