US, other Japan allies condemn Goto’s execution

YOKOHAMA, Japan — The United States joined Japan’s allies Saturday in condemning the apparent execution of freelance journalist Kenji Goto by the Islamic State group.

Defense Secretary Chuck Hagel offered condolences on behalf of the U.S. military soon after the release of a video on the Internet that purportedly showed the beheading of Goto, 47.

“Like many of his journalist colleagues, Mr. Goto went to dangerous places to tell stories that needed to be told,” Hagel said in the statement.

“His murder, which follows that of his countryman Haruna Yukawa, reminds the world of the threat we confront in the Islamic State of Iraq and the Levant (ISIL), while it reinforces our global coalition’s commitment to degrade and ultimately destroy ISIL.

“The United States and its military will continue to stand alongside our Japanese allies, and we send our thoughts and prayers to Mr. Goto’s loved ones and all the people of Japan.”

Goto, an experienced journalist who had made multiple trips to Syria to cover the conflict there, had traveled there this time in a bid to help free Yukawa, a friend from previous travels.

The White House condemned Goto’s death as a “heinous murder” and applauded Japan’s contributions to refugee aid in the Middle East.

“Through his reporting, Mr. Goto courageously sought to convey the plight of the Syrian people to the outside world,” according to the statement. “Our thoughts are with Mr. Goto’s family and loved ones, and we stand today in solidarity with Prime Minister [Shinzo] Abe and the Japanese people in denouncing this barbaric act.”

Australian Prime Minister Tony Abbott, who supports U.S. operations targeted at the Islamic State group, called the act the latest in a string of atrocities by the militants during a press conference Sunday.

"This just demonstrates how important it is that all countries do what they reasonably can to disrupt and degrade this death cult, which has ushered in a new dark age over parts of the Middle East," Abbott said.

British Prime Minister David Cameron said that the United Kingdom stood united with Japan, and called Goto’s death “a reminder that ISIL is the embodiment of evil, with no regard for human life.”

Slavin.erik@stripes.com; Twitter:@eslavin_stripes

After deaths of 44 Filipino officers in raid, question remains: Is Marwan dead?

MANILA, Philippines — The cellphone message of the Filipino police commandos to their base was triumphant: "Mike 1 bingo," a code meaning they have killed one of Southeast Asia's most-wanted terror suspects, Malaysian Zulkifli bin Hir, also known as Marwan.

But the euphoria among police generals monitoring the Jan. 25 dawn assault in a southern swampland was brief.

As daybreak lifted their night cover, the young commandos came under intense rebel fire, trapped in the marshy fringes of Mamasapano town, a Muslim rebel stronghold about 1.2 to 1.8 miles from where backup police forces waited. Unable to carry Marwan's body, one of the commandos chopped off his finger and another took pictures as proof of his death, according to police officials.

Another policeman kept frantically calling for reinforcements by radio, but standby forces failed to penetrate the battle scenes and the pleas for help eventually vanished.

"There was radio silence, a very long silence," Chief Superintendent Noli Talino, who helped oversee the operation, said in Friday's eulogy, his voice breaking.

The fighting left 44 commandos dead — the biggest single-day combat loss by government forces in recent memory — and a familiar question: Is Marwan dead or alive?

Commanders and a confidential police intelligence report say Marwan was killed, something they expect to be validated by DNA tests. A purported picture of the slain militant circulating in the local media closely resembled Marwan's profile in wanted posters. But many remained skeptical.

In 2012, the Philippine military announced that Marwan and a Singaporean militant known as Mauwiyah were killed, along with a Filipino Abu Sayyaf extremist commander, in a U.S.-backed airstrike on southern Jolo island. The operation employed American-supplied smart bombs for the first time.

Filipino police intelligence officials, however, believed Marwan and Mauwiyah survived and continued hunting them. They have since launched at least two major secret attempts to capture Marwan in the southern Philippines, where according to U.S. authorities, he has been hiding since 2003.

A U.S.-educated engineer, thought to have been born in Malaysia's Muar town in Johor province in 1966, Marwan is among the last few known surviving militants of his generation of al Qaida-inspired extremists who survived the anti-terror crackdowns in Asia following the Sept. 11, 2001, attacks in the U.S.

Known as a master bomb-maker, Marwan also was very skilled in evading capture. He had more than two dozen aliases and spoke the languages of Malaysia and the Philippines, along with English and Arabic.

Marwan used to head a terrorist group called the Kumpulun Mujahidin Malaysia, and also was a senior member of the Indonesia-based Jemaah Islamiyah terrorist network, according to the U.S State Department, which offered a $5 million bounty for his capture and prosecution.

The JI was blamed for the 2002 nightclub bombings that killed 202 people in Bali, Indonesia.

It was in the southern Philippines, though, where he stayed longest, taking cover among Muslim separatists fighting a decadeslong rebellion. He had three Filipino wives, who helped him assimilate and blend in. He struck alliances with Muslim insurgents from virtually all groups and provided bomb-making and religious training in exchange for sanctuary, according to government terrorism reports.

He allegedly helped plot numerous bombings and other attacks.

But after surviving the 2012 airstrike, Marwan proved to be a liability for the Abu Sayyaf, one of four rebel groups operating in the south. He was reportedly expelled from Jolo island by an Abu Sayyaf commander, Radulan Sahiron, who believed the Malaysian was a magnet for military attack, according to a government interrogation report of a captured militant commander, Khair Mundos.

From Jolo, Marwan traveled to the marshy heartland on the main southern island of Mindanao and strengthened his alliance with a notorious local bomb-maker, Abdul Basit Usman. Police said that Usman and Marwan were together during Sunday's assault, but Usman escaped.

"There are reports that they run factories of improvised explosive devices, which they sell to fellow terrorists," President Benigno Aquino III said this week. "They have injured and killed many people, and they continue to threaten the safety of our citizens as long as they roam free."

Police commandos nearly caught him in July 2012, in a remote farming village off Butig town, near a key camp of the Moro Islamic Liberation Front, the largest rebel group that signed a peace deal with the government last year. The group has agreed to a cease-fire that requires government forces to notify the insurgents in advance of any planned anti-terror raids to avoid accidental clashes.

The commandos missed Marwan that time, but they did seize a huge cache of explosives, electronic bomb parts, assault firearms, ammunition, Islamic extremist books and two laptop computers, according to a confidential police report.

The laptops contained old U.S. Army manuals on counterintelligence, combat, explosives and survival techniques.

Washington has increasingly grown worried about Marwan. U.S. security officials were concerned when Marwan's character was depicted in a 2012 video war game in which he narrowly escapes U.S. forces in the southern Philippines but later dies in a suicide attack on a train.

They feared that the video may raise Marwan's stature among foreign jihadis and help him raise terror funds, a Philippine security official told The Associated Press on condition of anonymity because he was not authorized to talk to reporters.

Even before the latest raid, the commandos tried but failed to capture him near the corn-growing community last year. Military officials have long suspected that Marwan eluded arrest by taking cover near rebel strongholds.

On Sunday night, the police commandos did not notify the Moro rebels of the raid, officials said.

Was it worth sacrificing 44 elite police troopers to get an international terrorist, Talino, the police commander, posed a question at the eulogy.

"We live by our motto: We save," he said, holding back tears. "I'm sure if you will ask them, it is worth it."

At Got Your 6 event, Michelle Obama defends 'American Sniper'

NEW YORK — First lady Michelle Obama urged Hollywood to give a more accurate portrayal of veterans and defended the Oscar-nominated "American Sniper," which has received criticism for its depiction of war.

Bradley Cooper, who is nominated for best actor for his portrayal of the late Navy SEAL sniper Chris Kyle, joined Obama and media heavyweights in Washington, D.C., on Friday to launch "6 Certified" with representatives from Warner Bros., National Geographic Channels and the Producers Guild of America.

The initiative will allow TV shows and films to display an onscreen badge that tells viewers the show they're watching has been certified by the group Got Your 6, which derives its name from military slang for "I've got your back." To be approved, the film or show must cast a veteran, tell a veteran story, have a story written by a veteran or use veterans as resources.

"We hope our country will welcome back our veterans — not by setting them apart but by fully integrating them into the fabric of our communities," Obama said.

Obama also came to the defense of "American Sniper" — about Kyle, considered the most lethal sniper in U.S. military history. It has become a box-office sensation and has strong supporters but has also weathered a growing storm of criticism that the film glorifies murder and serves as war propaganda.

"While I know there have been critics, I felt that, more often than not, this film touches on many of the emotions and experiences that I've heard firsthand from military families over these past few years," she said.

Chris Marvin, managing director of Got Your 6 and a former U.S. Army officer and Blackhawk helicopter pilot, said their campaign isn't hoping to show veterans in a good light but in an honest one.

"Most Americans tell us that they only see veterans portrayed as broken or as heroes who walk on water in film and television," he said by phone. "We're missing something in the middle. Veterans are everyday people.

"They're your next door neighbor who helps you bring your garbage cans back when they blow away. They're your kids' fifth-grade math teacher. It's the person running for city council," he added. "You see them every day in your own life but you don't see them on film or television."

The Got Your 6 group was launched in 2012 to enlist Hollywood in the effort to discourage stereotypes and promote more accurate representation of the 2.6 million soldiers coming home over the past 10 years. Surveys have found that many Americans presume veterans suffer from post-traumatic stress disorder, are homeless or are addicted to drugs or alcohol.

The group has taken lessons from other successful efforts to change national viewpoints, including increasing gay rights, reducing teen pregnancies, encouraging colonoscopies, improving animal rights and reducing drunken driving. It has identified Hollywood as an engine of cultural change.

"This is more of a challenge than anything else. We're challenging the entertainment industry — myself included — to live up to the responsibilities inherent in the powers we have and with the reach that we have," said Charlie Ebersol, a producer and creator of the "6 Certified" program.

Ebersol said films like 1987's "Full Metal Jacket" by Stanley Kubrick and Clint Eastwood's new "American Sniper" would likely be eligible for certification because they portray veterans accurately, even if the soldiers in those films aren't representative of the population of veterans.

Obama cited TV shows including "Nashville" and "Doc McStuffins" as ones that share stories of "our veterans in new and meaningful ways." She said telling veterans' stories honestly makes for "tremendous TV and movies" and "are good for business as well."

Ebersol had his own list of shows with positive veteran portrayals, including the Jay Pritchett character in "Modern Family," Sam Waterston's portrayal of veteran Charlie Skinner on "The Newsroom" and Seth Rogen's guest role as a veteran on "The Mindy Project." In all them, being a veteran wasn't their defining characteristic.

"We have a real opportunity to go way beyond the platitudes of the entertainment industry. We love to say, 'I support the troops!' and 'I've got a yellow ribbon!' but there's an actual, tangible way to make a difference. That's what the challenge is here."

Terrorists? Extremists? White House wrangles with rhetorial terminology

WASHINGTON — Twice this month, the White House has publicly grappled with the politically fraught language of terrorism.

