War's other deaths
'Nonhostile fatalities' leave grieving families with unanswered questions

By Russell Carollo, Mike Wagner, Mehul Srivastava and Ken McCall
Dayton Daily News

Staff Sgt. Aaron Reese and Spc. Todd Bates of the Ohio Army National Guard were sent to patrol the Tigris River in an Iraqi boat that had no life preservers, no rope, no poles or any other safety device to rescue them from the water in case they went overboard.

Army Staff Sgt. Nathan Bailey had a long history of mental illness and was taking a drug used to treat schizophrenia the night the Army sent him to guard Camp Arifjan in Kuwait.

Corporals Dustin H. Schrage and Jeffrey G. Green were weighed down with M-16 rifles and at least five magazines of ammunition each the night they were sent to swim across the Euphrates River in Iraq.

Like more than 1,250 Americans sent to the war in Iraq, Reese, Bates, Bailey, Schrage and Green never returned.

But they weren't killed by the enemy.

They are among at least 280 Americans killed while supporting the war in Iraq but not officially counted by the military as combat deaths. For months, even major media outlets didn't include them in official death totals.

The military calls them "nonhostile" fatalities, deaths caused by something other than direct combat, and they account for more than 22 percent of the deaths during the war. During the Vietnam War, noncombat deaths accounted for 18.5 percent of all fatalities.

War deaths are difficult for all families, but a combat death usually comes with some sense of clarity and honor. For families of soldiers who die of illness, in accidents or at their own hands or the hands of fellow soldiers, the suffering can be made worse by the uncertainty of what occurred and the difficulty of getting information from the military.

Many of the more than 40 families contacted during a Dayton Daily News examination said they did not have major complaints with the cooperation they got from the military.

"The Navy was very good to us," said Wyvonne Bollinger, whose son, Navy Petty Officer 3rd Class Doyle Wayne Bollinger, was killed in an accidental explosion.

"They were very good to my family."

But at least half of the families complained that the military hadn't provided them with enough information, and some didn't believe what little information they were given. The examination found dozens of deaths in which the military failed to include specific causes in press releases, and spokespeople refused to provide further details, even for deaths occurring more than a year ago.

"I just think that it is intolerable — a stunning lack of sensitivity — to the very legitimate needs of these families to understand what happened to their loved ones," said U.S. Rep. Earl Pomeroy, D-N.D., who for nearly a year now has battled the Army on behalf of a North Dakota couple trying to find out more about the Nov. 28, 2003, death of their son, Army Spc. Thomas J. Sweet, 23. "I read the (Army) unit of investigation the riot act. Their conduct up to this point was absolutely without justification because of the delays in terms of getting timely information to the families.

"I just think that the families have a right to know all of the information surrounding the circumstances, and they have a right to have this information in a timely fashion."

James Turner, a Department of Defense spokesman at the Pentagon, said the policy of the military is to provide "all facts and circumstances" of deaths to the immediate family. Military policy requires that each family be assigned a casualty assistance representative, who is responsible for providing information on autopsy and other reports on the deaths.

Still, several families waited months to learn what happened to their relatives. Some are still waiting.

"My son died more than a year ago, and just about a week ago we finally received the accident report," said Dennis Geurin, whose son, 18-year-old Marine Lance Cpl. Cory Ryan Geurin of Santee, Calif., died July 15, 2003, after a 60-foot fall.

"I got more information from driving to 29 Palms (Marine base) and looking into the eyes of the men who held his hand as he died than I did from the lousy report," Geurin said. "You want the truth no matter what it is. There's no good way to lose your son or daughter.

"My son will never sit at this table again. He will never spend the money he earned while he was in the military. It drives you nuts. I just don't know why it took so long."

The family of 22-year-old Army Spc. Melissa Jennifer Hobart of Ladson, S.C., was told she collapsed and died on June 6, 2004, while on guard duty.

Though her spirits were low and traces of an antidepressant were found in her system, an autopsy report provided to the family found no lethal doses of drugs or heart defects or other physical problems that would explain the death.

