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A Legacy Worth Sharing
Many of my friends and family know I served in the Marine Corps. Some of you know that I created a scholarship to help remember a friend who was killed in action, but many don’t know the story. Well, here it is.
Mikey and I first met in 2010 in Okinawa, Japan while serving in MP Company, Headquarters Battalion, 3rd Marine Division. Both of us had been in the Marine Corps for about 3 years, and Okinawa was our second duty station. Mikey had previously served in 29 Palms, California, while I had been in Beaufort, South Carolina.
Mikey was from Orange, California and of Mexican descent. He loved his family, and had a rockabilly style like no other. He would often been seen in black skinny jeans and vans. His long hair was always greased and slicked back to the point many higher ups deemed is hair “eccentric.” I still don’t think Mikey knew how to frown. Everywhere he went, he had a huge cheesy grin on his face that could light up a room during the darkest times. He was a salt of the earth kind of guy.
I am from Greenbrier, Tennessee, and was often assumed to be a “redneck” or less intelligent due to my strong southern drawl. I was usually found wearing above-the-knee cut shorts and Sperry’s, and had a pinch of Copenhagen in my lip more times than not.
Mikey and I really started to become friends during the late winter/early spring of 2011, when were selected for a deployment to Afghanistan. Instead of deploying with 3rd Marine Division, a small group of MPs were gathered from different units across the island to deploy with 9th Engineer Support Battalion. Our job was to provide security for road construction crews who built major supply routes through Afghanistan’s Helmand Province.
During the months leading up to deployment, Mikey and I grew very close. When not in the field, our barracks rooms were just feet apart so it was not uncommon to find us in one another’s rooms eating microwaveable taquitos and drinking Mexican beer. On the weekends we’d often hit the beach. He’d usually ride his long board, while I was left lagging behind trying to keep up. In the field, we didn’t spend a lot of time together. Mikey and I were in different squads and our training ops were usually squad specific. Afghanistan was no different.
When we finally got there, 1st Squad (Mikey’s squad) was assigned the southern portion of a major supply route, and told to work their way north. 3rd Squad (my squad) was assigned the northern portion of the same route, and told to work south.
After a few months, too many IEDs and a few skirmishes, the day came where our squads would finally meet. I remember being the lead vehicle and seeing the up-armored vehicle on the horizon. I sent a message on my blue force tracker to the truck in sight. It was none other than my ole buddy, Mikey P. When our trucks became within walking distance we both got out and starting walking. Though we still communicated through the internet, we hadn’t seen one another in months. We hugged it out for just a few seconds, and immediately started catching up.
Eventually when that route was complete, our entire company retrograde back to Camp Leatherneck for one final mission. We didn’t have a lot of intel on the area, as the battle space was not controlled by U.S. forces. It was a big job and there were a lot of moving pieces, but nothing really out of the ordinary. 3rd Squad would go first, work a few days, then be relieved by 1st Squad. We would alternate until the mission was complete.
The day before we were to depart friendly lines, the op order changed to where 1st Squad would push out first, then we would relieve them in a few days. With the last minute changes, Mikey immediately began prepping his gear and making sure his team was ready. We had planned to eat chow together that evening, but mission prep was taking a while. He asked me if I’d wait, so I agreed. After about an hour of waiting, I walked around the motor pool to look for Mikey. I found his team’s truck, but he wasn’t there. After looking for a while, I assumed he had forgot about me, so I went and ate chow alone. That evening he came in the hooch and said with a grin, “Thanks for ditching me asshole.” Unfortunately, this is the last memory I really have of Mikey.
1st Squad got up and pushed out in the middle of the night. I somewhat remember waking up and telling them bye. Firsst Squad had been gone for what I believe was two days, when on the morning of March 29, 2012, we received word that 1st Squad had been hit. Something just was not right. No one in the command would comment. My gut told me it wasn’t good.
Word started to float around the motor pool that it was Mikey and his team. Word was that Mikey didn’t make it, and Lance Corporals Jonathan Stephenson and Roger Rua weren’t in good shape. I remember another close friend, George, hugged me and said, “Your boy is done.” I know that sounds harsh, but Marines don’t always have the most pleasant use of words. I simply said, “I’m not going to believe it until the command confirms it.”
Shortly after I was talking with one of our radio operators. Somehow the comm guys were always in the know. I remember Cory beating around the bush until finally I asked, “What are you trying to say.” He looked me in the eye and said, “I’m telling you that Palacio is dead.”
Eventually the command brought all the team leaders in, along with key leadership from the battalion and company, and briefed us. Mikey’s team hit a massive IED. Mikey was dead. Stephenson might lose a leg, and Rua couldn’t move from the chest down. That’s really all we knew.