In the days after a deadly terror spree in Paris, President Barack Obama was criticized for purposely avoiding calling the attacks an example of "Islamic extremism," settling for the more generic "violent extremism." This week, the White House struggled to explain why the administration sometimes classifies the Afghan Taliban as a terrorist organization — and sometimes does not.

The rhetorical wrangling underscores the extent to which a president who pledged to end to his predecessor's war on terror is still navigating how to explain the threats that persist to the American public — while also being mindful of the impact his words can have abroad.

"They do believe that the part of the roots of terrorism comes from the way the United States acts and talks and is perceived globally," said Trevor McCrisken, a professor at Britain's University of Warwick who has studied Obama's foreign policy rhetoric.

The early January attacks on a French satirical newspaper and kosher deli put a fresh spotlight on what Obama's supporters see as his appropriately careful language and his critics see as overly cautious.

French Prime Minister Manuel Valls said the attacks that left 17 people dead suggested the world was "waging a war against Islamist extremists." And British Prime Minister David Cameron, on a visit to Washington two weeks ago, said Europe and the U.S. face a "very serious Islamist extremist terrorist threat."

Obama, however, assiduously avoided associating the attacks with Islam, a decision White House spokesman Josh Earnest said was made for the sake of "accuracy."

"These are individuals who carried out an act of terrorism, and they later tried to justify that act of terrorism by invoking the religion of Islam and their own deviant view of it," Earnest said. "We also don't want to be in a situation where we are legitimizing what we consider to be a completely illegitimate justification for this violence, this act of terrorism."

Obama's conservative opponents quickly seized on the president's rhetorical choice and cast it as an example of the White House downplaying the root cause of the terror threat. At least one Democrat — Hawaii Rep. Tulsi Gabbard, an Iraq war veteran — agreed, saying the president's terror terminology matters, particularly as Congress weighs a new authorization for military action in Iraq and Syria.

"By his not using this term 'Islamic extremism' and clearly identifying our enemies, it raised a whole host of questions in exactly what Congress will be authorizing," Gabbard said on Fox News. "Unless you understand who your enemy is, unless you clearly identify your enemy, then you cannot come up with a very effective strategy to defeat that enemy."

Similarly, retired Lt. Gen. Michael Flynn, who until last year was director of the Defense Intelligence Agency, told a conference in Washington last week that "you cannot defeat an enemy you do not admit exists."

The president has long tried to shift his administration's terror rhetoric away from what he saw as the hyperbolic terminology used by his predecessor, George W. Bush, particularly his declaration in the aftermath of the Sept. 11, 2001, attacks that the U.S. was engaged in a "war on terror."

In a high-profile national security address in 2013, Obama declared, "We must define our effort not as a boundless 'global war on terror,' but rather as a series of persistent, targeted efforts to dismantle specific networks of violent extremists that threaten America."

Under Obama's narrower definition, his advisers say the U.S. is at war with terror groups like al-Qaida and its affiliates, as well as the Islamic State group.

Given the U.S. policy of not making concessions to terrorists, the White House has refused to negotiate with Islamic State militants to free American hostages and opposes Jordan's ongoing efforts to orchestrate a prisoner swap with the group. However, the U.S. did negotiate with the Taliban through an intermediary last year to free American Sgt. Bowe Bergdahl in exchange for five Afghan detainees at the Guantanamo Bay prison.

The White House insisted anew this week that those negotiations did not violate U.S. policy because the administration does not classify that Taliban as a terrorist organization — though officials said there are overlapping characteristics.

"They do carry out tactics that are akin to terrorism. They do pursue terror attacks in an effort to try to advance their agenda," Earnest, the White House spokesman, said. The difference, he said, is that the Taliban threat to the U.S. is mainly confined to interests in Afghanistan, while a group like al-Qaida has broader ambitions.

Yet even the administration's classifications of the Taliban have some contradictions.

The Afghan Taliban is not on the State Department's list of Foreign Terrorist Organizations, thereby allowing the White House to engage in the negotiations for Bergdahl. Yet the Treasury Department does list the Afghan Taliban on the list of specially designated terrorists, giving the U.S. the ability to freeze the assets of the group and its members.

Associated Press writers Ken Dilanian in Washington and Sylvie Corbet in Paris contributed to this report.

Islamic State launches assault on Iraq's oil-rich northern city of Kirkuk

(Tribune Content Agency) — Islamic State militants launched a multi-pronged attack Friday on the northern Iraqi oil hub of Kirkuk, seizing a downtown building and attacking at least three points along the city’s defensive perimeter, authorities said.

Iraqi Kurdish forces said they had beaten back the assault, but a well-known commander of the Kurdish peshmerga, Brig. Gen. Sherko Shwani, was among at least seven Kurdish fighters reported killed in fighting in and around the city. Dozens of militants were reported killed in the various attacks.

The Islamic State strike came as the extremist group has suffered a series of battlefield setbacks in Iraq and neighboring Syria, puncturing the indomitable image that the group has tried to project.

The militants this week retreated from the northern Syrian city of Kobani after failing to overrun the Kurdish-controlled town on the border with Turkey.

In northern Iraq, Kurdish forces have been steadily closing in on the city of Mosul, an Islamic State stronghold. Some speculated that Friday’s attacks on Kirkuk may have been an effort to divert or stretch Kurdish manpower.

Several Islamic State attacks were also reported Friday on Kurdish positions south and east of Mosul. The Kurdish news site Rudaw reported that heavy fog had prevented deployment of aircraft from the U.S.-led coalition that has been bombing extremist positions for months.

Kurdish reinforcements were reportedly being rushed to Kirkuk, a long-contested city in the middle of an oil-rich stretch of Iraq.

Forces from Iraq’s semi-autonomous Kurdish region swept into Kirkuk last year when Iraqi government troops retreated in the face of a rapid Islamic State advance through northern and western Iraq. The Kurds hold a more than 600-mile front-line against Islamic State units.

Kirkuk is vulnerable to attack from sleeper cells in the city and militant positions just a few miles way, Kurdish officials say. Islamic State covets the city for its oil riches and its symbolic significance to Iraqi Arabs, who dispute Kurdish claims on Kirkuk.

Friday’s attack featured a dramatic militant takeover of the former Kirkuk Palace Hotel, preceded by the explosion of a car bomb outside the centrally located structure, which has been vacant for years. Footage from the scene showed Kurdish forces firing from the street into the six-story hotel and climbing into the building as militants emptied rounds from their perches.

Kurdish fighters stormed the hotel and killed four attackers, said Ferhad Hama, police spokesman in Kirkuk. All were wearing suicide belts, he said. The militants wanted to set up sniper positions and fire on the city, the spokesman said.

“Their intention was to control the center of Kirkuk and create chaos there,” said Hama, speaking by telephone.

Kurdish authorities have been concerned about Islamic State sleeper cells within Kirkuk, which has a mixed population including Kurds, Sunni Arabs and Christians. The city has also absorbed tens of thousands of people displaced in fighting elsewhere.

In the pre-dawn hours Friday, authorities said, Islamic State fighters, under cover of inclement weather, attacked Kurdish lines to the south, southwest and east of Kirkuk, resulting in fierce gun battles. The various assaults appear to have been coordinated, Kurdish authorities say.

Shwani, who was the commander of the 1st Peshmerga Brigade, was a familiar figure to many as he was often interviewed in television reports from the front line.

Iraqi officials called the assault on Kirkuk a sign of Islamic State’s desperation as its momentum has been halted.

“It comes as a cover for the successive defeats that have befallen the terrorist Daesch organization,” Salim al-Jaboori, head of the Iraqi Parliament, told Iraqi state television, using the Arabic acronym for Islamic State.

To the east, in Iraq’s Diyala province, the Kurdish press reported that seven peshmerga troops were killed in a suicide attack in the township of Jalawla, close to the Iranian border. Iraqi government forces said this week that they had chased most Islamic State forces from Diyala province, long a flash-point for sectarian-fueled violence.

Elsewhere in Iraq, a pair of bombs exploded Friday in Baghdad’s Bab al-Sharqi district, home to a large market and shopping distict. A local media outlet, al-Sumariyah News, reported 44 dead and 70 wounded in the twin attacks.

Islamic State militants have been conducting a regular bombing campaign in the capital, often targeting Shiite neighborhoods. Islamic State is a radical Sunni organization that views Shiites, the majority sect in Iraq, as apostates.

Times staff writer McDonnell reported from Beirut and special correspondent Bulos from Amman, Jordan.

©2015 the Los Angeles Times. Distributed by Tribune Content Agency, LLC.

Obama helps Modi close in on US Navy know-how

NEW DELHI — India is closer to accessing the latest American technology for launching warplanes from carriers as Prime Minister Narendra Modi deepens defense ties with the United States to help counter China's growing naval power.

The odds of U.S. government permission to export the system to India probably rose after President Barack Obama and Modi said they'd explore ways of sharing aircraft carrier technology, said Vivek Lall, the chief executive for U.S. and international commercial strategic development at San Diego-based General Atomics Electromagnetics. The company pioneered the technique.

"A lot of progress has been made on the defense side," Lall said in an interview in New Delhi on Tuesday, Jan. 27, during a visit to India as part of a business delegation traveling with Obama. "We're actually now identifying real technologies that are required and where the U.S. could contribute."

China poses challenges for Modi along a disputed land border as well as at sea, sending submarines to a Sri Lankan port near India's coast last year in a show of power. Modi's response is faster military modernization, including a $20 billion blitz of approvals for arms purchases since coming to office in May. India and the U.S. are taking defense ties to a new level, Modi said on Sunday, Jan. 25, after a summit with Obama.

The General Atomics launch system can be used for a variety of warplanes, including jets and drones, unlike existing technology that's more restrictive, Lall said, adding the company would need U.S. navy and official export clearance.

"We are pleased with the presidential announcement regarding the establishment of a bilateral working group on aircraft carrier technology sharing and design, and we are looking forward to exploring this extraordinary area of opportunity with our Indian counterparts," said Marine Corps Lt. Col. Jeffrey Pool, a Pentagon spokesman.

Nungsanglemba Ao, an Indian defense ministry spokesman, declined to comment about the possibility of India requesting the launcher technology from the U.S.

India has two aircraft carriers, both decades old: one was obtained from Britain's Royal Navy and the other is a refitted Russian vessel. A third, indigenously-made carrier is under construction, and two more are planned by 2027.

India intends to operate at least three carrier battle groups in the next 15 years to protect its maritime interests, Admiral R.K. Dhowan said in New Delhi in August 2013. He was the vice chief at the time and now heads the navy.

The existing carriers have a ski-jump design that depends on a warplane's own thrust to get it aloft, limiting the jets that can be deployed. The General Atomics system uses electromagnetic force to help propel planes into the sky. It's being fitted to the Gerald R. Ford, the latest generation of U.S. carrier.