The report called arrhythmia "the most common cause" in such deaths, but it did not say she had a heart arrhythmia. The otherwise healthy woman died of an "undetermined cause," according to the report.

"She didn't die of any illness that they could find," said her mother, Constance Hobart. "She was on guard duty, and she just dropped.

"First they told me that she had a heart attack. I don't trust them at all anymore."

The family of Lance Cpl. James A. Casper of Coolidge, Texas, also heard conflicting stories about his death.

An investigative report provided to his mother, Darlene Mitchell, says her son grabbed the barrel of another Marine's gun as the two were in the barracks, and Casper was shot as the Marine struggled to pull the gun away. The Marine who shot Casper eventually admitted that he lied in a statement because he was "scared."

"We started e-mailing senators and governors and the president and everybody else trying to find an answer because they (the Marines) didn't want to tell us anything," Mitchell said.

Before joining the Marines, Casper worked at a Wal-Mart with his mother and did odd jobs raking leaves, mowing lawns and baling hay.

On his 20th birthday, he paid off the loan on a 1½-acre lot, where he planned to build a house next to his mother and stepfather's house.

"First they walked in with the medals, the War on Terrorism medals," Mitchell said, choking back tears as her voice grew more and more defiant. "They started giving a spiel about (how) this medal was personally awarded by the president to James Casper. I go, `I don't care about medals. I want to know what happened to my son.' "

Mitchell said she still doesn't know exactly what happened.

Casper's stepfather, Joe Mitchell, said the pain seems unending.

"Just like today, I got a flag in the mail from somebody who makes quilts," he said. "I have to show it to my wife when she comes in.

"It tears us up every time."

Cause identified in most cases

About 100 soldiers in Iraq have died the way Lt. Col. Dominic Rocco Baragona of Niles, Ohio, did — in a vehicle accident. Vehicle crashes accounted for more than a third of all noncombat deaths.
On May 19, 2003, Baragona, nicknamed "Rocky" after the former Cleveland Indians slugger Rocky Colavito was riding in the last of three Humvees traveling from Camp Victory in Kuwait on what is known as Main Supply Route Tampa.

About 90 minutes after crossing the Iraq border, the soldier driving the Humvee noticed debris in the highway ahead and merged into the left lane, according to a report obtained by the Dayton Daily News. As he did, the report says, the driver watched an approaching tractor-trailer with Arabic license plates lose control as it drove through the debris, striking the passenger side of the Humvee.
Immediately after the collision, a captain also in the Humvee tried to remove her seat belt, "but was too nervous to take it off," according to a statement from the driver. The driver helped the captain out of the Humvee and saw Baragona lying on top of a rear passenger tire that had broken off the vehicle.

"I did not render first aid due to (the fact) he was obviously deceased," the driver's statement says.
Baragona, who went to West Point after graduating from John F. Kennedy High School in Warren, was one of 43 Ohioans killed supporting the war in Iraq through late November, including at least eight who died in noncombat incidents.

On Nov. 21, 2003, Cpl. Gary B. Coleman of Pikeville, Ky., was driving late at night in Balad, Iraq, when his Humvee overturned and he drowned.

But the family knows little about what actually happened.

"It turned upside down, went into some ravine or canal, and he never made it out of there," said Gary Coleman, the father of the 24-year-old former high school football star. "I don't want to know the details. I think it would just make it harder."

In more than 200 of the 280 noncombat deaths, the military identified specific causes. Besides vehicle accidents, the causes included helicopter crashes unrelated to combat, electrocution, fire, homicide and accidental falls.

Noncombat deaths do not include so-called "friendly fire" deaths, soldiers accidentally killed by friendly forces. Those are counted as combat deaths.

A Navy news release says Doyle W. Bollinger died June 6, 2003, when a piece of unexploded ordnance detonated.

His mother, Wyvonne Bollinger, said he was killed handling an odd-shaped device found in a pile of grass his Navy Seabee unit was clearing.

"He was always curious," she said. "He picked it up and looked at it again, and it exploded." Three others were wounded, she said.

