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The War Profiteers - War Crimes,
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October 28th,
2007 - GI from S.A. is no Longer at War, but Facing a Fight News article by the San Antonio Express-News |
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GI from S.A. is no Longer at
War, but Facing a Fight By Sig Christenson San Antonio Express-News October 28, 2007 Honolulu - Being Trey
Corrales would be hard enough after 15 months at war, but these days his
world has gone from scary to downright strange. Memories of leading an elite
scout team in a dangerous swath of northern Iraq - the last mission ending
with the slaying of an Iraqi detainee - are hard to separate from the
knowledge that he could be headed toward the trial of his life. This was all in the back of
his mind on a recent sunny Saturday as the former Burbank High School
football star worked the sidelines of a big green field in the center of an
extinct volcano. It felt good coaching a kids' flag football team, his son
playing defensive back just as he once did. But when he saw a reporter taking
pictures, he knew it wasn't for the sports pages. "It was a surreal
moment, like, I'm right here coaching a game, just came back from a combat
situation, defending my country, and this is so great that I'm home, and I'm
so happy to be home," Corrales said. "But yet, I'm charged
with premeditated murder. This is like, wow, and I've got a reporter right
here taking pictures of me so he can print something in the paper about me.
And I don't know what he's going to print, and I don't know how things are
going to turn out. "But here I am, right
here. This is what I'm doing, right here and now." Right here and right now for
Corrales includes making the adjustment to civilian life after hundreds of
risky missions - a daunting task in the best of times. It includes knowing
that 10 soldiers, his men, died Aug. 22 when a helicopter he would have been
on if he hadn't been charged and reassigned crashed. And it includes having
the grisly details of the Iraqi's killing unfold in an open military hearing
with Corrales at the center of the story. Corrales didn't attend the
Article 32 evidentiary hearing in Hawaii this month, but he's heard about it
from his attorney and read the stories. He won't discuss the case on the
advice of the attorney, St. Mary's University School of Law graduate Frank
Spinner, but he agreed to an interview on condition that he not be asked
about what happened that night. The media glare has spared
no one. After one day of testimony, TV crews encircled defense attorney
Michael Waddington, who represents another soldier charged in the case,
outside the courthouse as he compared Corrales to a sadistic character in
Oliver Stone's movie "Platoon." At home that night, his son,
Trey Albert II, 10, saw a television report that said his father could face
the death penalty. Defense attorneys dispute the claim, but the Army says it
hasn't decided. "People are saying
stuff at school," the boy told his father. "This girl told me that
you killed and raped a little girl." Corrales relayed the story
with incredulity. "I was like, 'Son, that didn't happen. That's
craziness, that's a different story, and I can't believe that that little
girl told you that.'" The last mission It was the last mission for
both Shore and Corrales, a highly regarded sergeant first class who ran the
Headquarters Company, 2-35 scout platoon. Shore, 25, of Winder, Ga.,
initially told investigators that he shot at the man on orders from Corrales.
But he claimed at the hearing to have fired away from the victim. The idea,
he said, was to placate Corrales, a man he said once put a knife to an
Iraqi's tongue. Soldiers at the hearing, the
military's equivalent of a grand jury, sketched a damning portrait of
Corrales' behavior that night. Those men, his own handpicked troops, said he
had ordered them to execute any "fighting-age" male. They said it
wasn't the first time he had given such a command or the first time they
ignored it. The order came in the last
hours of June 22, after the scouts were summoned to raid a cluster of homes
in Al Shaheed, a short helicopter ride from the platoon's base in Kirkuk. The
scouts were told that insurgents had fired on an Army helicopter. One man, whose identity
remains a mystery even today, was taken outside to a courtyard. Spc. Franklin
Hambrick testified that Corrales told the prisoner to run, "and the guy
looked at him, dumbfounded." Shore, who was briefly outside, told the
court, "I remember the guy started backing up." Shore and Corrales are
charged with shooting him multiple times. Corrales' attorney, Spinner,
said testimony supportive of Shore "represents embellishment and
exaggeration," though he offered no elaboration. ‘Tough love’ There's no doubt after the
hearing that Corrales was a strong-willed figure in his platoon. But quietly,
he concedes only dishing out "tough love" when needed - and says it
wasn't personal. He acknowledges having the
