Lessons Learned at the Bataan Death March 1998

By SGT Micheal Martinez

 

            I had heard of the Bataan Death march before I entered the service in 1992 but had no interest in it whatsoever.  During my tour at Fort Meade, Maryland from October 1996 to May 1997, 704^th MI Bde solicited volunteers to compete in the 1997 Bataan Death March.  Being an endurance athlete, this race raised an eyebrow.  All I thought about was adding the Bataan 25-mile Death March to my resume of races.  Unfortunately, school and lack of funds put the march on the back burner.  I arrived at the 748^th MI Bn in June 1997 and immediately put the march on my list of things to do in 1998.  I desperately wanted to enter a team in the military light category.  Each team must consist of at least five service members with one being a female.  In addition, each team member must be in BDU’s with LBE and water.  The request for volunteers turned out to be a great success.  However, unseen problems became quite evident.  Out of the nine volunteers, only three received a release from operation.  With the deadline for entering the race closing, I implemented Operation Desperation.  I needed one female and one more male.  To my surprise SrA Anderson and Marine CPL Kevin Gillen agreed to do it.  I had my five-member team and was ready to break records.

            The team consisted of SrA Anderson, CPL Gillen, SPC Doucette, SrA Crown, and myself.  I arranged for us to stay with my mother-in-law in El Paso.  We would arrive on Friday night and leave immediately after the march an Sunday.  SrA Crown and I had to be at work Monday at 0630.  The atmosphere created by the race was invigorating and motivating.  The race started on time with the usual whooping and hollering from the various teams and individuals.  At the four-mile checkpoint, SrA Anderson said she had a small problem with one of her boots.  We all stopped so she could evaluate herself.  I was shocked to find a layer of skin already missing.  How could this be?  I wanted to be competitive!  I wanted to kick butt!  As a result of her injuries, our pace slowed considerably.

            At the halfway point, we decided to chow down.  The subway sandwiches I carried turned into a mushy turkey club sandwich.

            After speaking with SrA Anderson, she said she would be able to continue despite her irritation turning into pain.  Our pace became a staggering two miles an hour.  The trail became thin with marchers.  Not known to SrA Anderson, I was becoming quite frustrated with the situation.  We got into a groove where SPC Doucette, SrA Crown and myself would walk up ahead to the next checkpoint and impatiently wait for SrA Anderson and CPL Gillen.  At mile 18 the disappointment and frustration surfaced.  SPC Doucette and SrA Crown, in a very casual manner, asked me what I was going to do.  I replied with “nothing.”  I was also frustrated.  Letting my other teammates see my frustration would have been detrimental to the team.  At mile 20, SrA Anderson’s eyes watered with tears of anger and pain.  I asked her if she wanted to quit.  To my amazement she exclaimed, “I’ve come this far, might as well finish.”  We departed from checkpoint 20 in the usual fashion.

            The three of us sped ahead while CPL Gillen stayed with SrA Anderson.  However, something happened between miles 20 and 22 that made me do a little soul searching and rethink my position.  As the three of us walked on the sandy trail we came across a lone soldier sitting off to the side.  At first glance nothing appeared to be wrong.  When she raised her head, her face gave away how she felt.  Tired and thirsty, this PFC was left alone at mile six because she was not fast enough.  Her team was entered in the military heavy division.  The uniform consisted of BDU’s, LBE with water, and a 35-pound ruck.  I became livid.  How could any team leave a member behind?  How could they leave a PFC who had been in the Army only eight months?  What kind of leaders does this team have?  We ended up walking with her to the mile 22 checkpoint.  She relayed words of anger towards her team.  All her team was concerned about was winning and placing.  She couldn’t keep up so her team left her.  To me, that is not what teamwork is all about.  Like the Ranger creed states, “Readily will I display the intestinal fortitude required to fight on to the Ranger objective and complete the mission, though I be the lone survivor.”  My objective was the finish line, but I wasn’t the lone survivor.  SrA Anderson was part of our team, team MRSOC!  This wasn’t my race, my record, my 25-mile accomplishment.  It was our race, our accomplishment, and our victory!

            We were waiting quite sometime for SrA Anderson and CPL Gillen to arrive at CP 22.  They were taking longer than usual.  The PFC decided to get up and continue on her own.  We exchanged pleasantries and wished her well.  At last we saw a 4 wheeled all terrain vehicle coming up the trail.  SrA Anderson’s pain and agony became too great to bear.  She had thrown in the towel.  CPL Gillen decided not to finish so he could stay with her and see to her needs.  Utter disappointment was felt.  Not in her, but in me.  I was no different than the team that left that PFC behind.

            My epiphany came a day late and a dollar short.  We had only 3 miles to go and we were not going to finish as a team.  I failed due to the simple fact that I wanted this or I wanted that.  SrA Anderson, as your team leader, I failed you and the rest of the team.  Unfortunately, I realized it too late.  As a result, you paid the price.  We said our good-byes to SrA Anderson and CPL Gillen.  Hopefully we would see them at the finish line.  As we left CP 22, a feeling of guilt and remorse consumed me to no end.  I was disgusted with my selfishness and greed to be competitive in the race.  Just 10 minutes after leaving CP 22, we found the young PFC by the side of the road.  She had only gone a mere ½ mile in half an hour.  I coaxed her to get up by dangling starbursts in her face.  Once she got up, I proposed that we all finish together.  She agreed reluctantly because she was not ready to leave the comfort of the shade she was sitting in.

            We finally finished the march and took the usual I love me pictures.  I didn’t see SrA Anderson until Monday at work. Her feet were swollen and torn up.  I walked away not with a victory, but a lesson on life and teamwork.  It doesn’t matter what you wear on your left shoulder, the wings on your chest or how many marathons you’ve done, but what you walk away with.

            I had walked away with a moral lesson on teamwork, a little more morality, humility and integrity.  I forgot why I was there.  I was there to commemorate and pay my respects to the gallant warriors who succumbed to the tortures of the Bataan Death March.  I did this race for myself, Team MRSOC and all those brave soldiers that never had the chance to say goodbye to their loved ones.  They died on foreign soil thousands of miles away to protect the beautiful United States of America.  The last thing those soldiers saw was the butt or barrel of a weapon.  Some were left for dead, starving, thirsty, and alone.  I walked away from the march with a reminder of what teamwork is all about and a feeling of great pride to be a SGT in the United States Army.  I will never forget!