The Navy went to great lengths to honor a family request, transporting a cousin off a ship near Iraq so he could escort the body home. The Navy also flew Wyvonne Bollinger and her fiance, Robert Wright, to a Seabee facility in Mississippi so they could attend a memorial service and meet the Seabees who served with her son.

A report on the incident sent to the family recommends improving training so personnel can better identify munitions, according to Wright.

Causes do not identify suicide

Less than a year before her brother was sent to Kuwait, Robbie Snapp found him wandering around his Nashville apartment shouting, "You're in danger."

The news release for the death of her brother, Staff Sgt. Nathan J. Bailey, says he died Nov. 12, 2003, of a "nonhostile gunshot wound." Though the family was provided records more than six months ago indicating that Bailey committed suicide, Randy Harris, a National Guard spokesman in Nashville, Tenn., said he couldn't confirm how Bailey died because it was still under investigation.

In more than 50 of the 280 noncombat deaths in Iraq, Department of Defense news releases identify the cause in much the same way, using general terms such as "noncombat-related injury" without providing a specific cause. Of those, the Daily News examination found that at least 13 were suicides and four others were likely suicides. In a number of other cases, neither the families nor the military would discuss the specific causes.

The Dayton Daily News searched more than 1,000 Department of Defense news releases and found none that identified suicide as a cause of death. Military representatives often will not confirm suicide as a cause, even when families already are openly discussing the circumstances.

Turner, the military spokesman, said that information is updated once investigations are complete. A military Web site with casualty statistics does identify 29 "self-inflicted" deaths, but it does not identify specific incidents or soldiers. Seventeen other cases are listed as "pending."
Bailey's suicide wasn't a shock to his sister.

"I was worried because I felt like they should not have sent him over there being in the state of mind he was in," Snapp said.

Army records provided to the family show that Bailey had a "long history of mental illness requiring medication."

A toxicology report found that he was taking the drug Olanzapine, which is used to treat schizophrenia by decreasing high levels of brain activity.

As a teenager, Bailey served in the Navy and, after he got out, held a variety of jobs before becoming a maintenance man at a Nashville housing complex, the job he held when his National Guard unit was sent to Iraq. He fought an addiction to drugs, his family said, before becoming a minister and helping others with drug and alcohol problems.

He joined the Guard sometime before 1990 and served in the first Gulf War, according to his family.
Less than a year before her brother was sent to the most recent war in Iraq, Snapp said, she visited him at his Nashville apartment because her mother was concerned that he sounded strange on the phone.

"He started talking like he was in a combat zone, running from people," Snapp recalled.
Snapp said she drove her brother to a Veterans Administration hospital in Nashville, where he was placed in a closed mental ward for several days before being released. Less than a year later, when she heard about his deployment, Snapp said she unsuccessfully tried to stop the military from sending him to Iraq.

"The statement that they made was that as long as he had enough medication (in Iraq) he'd be OK," Snapp said.

A report from the Army surgeon general found that the suicide rate among soldiers in Iraq from January to October 2003 was 21.2 per 100,000, nearly double the overall Army rate of 11.9 from 1995 to 2002 and nearly double the overall U.S. rate of roughly 10.7 per 100,000. Five of the suicides in Iraq occurred in the first 17 days of July 2003, the report says.

The report says that in addition to 17 suicides in Iraq and Kuwait by October 2003, two other soldiers with histories of "psychiatric treatment" committed suicide after leaving Iraq or Kuwait, one occurring in a U.S. treatment facility. A Daily News examination published in October found that at least 16 veterans of Operation Iraqi Freedom committed suicide after returning home.

The surgeon general's report cited marital problems, legal problems, adjustment problems, financial problems and other personal problems as reasons for the suicides.

For a number of families, however, there appeared to be no real explanations.

In a letter to his father postmarked less than four weeks before 23-year-old Spc. Thomas J. Sweet of Bismarck, N.D., apparently shot himself in the head with an M-16 rifle, Sweet asked his parents to send him Ritalin or another drug to help him cope.