I’m happy to say that Roger Rua went on to make a full recovery. After multiple surgeries and attempts to save his leg, Jonathan Stephenson had a leg amputated from the knee down.
After getting ourselves together, each team leader briefed their teams individually on what had happened. My guys seemed to take it OK. Much better than I did, I must say.
We then gathered and sorted all of their belongings. I helped go through Mikey’s stuff. It was hard, but it was something I felt I should do. Sometime during the day, my squad leader told me the company 1st Sergeant wanted to see me in our platoon office. I went in and met the 1st Sgt, along with my platoon commander. They were making plans to notify Mikey’s family, and had some family related questions.
That evening, Mikey’s body was put on a plane to fly home. Our battalion, as well as other service members from the U.S. and coalition countries, formed a path down to the plane. I remember waiting and standing next to George, when he asked, “Do you think they’d let us carry him?” I said, “I don’t know, but it doesn’t hurt to ask.” I would have given anything to carry him on that plane, but the military has its ceremonial procedures, and we were told no.
As Mikey was brought out in a flag-draped casket, the detail popped to attention and rendered a salute. He was marched down the path lined by coalition troops, and put on the plane. We then marched in the plane in groups of 6. We saluted, took a knee, and payed our final respects.
The mission in which Mikey fell then changed. We had been building a road in the back yard of a notorious bomb builder and didn’t know it. 1st, 2nd, and 3rd squads were called to provide security. It also took an Army route clearance unit, and some combat engineers to finish the mission. We found over 30 IEDs in a stretch of road that I believe was about 17 kilometers. 2nd and 3rd squads were outside the wire about 30 days straight. 1st was even longer. When all was said and done, the mission was a success. A patrol base was erected along the route in hopes that coalition forces could have a stronger presence in the area. They named it Patrol Base Palacio.
I got out of the Marine Corps in the fall of 2012. For years I thought about how in the world guys like Mikey and myself could be so tight. The answer is really simple. The Marine Corps is a master of stripping people of their identities, and rebuilding them to serve a cause higher than themselves. We really didn’t care about one another’s backgrounds or what we looked like. We both bled red, and served our God, Country, and Corps. That’s all that mattered.
As a result, I have chose to help tell Mikey’s story and reward those who embrace diversity through this scholarship. Like, share, and donate if you can!
Mikey and I first met in 2010 in Okinawa, Japan while serving in MP Company, Headquarters Battalion, 3rd Marine Division. Both of us had been in the Marine Corps for about 3 years, and Okinawa was our second duty station. Mikey had previously served in 29 Palms, California, while I had been in Beaufort, South Carolina.
Mikey was from Orange, California and of Mexican descent. He loved his family, and had a rockabilly style like no other. He would often been seen in black skinny jeans and vans. His long hair was always greased and slicked back to the point many higher ups deemed is hair “eccentric.” I still don’t think Mikey knew how to frown. Everywhere he went, he had a huge cheesy grin on his face that could light up a room during the darkest times. He was a salt of the earth kind of guy.
I am from Greenbrier, Tennessee, and was often assumed to be a “redneck” or less intelligent due to my strong southern drawl. I was usually found wearing above-the-knee cut shorts and Sperry’s, and had a pinch of Copenhagen in my lip more times than not.
Mikey and I really started to become friends during the late winter/early spring of 2011, when were selected for a deployment to Afghanistan. Instead of deploying with 3rd Marine Division, a small group of MPs were gathered from different units across the island to deploy with 9th Engineer Support Battalion. Our job was to provide security for road construction crews who built major supply routes through Afghanistan’s Helmand Province.
During the months leading up to deployment, Mikey and I grew very close. When not in the field, our barracks rooms were just feet apart so it was not uncommon to find us in one another’s rooms eating microwaveable taquitos and drinking Mexican beer. On the weekends we’d often hit the beach. He’d usually ride his long board, while I was left lagging behind trying to keep up. In the field, we didn’t spend a lot of time together. Mikey and I were in different squads and our training ops were usually squad specific. Afghanistan was no different.
When we finally got there, 1st Squad (Mikey’s squad) was assigned the southern portion of a major supply route, and told to work their way north. 3rd Squad (my squad) was assigned the northern portion of the same route, and told to work south.
After a few months, too many IEDs and a few skirmishes, the day came where our squads would finally meet. I remember being the lead vehicle and seeing the up-armored vehicle on the horizon. I sent a message on my blue force tracker to the truck in sight. It was none other than my ole buddy, Mikey P. When our trucks became within walking distance we both got out and starting walking. Though we still communicated through the internet, we hadn’t seen one another in months. We hugged it out for just a few seconds, and immediately started catching up.
