America's Memory

General David Petraeus pinned a Purple Heart on Wayne Swier’s chest as he lay in a Bagram Airfield hospital bed. He had yet to leave Afghanistan with thoughts on his future after a horrific injury but also on one of the buddies he left behind—Curtis “Moose” Oakes. Both were soldiers in the 101st Airborne.

The army sent Swier to Walter Reed Medical Center where he faced over two years of rehabilitation. On his last call with Oakes, they had discussed having a beer soon. Another friend, Aaron Murphy, had been calling Swier regularly, but one day, he called sobbing. He gave him the news that their friend, Curtis Oakes, had been killed. In reality, he had been murdered by a rogue Afghan Border Policeman. The news devastated Swier. He’d lost his best friend.

A few days before, at Thanksgiving, Val Oakes had talked to her son. On November 29, 2010, a chaplain and other officers arrived and delivered the crushing news that her “Moose” had been killed.

“Curtis has been my hero his whole life. Sixteen months after having Curtis, my uterus ruptured, losing Bradley, Curtis's younger brother. He saw me [later], flashed that incredible smile, and ran right over to me, giving me the best hug ever!”1

Curtis Oakes was a giant of a man, standing 6’9”. He played basketball, satisfying the cliché, but wasn’t known as an athlete. His slow manner of running earned him the nickname “Moose,” which he wore proudly. His infectious smile and desire to make others laugh made him a true gentle giant. A caring giant. Full of life.

The United States Army keeps the selection process for Delta Force a highly-guarded secret. Former Delta operator Pat Savidge has said that “It's not always the best guy that makes it. It's the right guy. That’s the key." Most all special operation units have minimum standards for an invite to a selection course. Once there, applicants are tested daily, and many quit as the training tempo increases. Tons of video from the Navy SEALSs BUD/S crucible exists but few are aware of the multi-course process to become an Air Force Combat Controller.

Those trainees know the standard. However, Delta Force selection see many pass the course but don’t select them. Some have Adonis-like bodies and a Harvard intellect. Yet, they don’t make it. William “Chief” Carlson checked off all the qualities one would think are necessary in a Delta operator. He passed the course. Yet, Delta didn’t select him the first time. By his second go-round, they deemed him “the right guy.”

Carlson grew up in the northern California area to a family steeped in Native American history with an older brother and older sister. As members of the Blackfeet, his father and grandmother taught him the Plains Algonquian language. His mischievous nature never worried his mother since he stayed out of major trouble, but his father, a former marine, made life difficult for him. A tough father and tough neighborhood gave him the grit he’d need later in life. He excelled at art and spent hours drawing but also found time for sports and enjoyed football the most. Although he didn’t have the best grades, he managed to make his way through. Over time he developed a love for reading, in particular, biographies and military history.

He considered college and visited the University of California at San Diego in 1979 but surprised his mother that he had joined the army infantry. He became Airborne qualified, earned a Ranger tab, and served with the 75th Ranger Regiment. Carlson left the army after four years but reenlisted in 1985. Before long, he entered the Q-Course for the U.S. Army Special Forces and earn the right to wear the Green Beret. He not only passed but also achieved one of the toughest accomplishments in the army by becoming Combat Diver qualified where many struggle with the physics and physiology in the classroom. Nothing seemed to dissuade the tough Blackfeet soldier.

The list of friends he made along the way remains long and distinguished by others that sewed a Ranger tab on their sleeve or wore a Green Beret. They all called him “Chief,” aside from the military discipline that required those under him to call him Staff Sergeant Carlson, for example. Others might have tried to call him “Carlson,” or “William,” or “Bill,” be he always corrected them.

“No, just Chief,” he’d say.

The proud man never shied away from his heritage. Many might mistake him for another race or another American Native Tribe, but he was Blackfeet, period.

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They’re known as the tip of the spear. Trailblazers we ask to go in first. Highly trained. Fearless.

When America was attacked on 9/11, we needed those trailblazers on the ground in Afghanistan to find those responsible and stop their reign of terror.

Johnny Micheal “Mike” Spann was one of those who dared to enter that rugged and strange terrain. The CIA paramilitary officer and former Marine had received extensive training in intelligence gathering, unconventional operations, and combat leadership.

When one references “boots on the ground,” Spann was one of the first pairs of boots.

As the first combat loss in Afghanistan, his name resonated with many Americans in those early days of the war on terrorism as they wondered what lay before them.

How long would America fight in Afghanistan? How much blood and treasure would be required to end that evil?

Mike Spann grew up in Winfield, Alabama. He was a curious child often found with his nose in encyclopedias. He loved all things military and history but especially became fascinated with the Marines.

He covered his walls with posters of the Few and the Proud. When his family moved, the posters came down but went right back up in the next house.

As he matured he’d set one goal after another such as earning his private pilot’s license at seventeen years of age. He attended Auburn University, excelled academically, and earned a degree in Criminal Justice. He still longed for that military experience.

His father gave him pause since he had become a husband and father. Mike replied that if he didn’t go now he never would.

Fulfilling those early dreams, he attended officer candidate school and became a United States Marine Corps officer.

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An amazing photo from Afghanistan emerged in 2011 of a soldier kissing the helmet atop the battlefield cross for SSG Bryan Burgess. The 101st Airborne Screaming Eagle patch is prominent on medic Brit Jacob’s arm as his hand holds the back of the helmet.

The symbolic act signified something Burgess had done to each of his soldiers prior to a mission. He did this as an act of leadership, sacrifice, and resolve.

His fellow soldiers are quick to speak well of him. They believe he epitomized the selfless, steadfast squad leader; the model leader who didn’t seek credit or complain when events deteriorated. He wasn’t simply a good soldier; he was an outstanding one.

It sounds cliché, but one soldier said he’d follow him to Hell and back. He placed himself in harm’s way often, and they knew they could count on him in the toughest of situations.

He was the kind of man others named their children after, as his commanding officer Tye Reedy did, using the name Bryan for his son. Reedy considered Burgess a man of few words.

Reserved. A silent professional. During the Battle of Barawala Kalay Valley, Burgess gave the ultimate sacrifice for his country.

Bryan Burgess grew up in Cleburne, Texas, thirty miles south of Fort Worth. It’s one of those typical Texas towns passionate about football, cowboy boots, and hard work.

He was well liked by classmates and active in sports but loved soccer the most. He had great concern for his family’s safety, often concerned about someone staying out too late or reminding them to buckle their seatbelt.

After his 1999 high school graduation, he worked for an armored car manufacturer and attended classes at nearby Hill College.

The events of 9/11 changed everyone, and Burgess was no different. He vowed to fight back—for himself and his country. His father, Terry Burgess, said, “He was going to war to fight an enemy that had killed Americans on American soil. Bryan didn't know the victim's names, but he fully intended to avenge them.”

Military service ran through his family with a great-grandfather who had served in World War I, a grandfather in Korea, and an uncle who served in Germany. He chose the army and the infantry so that he could get into the fight. His 2003 transformation from civilian to soldier was notable after basic training, as he lost weight and toned up.

He embraced all the army offered becoming jump qualified and working toward Ranger qualification. Like many, he earned a nickname—the Cookie Monster—for stealing everyone’s cookies, including the First Sergeant’s.

No cookies were safe around him, as one would say, including the one about to enter your mouth.

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