"I feel it's the only thing that will get me through all of this without killing someone," Sweet wrote.
In the same letter, he wrote, "I can't help but say I'm having a great deal of trouble dealing with my co-workers. Many of them, it seems, like to go out of their way to piss me off."

Like the families of other soldiers whose deaths were ruled suicides, the Sweets are suspicious. They don't believe the Army's investigation was sufficient, and a captain quoted in an investigative report said he did not believe the gunshot wound was self-inflicted.

Fueling the family's suspicions further is Sweet's autopsy report, which describes his wound as a "near contact gunshot wound," meaning the gun muzzle wasn't resting on his head. The soldier's mother, Elizabeth Sweet, believes it would have been difficult for her son to stretch his arms far enough to place the rifle muzzle away from his forehead.

Sweet's parents were so angry they hung two banners in front of their homes in North Dakota and Maryland. The banners, both accompanied with a photo of their son, read: "George W. Bush sent our son back from Iraq in a body bag."

Pomeroy, the North Dakota congressman, has been trying to help the Sweets.

"I believe that there has been a lot of unnecessary distress to Mrs. Sweet from not being able to know the circumstances that caused the death," he said.

The family of 20-year-old Army Spc. Dustin K. McGaugh isn't convinced he committed suicide, either. McGaugh's body was found Sept. 30, 2003, lying near a bunker, a rifle at his side and a single gunshot wound to his head.

"Dustin wasn't depressed or stressed about the war or anything like that," said his mother, Angie Fischer of Derby, Kan. "He loved the Army. He ate and breathed it. We just don't want his honor to be smeared."

The Army believes McGaugh committed suicide, Fischer said, but the investigation remains open.
"They are just claiming the investigation is stalled," she said. "They sent investigators down to talk with us, but only after we threw a fit.

"We don't want anyone's head on a platter or people to go to jail or anything like that. We just know it wasn't a suicide, and I can't let them do this to Dusty. He wouldn't have done that."

Weapons accidents take toll

Cpl. Kenneth J. Bergin was on his way to tell another Marine about a movie when he heard a gunshot and rushed into the barracks room near the Iraqi city of Najaf.

"I saw shocked Marines standing inside," Bergin said in a handwritten statement to investigators about the death of 19-year-old Pfc. Ryan R. Cox of Derby, Kan. "I saw Cox lying on his side on the floor. I then yelled out (to) get a corpsman, then proceeded to find out what had happened.

"I then jumped down to my knees and asked Cox what happened. He didn't really give an answer. All I saw was a look of pain on his face. Then, all of a sudden, Cox spit blood out of his mouth."

A lengthy investigative report provided to the Cox family says he was shot by another soldier. The Daily News examination found that three other cases termed noncombat deaths by the military involved soldiers shooting soldiers. In those cases, as with the Cox case, Department of Defense press releases don't identify a specific cause.

Asked to confirm that Cox was shot by another soldier, Capt. Chad Walton, a Marine spokesman, said he couldn't confirm a cause of death until the investigation is complete. Told that the father confirmed the cause and that the death occurred nearly 18 months ago, Walton said, "Sometimes even though it seems like it's been awhile, the things they tell the parent are not the things that they are going to officially release."

The Naval Criminal Investigative Service report says that Cox hit another Marine, Pfc. Jeffrey S. Kenyon, with a fly swatter as the two were "joking around."

The report says Kenyon, a friend of Cox's, then picked up his M-16 rifle, which did not have a magazine in it, pointed it at Cox, turned off the safety and pulled the trigger. In a written statement to investigators, Kenyon said he thought the chamber was empty and expected to hear a "click."
Instead, the report says, a bullet hit Cox in the abdomen.

"I dropped the weapon and ran outside the room," Kenyon told investigators. "People were running around getting higher-ups and medical staff. I sat there in shock."

Kenyon pleaded guilty to charges of involuntary manslaughter, dereliction of duty, failure to obey a lawful order and negligent discharge of a firearm, and was sentenced to three years in prison.
A pretrial report says that Kenyon "has shown little to no remorse."

"I would not expect this type of response from anyone who just ended the life of a good friend," the report says.

