MOMENT OF TRUTH: Deciding to fight in a war
By Chris Sheppard

Midshipman Chris Sheppard undergoes inspection by his nemesis, Sergeant Trent Gibson. Photo by UW NROTC photographer

On October 17, 2002, I checked my e-mail before I headed to class. I didn’t like what I saw. I took a deep breath, stared hard and long at the screen, and missed my class. My world was changing unexpectedly. The e-mail said, “You have been ignoring your responsibilities. You need to make a decision about what is more important, your carefully crafted plans or your commitment to the United States Marine Corps.”

I was being asked to go fight in a war.

I was a graduate student at Arizona State University getting my master's degree in mass communication, with a focus in journalism. This is not how my life started out.

In 1997 I graduated from the University of Washington. My future at that time was unambiguous; I was an officer in the United States Marine Corps. I subsequently served four rewarding and educational years on active duty in Quantico, Virginia, Camp Lejeune, North Carolina, and Kaneohe Bay, Hawaii. When my four-year commitment was up, I decided to leave the active-duty Marine Corps and pursue other interests. I was 26, way too young to be committing to a 20-year career in the military. I didn’t have the drive or desire to be a career officer, but I did enjoy being a Marine and decided to join the Reserves.

I had joined the Marine Corps for the promise of adventure, not for a stable career path. I had been captivated by the stories of the enlisted Marines going through the Naval Reserve Officer Training Corps (NROTC) program with me. They told tales of the tragedy in Beirut, the Persian Gulf War, the chaos of Somalia, Thai and Philippina whores, banana shows and bar fights in Okinawa, beautiful Brazilian girls, pulling into Australian ports and sacking the town, and strange and mysterious ceremonies conducted at sea for crossing the Equator and International Date Line. They talked of drinking and carousing in far-off places: Rapungee, E Tae Wan, Olongapo, Subic Bay, Pattaya Beach, Phuket, Bahrain, Perth, Singapore, Waikiki, Sydney, and Kuta Beach. My class officers spoke of wild nights at the “officers club” before the Tailhook scandal. They also spoke reverently about the pride and thrill of command. They taught us the glorious history of the United States Navy and Marine Corps, and how we could write future chapters in that hallowed tome.

I couldn’t wait.

Chris Sheppard's parents pin on second lieutenant bars during his commissioning ceremony. Photo by Kenneth Strickland.

I received my commission as a second lieutenant June 13, 1997. I was barely 22 and eager to barrel headlong into the adventures that awaited me. On that beautiful late spring day in Seattle, my family watched me raise my right hand and swear to support and defend the Constitution of the United States of America. My grandmother, only weeks from death, cried and told me in her soft Appalachian accent, “Chris, you have made me so proud. Your grandfather is smiling down from heaven.”

Standing there, ramrod strait in my dress blues, I felt transformed, no longer a young man but a comic book superhero. Movies were made and books were written about guys like me. I was wearing a striking uniform from a long-gone era and an 18th-century Arabic sword called a Mamaluke. I was a modern-day knight, with all the chivalry and romance that words can conjure. I could feel the ghost of John Paul Jones hovering over me and the piercing stares of thousands of dead Marines from battles past, watching and judging me as my parents pinned on my gold bars. I felt a great responsibility not to let those great men down. I knew I had to do my duty. I saw all issues, political, ethical and personal, as black and white, right or wrong. I had little room or tolerance for the myriad shades of gray in between.

Lieutenant Sheppard's best friends party the night he is commissioned. Photo by Chris Sheppard.

That night, we freshly minted ensigns and lieutenants went downtown to our favorite watering hole, the Owl n’ Thistle, and drank like Vikings. The Redhook and Guinness flowed. We congratulated each other and patted ourselves on the backs for proving ourselves worthy of entering the naval fraternity. We were now men. We quoted Shakespeare’s Henry V and sealed our brotherhood with shots of Jameson and Patron. Pretty college girls, whom we had known for years and would never see again, flirted dangerously with us. Jack Geary, a talented (and pickled) Irish gentleman who owned the Owl n’ Thistle and sang lead in the house band, bought us round after round and wished us Godspeed on our journey into the unknown.

We ended up on stage drunkenly singing “Ring of Fire” and “Margaritaville.” We were junior officers in the United States Navy and the United States Marine Corps. We were going off to the edge of the empire to protect the freedom and interests of the people of the United States and project American power. John Wayne was our hero, and Ronald Reagan was our President. We were going to sail the world, show the flag, and crush anybody inside our left and right lateral limit. What a noble calling...