General Atomics and its affiliates specialize in technology ranging from electromagnetic systems to unmanned vehicles such as the Predator drone. U.S. lawmakers have tentatively approved its proposal to sell unarmed Predators to the United Arab Emirates, the first sale of the reconnaissance aircraft outside the North Atlantic alliance.

Obama and Modi renewed an India-U.S. defense cooperation framework for a decade, and emphasized the potential for technological collaboration. A joint India-U.S. statement flagged the need to safeguard maritime security in the South China Sea, where neither has territorial claims.

China, which boasts one of Asia's largest navies, responded by saying non-claimants should butt out. The Chinese fleet includes stealthy, almost impossible-to-detect submarines capable of carrying nuclear missiles.

"What the U.S. has done during Obama's visit, in terms of expressing intent to sharing its aircraft carrier technology with India, is a huge signal to China, even a warning, that it's willing to work with India," said Surya Gangadharan, an independent security analyst in New Delhi.

India, the world's largest importer of major weapons, is the biggest defense export market for the U.S. Modi, trying to spur domestic production, boosted the cap on foreign-direct investment in defense to 49 percent from 26 percent last year.

His efforts to accelerate spending on arms and overcome a history of corruption scandals that slowed military purchases are stirring interest.

Larsen & Toubro Ltd., India's largest engineering business, said last month that Europe's Airbus Group NV is assessing whether to boost its stake in their defense joint venture. Boeing Co. is already looking for investment options.

BAE Systems, Europe's largest defense company, said this month it's given India the option of making howitzers locally to help conclude a deal that would equip an army strike force patrolling the Chinese border with the weapons.

Lall said there's potential for General Atomics to establish a joint venture with an Indian counterpart.

"We've been talking to several companies," he said. "There's a perceptive change in the U.S. that I see on their attitude towards India. The new government has taken some steps in the right direction from the policy framework standpoint. Companies have re-energized in terms of their India strategy."

Reported with assistance from Tony Capaccio in Washington.

Pilots disabled critical computers moments before AirAsia crash

JAKARTA, Indonesia — The pilots of AirAsia Flight 8501 cut power to a critical computer system that normally prevents planes from going out of control shortly before it plunged into the Java Sea, two people with knowledge of the investigation said.

The action appears to have helped trigger the events of Dec. 28, when the Airbus Group NV A320 plane climbed so abruptly that it lost lift and it began falling with warnings blaring in the cockpit, the people said. All 162 aboard were killed.

The pilots had been attempting to deal with alerts about the flight augmentation computers, which control the A320's rudder and also automatically prevent it from going too slow. After the initial attempts to address the alerts, the flight crew cut power to the entire system, which is comprised of two separate computers that serve as backups to each other, the people said.

While the information helps show how a normally functioning A320's flight-protection system could have been bypassed, it doesn't explain why the pilots pulled the plane into a steep climb, the people said. Even with the computers shut off, the pilots should have been able to fly the plane manually, they said.

Flight 8501 climbed more than 5,000 feet (1,524 meters) in less than 30 seconds, rising above the altitude where it was authorized to fly, Ertata Lananggalih, an investigator with Indonesia's National Transportation Safety Committee, said in Jakarta on Thursday.

The co-pilot, with 2,247 hours of flying experience, was at the controls and communicating with the ground while the captain, who had 20,537 hours, was monitoring, said Mardjono Siswosuwarno, the lead investigator of the crash. The account was the first description of the last moments of the plane.

The investigators didn't address whether pilots had cut power to the flight augmentation computer system and said they wouldn't release more information on the case.

From a cruising altitude of 32,000 feet, the single-aisle A320 climbed to 37,400 feet as pilots probably tried to avoid bad weather, Lananggalih said. The aircraft then descended slowly for three minutes before it disappeared, he said.

"The pilots were conscious when the maneuver happened," he said. "They were trying to control the airplane."

The aircraft, operated by the Indonesian affiliate of Malaysia-based AirAsia, disappeared from radar en route to Singapore from Surabaya.

Indonesia won't release a preliminary report on its investigation into Flight 8501 because fact-findings could change rapidly, Tatang Kurniadi, head of the commission, said Thursday. Indonesia sent the preliminary findings to all countries involved in the investigation on Jan. 28, Kurniadi said.

The pilots had sought permission from air traffic control to turn left and then to climb to 38,000 feet because of storm clouds. Four minutes after the request, a controller cleared the pilots to climb to 34,000 feet, he said.

Satellite imagines showed storm clouds that reached as high as 44,000 feet, according to investigators.

The aircraft was in "good condition," said Siswosuwarno.

All Airbus models produced since the 1980s are designed to prevent pilot errors from causing crashes. The planes are controlled by multiple flight computers, which limit pilots from overly steep turns or getting too slow.

In the event of a malfunction or loss of power, the flight protections will shut down and leave the pilots to fly the plane manually. That appears to be what happened before Flight 8501 entered the steep climb and stalled, the two people said.

Investigators are still trying to determine why the pilots would cut power to the FACs by pulling a circuit breaker in the cockpit.

Indonesian authorities have so far recovered at least 70 bodies from the search. Investigators still haven't managed to lift the fuselage of the jet. The tail section of the plane has been retrieved. Indonesia's military pulled out of the search this week.

The cockpit-voice recorder captured the pilots' voices and no explosion was heard, Nurcahyo Utomo, an investigator with the committee, said last week. The flight-data recorder captured 1,200 parameters and the voice-recorder captured the last two hours and four minutes of the flight, the investigators said. The two devices are called the black boxes. After studying data from the black boxes, authorities ruled out terrorism as a factor that brought down the plane.

Flight 8501 appeared to have stalled after climbing steeply, Minister of Transportation Ignasius Jonan said earlier this month. A stall occurs when airflow over the wings is disrupted or becomes too slow to provide lift and keep a plane aloft.

Indonesia has said it intends to shut the agency responsible for coordinating aircraft flight slots in three months. That's after the AirAsia flight took off on a Sunday, without a Ministry of Transportation permit to fly that day.

The government has since suspended the license of AirAsia for that route, found other airlines in breach of permits and removed officials involved from the ministry, AirNav Indonesia and state airport company PT Angkasa Pura 1.

The airline made an administrative error in flying QZ8501 on Sunday, AirAsia Indonesia Chief Executive Officer Sunu Widyatmoko said Jan. 13. The carrier didn't inform the Directorate of Air Aviation on the schedule revision, he told parliament in a hearing.

Park reported from Singapore. Andrea Rothman contributed from Toulouse, France.

Oh, the places you'll SWO: Naval Academy seniors pick ships

Congratulations!

Today is your day.

You're off to Great Places!

You're off and away!

— "Oh, the Places You'll Go" by Dr. Seuss

Two-hundred midshipmen and 43 more,

Had so many choices up there on the boards.

Home ports in Virginia, Pearl Harbor or Spain,

Perhaps San Diego, Japan or Bahrain.

ANNAPOLIS, Md. (Tribune News Service) — "I know you're saying to yourself, where do I want to live?" Vice Adm. Thomas Rowden said.

Midshipmen sat before him at the U.S. Naval Academy. On stage, displayed on boards, were names of more than 150 ships to be chosen by senior (first-class) midshipmen.

"I say to myself, there's not a bad ship," Rowden said.

He walked across stage Thursday during ship selection night in the Mahan Hall theater. There were spotlights and film crews and a red velvet curtain.

"There is a world of opportunity just waiting for you," he said.

Ship selection night is part awards show, part NFL draft. The top of the class picks first. Some ships have few openings, such as the USS Donald Cook, its home port on the coast of Spain. It had two.

A military film crew streamed it all live online to families across the country, to ships around the world. Afterward, a table of swag awaited midshipmen, gifts sent by captains: water bottles and pint glasses and belt buckles and hats, all with ships' names.

"These are happy tears," Molly Hanna said, wiping her eyes after picking the USS Stockdale, its home port in San Diego. Hanna graduated in 2011 from St. Mary's High School in Annapolis.

Stockdale had only three openings: Hanna picked the last one.

Andrew Foard of Severna Park chose the USS Makin Island on advice from his girlfriend.

Foard graduated from Severn School in 2010. His girlfriend will live with him. Makin Island also has a home port in sunny San Diego.

"She had very much of a say."

These 243 midshipmen were assigned in November as surface warfare officers or "SWOs." Others assigned as Marines, submariners and Navy pilots don't pick ships.

The midshipmen cheered in their seats. Families and friends howled from the balcony. One young woman held a sign invoking Dr. Seuss: "Oh, the places you'll SWO."

Just so many ships to choose in the hall,

The USS Barry, the Cole or McFaul.

Vice admiral said that no ship is a loser,

Choose a destroyer, command ship or cruiser.

What seas await, what ports, who could know?

Oh, just imagine the places you'll SWO.

———

©2015 The Capital (Annapolis, Md.)

Visit The Capital (Annapolis, Md.) at http://ift.tt/Ytb2Al

Distributed by Tribune Content Agency, LLC

New sergeant major of the Army sworn in

WASHINGTON — Sgt. Maj. Daniel Dailey was sworn in Friday as the new sergeant major of the Army, becoming the service chief’s top adviser on matters affecting enlisted soldiers.

He takes over the post at a time of transition for the Army. The force is emerging from more than 13 years of warfare, and is facing major troop level cuts and budget restrictions that are already impacting servicemembers and their families.

Dailey is no stranger to the challenges facing the troops. He enlisted in 1989 and became an infantryman. Early in his career he participated in Operation Desert Storm, and later went on four overseas deployments in support of Operation Iraqi Freedom and Operation New Dawn. He was awarded the Bronze Star with Valor for his actions with the Army’s 4th Infantry Division during the “Battle for Sadr City” at the height of the insurgency in Iraq.

“I’ve trained and fought with those soldiers [I’ll be representing],” Dailey said during an interview with Stars and Stripes in his new office.

Prior to becoming sergeant major of the Army, he served as command sergeant major of the United States Army Training and Doctrine Command.

“He brings this broad experience of both understanding the institutional side as well as the tactical and operational side” of the force, Army chief of staff Gen. Ray Odierno said during the swearing-in ceremony at the Pentagon. “In my mind, there’s no one more qualified to take on the responsibility and the challenges that our Army faces in the future.”

Dailey, a native of Palmerton, Pa., said he didn’t seem destined for leadership when he was young.

“I was just somewhere in the middle of the class [academically],” he told the audience. “I played high school sports but I wasn’t a superstar athlete … By all accounts I was just a poor average kid from northeastern Pennsylvania.”

He credits others for molding him into someone who could rise to the top.

“How does the middle of the road guy make it to this rank, to wear this rank, to represent the finest fighting force the world has known? The answer is simple … It’s leadership. Leadership from great soldiers, noncommissioned officers, and officers that I served with over the years,” he said.

“Leadership is not born, it’s built over time. It takes great leaders to build leaders, and I’m merely a product of the best the Army has ever had to offer. It is no less their achievement that Dan Dailey is the 15th sergeant major of the Army.”