War underlying cause of deaths

In virtually all cases examined by the Daily News, the causes of the noncombat deaths were directly or indirectly linked to the unusual circumstances and pressures created by the war.

Army Sgt. Linda C. Jimenez, 39, of Brooklyn, N.Y., died Nov. 7, 2003, at Walter Reed Army Medical Center in Washington, D.C., but the chain of events that led to her death began thousands of miles away in Iraq.

Jimenez, taking a break from her duties in Iraq, was shopping with a couple of friends when she fell into a bomb crater, according to her father, Angelo Cruz.

"Her friends got too far ahead of her or something and she went rushing to catch up with them, and she didn't see the hole," Angelo Cruz said.

She broke her nose and injured her knee. Her injuries weren't serious, but while getting medical treatment in Germany, she developed a blood clot that caused her to lapse into a coma.

"That blood clot should not have happened," Angelo Cruz said. "The doctors were incompetent. They should have prevented it with blood thinners or caught it right when it happened."

The military told Angelo Cruz to come to Walter Reed immediately because his daughter had 72 hours to live. He stayed with her until she died.

"It's been a year now, and I just want to try to move forward," Angelo Cruz said. "I miss her."

In Iraq, where as much as 40 percent of the deployments are National Guardsmen and reservists, more than a third of the noncombat deaths involved soldiers 21 and younger. At least 85 deaths, or three in 10, were soldiers 30 or older. About 2 percent were 50 or older.

During the Vietnam War, when hundreds of thousands of teenage draftees were sent to Southeast Asia, more than 60 percent of all deaths involved soldiers 21 and younger, and only one in 10 was a soldier 30 or older. Less than one-quarter of 1 percent were 50 or older.

"I think the reality is that a large percentage of people serving in Iraq never thought that they would have to go to war, didn't prepare to go to war or go to war for so long," said Jonathan Becker, dean of international studies at Bard College in Annandale, N.Y.

"And the effects of that are tremendous in terms of whether they can handle the military engagements in Iraq or the domestic pressures caused from their absences. It all adds to the pressure of what is happening in Iraq."

Lisa Ann Sherman blames the heat, lack of good nutrition and other pressures in Iraq for the death of her husband, Lt. Col. Anthony L. Sherman, 43, who died of a heart attack.

Sherman, who had been in the military since he was 18, controlled his high cholesterol in the United States through diet and exercise. During his eight months in Iraq, the weather made it difficult for him to exercise, and he was forced to eat a diet loaded with high sodium and fatty foods.

Those conditions along with the high temperatures and high stress, Sherman said, combined to cause her husband's heart attack. An autopsy found three of his major arteries fully blocked.
Poor decisions, made under the pressures of war, and carelessness caused other deaths.
Nina Schrage said her son, 20-year-old Cpl. Dustin H. Schrage of Brevard, Fla., should never have been sent on the mission that caused his drowning and that of another Marine.

Her son was one of six Marines sent on a covert mission to swim across a channel to a tiny island in the Euphrates River. Intelligence reports warned that insurgents were using islands in the area to hide weapons and as mortar firing positions, according to a Marines report obtained by the family.
Because they were so close to the island, Schrage's mother believes the Marines could have used boats instead. In addition, she said, the swim fins the Marines used in training weren't shipped to them in Iraq, they hadn't had swim training in a year, their swim vests weren't working properly and they had never trained to swim across a river, especially one with such unusual currents.

"They weren't prepared for it," she said. "My son got completely sucked down.

"The only thing I want right now is for them to tell me, 'You were right.' I want them to tell me they learned something from this. But to do that, they would have to admit they were wrong, and they're not going to do that."

In suicide cases, too, the pressures caused by the war appeared to play a role.

Sgt. Landis W. Garrison, 23, of Rapids City, Ill., died April 29, not long after learning his Illinois National Guard unit's deployment had been extended for up to six months.
"They were in Kuwait waiting to come home when they were extended, and it happened only two days after they arrived back to the post where they were going to be," said his mother, Leah Garrison, who said the family is not convinced it was suicide.

"They were all very upset (about being redeployed)," she said. "They had already been gone for over a year."

