Lone Survivor_ The Eyewitness Account of Operation Redwing and the Lost Heroes of SEAL Team 10 ( PDFDrive )

Afghanistan. I had missed the funerals, which mostly took place before I
returned. And the memorial services immaculately conducted by the navy for my
fallen comrades.
For instance, the funeral of Lieutenant Mikey Murphy on Long Island, New
York, was enormous. They closed down entire roads, busy roads. There were
banners hanging across the highway on the Long Island Expressway in memory
of a Navy SEAL who had paid the ultimate price in our assault on the warriors of
al Qaeda.
There were police escorts for the cortege as thousands of ordinary people
turned out to pay their last respects to a local son who had given everything for
his country. And they did not even know a quarter of what he had given. Neither
did anyone else. Except for me.
I was shown a picture of the service at the cemetery graveside. It was held in
a slashing downpour of rain, everyone soaked, with the stone-faced Navy
SEALs standing there in dress uniform, solemn, unflinching in the rainstorm, as
they lowered Mikey into the endless silence of the grave.
Every one of the bodies was flown home accompanied by a SEAL escort
who wore full uniform and stood guard over each coffin, which was draped in
the Stars and Stripes. As I mentioned, even in death, we never leave anyone
behind.
They closed Los Angeles International Airport for the arrival of James Suh’s
plane. There were no arrivals and no takeoffs permitted while the aircraft was
making its approach and landing. Nothing, until the escort had brought out the
coffin and placed it in the hearse.
The State of Colorado damn near closed down for the arrival of the body of
Danny Dietz, because the story of his heroism on the mountain had somehow
been leaked to the press. But like the good citizens of Long Island, the people of
Colorado never knew even a quarter of what that mighty warrior had done in the
face of the enemy, on behalf of our nation.
They actually did close down the entire city of Chico, in northern California,
when Axe came home. It’s a small town, situated around seventy-five miles
north of Sacramento, with its own municipal airport. The escort was met by an
honor guard which carried out the coffin in front of a huge crowd, and the
funeral a day later stopped the entire place in its tracks, so serious were the
traffic jams.
It was all just people trying to pay their last respects. The same everywhere.
And I am left feeling that no matter how much the drip-drip-drip of hostility