Many of Dailey’s mentors were at the ceremony, including former company, brigade, and division commanders. Dailey honored them all by name.

“These professionals took a poor kid off the streets of a zinc town in northeastern Pennsylvania and built him into the soldier you see today. So Gen. Odierno, if I mess this up now you know exactly who needs to be held accountable,” Dailey joked.

Dailey used his own life story to encourage others who might not stand out in their early lives and careers.

“Any soldier in today’s Army, even an average soldier like [I was], has the potential to be an Army senior leader someday,” he said. “It just requires two things: great leadership and a strong Army family.”

Dailey replaces Sgt. Maj. Raymond Chandler, who is retiring from the service.

harper.jon@stripes.com

Twitter: @JHarperStripes

Remains of MIA Kelder identified, but family still has questions

CAMP FOSTER, Okinawa — The family at the center of a court battle with the government over the identification of a loved one missing in World War II got the news last week that they had been waiting for: Pvt. Arthur “Bud” Kelder had been identified and would be coming home.

Yet after they began to look at the report from the Joint Prisoners of War, Missing in Action Accounting Command Central Identification Laboratory, their jubilation turned to dismay.

They are being given only a minute percentage of Kelder’s skeletal remains, leaving the vast majority of bones in the government’s possession unidentified. In addition, the family says the government has made procedural missteps and used flawed science, making the ID questionable.

“It’s definitely progress,” Kelder cousin John Eakin said about presumptive ID. “I don’t want to sound ungrateful, like I just want a little more, and a little more and a little more. But I just don’t see this as a valid ID because of the way they went about it.”

Eakin, who is suing the government for a timely identification on behalf of the family, said they intend to fight until they get a “good identification.” They want to wait until all testing is complete, so they can bury all of Kelder’s remains at once. They are asking that the most advanced techniques be used to verify remains in question — to ensure that Kelder’s remains have not been buried in caskets of others already identified and returned to other families. That would also address concerns that other remains have been misidentified.

A spokeswoman for the defense accounting agency, Lt. Col. Melinda Morgan, declined to answer questions about the case but said the family had to “accept the ID” before Kelder would be officially considered accounted for.

Court records indicate the family was notified of the identification on Jan. 22. Eakin said they were immediately pressured to drop their lawsuit, filed in 2012. He said they were told to accept the identification as is, or Kelder’s remains could be buried in a veterans cemetery without their involvement.

Joining the suit

Two other families have joined Eakin in his lawsuit against the government.

The family of 2nd Lt. Alexander “Sandy” Nininger Jr., who was posthumously awarded the first Medal of Honor of World War II, filed legal paperwork on Jan. 23.

Government records indicate Nininger could be buried in grave J-7-20 at the Manila cemetery, near Kelder’s former resting place. The motion was filed by Nininger’s nephew, former Rhode Island state Sen. John A. Patterson.

Sally Hill Jones filed suit on Dec. 4 seeking the identification of a set of remains that has been in the JPAC lab since 2005. JPAC officials said the remains do not belong to her uncle, Staff Sgt. Carl Holley, but according to court documents, they said they used an “unaccredited test protocol” to arrive at the “unvalidated” result. Jones says she will continue to fight in court for an ID.

The government’s accounting agencies have been plagued with problems for years, from questionable recovery results and internal turf wars to phony repatriation ceremonies. In February 2014, Secretary of Defense Chuck Hagel ordered a major reorganization of the agencies.

Eakin said his family questions how the Kelder identification was handled; they are being given only three long bones and a skull. The JPAC-CIL report says it is “possible” that more of Kelder’s remains will be identified.

“I don’t expect to get every finger and toe,” Eakin said. “But where is the rest?”

The report states that the remains were “moderately comingled,” requiring DNA analysis. The lab used mitochondrial DNA and Y-STR DNA testing, which tries to make a match using the maternal and paternal family lines of DNA. However, those processes are not exact and have a margin of error. Experts have said those tests are better used to exclude remains, not to make identifications. More precise nuclear DNA testing was not used.

JPAC did not follow the standard accounting practice of exhuming all of the remains buried together and identifying them concurrently. Four servicemembers whose remains were found with Kelder’s were allegedly identified after the war. Stars and Stripes obtained documents in December that said those identifications could be incorrect.

“It’s certainly a mess now,” Eakin said. “I am not trying to stir the pot just to stir the pot. All of these guys deserve to come home.”

Eakin believes Kelder’s ID was made prematurely to compel him to drop his suit. The government filed a motion to essentially end the court case on the same day that the family was notified of the ID, before they viewed the report. That would cancel claims by Jones and Patterson as well.

“Callous doesn’t begin to describe how I took what they did,” Eakin said.

Scientific certainty?

Stars and Stripes first detailed the Kelder case in 2013. He was one of 14 servicemembers and NAVY employees who died at the hands of the Japanese on Nov. 19, 1942, at the Cabanatuan Prisoner of War Camp in Luzon. The men were buried in communal grave 717.

After the war, four were identified and returned to the U.S. for burial; the other 10 were buried in Manila as unknowns.

In 2009, Eakin began to probe his cousin’s case. He soon discovered that the Army knew Kelder had been buried in one of 10 plots. He narrowed it down further through his research. Only one of the unknowns had gold dental inlays like his cousin. His theory was backed by two forensic dentists.

According to documents, Eakin contacted JPAC and the Defense POW/Missing Personnel Office.

JPAC’s former scientific director and deputy to the command for CIL operations, Thomas Holland stated in a Jan. 28, 2013, memo that the case did not meet the standard of “scientific certainty” necessary to justify disinterment for DNA identification. JPAC commander Maj. Gen. Kelly McKeague, now interim deputy director of government personnel accounting, used Holland’s memo as the basis for JPAC’s opinion, which was reiterated by DPMO — virtually ending Eakin’s quest.

Eakin decided to sue, representing himself for most of the case.

Eakin discovered that Rick Stone, then a JPAC investigator, had been asked to look into the Cabanatuan grave 717 remains by JPAC’s deputy to the commander for external relations and legislative affairs, Johnie Webb. Stone had recommended forensic review in reports to Webb, saying that the 10 men could likely be identified. He also said that the four IDs could be incorrect.

Stone, who says his methods were called “voodoo” by JPAC officials, feels vindicated by the ID.

“I literally begged them to test my methods on a case like Pvt. Kelder’s,” he said. “They just laughed at me. Pvt. Kelder is coming home and I don’t think anyone in the JPAC command is laughing now.”

With a judge considering wresting control away from JPAC, the government exhumed the 10 sets of remains in August and have been working on identifications.

Eakin said the government has not disinterred the remains attributed to the four men from grave 717 — Pfc. Daniel Bain, Pfc. Juan Gutierrez, Sgt. Lawrence Hanscom and Pfc. Harvey Nichols.

Looking for answers

Patterson, who is Nininger’s nephew, said Eakin inspired him to take a similar action on behalf of his uncle. Grave J-7-20 contains the unknown remains of X-1130.

According to the report for X-1130, the remains were first thought to be Nininger’s and were close to being positively identified as the Philippine scout. A height discrepancy halted the ID.

Patterson said the methodology used at the time has been debunked. He wants the remains exhumed and tested to see if they belong to his uncle.

Nininger was killed while charging alone into enemy territory and engaging in vicious hand-to-hand combat with Japanese invaders on Jan. 12, 1942, near Abucay, Bataan, in the Philippines, according to his Medal of Honor citation. He was wounded several times but managed to destroy enemy foxholes, killing groups of soldiers and snipers.

After the position was retaken, a dead enemy officer and two dead enemy soldiers lay by his side.

Patterson hopes the Medal of Honor’s cache will call attention to Eakin’s case and help other families get answers.

“I’d love to see someone from the government side step in and say, ‘We’re going to do this right,’” he said. “It’s just awful.”

burke.matt@stripes.com

Navy investigating F/A-18E's Berkeley flyover that sent Twitter abuzz

BERKELEY, Calif. (Tribune Content Agency) — The U.S. Navy is investigating a military jet that zoomed over Berkeley this week after residents reported it flew frighteningly close to homes and UC Berkeley, a Navy spokeswoman said.

Lt. Reagan Lauritzen, a media officer for the Naval Air Force, said the investigation into Tuesday's flyover is "based on local reporting of the flight pattern."

"While training missions in the local area are common and the pilot was under positive FAA control, the U.S. Navy is investigating the flight to ensure the aviator complied with all FAA and U.S. Navy regulations," Lauritzen said in an email.

The flyover sent Berkeley into a frenzy shortly before 2 p.m. Tuesday. Several residents on Twitter reported that the loud, low-flying jet, a F/A-18E Super Hornet, was noisy enough to set off car alarms, wake babies and scare office workers and could be heard from downtown to the university campus.

Officials said the jet traveled from Naval Air Station Lemoore, located southwest of Fresno, Calif., to the Bay Area and back.

FAA regulation calls for an altitude of 1,000 feet above the highest structure within a 2,000-foot horizontal radius above any city. Lauritzen said the jet flew at 2,500 to 3,000 feet over Berkeley.

Online airport noise tracker WebTrak showed about the same, with the plane dipping below 3,000 feet as it passed over West Berkeley, then down to about 2,500 feet over the UC Berkeley campus before it rose above 10,000 feet as it moved over the inner East Bay hills and back toward Fresno. The tallest building on the campus, the Campanile, stands at just over 300 feet.

A Berkeley-based news site, Berkeleyside, reported that the pilot flew over UC Berkeley to say hello to his brother, who attends the university and is moving to Texas this month.

©2015 the (Walnut Creek, Calif.) Contra Costa Times. Distributed by Tribune Content Agency, LLC.

No word on Islamic State hostages' fate; Goto's wife issues statement

TOKYO — A deadline of sunset Thursday for a possible prisoner swap purportedly set by the Islamic State group holding a Japanese journalist and a Jordanian military pilot passed with no sign of whether the two men were still alive.

Japanese officials had no new progress to report Friday after a late night that ended with the Jordanian government saying it would only release an al-Qaida prisoner from death row if it got proof their airman was alive.

"There is nothing I can tell you," government spokesman Yoshihide Suga told reporters. He reiterated Japan's "strong trust" in the Jordanians to help save the Japanese hostage, freelance journalist Kenji Goto.

Suga said the government had been in close contact with Goto's wife, Rinko Jogo, who released a statement overnight pleading for her husband's life.

"I fear that this is the last chance for my husband, and we now have only a few hours left," Jogo said in a statement released through the Rory Peck Trust, a London-based organization for freelance journalists.

An audio message purportedly posted online Thursday by the Islamic State group said the pilot, Lt. Muath al-Kaseasbeh, would be killed if Sajida al-Rishawi, the al-Qaida prisoner, was not delivered to the Turkish border by sunset on Thursday, Iraq time. There was no mention on whether the pilot or Goto would be traded for the woman.

