Farewell to Capt. Boris and Sgt. Hike
23rd Nov
Some days I fucking hate this job! The memorial service for Capt Boris and Sgt Hike, the two US Cavalry troopers that were killed by the IED on 12 Nov, was held a few hours ago. I have never seen or photographed one of these events, and I am never doing one again. It was unbearably sad.
I had spoken with the First Sergeant of Anvil Troop, 1 Squadron 91st Cavalry, about covering the event. I really didn’t want to do it, but after some discussion with the Charlie Company Commanding Officer (CO) and 1SG a few days ago, I had agreed that it is important that people see the reality behind the casualty figures. I had also spoken with the Chaplin about the ceremony, to try and figure out how to cause the least intrusion during what was going to be a very emotional event.
The dress rehearsal earlier in the morning gave me some idea of how upsetting the ceremony would be for the friends of the two dead men, and I was dreading the actual service. I know my job is to record what happens out here so that others may know, but covering something like this is extremely difficult. Putting a camera in the face of a weeping human being is something I have great personal difficulty with, however important the moment is.
The ceremony was held in the gym building, which had been cleared of all the equipment, cleaned out and carpeted. The flags of the United States and the 1/91 Cav flag stood crossed, with a 173rd Brigade flag on the wall behind. In front of the flags stood two wooden stands, constructed and painted just days before. The stands were gleaming white, with the white and red flag of the Cavalry painted on the base. Each stand held an M4 rifle, standing barrel down with bayonet attached. The dogtags of each man hung from the guns. A pair of boots wearing the Cavalry ceremonial spurs had been placed in front of each stand, and the signature Cavalry Stetson Hat sat atop each rifle. I had never seen this before, and the poignancy almost brought tears to my eyes. This is the way the Army says goodbye to their fallen, a ritual that allows the friends and comrades of the dead to pour out their grief. Families and friends at home have a funeral, but this is goodbye in a combat zone.
Helicopters had been arriving all morning, delivering various senior commanders. A couple of journalists also arrived. People milled around outside the building, everyone seemingly keen to avoid the sight of the memorial until the last possible minute. I positioned myself close to where the Anvil Troop soldiers would stand, in the hopes that I wouldn’t need to move around too much during the service.
The service began with a prayer, Psalm 23, and then the men’s commander, Lt. Colonel Fenzel, spoke. “On the 12th of November we lost two great warriors” he said,” we lost a Troop Commander and his gunner, and it hurts.” He went on to praise the men, and was followed by a friend of Capt. Boris, and then a friend of Sergeant Hike. These friends spoke of their love for the dead men, and their pride in knowing and serving with them. Many of the words were choked out through their sorrow .
Already there were soldiers crying, and then one of the Anvil Troopers passed out, and was helped out into the fresh air. The lights dimmed, and then two slideshows of photos, set to music, were shown, first one for Capt. Boris, and then for Sgt Hike. The photos showed smiling men, in dress uniform, and grim men in filthy ACU fatigues. Many showed the dead men hugging, wrestling, or simply standing alongside other men, men who now stood together in the darkened room. I photographed and filmed them, some with jaws set tight, some with heads bowed, and more than a few with tears in their eyes or running down their faces.
As the slideshow ended and the lights came back on, another Chaplin led another prayer. When he was finished, the First Sergeant of the Troop, 1SG Lunsford, stepped forward and stood facing the room. “Sergeant Alonso” he called, followed by the reply “here First Sergeant.” Again he called a trooper’s name, and again the reply “Here First Sergeant” rang around the room. “Sergent Hike” the First Sergeant called next. A pause, to let the silence speak. “Sergeant Adrian Hike” he called again. No answer. “Sergeant Adrian Edward Hike” he called, a third and final time. And then he began again, calling the officers of Anvil Troop. Everyone in the room knew what was coming, but it didn’t make it any easier. “Captain Boris. Captain David Boris. Captain David Albin Boris.” As the last word fell away into the silent room a firing party outside began the final act in this rite. Three volleys of seven shots rang out, the traditional 21 gun salute, and then the gathered soldiers saluted as the sad and mournful notes of “Taps” were played.
A General came forward, saluted, and knelt before one upturned rifle, and then the other. He placed a coin on the base of each, and reached forward and held each pair of dogtags. Slowly, and with much dignity, each man in the room, and then the men waiting outside, repeated this act. Some men touched the Stetsons, some the rifles, many held the dogtags tightly, as they said their final farewell to their dead comrades. One soldier barely managed the words “Goodbye Dave” through his tears. It was heartbreaking, and while I stayed and photographed, and filmed, as long as I could, I finally had to leave before the grief in the room overwhelmed me. These men will carry on, already have in fact. After all, they have a mission to complete. Now, they say, they will continue; firstly to complete their mission, but more importantly, to honour the memory of their departed friends.