power to fire GIs from the unit - a humiliating prospect for his men - but
rejects the accusation that he physically threatened them or broke Army
rules. "There were a lot of
them, even after all that was said, that said they would still serve in
combat with me," Corrales said of the recent testimony. "Most did,
and I think the two that didn't, they're in the survival mode, and Shore
being one of them. And I understand. I can't hate anybody for that." While some soldiers felt the
turmoil of serving under Corrales, others said they'd want him on their side
on the battlefield. "Even though he was
aggressive and angry, in a combat situation he would not run out on us,"
testified Sgt. David Morgan-Benford. Soldiering is Corrales' life,
so tied to his existence he re-enlisted this year when a comrade needed one
more GI to make his retention goal. A Ranger, Corrales revels in
hitting the weight room, doing push-ups, running the extra mile and giving
classes in the war zone to keep troops sharp. He calls himself a
"hands-on" leader, one known in his younger days to yell at and
"smoke" subordinates - forcing them to do strenuous exercises if
they broke the rules or fell short of Army standards. One soldier who crossed
paths with him in Hawaii, Paul Edwards of San Antonio, said Corrales enjoyed
smoking privates and once made him do push-ups after deeming his haircut
nonregulation. Corrales said he'd like to tell Edwards "this isn't
personal, brother," but called smoking better than using more formal
disciplinary measures, which could damage a career. Corrales said Col. Michael
McBride, his former battalion commander, once told him he had "it"
- the ability to perform, to charge hard and work well with a team. But if
his in-your-face leadership style has left a bitter aftertaste for some,
Corrales will tell you he's "extremely passionate" about a job in
which lives are at stake. Those who think of him as a
cowboy, he said, miss the point of how he leads. "The word cowboy is an
undisciplined person in our field, you know what I mean? You just go out
there, shoot them up, do whatever you've got to do and you're sloppy about it
and all this other crazy stuff," he said. "I'm definitely not a
cowboy or a rebel. I'm not this Che Guevara type of guy, you know. I am
passionate about my job, though. I believe in doing everything in my power to
accomplish a mission that I've been tasked with. And with this being said,
legally, if they tell me to accomplish a mission, I'm going to do it." Another side Ask Corrales what he wants
even now, and he'll tell you a 30-year Army career. But just how that will
happen, with his life in legal limbo, isn't clear. His attorney, Spinner,
calls him "a hero in my book" but admits this is one of his
toughest cases. The Army is likely to try
Shore and Corrales separately, with the first proceeding here in the spring
if it is ordered by the 25th Infantry Division's commander. Spinner is
developing a defense strategy, but said Corrales will plead not guilty. He
stops short of explaining how the shooting went down. "Because there's a lot
more work to do that requires expert involvement, many of these questions
will not and cannot be answered until trial," Spinner said. "Let me
just say that the factual scenario is much more complex than what it appeared
to be in Shore's Article 32 hearing." Spinner skipped an Article
32 hearing set last week for his client because it would have given
prosecutors a good idea of how he might try the case. But two things are
certain: If a trial is ordered, he'll try to ding the testimony of those who
appeared at Shore's hearing. He also will find others who'll tell the jury
about another, more positive side of Corrales. It's a side he has seen. "He smiles a lot,"
Spinner said. "He's happy to be alive." Tossing a football on the
sidelines before the game starts, Corrales surveyed the field. "Rough birthday,"
he said. But if Corrales' 35th came
amid a gut-wrenching legal process, he isn't struggling with the odd feeling
of still being in Iraq even though he's home. "I'm here, and I think
that for this trip it is because of what happened with my guys in the
helicopter," said Corrales, who also served in Afghanistan. "It's
made me more here than there." External link: http://www.mysanantonio.com/news/metro/stories/MYSA102907.01A.Corrales.34ef1b4.html War’s pain haunts accused
Georgia soldier Jeered on the plane home, then backed by platoon mates, Spc. Phil
Shore is charged with murdering an Iraqi detainee. By Moni Basu Atlanta Journal-Constitution October 28, 2007 Honolulu - The chartered jet
skimmed the deep blue Pacific and touched down at Hickam Air Force Base
carrying a planeload of soldiers home from 15 weary months at war. It should
have been a euphoric moment for Phil Shore — the moment that all soldiers
dream of the entire time they are away. But it wasn't. It had been a tough
deployment, one that scarred in so many ways. The young warrior from Winder
thought about this as the jet sat on the tarmac for an unusually long time. Around him, soldiers were
fidgeting. "Sit down!"
