Modern Memorial Day is full of Facebook posts and tweets saluting those who have made the ultimate sacrifice in service to America. Among many servicemen and veterans, a special tradition has arisen. Many of us keep the watch for particular people whom we knew or with whom we served, calling attention to them on Memorial Day or with special remembrance posts on the day they died.
Every year on March 4, some of my old comrades and I take time to think and post about Sgt. Seth Garceau. Though I served with then-Spc. Garceau in the Iowa Army National Guard, I was in Afghanistan when I heard the sad news from Iraq.
Recently, I talked to my former company’s 1st Sgt. Scott Wolf about Garceau.
After a night of rain and mortars, the morning of Feb. 27, 2005, was busy for the 224th Engineer Battalion. The boys from Iowa were on the move in central Iraq. Wolf traveled in an advance party from Najaf, south of Baghdad, to Ramadi, east of that city, in order to set up accommodations for about 455 soldiers.
Because it was so large, the battalion traveled in two convoys, the first arriving mid-morning. Considering the number of vehicles, the complex movement went smoothly. The second convoy was a few hours behind schedule but would arrive soon. As Wolf directed traffic and soldiers, he received a message from the company commander.
“Get to HQ. URGENT.”
Wolf arrived at a headquarters filled with grim faces, a lot of radio traffic, and a word that had become far too common in the American military.
IED.
Improvised Explosive Device.
A Humvee had been hit. Casualty details arrived with cold military efficiency. “One routine, two priority, one urgent, and one soldier KIA.” One bruised, two with non-life-threatening injuries, one severely wounded, and one dead.
Casualties were reported to command by each soldier’s battle roster number, which Wolf had to check against a list of names. Each incoming number was a punch in his stomach. Of the five soldiers in the destroyed Humvee, Wolf had known and commanded four. No word yet on who had suffered which fate.
“I knew all these soldiers personally. Three young men in their early 20s, a single father of one, and a married father of two,” Wolf said. “The military is a small family, and the Iowa National Guard is an even smaller family.”
After an eternal 15 minutes, the details arrived. Second Lt. Brian Gienau, the single father, was dead. Garceau was severely wounded. Eventually, Garceau was transported to a hospital in Germany. His family was summoned. He received the best possible treatment, but his wounds were too severe.
Garceau died on March 4, 2005. He was posthumously awarded the Bronze Star and promoted to sergeant.
I didn’t know Gienau. I wish I had. Wolf assures me he was a good man.
I did know Garceau. We had served in the same combat engineer company, and we once drove a large Army truck from Fort Riley, Kan., to Davenport, Iowa. Everybody remembers his happy, “aw, shucks” smile, and how helpful and encouraging he was. Right to the very end.
In 2011, Wolf attended the dedication of a memorial for Gienau on the University of Northern Iowa campus, where Gienau had been an ROTC cadet. Wolf realized he was looking for some form of closure. Garceau’s grave being 40 minutes away, he decided to visit. Reaching the cemetery, Wolf asked another visitor where he might find Garceau’s grave. The man showed him, pointing out the remnants of prior visits from family and friends, such as rocks, coins, and folded notes, as well as a hook from which hung a bell.
The man explained that Garceau’s mother lives in an apartment about 100 yards away, and the bell lets her know when people are visiting his grave.
Somehow, Wolf thought this must be the reason he had been compelled to visit Garceau. He spoke with Garceau’s mother for several hours that day.
“I wish I could say I found the closure I was looking for, but I haven’t.” Fourteen years later, Wolf says, he is still “kicking myself, trying to think if I could have done anything different that might have changed the outcome of that day. It may sound weird, but all of you guys were my kids.”
“It doesn’t sound weird,” I replied.
I did not understand nor could have foreseen, back when I enlisted, the power of the connections I would make with my fellow soldiers. Wolf was right. The military is a kind of family. On grim anniversaries and Memorial Day, it falls to many of us soldiers and veterans to keep alive the memory of those we have lost.
This column is dedicated to the memory and honor of Sgt. Seth Garceau, to 2nd Lt. Brian Gienau, and to all who have made the ultimate sacrifice in service to our country.
Rest in peace.
We have the watch.
Trent Reedy served as a combat engineer in the Iowa National Guard from 1999 to 2005, including a tour of duty in Afghanistan.