Modest Gulf War Hero Receives Silver Star : Military: A Navy corpsman from Camp Pendleton ran through a mortar barrage to aid wounded Marines.

Navy corpsman Anthony Martin shakes his head in disbelief when talking about that day during the Persian Gulf War when he became a military hero.

Earlier this month, Maj. Gen. Mike Myatt, commanding general of the 1st Marine Division, pinned on Martin’s chest a Silver Star for “conspicuous gallantry” for his actions 13 months ago during an Iraqi mortar barrage.

Although the Silver Star, the third highest award for heroism issued by the U.S. military, made him a bona fide war hero, Martin has a more modest explanation for what he did that day in a Kuwaiti oil field.

“Honest, I was just doing my job. My job is to treat injured Marines,” the 28-year-old said during an interview at Camp Pendleton. “I want to keep this thing low-key. I don’t want the guys I work with to think that I’m a hero.”

But the fact is that Martin is a war hero, albeit a reluctant one. As 82-millimeter mortar rounds exploded around him, the Milwaukee, Wis., native repeatedly ran to the rescue of wounded Marines. He is the only Navy corpsman to be awarded the Silver Star for bravery in Operation Desert Storm.

However, the fame the decoration has brought him in the past few weeks has proved to be a source of embarrassment for the quiet Martin, called “Mar-teen” by other sailors and Marines.

“I didn’t know anything about it until somebody told me last month. I got a phone call from someone who said that I was put in for a Silver Star . . . . You know, I didn’t ask for this.”

Although the petty officer 3rd class downplays his actions, the Marines he was with and the citation accompanying his medal tell a different story. After some gentle prodding, Martin recounted the events of Feb. 24, 1991.

It was the first day of the ground war of Operation Desert Storm, and it was the only combat he was to experience in the brief conflict.

Martin and Marines of L Company, 3rd Battalion, 9th Marine Regiment were assaulting across the Al Wafra oil field when the Americans came across a large group of Iraqi soldiers waving white flags.

“I said, ‘Cool, they’re going to surrender.’ The Marines began frisking them, and the next thing you heard was ‘Whoosh! Whoosh!” said Martin, mimicking the sound of incoming mortar rounds. “They were really hammering us.”

The Americans ran for the safety of their amphibious tractors, followed by the surrendering Iraqis. Martin said the Iraqis pounded on the vehicles’ hatches, begging to be let in.

“I was already inside when I heard people yelling, ‘Marteen! corpsman!’ . . . Why I got out during a mortar attack to treat the wounded, I don’t know. But that’s my job. I thought, hell, if I run through here I’m going to get hit. But I wasn’t,” Martin said.

One of the first of the five wounded Marines he treated was Lance Cpl. Richard Musicant, one of Martin’s closest friends in L Company. The two had spent the previous night talking for more than four hours about home and their families.

A jagged piece of shrapnel had cut a massive swath through Musicant’s left leg, severing an artery. Musicant, from Park Ridge, N.J., was in danger of bleeding to death.

“Tony grabbed me by the front of my shirt and threw me over his shoulder. When he picked me up, I noticed a giant pool of blood on the ground, about 12 inches wide. Blood was coming out so fast the ground couldn’t soak it up. We were going, and I didn’t think my leg was coming with us,” Musicant recalled.

Martin, who is 6-foot-4 and 240 pounds, slung the wounded Marine, along with Musicant’s field radio and other battle gear, over his shoulder and ran about 200 meters to the safety of an amphibious tractor. What made Martin’s feat more remarkable was that, in addition to their regular combat gear, both men were clad in bulky chemical protection suits.

Once in the vehicle, Martin said he used his entire supply of battle dressings and gauze on Musicant’s wound, but that the bleeding continued. So Martin used scissors to cut up the T-shirt he was wearing and stuffed that against the wound.

More than a year later, the 22-year-old Musicant is still being treated for the wound at the Naval Hospital in Balboa Park.

Naturally he is eternally grateful to Martin for saving his life: “God loves Tony. He ran through the mortar attack to save me and other wounded Marines and never got hit. That can only happen if God loves you. . . . I lost a lot of blood and was told that I actually kicked off but was revived by the battalion medical officer.”

Musicant has undergone seven operations on his leg, and Navy doctors say they have four more operations to perform on him before he can be released from active duty.

Martin is not the first combat corpsman in his family. Two of his uncles went to Vietnam, and each served two tours of duty there, Martin said.

Not many support troops earn the respect of infantrymen. Tank or helicopter gunship crews may get an occasional nod of recognition from the grunts. But combat corpsmen like Martin are universally respected in the infantry.

“The whole world was crashing in on me,” Musicant said. “I heard somebody yell that they had to get out of there. I thought I was going to be left behind . . . . But Tony came running out of the blue and carried me to safety. Really, what can you say about a guy who risks his life to save you?”

Navy corpsmen who are assigned to Marine Corps units are always enlisted men and are usually called “Doc” by the Marines with whom they serve. They have possibly the most dangerous job on the battlefield. Treating the wounded under fire, oblivious to the battle and often with only a .45-caliber pistol strapped to the waist for protection, corpsmen have no shortage of courage.

During the Vietnam War, corpsman were the most decorated of the Navy’s enlisted ranks. According to Navy statistics, corpsmen were awarded three Medals of Honor, 29 Navy Crosses, 127 Silver Stars, 290 Bronze Stars and 4,563 Purple Hearts. Almost one-third of the estimated 15,090 corpsmen who served with Marine ground units in Vietnam were wounded in action.

In addition, 620 corpsmen were killed in action. Corpsmen accounted for more than half of the 1,206 Navy enlisted men who died in combat in Vietnam.

With characteristic modesty, Martin said he “felt good” about upholding the corpsmen’s proud battlefield tradition. He plans to give the Silver Star to his mother.

“I called her and told her I’d been decorated,” Martin said. “My mom is something else. She said, ‘I’m really proud of you, Tony. Keep up the good work, son.’ ”