The authenticity of the recording could not be verified independently by the AP. But the possibility of a swap was raised Wednesday when Jordan said it was willing to trade Sajida al-Rishawi for the pilot.

After sundown in the Middle East, with no news on the fate of either the pilot or Goto, the families' agonizing wait dragged on.

Goto's wife said she had avoided public comment until the last minute to try to protect her daughters, an infant and a 2-year-old, from media attention.

In the Jordanian capital, Amman, the pilot's brother Jawdat al-Kaseasbeh, said his family had "no clue" about where the negotiations stood.

"We received no assurances from anyone that he is alive," al-Kaseasbeh, told The Associated Press. "We are waiting, just waiting."

On Thursday afternoon, Jordan's government spokesman, Mohammed al-Momani, signaled that, in any case, a swap was on hold because the hostage-takers had not delivered proof the pilot is still alive.

Al-Rishawi, 44, faces death by hanging for her role in a suicide bombing, one of three simultaneous attacks on Amman hotels in November 2005 that killed 60 people. She survived because her belt of explosives didn't detonate. She initially confessed, but later recanted, saying she was an unwilling participant.

Al-Rishawi is from the Iraqi city of Ramadi and has close family ties to the Iraqi branch of al-Qaida, a precursor of the Islamic State group. Three of her brothers were al-Qaida operatives killed in fighting in Iraq.

Jordan has faced tough choices in the hostage drama.

Releasing al-Rishawi, implicated in the worst terror attack in Jordan, would be at odds with the government's tough stance on Islamic extremism.

However, King Abdullah II is under domestic pressure to bring home the pilot, who was captured in December after his Jordanian F-16 crashed near the Islamic State group's de facto capital of Raqqa in Syria. He is the first foreign military pilot to be captured since the U.S. and its allies began airstrikes against the Islamic State more than four months ago.

Jordan's participation in the U.S.-led airstrikes is unpopular in the kingdom, and the pilot is seen by some as the victim of a war they feel the country shouldn't be involved in.

Al-Kaseasbeh's relatives have expressed such views and accused the government of bungling efforts to win his freedom.

"They abandoned Muath, the son of the army!" chanted protesters gathered at a "diwan," or meeting place, in Amman for tribesmen from Karak, in southern Jordan.

Late Thursday, Goto's wife Rinko Jogo made her first public appeal for her husband's life, saying she had not spoken out previously because she was trying to shield their daughters, a newborn and a 2-year-old, from media attention.

She revealed that she exchanged several emails with her husband's captors, and that in the past 20 hours she received one that appeared to be their final demand.

She urged the Japanese and Jordanian governments to finalize a swap that would free both hostages. "I beg the Jordanian and Japanese governments to understand that the fates of both men are in their hands," she said.

The hostage drama began last week after the Islamic State group released a video showing Goto and another Japanese hostage, Haruna Yukawa kneeling in orange jumpsuits beside a masked man who threatened to kill them in 72 hours unless Japan paid a $200 million ransom. That demand has since apparently shifted to one for the release of al-Rishawi.

The militants have reportedly killed Yukawa, 42, although that has not been confirmed.

Karin Laub reported from Amman, Jordan. Associated Press writers Mohammed Daraghmeh in Ramallah, West Bank, Omar Akour in Amman, Jordan, Sinan Salaheddin in Baghdad and Miki Toda, Kaori Hitomi and Mari Yamaguchi in Tokyo contributed to this report.

Obama to seek $74 billion more than mandated spending limit

WASHINGTON — President Barack Obama called for a surge in government spending Thursday, setting up a certain clash with Republicans who insist that federal spending must be held in check.

The proposal from the president reflects the White House's newfound confidence in the economy. It comes two months after the president's fellow Democrats were routed in November elections that gave Republicans control of both houses of Congress.

Presidential budgets are proposals that seldom resemble what Congress eventually passes, and Republicans are expected to make major changes to Obama's plan.

Taking a defiant tone, Obama vowed not to stand on the sideline as he laid out his opening offer to Congress during remarks in Philadelphia, where Democrats from the House of Representatives were gathered for their annual retreat.

"We need to stand up and go on offensive and not be defensive about what we believe in," Obama said. Mocking Republicans for their leaders' newfound interest in poverty and the middle class, he questioned whether they would back it up with substance when it mattered.

Obama's aides think that improving conditions give Obama credibility to push his spending priorities unabashedly — despite the fact that Republicans still think government spends far too much.

Federal deficits, gas prices and unemployment are all falling, while Obama's poll numbers have crept upward. The president has been newly combative as he argues it's time to ease the harsh measures that were taken to help pull the economy out of recession.

Obama's budget, to be formally released Monday, will call for $74 billion more than the levels frozen in place by across-the-board cuts agreed to by both Democrats and Republicans and signed by Obama into law. The White House said his new budget proposals will "fully reverse" the so-called sequestration cuts by increasing spending on both the domestic and military sides by similar amounts.

Under Obama's proposal, national security programs would see an increase of $38 billion over current spending limits, raising the defense budget to $561 billion. On the domestic side, Obama is calling for $530 billion in spending — an increase of $37 billion.

White House said his budget will be "fully paid for with cuts to inefficient spending programs and closing tax loopholes," but taxpayers will have to wait until the budget is made public to find out exactly how.

Yet Obama's move also puts Republicans in a precarious position.

Many Republicans want to spend more on defense, especially in light of threats from terrorism and extremist groups. But Republicans are divided about how to pay. While some have argued for ignoring the spending limits, others want to offset the hikes with cuts to either domestic programs or so-called mandatory programs that cover pensions and health care for the elderly.

By proposing to raise defense spending by about the same amount as domestic programs, Obama is putting the Republicans on notice that he won't accept cuts to his own priorities just to make way for more spending on national security programs that both parties are in the mood to support.

The Pentagon's base budget is $496 billion, plus another $64 billion for overseas missions. Obama's increases would allow for next-generation F-35 fighter jets, for ships and submarines and for long-range Air Force tankers.

Associated Press writers Jim Kuhnhenn and Andrew Taylor contributed to this report.

Edward Saylor, 1 of last 4 WWII Doolittle Raiders, dies at 94

SEATTLE — Lt. Col. Edward Saylor, one of four surviving Doolittle Raiders who attacked Japan during a daring 1942 mission credited with lifting American morale during World War II, has died. He was 94.

Rod Saylor said his father died of natural causes on Wednesday in Sumner, Washington.

He was a young flight engineer-gunner and among the 80 airmen who volunteered to fly the risky mission that sent B-25 bombers from a carrier at sea to attack Tokyo on April 28, 1942. The raid launched earlier than planned and risked running out of fuel before making it to safe airfields.

"It was what you do ... over time, we've been told what effect our raid had on the war and the morale of the people," Saylor told The Associated Press in a 2013 interview.

Tom Casey, a manager for the Doolittle Raiders, said in an interview that despite the risks, "they all volunteered to go anyway."

"He did something very famous," Casey said.

The 16 B-25 bombers, each carrying five men, dropped bombs on targets such as factory areas and military installations and headed to designated airfields in mainland China realizing that they would run out of fuel, according to the National Museum of the U.S. Air Force.

Three crew members died as Raiders bailed out or crash-landed their planes in China, but most were helped to safety by Chinese villagers and soldiers. Of eight Raiders captured by Japanese soldiers, three were executed and another died in captivity.

Saylor told the AP in 2013 that he was one of the lucky ones. "There were a whole bunch of guys in World War II; a lot of people didn't come back," he said.

He grew up on a ranch in Brusett, Mont., and enlisted in the Army Air Corps in 1939, Casey said. Saylor served in the Air Force for 28 years before retiring as a lieutenant colonel.

Last year, the Raiders received the Congressional Gold Medal for heroism and valor.

McCain to protesters: 'Get out of here, you low-life scum'

WASHINGTON — Senate Armed Services Committee Chairman John McCain kicked protesters out of a committee hearing Thursday, calling them "low-life scum" as they hollered for the arrest of one of the witnesses, former secretary of state Henry Kissinger.

Shortly after Kissinger, 91, took a seat at the witness table, several protesters from the anti-war group Code Pink approached from behind, waving signs and a pair of handcuffs, and chanting, "Arrest Henry Kissinger for war crimes."

"You know, you're going to have to shut up or I'm going to have you arrested," McCain said from the podium, calling for U.S. Capitol Police to remove them. As officers escorted the protesters out of the hearing room, the six-term Arizona Republican, a decorated Vietnam veteran and former prisoner of war, growled, "Get out of here, you low-life scum."

U.S. Capitol Police spokeswoman Lt. Kimberly Schneider said three people were removed from the room, but no arrests were made.

In a statement later, McCain noted a gap between the beginning of the protest and the arrival of officers.

"With no U.S. Capitol Police intervening, the episode went on for several minutes," McCain said. He added that he had spoken with police officials and expects that "those responsible will be held fully accountable for their actions."

Schneider said later Thursday that the Capitol Police would conduct "a thorough review of the events" at the hearing.

"We take very seriously our mission to protect the Congress and its legislative processes, while balancing safety and security, and the First Amendment rights of people to peaceably assemble, Schneider said. "Today, our actions ... clearly did not demonstrate that mission, nor did our actions meet the standards expected of the USCP."

The upheaval came Thursday during a committee hearing that also featured testimony from former secretaries of state Madeleine Albright and George P. Shultz, who were sitting at the witness table with Kissinger.

Code Pink protesters routinely interrupt congressional hearings and are ushered out by police. But Thursday's incident was different, McCain said, because the protesters came within inches of Kissinger and waved what appeared to be metal handcuffs near his head.

At one point, a protester alleged that from 1969 to 1973, Kissinger, who was a national security adviser to President Richard Nixon before being named secretary of state, "oversaw" the deaths of millions of people in Vietnam, Cambodia and Laos. The protester said many thousands more people died from the effects of the defoliant Agent Orange, or from unexploded U.S. ordnance littering the countryside.

A knock at the door, then shock: When parents die at war

Roy Wood, 17: Driven to make Dad proud

By Steve Hendrix, The Washington Post

Sgt. Roy A. Wood, shown in an undated photo, was a member of the 20th Special Forces Group, Florida Army National Guard. He died in a vehicle accident on Jan. 9, 2004, in Afghanistan.

Family photo

Roy Wood rushed into the theater tucking in a shirt that was already pretty well tucked. Even on one of the few days when students at Georgia Military College were allowed to show up in something other than a starched white shirt, striped blue pants and cadet's epaulets, the 17-year-old with the ramrod posture constantly checked his neatness.

Roy's dad would have loved this prep school within the 135-year-old military college in Milledgeville, Georgia: the dress code, the "Duty, Honor, Country" banners surrounding the parade ground, the discipline that led students to snap to attention and salute a passing hearse. Roy Sr. was a Special Forces lifer, who resigned his commission and left his job as an emergency room doctor to ship out to Kabul with a National Guard combat unit as a medical sergeant.

Roy Jr. is pretty sure his dad would love this theater thing, too, although it would be more of a surprise.

