Post by Anja Nieser on Sept 17, 2006 23:31:11 GMT -5
U.S. MILITARY:
Frank Wuterich knew before he finished boot camp that he didn't want to be
a Marine for life, but he may wind up one anyway. Wuterich is the central
suspect in the Iraq war's most notorious massacre, at Haditha, where 24
Iraqis were killed by U.S. Marines-Marines led by Wuterich. During his
first media interview, the former high school band member and honor
student is exceedingly polite. Wearing jeans, black sneakers and a light
blue polo shirt, he shows a visitor around his 2-story semidetached house
at Camp Pendleton in southern California, patiently answers questions and
waits good-naturedly for a photographer to set up his equipment. There is
no military paraphernalia cluttering his home, which is filled instead
with family pictures, knickknacks, and souvenirs from his wife Marisol's
sorority days. His 4-year-old daughter is just up from her nap, and he
kisses her forehead. He allows Marisol, who is expecting their third child
in January, to finish his sentences.
Wuterich, 26, who grew up in Meriden, Conn., signed up for the Marines at
17 and volunteered for the infantry, the grunts who are the heart and soul
of the corps. Finding boot camp a dull grind compared with what he felt
the recruiting videos had promised, he asked to switch out of the
infantry. "I thought I could use my mind a little differently," he says.
But he was turned down. He tried again in 2002, requesting a transfer to
counterintelligence, but his eight tattoos disqualified him; those kinds
of markings make a man too easy to identify. Among the tattoos on his
arms, chest, neck and leg are a series of musical notes, the kanji
character for endure and a heart for an ex-girlfriend. The one tattoo he's
reluctant to exhibit, on the inside of his right forearm, is of a skewer
running through a bunch of severed fingers and eyeballs. "That's the one I
really don't like," Marisol says sternly but with a smile.
Wuterich long imagined the corps as just a stop on the way to a career as
a music producer, but he re-enlisted after 9/11, in part to support his
family while Marisol finished her nursing degree but also because he was
itching for action. With the rank of sergeant, he was dispatched to Iraq
with Kilo Company of the 3rd Battalion, 1st Marine Regiment, in September
2005. He saw his first firefight that month in the town of Hit when his
team suddenly came under fire. "Was I scared? Sure," he says. It turned
out that the shots were coming from a Marine officer, who quit shooting
once Wuterich's guys sent up 3 red flares letting him know they were
friendly. While under fire, the squad members, none of whom were hurt,
took cover and waited to identify the threat before shooting back. They
performed just as they were supposed to, Wuterich says. His remark hangs
in the air.
Wuterich is under investigation for what happened on another day, just 2
months after his arrival in Iraq. On the morning of Nov. 19, 2005,
Wuterich's squad, on patrol in Haditha, was hit by an improvised explosive
device that killed one of his men. Iraqi witnesses and sources familiar
with the two Pentagon investigations under way claim that several of the
squad's 12 Marines then went on a rampage of killing in the town, leaving
24 Iraqis dead, including five women and 6 children. Wuterich's lawyer
Neal Puckett would not permit Wuterich to talk about those events. Puckett
has said publicly that Wuterich felt his unit was under attack in Haditha
and acted appropriately under the rules of engagement that allow Marines
to defend themselves if they are in reasonable fear for their lives.
According to sources familiar with the Haditha inquiries, six to eight
Marines will probably be charged in the episode as early as next week.
Wuterich is expected to be among those charged with the most serious
crimes, which could include murder, for which he could face the death
penalty.
"I'm mystified by a lot of this," he says. He wonders, for instance, why
the investigators have not pushed harder to speak to him. But it was his
lawyer who did not allow him to talk to them, as is common practice among
defense attorneys. Wuterich was scheduled for retirement 3 months ago, but
is being involuntarily held in the corps while the probes continue.
Transferred to Pendleton with the rest of his unit in April, he is
officially on duty, but he is not a full member of his platoon. When it
goes on a training exercise soon, he is not likely to participate; the
corps doesn't want to train him and then lose him if he goes on trial.
Wuterich says he occasionally sees members of his Kilo Company squad at
Pendleton, but they keep their distance. "It is sort of uncomfortable," he
says.
There are small, subtle signs of Wuterich's detaching himself from his
military life: his boots are too scuffed and worn for a Marine. And he
hasn't updated his old dress uniform by sewing on the chevron that shows
his higher rank. His superiors put in for his promotion to staff sergeant
last October, and it came through on Jan. 1-six weeks after Haditha. He
says the jacket's too tight, anyway.