Eventually when that route was complete, our entire company retrograde back to Camp Leatherneck for one final mission. We didn’t have a lot of intel on the area, as the battle space was not controlled by U.S. forces. It was a big job and there were a lot of moving pieces, but nothing really out of the ordinary. 3rd Squad would go first, work a few days, then be relieved by 1st Squad. We would alternate until the mission was complete.
The day before we were to depart friendly lines, the op order changed to where 1st Squad would push out first, then we would relieve them in a few days. With the last minute changes, Mikey immediately began prepping his gear and making sure his team was ready. We had planned to eat chow together that evening, but mission prep was taking a while. He asked me if I’d wait, so I agreed. After about an hour of waiting, I walked around the motor pool to look for Mikey. I found his team’s truck, but he wasn’t there. After looking for a while, I assumed he had forgot about me, so I went and ate chow alone. That evening he came in the hooch and said with a grin, “Thanks for ditching me asshole.” Unfortunately, this is the last memory I really have of Mikey.
1st Squad got up and pushed out in the middle of the night. I somewhat remember waking up and telling them bye. Firsst Squad had been gone for what I believe was two days, when on the morning of March 29, 2012, we received word that 1st Squad had been hit. Something just was not right. No one in the command would comment. My gut told me it wasn’t good.
Word started to float around the motor pool that it was Mikey and his team. Word was that Mikey didn’t make it, and Lance Corporals Jonathan Stephenson and Roger Rua weren’t in good shape. I remember another close friend, George, hugged me and said, “Your boy is done.” I know that sounds harsh, but Marines don’t always have the most pleasant use of words. I simply said, “I’m not going to believe it until the command confirms it.”
Shortly after I was talking with one of our radio operators. Somehow the comm guys were always in the know. I remember Cory beating around the bush until finally I asked, “What are you trying to say.” He looked me in the eye and said, “I’m telling you that Palacio is dead.”
Eventually the command brought all the team leaders in, along with key leadership from the battalion and company, and briefed us. Mikey’s team hit a massive IED. Mikey was dead. Stephenson might lose a leg, and Rua couldn’t move from the chest down. That’s really all we knew.
I’m happy to say that Roger Rua went on to make a full recovery. After multiple surgeries and attempts to save his leg, Jonathan Stephenson had a leg amputated from the knee down.
After getting ourselves together, each team leader briefed their teams individually on what had happened. My guys seemed to take it OK. Much better than I did, I must say.
We then gathered and sorted all of their belongings. I helped go through Mikey’s stuff. It was hard, but it was something I felt I should do. Sometime during the day, my squad leader told me the company 1st Sergeant wanted to see me in our platoon office. I went in and met the 1st Sgt, along with my platoon commander. They were making plans to notify Mikey’s family, and had some family related questions.
That evening, Mikey’s body was put on a plane to fly home. Our battalion, as well as other service members from the U.S. and coalition countries, formed a path down to the plane. I remember waiting and standing next to George, when he asked, “Do you think they’d let us carry him?” I said, “I don’t know, but it doesn’t hurt to ask.” I would have given anything to carry him on that plane, but the military has its ceremonial procedures, and we were told no.
As Mikey was brought out in a flag-draped casket, the detail popped to attention and rendered a salute. He was marched down the path lined by coalition troops, and put on the plane. We then marched in the plane in groups of 6. We saluted, took a knee, and payed our final respects.
The mission in which Mikey fell then changed. We had been building a road in the back yard of a notorious bomb builder and didn’t know it. 1st, 2nd, and 3rd squads were called to provide security. It also took an Army route clearance unit, and some combat engineers to finish the mission. We found over 30 IEDs in a stretch of road that I believe was about 17 kilometers. 2nd and 3rd squads were outside the wire about 30 days straight. 1st was even longer. When all was said and done, the mission was a success. A patrol base was erected along the route in hopes that coalition forces could have a stronger presence in the area. They named it Patrol Base Palacio.
I got out of the Marine Corps in the fall of 2012. For years I thought about how in the world guys like Mikey and myself could be so tight. The answer is really simple. The Marine Corps is a master of stripping people of their identities, and rebuilding them to serve a cause higher than themselves. We really didn’t care about one another’s backgrounds or what we looked like. We both bled red, and served our God, Country, and Corps. That’s all that mattered.
As a result, I have chose to help tell Mikey’s story and reward those who embrace diversity through this scholarship. Like, share, and donate if you can!
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