"He loved music, I know that," Roy said as the director called for first positions. "He told great stories. But I don't think he was ever a performer. Honestly, I'm not sure where this comes from."

Wherever it came from, it came big. In ninth grade, he was recruited for the ensemble of "Thoroughly Modern Millie." By 11th grade, he won a state acting competition as the lead in "Chicago." The yes- sir-no-sir overachiever who made honor societies from math to Spanish became the guy who busts out the raucous "Ice Ice Baby" routine at football halftime shows. He loved the applause.

Now it was time to take up a broom and rehearse "Little Shop of Horrors." He was playing Seymour, the lead.

It took years for Roy to figure what was driving him to master one challenge after another, to play four sports, post a perfect GPA, hurl himself around the obstacle course. Then, in 10th grade, he wrote an essay about the morning when he was 6 and two Army officers knocked on the door. He recalled the look on his mother's face before they even opened their mouths to describe the convoy accident that had killed his 47-year-old father on January 9, 2004. He reached back to his dad's parting words to him: "While I'm gone, you're going to have to be the man of the house."

He came to see extracurricular overkill as a bid for the approval of the father who left him in charge. That Green Beret who was so determined to deploy on operational missions that he took — and passed — an endurance course test that felled soldiers half his age.

"I just want to make my dad proud," Roy said.

He'd arrived at campus that morning in the dawn gray, in time for the morning flag ceremony and the inspection of ninth-graders he carried out as a cadet second lieutenant. He hurried over the brick path where he and his younger sister, Caroline, 14, had written their father's name during a September 11 commemoration of the fallen.

"My dad is my hero," Roy wrote in the college admissions essay he sent to Harvard, Yale, Duke, Stanford and Princeton.

Yet he wasn't on his father's path. Medical careers have become too unpredictable. His mother beseeched him to stay out of the military. "She says she couldn't bear it if the same thing happened to me," Roy explained.

And as much as he loves musical theater, he's too practical to try to make a living from it. "I want to give my children a comfortable life," he said. He was thinking of engineering, dentistry. Maybe law.

But for now, singing and dancing fed both artistic and competitive drives. With the state competition a week away, the cast settled in for a fifth hour of rehearsal. Roy would have a couple of hours of homework after that. He smiled at the prospect, confident that the dad who left him in charge would admire his ambition, respect his choices and let him sing.

Leah Andrews, 19: Finding new ways to mourn

By Steve Hendrix, The Washington Post

Leah Andrews, 19, is shown wearing her father's aviators in her dorm room at Gardener Webb University in Boiling Springs, N.C., on Oct. 10. Her father, Air Force Master Sgt. Evander Andrews, died in a construction accident building on an air strip in Qatar in 2001.

Marvin Joseph/The Washington Post

Leah Andrews hit "play" on her phone as she sat on the floor of her North Carolina dorm room. She would let herself watch one video. Not like her first Oct. 10 away from home, when she binged for hours on YouTube homecoming scenes: All those men in olive drab, just back from war, popping up in classrooms and at soccer practice; all those daughters screaming, throwing arms around their fathers, tears of elation.

For Leah, just tears.

This time, the 19-year-old pledged, no videos of other dads. Just a few seconds of the dad who would never get that kind of homecoming. She'd found an old VHS tape of her parents and recorded a few seconds by pointing her phone at the TV screen. Now, the shaky images cast a faint blue glow on Leah's coppery hair, her gray eyes. The tiny couple on the screen sliced a wedding cake. The groom's laugh filled the dorm room.

"I think this was the happiest day of their lives," Leah said.

Her own memories are hazy. Her dad's legs sticking out from under his truck when she went outside to play. He once pretended to be devastated that they had eaten all the Cap'n Crunch. He called her "Silly Goose."

He was quiet. Her mom says she is the same quiet.

If the wedding was his best day, she doesn't know much about his worst, except the date: Oct. 10, 2001. Rushing to finish an airfield in Qatar in the opening days of the war, Air Force Master Sgt. Evander Andrews, 36, became its first military casualty when he was crushed by a forklift.

Thirteen years later, Leah can still see her mother collapsed and sobbing on the bed. She remembers swearing to her 6-year-old self that she would never do anything to make her mom cry again. So now, the sophomore at Gardner-Webb University in Boiling Springs, N.C., turned off the video and gathered her books for class. At home, there were traditions. Her sisters, Courtney, now 17, and Mackenzie, now 15, would slip on their father's dog tags. Her mom would email teachers to warn that the girls might be emotional.

But Leah was on her own, finding new ways to grieve on the day they always set aside for grieving. She looked for one of the aging flannel shirts that had long ago stopped smelling like her dad, but they were all at home. She took the Air Force-issue Randolph Aviator sunglasses displayed above an encased triangle-folded flag. They were too big for her narrow face, so she hooked them onto her collar — something he carried to carry her through the day.

A classmate coming out of the library stopped. "Hey Leah," she said. "I saw your Facebook posting. How are you?"

"I'm okay."

Sometimes the expressions of sympathy were annoying, especially the I-know-how-you-feel ones. "Not if you have a dad at home, you don't," Leah would think.

But sometimes, they helped. Her friends knew just to be there, knew that Oct. 11 would bring back their exuberant, photography-loving friend who was excited to become an interpreter for the deaf.

"Tell me if you want to talk," Erica Wright said, getting up in the dining hall to hug her friend. "Hang in there," her boyfriend texted when Leah got weepy in her morning sign language class. She apologized to the teacher. "That's okay," he signed, thumping his shirt with his thumb.

Before putting her bag down in religion and culture, she told another professor she was having a hard time concentrating, and why. He looked at her. "I can empathize," he said. "Dec. 12th is my day." She felt like hugging him.

Midday, sitting in the campus Chick-fil-A, she sent her mom, Judy, their first communication of Oct. 10, 2014. "Made a 100 on my religion and culture exam," Leah texted.

"Way to go Idaho!" Judy answered.

Her mom was coming to pick her up later, after she finished classes and her shift at an American Eagle store.

At 10 p.m., Judy pulled up outside the mall, ready to drive her oldest child home for a weekend visit. "Hi, Mama," Leah said, leaning over to give her a long hug.

Washington Post correspondent Jennifer Jenkins contributed to this report.

Drew Pope, 24: Sorrow, despair, then purpose

By Steve Hendrix, The Washington Post

Drew Pope was 11 on Oct. 17, 2002, the day his mother told him his dad, Navy Ensign Jerry "Buck" Pope had been killed. That night, through some Internet quirk, he got an email from his father. "I'm proud of you," it said.

Family photo

An email arrived in Drew Pope's inbox one morning last fall that he was afraid to open.

"YOUR MIDTERM GRADES HAVE BEEN POSTED," read the subject line.

Never had a message like this brought good news. Never had he made much progress in previous attempts at school, at adulthood, at getting past the pain of burying his father and the years of depression that followed.

Drew was making another run at a degree. At 24, he was barely a freshman at Chippewa Valley Technical College in Eau Claire, Wis. Anything would be better than the F's and incompletes that ended his first try at college. Anything was progress over the bleakness that marked middle and high school.

Walking had been his only solace back then, logging miles to nowhere, insulated from the deadness by the metal bands screaming into his headphones. "When I walked, I could think," Drew said. "I was alone, but I wasn't."

The despair would return at home, or in class — anywhere he was supposed to connect with others, but couldn't. He needed "angry music." That's what spoke to the sadness that had slowly overwhelmed him since Oct. 17, 2002. He was 11 on the day he got home from school and his mother told him his dad, Ensign Jerry "Buck" Pope, had been killed. That night, through some Internet quirk, he got an email from his father. "I'm proud of you," it said.

Pope, a 15-year Navy SEAL, had always been away a lot. Drew got used to the homecomings — once his dad had returned with a mustache that made him look completely different — and to the constant moves: Virginia, Texas, North Carolina, California, Virginia again. But Pope was still a "supersized influence" on his oldest son. They studied martial arts together. As Pope trained for marathons, Drew rode his mountain bike alongside.

Besides, the deployments were supposed to be over. His father, a physician assistant, had landed a stable posting at Quantico in northern Virginia. Pope could make it home to dinner with Drew and his mother, Andrea, and the younger kids, Jack, now 13, and Leah, now 20. Then came the terrorist attacks of Sept. 11, 2001. Within months, his dad was heading overseas. By the fall of 2002, he had been killed in a truck crash in Yemen.

Drew didn't think losing his dad explained everything about the deep pit he had slowly tumbled into. He is an anxious person by nature, he said. But he wouldn't have fallen as far if his dad had been alive to "explain things."

They moved to Minnesota to be near his mom's family, and he began seventh grade as a stranger. He started talking back to his mother. He stopped trying in class. Sadness became depression. At the very worst of it, he found relief in cutting himself.

"I was in a pretty dark place," he said.

To break bad patterns, his mom sent Drew to a Utah boarding school to finish high school. He started college at 17 and quickly foundered. It looked to those who loved him that he was lost for years, working at telemarketing jobs and Wal-Mart and spending hours on the computer.

But Drew said he has been learning, mostly about himself: "I was trying to figure out what was depression and what was Drew."

Things got brighter. He learned to be comfortable being an introvert, which has put him more at ease with family and friends. He's patient and likes problem solving, and he can imagine a career in network management. With encouragement from his mother and advice from the Special Operations Warrior Foundation, he sorted out his survivor benefits and re-enrolled.

He cooked part time at a Pizza Hut when he wasn't in class. He felt like he was doing fine. He hoped so. He opened the email from school.

Network Diagraming: A. Network Infrastructure: A. Network Concepts: A. Cisco Certification: A. Ethics: A. Twelve credits in all, a 4.0 grade-point average.

For the first time in years, Drew Pope was connecting.

Chad and Noah Griffith: Brothers in arms

By John Woodrow Cox, The Washington Post

Maj. Sam Griffith, of Virginia Beach, died Dec. 14, 2011, while conducting combat operations in Helmand province, Afghanistan. He was 36 and was with the 4th Air-Naval Gunfire Liaison Company, Marine Forces Reserve, based in West Palm Beach, Fla.

Family photo

The guns were strewn across the playroom floor, a Nerf arsenal prepped for mayhem. The children at Noah Griffith's birthday party — eager to begin the battle for backyard supremacy — picked through 17 weapons.

One of Noah's friends reached for a worn toy revolver, its blue and yellow paint chipping on the edges. His brother and frequent adversary, Chad, 10, stopped her.

"She needs a gun," said Noah, a day from turning 9. But that gun, Chad told him, belonged to Dad. He snatched it away. The boys gave her a different weapon, and soon nearly a dozen heavily armed prepubescents ventured into a cold Virginia Beach afternoon.

From his fortification of lawn chairs, towels and a Superman umbrella, Noah announced the rules. No destroying bases. Get shot five times, and you're out.

With that, he held up his hand and counted down.

"Three, two, one — Nerrrrrrf!"