shouted an officer. "Nobody's going anywhere." The next thing he heard on
the intercom was his own name. "Specialist
Shore!" The 25-year-old Georgia
soldier collected his backpack and walked down what seemed like a
never-ending aisle to the front of the plane. "Criminal!"
shouted one soldier. "Con Air," said
another, referring to the action film featuring a prison plane. Shore felt his face flush
red. He was humiliated. Angry. The Army accuses Shore of
murdering an Iraqi detainee, but Shore maintains his innocence. It cut deep
that American soldiers were so quick to judge one of their own. The jeers stung Shore all
the way to Schofield Barracks, home of the 25th Infantry Division. There, the
Army tried to place him under a "no-contact order," which meant
Shore would have to stay at least 500 feet away from his platoon mates, who
returned to Hawaii in early October, a few days ahead of Shore. Shore immediately called his
lawyer, Michael Waddington of Augusta. He told him he needed his platoon
mates around him. They were his ballast. "I would've been
completely alone," Shore says. "Being charged with premeditated
murder, that's a hard thing to grab hold of." The platoon had gone through
so much, scathed by every facet of the war: injury, stress, wrongdoing and
death. They were determined to get
through it all together. At Shore's Article 32
hearing last week, his fellow platoon members occupied a row of courtroom
seats. They sat still for nine hours listening to testimony that Maj. Gen.
Benjamin Mixon, division commander, will consider when deciding within weeks
whether to press ahead with a court-martial. At the end of the day, Sgt.
Sergio Pena gave Shore a hug: "We're with you, man." Shore’s version of events In the early morning hours
of June 23, an Iraqi detainee in U.S. custody was shot five times in a rural
house near the northern city of Kirkuk. The Army accused Spc. Christopher P.
Shore and his platoon leader, Sgt. 1st Class Trey A. Corrales, of killing the
unarmed man. In court, Shore's lawyer
Waddington painted Corrales as a sadistic sergeant who was out for blood.
Waddington argued Corrales shot the detainee and then ordered Shore to finish
the man after he was already down on the ground, bleeding profusely. Shore
said he pointed his M-4 rifle toward the ground and popped off a couple of
rounds, intentionally missing the wounded man. The next day, he and three
other soldiers from his platoon reported the incident to their supervisors. The Army, however, doubted
Shore's story and after a month of investigations, charged him with
premeditated murder. It's likely that prosecutors won't seek the maximum
penalty of death, but Shore could still face life in prison. A shocked Shore finished his
days in Iraq confined to Forward Operating Base Warrior, where his company
was stationed. He was barred from carrying a weapon, but unlike Corrales, he
was allowed to stay in his own bunk, among his friends. It's what saved him
in the waning days of the deployment, especially after the tragedy that
consumed the platoon in August. 10 platoon mates killed Two days after the Article
32 hearing, Shore and his closest buddies gather at Spc. Kenneth
"Hoot" Van Houten's apartment in Kapolei, a Honolulu neighborhood
25 minutes from Schofield Barracks. Since the homecoming earlier
this month, the routine involves drunken revelry at night, nursing hangovers
in the mornings and segue into afternoons watching football. Sometimes they talk about
Shore's predicament. Or about Corrales' character. And their adventures in
combat. They make the Mr. Spock
split-finger Vulcan hand sign and laugh at an inside joke they don't care to
explain to outsiders. On this Saturday, Spc.
Freddy Ray Meyers plants himself on the couch, a protective helmet hugging
his head. A sniper's bullet hit Meyers in May. He made a miraculous recovery
at the National Naval Medical Center in Bethesda, Md., but half his skull is
missing. He is waiting for surgeons to reconstruct what he lost. Meyers, affectionately
called "Fredo," is the first to laugh about his life-threatening
injury. It's how he - and everyone else - copes. "If you touch me here,
you're touching my brain," he says, exposing Jello-soft skin and a
horseshoe scar arching his head. Ohio State is leading
Michigan State 24-17 late in the fourth quarter when a postman delivers two
plastic foot lockers freshly arrived from Iraq. One contains Shore's
belongings. He breaks open the box and
gets out his computer's external hard drive. He's anxious to show everyone
photographs. There are photos of Meyers,
when his head was intact; when he was a burly infantryman without fear. "Hey, look,
Fredo," Shore says. "There you are." Shore clicks through
hundreds of pictures. So many of the faces are gone now. Almost half of
Shore's platoon - 10 soldiers - died when a Black Hawk helicopter carrying
them back to base crashed on Aug. 22. "I remember they read
out all the names," Shore says, recalling that day's confusion.