Sandra Shull thinks the pressures of the deployment played a direct role in the death of her son, Capt. James. A. Shull, 32, of California.

Capt. Shull had stayed up all night Nov. 16, 2003, helping one of his soldiers cope with marital and other personal problems, she said. The next day, that same soldier forgot to put the safety on a .50-caliber machine gun that was pointed in Shull's direction. The gun went off accidentally, striking Shull in the head, his mother said.

"And just like that, we lost our James, and three beautiful children lost their father," she said.

Families struggle to get answers

Like a number of relatives of soldiers whose deaths were listed as "noncombat," Shirley Bates of Bellaire has had trouble getting answers.

"I don't think the Army is being honest with us," said Bates, whose grandson, Spc. Todd Bates, died Dec. 10, 2003, when he and another soldier from the 135th Military Police Company of Cleveland went overboard in an Iraqi patrol boat.

As with other families, the Bates family has heard several accounts of the events leading up to Bates' death. One account says Bates dove into the Tigris River to save Staff Sgt. Aaron Reese, who also drowned.

In another, a witness alleged he heard three gunshots around the time the men were in the water. In still another, the Iraqi boat driver, the only other person in the boat, saw Bates resurface as he held onto something in the water, only to drop down after the boat driver's glove slipped off as he tried to pull him on board.

Adding to the family's suspicion, Shirley Bates said, was the fact that her grandson's body wasn't found until 13 days after he apparently drowned and that a military escort refused to allow family members and even the funeral home director to see the body after it was flown back to Ohio.
"It wasn't right for them to do that," Shirley Bates said. "It made it seem like they were hiding something.

"I am going to find out what really happened to him no matter what."

In a number of cases, families said, the military did little to ease the additional suffering caused by the uncertainty of what happened to their loved ones. Several families said the military never told them that they could make official requests for records under the Freedom of Information Act, a federal law requiring agencies to release records, and that they only learned they could do so from reporters.

Like Bates, Kim Jordan of Idaho has heard different and conflicting stories about how her husband died.

First, she was told that her husband, Sgt. Curt E. Jordan, 25, died of inhaling fumes from a mine-sweeping operation. Then, she said, she was told that he might have inhaled ammonia fumes. Eventually she got the official version: He choked on a cookie and became asphyxiated. As with other deaths, the official news release issued by the military is less detailed, stating only that Jordan "died of noncombat injuries."

Doris Normandy of Eden, Vt., suspects that the military is hiding something about the death of her son.

Sgt. William J. Normandy, 42, died March 15 during physical training at Camp Virginia, Iraq, just north of Kuwait City. Normandy said the military told her that he died of a heart attack, but she has asked for a complete investigation.

Like other families, Normandy has been waiting months for an official report on the death of her son, a school bus driver and custodian who was sent to Iraq with his National Guard Unit from Vermont.
"I wanted a complete investigation, which I had been promised and promised and promised, and it never arrived," she said. "I don't know why they're keeping that investigation from me.

"If they're not hiding anything, what is the problem?"

Domenica Columbus of Carriere, Miss., said she waited 16 months to get the Army's report on the apparent drowning of her son, Spc. John K. Klinesmith. The report finally came, Columbus said, after she contacted Sen. Hillary Rodham Clinton, D-N.Y.; her own senator, Trent Lott, R-Miss.; her state representative; and a private organization for families of deceased military personnel.

Columbus said her son returned from a mission in 130-degree heat in Fallujah on June 12, 2003, and decided to go for a swim. He wasn't noticed missing for nearly six hours, and his body wasn't found until the next day.

"I have found all I will find out because the Army will not say otherwise," Columbus said. "Once they have put something on ink, I can't go over there and investigate. I wouldn't know how."

The family of 18-year-old Matthew G. Milczark of Kettle River, Minn., is still waiting for information about his death.

His uncle, Scott Milczark, said Matthew died March 8, 2004, about two weeks after arriving in Kuwait, and the family was initially told he likely committed suicide.