Noah sprinted toward his brother's stronghold, shielded by a collapsible mini soccer goal. Chad had hidden the revolver beneath a wheelbarrow behind him. On another day, he might have let someone else use it. But on this one — when his brother's birthday party was being held on the third anniversary of their dad's death — Chad couldn't bear it.

He had begged his father, Marine Maj. Sam Griffith, not to deploy to Afghanistan.

"I do not want you to go to war," Chad wrote in jagged print letters. "If you die I will cry for a long time."

The family learned that a Taliban sniper had killed him on Dec. 14, 2011, one day before Noah's sixth birthday. The distraught kindergartner asked his grandfather to help him remove every photo of Griffith from their walls. Chad, then 7, simply refused to believe it.

Six months after the funeral, the brothers watched other children leap into their fathers' arms at a homecoming for Griffith's comrades. Chad turned to his mom, Casey, and asked, "Did he get off the bus? "

Almost three years later, the birthday combatants paused mid-battle to debate a winner. It was hard to tell. Foam orange darts littered the grass.

"You guys are all dead," Noah decided. "We killed you."

Gun drawn, Chad appeared from behind the shed. "I'm not dead yet, punks," he shouted. At that moment, perhaps the only thing that could precipitate a cease-fire arrived at the front door: pizza.

Chad took his slice to the living-room couch, away from the other kids. He resented that his brother got more attention on birthdays than he did. "People always overcompensate with Noah," Casey explained. Both boys said they got along better when their dad was alive. When each evening he would hug them and read "You Will Go to the Moon" and then hug them once more.

"We go half and half," Noah said before the party. "We're friends ... "

"And then we're enemies," Chad interjected.

Noah, plagued by night terrors after his dad's death, refused to sleep alone, so the brothers shared a room. That annoyed Chad. He would tell Noah to grow up.

The day before the party, they fought over who would lay a wreath on Griffith's grave at Arlington National Cemetery. Chad, at one point, wouldn't walk away from the headstone.

"When I leave the grave," he said, "I feel like I leave my dad all over again."

That evening, Noah had another night terror.

Casey, her life as a single mom further complicated by a newborn daughter, understood that her boys had to mourn in their own ways.

After the pizza, she brought out a mint-chocolate-chip ice-cream cake. Chad said he didn't want any. As Noah opened gifts, his older brother slumped onto the kitchen floor.

Noah always got more presents, he told his mom a bit later. That wasn't fair. He went to the playroom and shut the door. This was about more than a birthday, Casey knew. Chad was entitled to these moments. He loved his brother. He'd come back out.

Chad soon emerged, lugging a trash can packed with the Nerf guns. Noah and the others gathered around, making their selections. Chad reached down to the bottom and pulled out his dad's revolver.

Grinning, Noah counted down.

"Three, two, one."

Lauren Gibbons, 15: A grief camp veteran

By Steve Hendrix, The Washington Post

Lauren Gibbons, now 15, was 3 when Chief Warrant Officer Thomas J. Gibbons' helicopter went down near Bagram air base in Afghanistan in 2003. Her sister Emily was an infant.

Family photo

Lauren Gibbons already knew some of the girls at this sunny horse paddock in Virginia. She'd met Angelina at a previous Gold Star Teen Adventures camp in Florida. She'd hung out with Shaina at a Snowball Express camp in Texas. Gibbons may be new to horses, but she is an old hand at grief camps.

A couple of times a year since her dad was killed in 2003, Lauren, 15, has come to gatherings like this, meet-ups of kids who have lost parents in military service: A Soldier's Child, Project Gratitude, T.A.P.S. At each event, she spends time with others who know the sadness, the anger — even the embarrassment — that comes with well- meant expressions of sympathy.

"Sometimes it just made me feel different," Lauren said. "Whenever there was a father- daughter dance or breakfast, I would have to find a neighbor or an uncle to go with me."

She was 3 when Chief Warrant Officer Thomas J. Gibbons' helicopter went down near Bagram Air Base in Afghanistan. Her sister Emily was an infant.

Lauren's memories of her dad are built from the stories of others. "He was very protective of his family," she offered. "He didn't like other people to hold me that much. He wanted to do the holding. That's what my mom says."

She keeps photos of him hanging by her bed in Clarksville, Tenn. Her favorite: Dad helping toddler Lauren stuff a Build-A-Bear. He taped a message on the bear's recorder: "Lauren, I love you." Then his audible kiss.

"It stopped working a few years ago," she said.

There was no need to explain the loss of a recording — or a father — to the girls in this pasture along the Blue Ridge. They have all lived it, the eight daughters between 8 and 17 who now surrounded two retired racehorses named Clayton and Gabriel. They petted and patted. Lauren seemed mesmerized by Clayton's bottomless brown eyes. Even though she'd been horse-crazy since she was 4, she'd never ridden.

"That's what I like about GSTA," she said. "You do stuff."

Gold Star Teen Adventures is a hard-core sub-genre in the universe of grief camps. Some offer special access to amusement parks, concerts and sporting events. Some feature hours of circle time with counselors. Gold Star, founded by a Green Beret who lost a leg in Iraq, is open exclusively to the children of Special Forces operatives who were killed in the line of duty. They don't coddle; they push.

"At the last of one these, I ate a worm," said one teen. "We ate roadkill. We cleaned a raccoon."

There was no bug eating at the Boulder Crest Retreat in Bluemont, Va. But the girls did get intimate with a little horse poop.

"It's grass going in, and grass coming out, that's all it is," said Suzi Landolphi, the horse handler, who gave each girl a chance to experience a semi-dried ball of manure as more pastoral than putrid.

"Not happening," said one, stepping back. But Lauren sniffed with a not-so-sure-about-this expression. She tilted her head and shrugged.

"I think my dad would be proud of me," she said. Proud of the tall blond teenager she's become, of the 10th grade soccer and lacrosse player. But maybe especially proud of the kid not afraid to get dirty, the girl who gained her open-water scuba certification last year at a Gold Star camp in Key Largo, Fla.

More than a decade after her dad's death, Lauren has grown out of the stress balls, the bears with a father's photo for a face, the group sessions on loss. "Sometimes all the talking can be a little overwhelming."

But if she needs the camps less, she enjoys them more for the friends she sees there, the cohort of the left behind. The horse weekend, which included late-night dancing in the cabins and a long trail ride, connected her to her father just by making her happy.

"You begin to feel like you don't have to think about it so much," she said, "that I can miss my dad and still go on to live my life."

Matthew Greene, 25: Taps for a warrior father

By Ian Shapira, The Washington Post

First Lt. Matthew Greene, a West Point graduate now stationed at Fort Hood in Texas, visits the grave of his father, Army Maj. Gen. Harold Greene, at Arlington National Cemetery in Virginia on Nov. 28. Greene was killed in a shooting at what was then known as the Afghan National Defense University near Kabul, Afghanistan. .

Marvin Joseph/The Washington Post

First Lt. Matthew Greene stood before the open casket that held the body of his warrior father, the man who'd long been Matt's inspiration. Major Gen. Harold Greene, 55, was laid out at a Virginia funeral home in a full Army service uniform: a dark blue jacket and navy blue pants with two gold stripes denoting his status as a general.

Matt wanted to gaze at his father one last time before the man everyone called "Harry" was buried at Arlington National Cemetery. The two-star general had just become the highest-ranking U.S. service member killed in a combat zone since the Vietnam War, shot Aug. 5 by an Afghan soldier at a local military academy.

Matt, 26, a West Point graduate who followed his father into the military, was in disbelief.

"I thought I was ready for it that day," he said later. "But when I saw the hearse, it was a painful reminder of what we were there to do."

Matt grew up surrounded by soldiers, with two parents who met in the Army and were pursuing accomplished military careers. His mom, Susan Myers, is a retired Army colonel who taught leadership and management at the U.S. Army War College. His dad rose to become the deputy commanding general of the Combined Security Transition Command- Afghanistan.

Like so many military kids, Matt and his sister, Amelia, now 22, moved around, living in Southern California, Missouri, Pennsylvania. For Matt, Little League helped ease the transition to a new place. His dad often coached his teams.

Baseball was a bond between them. When they went to professional games, Greene always had his son keep a scorecard. "He'd always ask me, 'What would you do as the manager now?' " Matt recalled. "He'd take something we were just watching and make it a thinking problem."

Matt, who's now based at Fort Hood in Texas, said his dad never pressured him to join the Army. But Matt always admired the way soldiers carried themselves and worked as a team. He loved listening to his father talk about his job: deciding what tanks, rifles, computers and other equipment were needed for war and how to marshal them.

It was Matt's father who comforted him when West Point rejected him. It was his father who celebrated when he got into the elite military academy on his second try. It was his father who told him how proud he was when Matt made it through his grueling plebe year and again when Matt earned a computer science degree in 2012. It was his father who presided over his son's promotion from second lieutenant to first lieutenant in 2013, less than a year before his death.

"He said, 'This is a charge from the Army and from the people of the United States saying you have shown the diligence and performance required of a leader,'" Matt said, " 'and now we're going to ask more of you, and we're going to expect more from you.' "

The Greenes wouldn't reunite at a military ceremony again until the day of the general's funeral at Fort Myer and his burial at Arlington. Among the mourners: then-Defense Secretary Chuck Hagel and Gen. Ray Odierno, the Army chief of staff. Matt could barely talk to them or anyone else.

On a sunny August afternoon, the boyish lieutenant stood in front of a pack of mourners at Arlington, watching as a riderless horse with boots backward in the stirrups led a solemn procession past rows of gleaming white headstones. Matt saluted as his father's casket was removed from the horse-drawn caisson. Then the Greenes made their way to Section 60, where the general would be interred next to hundreds of rank-and-file soldiers who lost their lives in Iraq and Afghanistan.

Flags were folded and presented to the family. A cannon salute shook the air. Then a bugler sounded taps as Matt fought back tears, squeezing his mother's hand to maintain his composure.

He didn't notice the huge crowd behind him or the clutch of photographers snapping photos. He just stared at the closed casket, and, before he turned to walk away, he knelt down and placed his hand and a rose on top.

David and Camryn Trent, 11 and 6: Daddy's birthday

By Michael S. Rosenwald, The Washington Post

The uniform of Nelson Trent, who was killed in Afghanistan by an enemy bomb in December of 2012, leaving behind two children, David, 11, and Camryn, 6.

Marvin Joseph/The Washington Post

On the spring day Sgt. 1st Class Nelson Trent would have turned 39, his widow woke up, thought about her children and decided, "We should do something to celebrate."

With the helium machine she normally uses for birthday parties, April Trent blew up balloons at her home 20 minutes from Myrtle Beach, S.C. She got two small pieces of cardboard — one for her 11-year-old son David, the other for her 6-year-old daughter Camryn. On one side she wrote, "Happy birthday Daddy." On the other: "SFC Nelson Trent. KIA Kandahar Afghanistan."

David wandered by and asked, "What are we doing?"

