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Written by Doug Smith, Los Angeles Times
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CAMP TAQADDUM, IRAQ -- Of all the duties a Marine can have in Iraq, the one undoubtedly least sought after is becoming one of the least needed.
Personnel Retrieval and Processing, a unit that makes its home in a large earth-sheathed hangar on this air base in the desert of western Iraq, has had only about one mission per month this year.
The seemingly endless days of idleness are considered ideal by members of this reserve Marine Corps unit from Georgia.
"I enjoy the slow times," said Sgt. Christopher Crowder-Barnes of Marietta, Ga. "I enjoy it because it means nobody's dying."
The PRP is the unit that prepares the remains of Marines for the journey home. It is one of three PRPs in Anbar province and part of Headquarters and Service Company, 1st Marine Logistics Group.
Remains are usually brought to the base for processing. The goal is to place the remains, draped in an American flag, on an airplane as quickly as possible for return to their families, said Chief Warrant Officer 2 Bo Causey, who heads the unit.
The hardest missions involve multiple, or especially grim, casualties. In such cases, a team goes into the field to conduct the recovery.
Across Anbar, U.S. military deaths have dropped to about three per month this year, compared with a rate of nearly one per day throughout 2006 and in the first half of last year, according to the independent website icasualties.org.
This year all three Anbar units combined have had only four field retrievals, Causey said. Despite the decline, the psychic strain of being constantly prepared never diminishes.
Like firefighters, the 14 men who work here keep themselves ready to be called at any hour. They work out, study and read during their idle hours. They also practice processing. They stick close together, generally not associating much outside their own circle.
And they consciously watch one another for signs of distress.
"Everybody has their own personal breaking point," Causey said. "So we all make an effort to get in touch with what we are all thinking.
"We pay close attention to everyone's routines, what they say, their attitudes. If something changes, we try to jump on it."
Causey and other senior officers live in the hangar, inherited from Saddam Hussein's air force. The accommodations are spartan. Besides their bunks, there is a weight room.
And then there is the processing room. It looks like a medical examiner's lab, with stainless steel gurneys and a cold-storage area.
Though it was called Mortuary Affairs until a 2005 name change, the PRP does not attempt to prepare the remains for funeral, Causey said. The mission is to stabilize and clean them.
Victims of bomb explosions often are dismembered, so the PRP does its best to organize and clean the portions. ("Body parts" is not the accepted term.)
Causey, a veteran of some of the deadliest Anbar fighting in 2004 and 2005, said he was "voluntold" into the unit in 2003. Three other members who spoke to The Times described falling into the work by chance, not knowing exactly what it was.
Each had to pass a moment of truth when he found he was psychologically suited for it. For some, this occurred in training.
"When you see some of the slide shows, some of the pictures, it's pretty horrifying," said Lance Cpl. William Perkins of Fayetteville, Ga.
There are two common reactions.
"One . . . is complete shock," Perkins said. "It's just hard to process. The other reaction, which all 14 of us had, is just start
making order out of chaos. Put the pieces back together. It's just an instinctual thing for us, which is why we're suited for the job."
For all of them, there's a second moment of truth.
"It's not till the first time you open up a human remains pouch and actually look," Causey said. "You take in the smell, and you take in the sights. For a lot of us, you take in that it's an American uniform.
"Sometimes you have photos of family. That can be hard for some people. We don't look at them, but we have to sort out and process them . . . and annotate everything on paperwork. Once you make it through the first time, it's something you will be able to handle."
Lance Cpl. Nick DiVito said he has found a method to manage his emotions:
"I kind of shut off my brain," DiVito said. "I know what to do. I know my job. I just shut off my brain to that bad stuff. It seems to work."
The Marines all said the job brings them a heightened sense of honor.
Perkins credited DiVito for putting it into words.
"The most rewarding thing for him is when you see in the back of a C-130, an American flag-draped transfer case -- you've spent the past how many hours preparing to get them home, knowing they're going to be home and their family is going to have closure," Perkins said. "That's very rewarding. That's what we all try to do. Get them home as fast as
possible."
Other Marines often are uncomfortable around the PRP team, but usually express respect, unit members said.
"In my opinion, it is possibly the most honorable job we have out here," Causey said. "It's just one no one likes to talk about."
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Written by Thomas J. Sheeran, AP
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CLEVELAND – On leave from the violence he had survived in the war in Iraq, a young Marine was so wary of crime on the streets of his own home town that he carried only $8 to avoid becoming a robbery target.
Despite his caution, Lance Cpl. Robert Crutchfield, 21, was shot point-black in the neck during a robbery at a bus stop. Feeding and breathing tubes kept him alive 4½ months, until he died of an infection on May 18.
Two men have been charged in the attack, and Cuyahoga County Prosecutor Bill Mason said Friday the case was under review to decide whether to seek the death penalty.
“It is an awful story,” said Alberta Holt, the young Marine's aunt and his legal guardian when he was a teenager determined to flee a troubled Cleveland school for safer surroundings in the suburbs.
Crutchfield was attacked on Jan. 5 while he and his girlfriend were waiting for a bus. He had heeded the warnings of commanders that a Marine on leave might be seen as a prime robbery target with a pocketful of money, so he only carried $8, his military ID card and a bank card.
“They took it, turned his pockets inside out, took what he had and told him since he was a Marine and didn't have any money he didn't deserve to live. They put the gun to his neck and shot him,” Holt told The Associated Press.
The two men charged in the attack were identified as Ean Farrow, 19, and Thomas Ray III, 20, both of Cleveland. Their attorneys did not respond to The Associated Press' requests for comment.
Crutchfield knew he was returning to Iraq for another tour of duty, but had hesitated to tell his family until he was nearing the end of his 30-day leave.
He apparently had a troubled family. Holt wouldn't discuss it except to say “his mom and dad didn't raise him, just his grandmother and me.” He didn't smoke or drink, she said.
He had attended Cleveland's inner-city East High School, but asked that he be allowed to live with his aunt and grandmother and attend suburban Bedford High School for his final two years.
“He saw his school was in turmoil and asked to get out,” Holt said.
Bedford High teachers recalled Crutchfield's smile, his pride in his appearance, his determination to join the Marine Corps after graduation in 2005 and his aspiration to become an architect.
“He was friendly and kind and willing to help out in any way that he could,” counselor Yvonne Sims said in an e-mail.
Connie LaNasa, who works in the school office, said Crutchfield was a well-behaved student and went about his school work with little notice.
“He lived out what he wanted to do and that is to be a Marine,” LaNasa said.
Faculty members remembered Crutchfield as a top student in the computer design program, an office assistant and participant in the prom fashion show.
After his long hospitalization, an infection broke out a week before he died. “He said it felt like he was getting hit by lightning,” Holt said.
When Crutchfield's body was laid out Tuesday in the Sacrificial Missionary Baptist Church, his white military dress hat was tugged down close to his eyes to conceal the skull flap that had been kept open to relieve swelling in his brain.
Marines provided an honor guard at his funeral service and carried the casket to his grave at the Western Reserve National Cemetery near Akron.
He was buried there on the same day as a Vietnam veteran, two veterans from World War II and three from Korea.
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