Coming Home
Soldiers killed in Iraq are the latest arrivals at
Las Cruces International Airport.
By Jeff Berg
"They're bringing the body back today," Lisa Murphy says with a note of sadness in her voice just after we meet.
Puzzled, I acknowledge that statement, but do not immediately follow up on it. As we continue to talk, Murphy, the manager of Las Cruces International Airport (LCIA), occasionally turns to look out a large picture window that faces the runways and tarmac area of LCIA.
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Members of the Patriot Guard Riders salute Sgt. Apaun's casket. (Photo by Jeff Berg) |
Finally, I ask, which body is that?
"The local soldier who was killed in Iraq last week."
Immediately, I feel my anger rise and my face drain of color.
As of March 11, 2007, 24 New Mexico soldiers have died in the insurrection that is now Iraq. I refuse to call it a war, because it is not a war, has never been a war, and will never be a war. The events taking place in Iraq are worse than war.
Five of those soldiers—Private First Class Mario Reyes, Specialist James Pirtle, Corporal Jesse Zamora, Staff Sergeant Joseph Rodriguez and the young man they are bringing home now, Sergeant Matthew Apuan—were from the Las Cruces area.
Today, a flight is bringing Sgt. Apuan home for his last ride, to the normally quiet Las Cruces airport.
Doug Newton of LCIA-based Adventure Aviation tells me that the Department of Defense has issued a new protocol that a soldier's remains can be taken to the airport nearest his or her (67 women have died in Iraq) home, as long as it has a runway that is at least 5,000 feet in length. Such is the case for Sgt. Apuan.
Perhaps 20 minutes later, the rumble of motorcycles breaks the silence inside the tiny LCIA terminal. The Patriot Guard Riders (see "Capitol Punishment," March 2007 Desert Exposure) are here to accompany Sgt. Apuan's remains to their next destination. It seems that some members of Rev. Fred Phelps' Westboro Baptist Church oozed from Kansas into El Paso recently during the services of another soldier. The Patriot Guard Riders, motorcycle-riding veterans, seek to protect soldiers' funerals from protests by Phelps' homophobic flock, who somehow view all US Iraq casualties as God's judgment on a too-permissive America.
Shortly thereafter, I end my interview with Murphy and Newton and walk out to the tarmac to watch what happens.
Soon, a small private jet from Kalitta Charter lands. It taxis to where a waiting hearse and a small knot of uniformed military personal await its arrival.
The motorcycle riders number about 25, several of them carrying large US flags that snap stiffly in the steady wind. They have been instructed as to what to do by their ad-hoc leader. They form a two-sided column between the jet and the hearse, just a short distance away from where a small group of Apuan's friends and family has gathered. Several other bystanders are nearby: a photographer and reporter from the Sun-News, and another woman with a digital camera, who circles the area snapping pictures. It seems that she is a friend of the family.
After a short tussle with the coffin, Apuan's remains are gently lowered to the ground. The casket is covered with a flag, as six soldiers lift and carry the box in military fashion, slowly and carefully, from the jet to the waiting hearse. The Patriot Guard Riders crack to attention at the order of their leader, and the silence is broken only by the stiff breeze.
As the casket is lifted into the waiting hearse, Apuan's parents and several others gather to bid a final hello and final farewell to their loved one.
The Riders remain in formation. I stand near where they have parked their bikes, which I feel is a respectful distance away.
Sgt. Apuan was on his second tour of duty in Iraq, and was killed in an area north of Baghdad.
I can't believe I am watching this. I can't believe that this family has lost a child, as have more than 3,400 other families around the country. I can't sort out my emotions, and I have never even met this young man or his family. I feel rage, sadness, horror and more rage. I can't remember a time when I have felt so helpless and outraged about a national event. I have no control, no say so over any of this. And more soldiers die, while our esteemed politicians play their idiotic political games in Washington, DC.
TheSun-News photographer has stopped circling the scene and taking pictures so she can dry her eyes.
The Riders are given instructions on how the motorcade will proceed to where Apuan will lie in state. They depart along with a procession of police vehicles. The little convoy soon is out of sight as it heads into Las Cruces.
The soldiers who handled Apuan's casket march in formation toward the little building that houses the offices of Adventure Aviation, where they are dismissed.
And things return to normal at Las Cruces International Airport.