Tom Sileo (27 page)

“Look at all these people,” said Janet, who cried all the way to the church, pointing toward the seemingly never-ending stream of supporters. “This is unbelievable.”

At the church Travis's uncle, Chris Manion, spoke about the boy, wrestler, young man, and Marine who had inspired him so much:

       
From wonderful parents to the sister and brother in-law that he so deeply loved and so deeply loved him, to the niece he cherished and was so protective of, to the grandparents he doted over and who doted over him, to the family he was so proud of and to the many extraordinary friends whose friendships he was blessed with, from his beloved La Salle High School, from the Naval Academy, from his Marine Corps family . . . from this great circle of love,
Travis learned all that he knew and all that he was to become. And Travis learned well.

“Travis Lemma Manion was no accident,” Chris continued. “He did not just magically appear and suddenly become who he became. Look around . . . here in this church, in this congregation, are the family and friends and the mentors that filled his life with so much love, so much happiness, and so many fond memories.”

Chris Manion closed his speech with a call to action: “Let us not just mourn our loss today and in the days ahead. But as Tom and Janet have requested, let us cherish his memory, act with love, and celebrate his life.”

Across the country in Imperial Beach, California, Brendan sat in silence, holding his cell phone. The Navy SEAL candidate may not have heard the stirring eulogy delivered by Travis's uncle, but he was already heeding its selfless message.

Suddenly his cell phone rang. It was Amy, and like Brendan a few days earlier, she was too hysterical to make much sense. She was overcome with emotion not only from seeing Travis's coffin, but also after seeing Ryan spend most of the afternoon crying behind thick, dark sunglasses.

“I . . . I . . . I don't know what to say,” she said. “Travis. . . .”

“Sweetheart, please take a deep breath and try to calm down,” Brendan said quietly. “Can you tell me how it's going there? How are the Manions?”

“I don't . . . I don't know what to say,” Amy repeated. “I feel so horrible for them, Brendan.”

That was Amy's last comprehensible sentence before she started to sob. Realizing that hearing his girlfriend's anguish would likely make Brendan even more upset, Billy Looney gently took the phone from Amy and told his brother that though the ceremonies
were very emotional, Travis was being memorialized with a perfect, fitting tribute. Brendan, who would have given almost anything to witness the day's events, thanked his brother for being there.

First Lieutenant Travis Manion was laid to rest with full military honors. In one of the burial's most powerful moments, uniformed US Marines presented Tom and Janet with the American flag that had covered their son's coffin ever since he was struck down in Fallujah.

“On behalf of the President of the United States, the Commandant of the Marine Corps, and a grateful nation, please accept this flag as a symbol of our appreciation for your loved one's honorable and faithful service,” a Marine told Tom and Janet.

Tom, Janet, Ryan, and Dave trembled when TAPS was played and shivered as a twenty-one-gun salute shattered the calmness of the spring air over Calvary Cemetery in West Conshohocken, Pennsylvania. By the end of the service, they were almost completely numb.

The Manions had considered burying their son at Arlington National Cemetery before Janet told Tom and Ryan that she wanted Travis nearby. Though West Conshohocken was about thirty-five minutes away from Doylestown, Janet could still go see him often and make sure the flowers on her son's grave were always fresh. Amid the fog of grief that dominated the ensuing weeks, when some of Travis's final wishes were revealed, the Manions decided to put off making a final decision about whether it would be Travis's permanent resting place.

Brendan couldn't see from afar that his friend's place of rest was marked only by a simple wooden cross. After his conversation with Amy, he slowly opened the door to his room and was greeted by Rob Sarver.

“Hey buddy, are you alright?” Sarver asked.

Brendan was still shell shocked after hearing Amy's voice. Following a brief pause and a sip of water, he managed to utter a few words.

“It's like we said the other day,” Brendan said. “We've gotta go out there tomorrow and get after it.”

“I hear you,” Sarver said. “What do you say we hit the gym?”

“Let's do it,” Brendan agreed.

After that day, Brendan rarely mentioned Travis to Sarver or any other military friends. But the words and deeds of his fellow warrior, Naval Academy roommate, and dear friend would live forever in his heart.

9

HONOR MAN

B
efore sunrise on the first day of BUD/S, Brendan and Sarver drove onto the island of Coronado, blasting an intentionally comical hip-hop song, Fat Joe's “Make It Rain.” In what would become an early morning tradition, the new roommates shouted the over-the-top lyrics to the song to get fired up before a seemingly impossible day of mental and physical challenges.