(source: Time Magazine, September 25, 2006)
Frank Wuterich knew before he finished boot camp that he didn't want to be
a Marine for life, but he may wind up one anyway. Wuterich is the central
suspect in the Iraq war's most notorious massacre, at Haditha, where 24
Iraqis were killed by U.S. Marines-Marines led by Wuterich. During his
first media interview, the former high school band member and honor
student is exceedingly polite. Wearing jeans, black sneakers and a light
blue polo shirt, he shows a visitor around his 2-story semidetached house
at Camp Pendleton in southern California, patiently answers questions and
waits good-naturedly for a photographer to set up his equipment. There is
no military paraphernalia cluttering his home, which is filled instead
with family pictures, knickknacks, and souvenirs from his wife Marisol's
sorority days. His 4-year-old daughter is just up from her nap, and he
kisses her forehead. He allows Marisol, who is expecting their third child
in January, to finish his sentences.
Wuterich, 26, who grew up in Meriden, Conn., signed up for the Marines at
17 and volunteered for the infantry, the grunts who are the heart and soul
of the corps. Finding boot camp a dull grind compared with what he felt
the recruiting videos had promised, he asked to switch out of the
infantry. "I thought I could use my mind a little differently," he says.
But he was turned down. He tried again in 2002, requesting a transfer to
counterintelligence, but his eight tattoos disqualified him; those kinds
of markings make a man too easy to identify. Among the tattoos on his
arms, chest, neck and leg are a series of musical notes, the kanji
character for endure and a heart for an ex-girlfriend. The one tattoo he's
reluctant to exhibit, on the inside of his right forearm, is of a skewer
running through a bunch of severed fingers and eyeballs. "That's the one I
really don't like," Marisol says sternly but with a smile.
Wuterich long imagined the corps as just a stop on the way to a career as
a music producer, but he re-enlisted after 9/11, in part to support his
family while Marisol finished her nursing degree but also because he was
itching for action. With the rank of sergeant, he was dispatched to Iraq
with Kilo Company of the 3rd Battalion, 1st Marine Regiment, in September
2005. He saw his first firefight that month in the town of Hit when his
team suddenly came under fire. "Was I scared? Sure," he says. It turned
out that the shots were coming from a Marine officer, who quit shooting
once Wuterich's guys sent up 3 red flares letting him know they were
friendly. While under fire, the squad members, none of whom were hurt,
took cover and waited to identify the threat before shooting back. They
performed just as they were supposed to, Wuterich says. His remark hangs
in the air.
Wuterich is under investigation for what happened on another day, just 2
months after his arrival in Iraq. On the morning of Nov. 19, 2005,
Wuterich's squad, on patrol in Haditha, was hit by an improvised explosive
device that killed one of his men. Iraqi witnesses and sources familiar
with the two Pentagon investigations under way claim that several of the
squad's 12 Marines then went on a rampage of killing in the town, leaving
24 Iraqis dead, including five women and 6 children. Wuterich's lawyer
Neal Puckett would not permit Wuterich to talk about those events. Puckett
has said publicly that Wuterich felt his unit was under attack in Haditha
and acted appropriately under the rules of engagement that allow Marines
to defend themselves if they are in reasonable fear for their lives.
According to sources familiar with the Haditha inquiries, six to eight
Marines will probably be charged in the episode as early as next week.
Wuterich is expected to be among those charged with the most serious
crimes, which could include murder, for which he could face the death
penalty.
"I'm mystified by a lot of this," he says. He wonders, for instance, why
the investigators have not pushed harder to speak to him. But it was his
lawyer who did not allow him to talk to them, as is common practice among
defense attorneys. Wuterich was scheduled for retirement 3 months ago, but
is being involuntarily held in the corps while the probes continue.
Transferred to Pendleton with the rest of his unit in April, he is
officially on duty, but he is not a full member of his platoon. When it
goes on a training exercise soon, he is not likely to participate; the
corps doesn't want to train him and then lose him if he goes on trial.
Wuterich says he occasionally sees members of his Kilo Company squad at
Pendleton, but they keep their distance. "It is sort of uncomfortable," he
says.
There are small, subtle signs of Wuterich's detaching himself from his
military life: his boots are too scuffed and worn for a Marine. And he
hasn't updated his old dress uniform by sewing on the chevron that shows
his higher rank. His superiors put in for his promotion to staff sergeant
last October, and it came through on Jan. 1-six weeks after Haditha. He
says the jacket's too tight, anyway.
(source: Time Magazine, September 25, 2006)