More than half of the soldiers sent to the Iraq war who took their own lives did so within the first 90 days in the war area — 25 percent within the first 30 days, the Army surgeon general's report found.
Milczark said the family still doesn't know what specific type of gun was used.

"I understand that they would investigate no matter what, but I don't understand why it would take six-to-eight months or whatever to come up with a conclusion of suicide," he said. "We're at a point now where I don't know that we'll believe what we hear anyway.

"I'm getting the feeling that we're not going to get the truth."

Uncertainty adds to the suffering

The minute Gary Coleman spotted the car carrying men in uniform pulling into his driveway in Pikeville, Ky., he knew what it meant.

"Two officers got out, one on each side of the car," said Sandy Newsom, who is dating the father of Army Cpl. Brent Coleman. "They came to the door, removed their hat and said, `We regret to inform you that Gary Brent Coleman was killed in duty.'

"Gary knew what it was as soon as he saw the car coming. He said, `Oh my God, it's Brent.' "
For families already devastated by the loss of a loved one, the uncertainty of not knowing what happened thousands of miles away, the struggle for answers and the inability to do anything about it can bring additional pain.

A military news release says Coleman, 24, was killed when his Humvee flipped over into a canal, trapping him inside.

The family still isn't sure exactly what happened, whether he was in pursuit of another vehicle at the time, whether rain played a role in the crash, whether the darkness contributed to his death.

"I still don't think anyone really knows what happened with the accident," Newsom said. "This has been so, so hard for the family."

As a high school football player in Kentucky, Coleman shot through opposing defenses so quickly he earned the nickname "Rocket." He enlisted in the Army, at his dad's insistence, following a brief stint at Marshall University.

Three weeks before leaving for Iraq, he married Kirsten Stinley without telling his family beforehand. The accident occurred six days before he was scheduled to come home, and the family had already put out welcome home banners.

"We talked just a few days before he died," his father said. "I told him to just slow down over there and keep his head down. All I cared about was just getting him back alive.

"My life just doesn't mean much anymore with Brent gone. I can't tell you how hard it is to know my son is not going to be with me anymore."

Gary Coleman said he hasn't been able to work in the year since his son died. He's living on disability.

"Losing Brent has darn near killed Gary," Newsom said. "It's so sad."

Crystal Ware, 19, of Bellaire knew when she was pulled out of her high school classroom and saw her mother waiting that something had happened to her boyfriend, 20-year-old Spec. Todd Bates.
"I just started crying, and I couldn't stop. I couldn't believe it," Ware recalled.

Ware and Bates had dated for four years, dreaming of one day escaping the poverty in the Ohio River town just west of Wheeling, W.Va.

"He was the kind of guy any girl would dream of having as a husband," said Ware, who became engaged to Bates as a freshman in high school. "He was good-looking, smart, loved his family and would do anything for anybody.

"He didn't have much, but he made the best of what he did have."

They planned to have children together. "I just wanted to have a little boy that was like Todd," Ware said.

Before he left for Iraq, Bates insisted that he and Ware watch We Were Soldiers, a Mel Gibson movie about a fierce battle during the early days of the Vietnam War.

"It made me scared, and then the nightmare happened to my Todd," Ware said, crying on and off during the interview.

Ware, like Bates' family, is suspicious about the circumstances and the uncertainty surrounding his drowning.

"He was in a dangerous place and something else could have happened that the military doesn't want us to know," she said.

Joseph Maglione Sr. of York, Pa., remembers the day his ex-wife called to tell him the Marines were on their way to her house. They both knew it was about their son, 22-year-old Lance Cpl. Joseph B. Maglione, and they knew the news wasn't good.

"It was so shocking," Maglione recalled. "The pain is just unbelievable."

Maglione and his wife learned that their son committed suicide on April 1, 2003.

An investigative report found that he had showed signs of emotional problems before, and the parents couldn't understand why the Marines still gave him a choice to stay with his unit.

"Even the investigating officer said the situation was handled very, very poorly," Maglione said. "I don't understand why they would give him the choice to go or not, especially if he is showing the signs. I can't tell you the devastation that this puts us through. I cried for a year."