It was the first time that Brendan had laughed since Travis died, and Sarver knew how important that was before the relentless BUD/S instructors started trying to break them and every other Navy SEAL candidate down. For the next six months Brendan's emotional, mental, and physical strength would be tested as never before.

BUD/S got off to a rocky start. Every candidate's room, uniform, and appearance were required to be spotless and were routinely subject to rigorous inspections that could sometimes last several hours. For twenty-four punishing weeks, nothing mattered more than attention to detail.

Brendan first faced an instructor's wrath because of his haircut. The night before, Sarver had accidentally nicked his neck with the clippers they used to shave each other's heads.

“HAVE YOU SEEN THE BACK OF YOUR NECK?” the instructor shouted directly into Brendan's left ear. “WHO DID THIS?”

Brendan was silent.

“WAS IT SARVER?” the instructor said.

Brendan quickly glanced at his roommate, who nodded.

“Hooyah,” Brendan said. The word is often used as a battle cry inside the Navy, and sometimes as a substitute for “yes, sir.”

“Sarver, you pass inspection,” the instructor said. “Looney, you fail. NOW GET OUT ON THAT BEACH!”

“Hooyah,” Brendan said.

Brendan spent the next ninety minutes doing God knows how many push-ups and other exercises in cold “BUD/S Beach” water. When he returned to the barracks almost completely covered in sand, Sarver wasn't sure if Brendan would crack a joke or punch him in the face.

“You owe me, bro,” said Brendan, walking in the room, wiping off his face, and throwing his gear on the bed.

“Anything you want, Brendan,” Sarver said. “Just name it.”

“Ice cream,” Brendan said. “After this day is over, you're taking me to get some ice cream.”

His first run-in with the instructors behind him, Brendan attacked the island of Coronado, where all Navy SEAL candidates train but very few graduate, with the same intensity Travis had brought to the streets of Fallujah. At almost two hundred pounds of muscle, Brendan was running 5½-minute miles. Aspiring SEALs were shocked by Brendan's physical prowess.

“That guy is a beast,” one trainee told another. “What's Looney's story, anyway?”

“I talked to his roommate, Sarver, the other day,” the other SEAL candidate responded. “Looney just lost one of his best friends in Fallujah.”

Except on weekends, when candidates were usually permitted to rest, Brendan hardly slept during his six months of BUD/S training and was rarely able to communicate with Amy. But after
one particularly arduous day of running, being sprayed with ice-cold water while doing push-ups, and shivering while carrying logs over his head with teammates through merciless waves, he described to Amy how Travis was still pushing him.

“When Travis died, I think it gave me that extra motivation to make sure I got out there and did everything I could,” Brendan said.

Amy exchanged “see you laters” with Brendan after he yawned and told her the SEAL candidates had to be awake in three hours. She was proud of her boyfriend's resolve.

Across the room, Sarver was talking on the phone to his girlfriend, Heather Hojnacki.

“Honestly, I'm just trying to keep up with Brendan,” Sarver said when his girlfriend asked how his training was going. “He is a machine.”

One of Brendan's favorite quotes was one he rarely spoke out loud, but always kept in the back of his mind: “Be strong. Be accountable. Never complain.”

Sarver, as Brendan's BUD/S roommate, was watching his friend live out every word.

Fiercely committed and quietly confident, Brendan would have excelled in training even if Travis had still been alive. From spending eight consecutive hours stenciling his number on his gear to sometimes staying up all night doing additional administrative duties, he brought an exceptional, sincere brand of dedication to a special operations group that was already among the US military's most revered.

Despite being tough, smart young men, candidates all around Brendan were quitting or being dropped from Class 265 by the time “Hell Week,” a fierce combat simulation during which sleep is not an option, started after two already grueling weeks of training.

On Saturday, May 26, 2007, three days before the Manions would mark one month since Travis's passing, Brendan wrote an e-mail to Janet:

          
Mrs. Manion,

                
Hi, sorry it has taken me so long to write back. I do not get a chance to check my e-mail as much as I would like.

                
Things out here are going well so far. We started with 203 guys and are now down to 80. Hell Week begins tomorrow night, so we are all getting geared up for that hurdle. Right now I am not too nervous about it because I know I have Travis looking out for me and that will give me strength when I need it. He is probably laughing at me too with all of the crazy stuff they have us doing.

                
Other than that, not much else is going on, we have long days so that leaves time only to sleep when we finish. I have lost a few pounds, but still continue to eat everything they put in front of me. Anyways, that is about it for now. I'll be sure to send you all an e-mail when I finish Hell Week next Friday to let you know that I finished.