A Somberly Silent Roll Call Punctuates Service at Ft. Bliss

In a corner of West Texas, an Army base stopped Friday to confront the real face of war -- real bullets, real destruction, nine helmets perched atop rifles in a silent tribute to the dead.

As a bugler played taps, residents of Ft. Bliss and neighboring El Paso gathered for a memorial service for nine soldiers killed March 23 when a convoy of the 507th Ordnance Maintenance Company was attacked in southern Iraq.

“Our hearts are heavy,” Lt. Col. Thomas Drake, an Army chaplain, told an overflow crowd of more than 1,500.

In front of Drake, Ft. Bliss officials had assembled a precise line of nine framed photos, nine rifles, nine helmets, nine Purple Heart medals and 18 boots. Behind him hung an American flag. Drake asked the mourners to see new meaning in its colors: blue for the soldiers still in danger, red for the blood of those who died, white for peace.

“The separation is painful,” Drake said. “We hurt at the deepest levels of our being.”

The hourlong ceremony was held in the same sprawling hall where the 507th had gathered in February before deploying to Iraq. Perhaps it was only fitting, then, that the service ended with a roll call.

“Private Brandon Sloan” a senior sergeant barked out, as though it were merely time for the soft-spoken 19-year-old to peel potatoes or change the oil in a military vehicle. There was, of course, no answer.

“Sloan,” the official called again.

Nothing.

The roll call went on through eight more names, met each time with silence. One sergeant -- one of the few Ft. Bliss soldiers who hadn’t yet been deployed overseas -- stood at attention, clenching his fists so tight that his knuckles were white.

For relatives and friends of the dead soldiers, it has been a frustrating and heartbreaking three weeks, and the questions continued to percolate Friday.

On March 23, as U.S. forces began their drive toward Baghdad, about three dozen soldiers from the 507th -- approximately one third of the company -- were ordered to link up with the 3rd Infantry Division. The 507th is a support company dedicated largely to upkeep and maintenance of the Patriot missile system. That day, according to the Army, the soldiers were told only that they were needed to “turn wrenches.”

Near the city of Nasiriyah, Iraqi forces believed to be from the Fedayeen Saddam, Saddam Hussein’s paramilitary force, fired on the convoy.

U.S. Marines were able to rescue part of the group. At least nine soldiers were killed.

One soldier, Pfc. Jessica Lynch, a supply clerk, was rescued last week in a daring raid on an Iraqi hospital. Five other soldiers -- four men and one woman whose frightened eyes danced across television screens last month when their capture was videotaped by Iraqi soldiers -- are listed as prisoners of war.

Initially, the military explained that the convoy must have taken a wrong turn in the Iraqi desert. Immediately, the soldiers’ families questioned that assessment, particularly since soldiers carry global positioning systems devices to guide them.

Last week, military officials were able to determine, by interviewing survivors, that the convoy came under attack after it stopped to repair two broken vehicles. That news brought solace to some families -- but it remains the most detailed explanation most have received.

The soldiers in the convoy were cooks, welders, mechanics and computer specialists and did not expect to see front-line combat, something many of their families have said makes it more difficult to cope with their deaths. Some of the dead soldiers’ relatives have also publicly questioned whether Iraq posed a viable threat to global security and whether President Bush, as he insists, was truly forced to attack.

“I don’t believe they had to go to war,” said Howard Johnson, whose son Pfc. Howard “HoJo” Johnson II, 21, of Mobile, Ala., was one of the 507th soldiers killed. The soldier’s parents traveled to El Paso for the service.

“I’m hoping that my son’s life was not lost in vain,” said the soldier’s mother, Gloria.

Officials seemed determined to confront those sentiments Friday. “There is nothing I can say that will change what happened,” Col. Robert Woods Jr. told the crowd. “Every one of us wishes that our loved ones, our heroes, were back with us. When a nation goes to war, soldiers are deployed on front lines.”

But Woods assured the crowd that the dead soldiers “would ask each and every one of us to celebrate their lives and not to focus on the deaths.”

“Remember the many years of smiles, of laughter,” he said. “They would want you to remember the good times. They would want you to remember the very first time you saw them marching across a parade field. Their chests were out. Their chins were high.... Today we should salute them for their leadership, for their sense of duty.”

The soldiers were also remembered as individuals -- a notion that can be lost in the military culture.

Officials remembered Sloan as a soldier who was an inspiration to his teammates, Johnson as a deeply religious man who was admired in the company.

Pvt. Ruben Estrella “Star” Soto, 18, of El Paso loved a challenge and was looking forward to his wedding.

Spc. Jamaal R. Addison, 22, of Roswell, Ga., was remembered for his “quiet competence,” Spc. James M. Kiehl, 22, of Comfort, Texas, for his enthusiasm and his love of fast cars.

Pfc. Lori Ann “Pie” Piestewa, 23, of Tuba City, Ariz., the first female American soldier killed in the war, had a bright smile and enormous pride in her Native American heritage. Sgt. Donald Ralph Walters, 33, of Salem, Ore.; Master Sgt. Robert J. Dowdy, 38, of Cleveland; and Chief Warrant Officer Johnny Villareal Mata, 35, of El Paso were applauded for the advice they passed on to younger charges.