"The names didn't stop." From his locker, he takes
out the Velcro name tags of each of the fallen. He gathered them before the
Army shipped off the belongings of the dead. "You can process one
guy but 10 of your best friends in the whole world?" he says. Shore had planned to room with
Cpl. Nathan Hubbard when they got home. "Baby Hubb" joined the Army
with his brother Jason after another brother, Jared, a Marine lance corporal,
was killed in Ramadi in 2004. Jason, like the celluloid Private Ryan, was the
only Hubbard boy who went home to his parents. At the memorial service in
Iraq, Shore stood before 10 helmets on upended rifles and 10 pairs of empty
boots and fought his way through the two-minute speech he had written about
Baby Hubb. "How do you sum up
someone in a few minutes?" Shore says. "I cried through the whole
thing." Staff Sgt. Jason Paton was
to be married in mid-November. Shore bought his ticket to California online
the day before the crash. After Paton died, his family promised to forward
donations made in his name to help pay for Shore's legal costs. Cpl. Jeremy Bouffard's wife,
Amanda, gave birth to son Caleb two weeks before the company left for Iraq in
August 2006. "That's all Jeremy
talked about - his son," Shore says. "He wanted to see him
walk." Shore was one of the few
parents in the young platoon. Before he comes home to Winder in November, he
plans to visit daughters Cassidy and Kristen, who live with their mother in
Florida. He and Bouffard spoke often about being dads. Bouffard's widow and mother
flew from western Massachusetts to Hawaii to welcome the platoon back. At
first Shore is unsure of Amanda's reaction to talk about her husband. But
then he musters the courage to ask: "Have you seen the pictures,
Mandy?" "I haven't seen
any," she says. The few seconds of silence
seem eternal. There really isn't a clear answer at the other end. Do you want to know how your
husband died? Or what it felt like to load his coffin onto the C-130
transport plane? Do you want to know what we talked about the last time I saw
him? These are questions that don't get asked today. Many of the conversations
are punctuated by awkward pauses. No one is sure, really, what to say. It's best to laugh. They
imitate "Bouff" quoting movie lines. They recall how he had left an
eight-months pregnant Amanda outside to wash the car while he partied with
the boys in the kitchen and forgot the task at hand. Bouffard's mother, Paula,
helps cook a breakfast of eggs, potatoes and pancakes. "I wanted to meet
the guys, they meant so much to my son," she says. Back home, Paula Bouffard
has a photo of Shore on her refrigerator. She can't understand how the Army
can accuse him of murder. "It's a whole bunch of
craziness," she says. "It could've been my son in that same spot. I
know what my son was like. I know how I raised him. I know the integrity of
the people he hung out with." Uncertain future The people Bouffard's son
hung out with are the same ones who keep the "what-ifs" from
driving Shore insane. What if he had not been inside
that Iraqi house on that summer night? What if the detainee hadn't died two
days later from his wounds? What if the deployment had
not been extended from 12 to 15 months? "They'd be alive right
now," he says about the soldiers killed in the Black Hawk crash. Then, he abruptly cuts off
his thoughts. He has to. Shore and the rest of the
scout platoon live for the moment. The past is marred and is a reminder that
the future could bring more of the same. The Story So Far - On June 23, a scout
platoon in the 25th Infantry Division was called out to assist in a raid near
the northern Iraqi city of Kirkuk. An unarmed Iraqi detainee was shot
multiple times. He died several days later. - Spc. Christopher P. Shore
of Winder says his platoon leader, Sgt. 1st Class Trey A. Corrales, a native
of San Antonio, ordered him to "finish" the man after he was
already injured and on the ground. Shore says he intentionally missed the man
and reported the incident to his supervisors the next day. - On July 18, the Army
charged Corrales and Shore with premeditated murder. The Georgia soldier
maintains his innocence. - In early October, the 25th
ID soldiers came home to Schofield Barracks, Hawaii, after a 15-month tour in
Iraq. - On Oct. 18, the Army held
an Article 32 hearing, the equivalent of a grand jury investigation, for
Shore. At that hearing, Shore's lawyers painted Corrales as a sadistic
sergeant. Corrales waived rights to his hearing. - What's next: Division
commander Maj. Gen. Benjamin Mixon will look over the Article 32 findings and
make a decision in coming weeks on whether Shore and Corrales should face
court-martial External link: http://www.ajc.com/metro/content/metro/stories/2007/10/28/platoon_1029.html |