The Marine killed Friday with his interpreter had been dead only a few hours when his remains, sealed in a dark green body bag, were carried by colleagues past columns of saluting soldiers and Marines near the rear ramp of a C-130 cargo plane. Two reporters joined the columns, holding their hands over their hearts instead of saluting.
An American flag was strapped to the Marine's body bag. Other Marines carried the remains of the interpreter, in a similar body bag with no flag. His corpse received no salute.
There were no remarks, no spoken prayers -- just the sharp cadences of a Marine calling out commands: "Atten-shun" and "pree-sent arms." The remains were carried past the columns, slowly, as if to maximize the tribute. Those in formation saluted.
The crew chiefs from the plane strapped the body bags to the deck with the same type of straps that hold down cargo pallets. The remains lay beneath an American flag the crew had hung inside the aircraft. Then the big plane was aloft, bound for Kandahar and, for the Marine, the trip home to the U.S. via Germany. In flight, the crew chiefs stepped gingerly around the body bags, keeping a respectful distance.
A few feet away sat four Marines who had been part of the ramp formation. With them was an Afghan interpreter who had also paid his respects along the ramp. They sat in silence, heads bowed, for the entire 35-minute flight.
In Kandahar the next evening, more than 1,000 service members from several countries were on the flight line for a far larger ceremony honoring the Marine killed Friday and four U.S. soldiers killed Saturday. There were American soldiers, Marines and airmen, and troops from Britain, Canada and Lithuania.
Two Humvees and a cargo truck brought the five sets of remains in metal coffins, each one draped in an American flag. The men and women in the columns saluted and held those salutes for many long minutes.
A chaplain said a prayer and spoke of each fallen man. "He knew what it meant to live out the creed -- mission first, men always," he said of one. Of another, he said, "He put the needs of the country before his own."
Eight-man details carried the caskets down the long, empty stretch of runway left open by the formations.
A piper sounded. The high notes of the bagpipes floated across the tarmac. When the piper played the Marine Corps hymn -- not once, but several times -- some of the Marines fought back tears.
Then came the low, plaintive notes of taps that cut through the thin evening air. Soon the details had loaded the caskets into the plane's belly. The big metal ramp rose up and slammed shut on the five caskets all in a row.
At the base fire station at the edge of the flight line, Fire Chief Bill MacDonald did not attend. He and his firefighters used to faithfully show up for every ramp ceremony, he said, but no more.
There have been 80 such ceremonies since July, the chief said. He meant no disrespect to the dead of any nation, he said, but watching all those caskets was taking a psychological toll on him and his men.
"It just got to the point we couldn't go out there anymore," he said, watching the C-17 maneuver beneath a dull orange sun setting behind the murky silhouette of a distant mountain. "It was just too much to take."
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david.zucchino@latimes.com
rick.loomis@latimes.com