He was a skinny, freckled 9-year-old when his dad was killed by an enemy bomb shortly before Christmas in 2012. David still missed their hunting trips and afternoons fishing. He still talked about the time they killed a rattlesnake together with a big rock.

At first, April told him she was preparing a surprise, but when Camryn came into the room and spotted the balloons, it was time to spill the details. "We're gonna celebrate Daddy's birthday," she told them.

April knew she could have been the one to die in Afghanistan. She was there, too, serving a few hundred miles away. They were an Army couple — he from Texas, she from South Carolina — who met in training and fell in love early one morning during formation. She flew back to the United States with his body. Her mother, taking care of the kids, had delivered the devastating news. Camryn climbed into her arms, crying. David put up his fists and declared, "I want revenge."

The days had been getting easier, though not by much. Camryn, now in first grade, sometime puts on one of Daddy's old shirts or hugs her teddy bear with his picture as its face. "Daddy Bear," she calls it.

David, boisterous and bubbly before his father's death, has grown quieter, more prone to anger. With his door closed, the fifth-grader plays a lot of video games, though April has hidden his dad's shooting games. Minecraft has become an obsession.

The children have new lives. They moved from Austin, Texas, to a five-bedroom house in Loris, S.C., where their father's Army boots, hat and camouflage are packed in trunks in the attic.

April, 33, is still in the National Guard. She has a boyfriend and a baby on the way — due April 8, 2015, three days after what would have been Trent's 40th birthday.

David is now old enough to realize that all wasn't well between his parents. "We were going to get a divorce when we got back," April said. "Our marriage was rough."

But April 5, 2014, was Trent's birthday. "I can't let the kids forget him," April said. "I can't not honor him and keep his memory live. He gave his life not only for his country, but his family."

David and Camryn were full of cheers for the birthday plan, calling it "so awesome."

That afternoon, they headed out to the front yard. High up on a shiny pole, a U.S. flag was blowing in the wind. David, wearing a tie-dye shirt, and Camryn, in a colorful shirt that said "Love," held orange balloons with the cards attached. SFC Nelson Trent. KIA Kandahar Afghanistan.

"Happy birthday to you," they sang. "Happy birthday to Daddy, happy birthday to you."

"Ok, let 'em go," their mother said.

Up, up, up into the cloudy blue sky, the balloons sailed away.

David watched silently.

Camryn jumped up and down, shouting, "Bye bye baloonies!"

Sidney Pompa, 17: A mother's cheers

By John Woodrow Cox, The Washington Post

Sidney Pompa is shown with her mother, Staff Sgt. Aracely Gonzalez O'Malley, 31, of Brawley, Calif., who died Oct. 22, 2010, in Hamburg, Germany. She suffered a brain aneurysm while deployed in Mazar-e Sharif, Afghanistan.

Family photo

Sidney Pompa stood at the front of the V formation, her head down and her feet spread shoulder-width apart. She wore a gold ribbon in her hair, and on her matching cheerleading uniform was the name of her Hawaii high school, Leilehua. Behind the Las Vegas stage, where she and six teammates waited in silence for the most important 73 seconds of their young careers, a towering wall of lights illustrated the stakes: "NATIONALS."

"Aloha!" she shouted, whipping her head back to signal the start of their performance.

Sidney, 17, didn't always want to cheer. She started at age 8 because her mom, Aracely Gonzalez-O'Malley, insisted on it. Serving in the Army, Gonzalez-O'Malley frequently had to move her family. Cheerleading had helped her make friends growing up, and she thought it would do the same for her daughter. So, Sidney cheered.

Then came Oct. 21, 2010, four months into her mother's deployment to Afghanistan, where she was serving alongside Sidney's stepfather. The teen was visiting her paternal grandparents in California when her dad called.

"I have to tell you something," he said. "It's about your mom."

Gonzalez-O'Malley, a staff sergeant, had died of a brain aneurysm at 31. Sidney was 13, and her brother, Riley, was 10. Her mom had given birth to a third child, Sean, just nine months earlier.

Cheerleading suddenly meant something different to Sidney. It was an unexpected gift that held within its wrapping hundreds of memories. She began to wear on her uniform a Gold Star pin given to her by the Army. It reminded Sidney of how proud her mother was of her commitment. She rubbed its face with her thumb so often that the metal lost its shine.

Gonzalez-O'Malley had coached Sidney that first season years earlier, teaching her just the right rhythm to "Who rocks the house? The Bulldogs rock the house." They shared hours in front of living room TVs — daughter on the floor in a split and mother on the couch above, pressing down on Sidney's shoulders to improve her flexibility. And then there was that final email from Gonzalez-O'Malley, sent three weeks before her artery ruptured. She had just learned the results of Sidney's middle-school tryout.

"YAY Sidney, you made the cheer squad," she wrote. "I am so proud of you!!!!!!!"

Sidney understood her mother wouldn't be there on the day of her graduation or the morning of her wedding, as she had so long imagined. But cheerleading always conjured her presence. Each time Sidney practiced or performed, she could hear Gonzalez-O'Malley's voice: Arms stiff. Don't bend your wrists. Enthusiasm. Yell from your diaphragm. Loud but not squeaky loud. Keep smiling.

In Las Vegas, Sidney and her teammates woke at 5 the morning of the competition. They had qualified for the JAMZ cheerleading national championships and traveled 2,800 miles to compete. Using a makeup brush her mother had bought her three months before deploying, Sidney carefully detailed each girl's face.

Minutes before the performance, she saw her mom's sister, who had come from Arizona to watch. They hugged. "I know Mom's watching, too," Sidney said. Soon after, she took the stage and yelled "Aloha!" and whipped her head back.

Her arms remained stiff on the back handspring. Her shouts resounded. She kept smiling.

The team came off the stage, and Sidney walked to her backpack. She opened the front zipper, searching for bags of candy she had made for her teammates. Then she saw the Gold Star pin. Sidney picked it up and, not long before learning they had won first place, rubbed her thumb over its face.

Calvin Davis, 6: Fading fragments of a father

By John Woodrow Cox, The Washington Post

Calvin Davis, pictured during a fishing trip with his father Jonathan Davis. Jonathan Davis died from a bomb explosion in Afghanistan in 2013.

Marvin Joseph/The Washington Post

From his booster seat, Calvin Davis peered out the window of his mom's gray Chevrolet Silverado as it clattered down a gravel road in rural Arizona. The setting sun bled over a sprawling landscape of sage brush and three-story amber boulders.

"I can see the white fences," announced Calvin, who is 6 and missing a front tooth. "There's the graveyard." He turned to his mother, Helena. "I see Daddy's flags."

One was American, ripped in half by the wind. The other was scarlet and displayed the words "UNITED STATES MARINE CORPS." The pole was planted next to the grave of Calvin's father, Staff Sgt. Jonathan Davis, killed by a bomb in Afghanistan on Feb. 22, 2013. Calvin was 4 at the time and adored his dad, who stood 6 feet 3 inches and had such powerful arms that he could toss his only child all the way across the pool.

As months passed, the boy remembered him only in fragments, many of which he was unsure were real. He sometimes imagined that his father taught him to ride a bike or shoot a pellet gun. "Right, Mommy?" he asked. No, she said. A grief counselor had warned her that because of Calvin's age, even his most vivid memories were likely to fade or vanish.

Helena, 35, refused to accept that. So, twice a year, she and her son drove 600 miles from Southern California to Davis's grave in Kayenta, Ariz., a remote patch of the Navajo Nation. This was where Davis raised sheep with his family and starred on the high school basketball team and fell in love with Helena. Here, too, was where he dreamed of serving as a Marine.

Calvin hopped down from the truck. He found coins that others had left to honor his dad and set them atop the headstone. He dug his sneaker into the dried brown clay and dragged it in a circle around the base of the burial mound. He tossed a rock, then kicked it. He pointed out a towering set of boulders in the distance that he was sure looked like a man's butt.

As they left, Calvin glanced at his mom.

"Do you miss Daddy?" he asked.

"Very much."

"Are you crying?"

"Yes."

"I knew you were crying. You cry a lot when we go to Daddy's grave."

She stroked his hair. "You know it's OK to cry, right?"

He changed the subject.

Calvin didn't talk much about sadness, in part because he was too young to fully understand what he'd lost. Instead, he talked of the early morning fishing trips with his father. The coffee they shared from a thermos, and the worms his dad always put on the hooks because Calvin felt bad about sticking them. He used to lie on his father's chest and tug on his ears. He used to ride on his father's shoulders and feel so tall. Together, they sneaked bites of Helena's homemade cheesecake. "I would eat the last piece," he crowed.

He remembered all of this, just as he remembered that the clouds were gray on the day his father's flag- draped casket rolled off the plane at Dover Air Force Base. Just as he remembered that the house where they stayed had blue Jell-O and his favorite green Gatorade. Just as he remembered why his father left and did not come back: "Because of war."

What he didn't remember was that his dad nicknamed him "Calvinator." He didn't remember the last hug or kiss or goodbye. He also didn't remember the day the three men came to his house and one of them said, "We regret to inform you ... ."

And that was why Helena brought him back to Kayenta.

On this trip, they visited his father's grave twice, the second time with his maternal grandparents. His grandfather replaced the torn flag as Calvin picked up a metal rake longer than he was. Quietly, he walked in circles, towing the metal prongs. His mother handed him a miniature Christmas tree. He took it to the gravestone and set it down next to a handprint he made when the concrete base was poured. Calvin crouched on his knees and placed his right hand where it had been that day. His fingers were longer, his palm wider. He had grown.

For a moment, the original impression disappeared.

Washington Post staff writer Jennifer Jenkins contributed to this report.

Andrew Gutierrez, 17: A gift he can't have

By Petula Dvorak, The Washington Post

Army Staff Sgt. David Gutierrez, a former nightclub bouncer and amateur football player, joined the military for the money and kept reenlisting as his family grew. He died on Christmas Day 2009. Here, Gurierrez and sons Gabriel, Jeremiah and Andrew Gutierrez and his wife, Patty, at Christmas in happier times.

Family photo

Andrew Gutierrez steeled himself for Christmas as soon as the stores started blaring carols in November.

Those holiday songs, the piney smell of fresh-cut Christmas trees, the gingerbread giddiness of other kids making lists of stuff they covet — they're always hard for Andrew to take. The 17-year-old wants one gift more than any other: "I want my dad back. I just want my dad."

He and his younger brothers, Jeremiah, 11, and Gabriel, 9, want Christmas back, too — a day forever marred by the two soldiers who knocked at their door in Seattle on the morning of Dec. 25, 2009.

Their mom, Patty Gutierrez, was cooking Christmas breakfast, waiting for her husband's Skype call from Afghanistan so he could see the boys open their presents. But Army Staff Sgt. David Gutierrez, 35, had been hit by a rooftop-explosive device in Howz-e Madad on Christmas Eve and died the next day.

Before that Christmas morning, the Gutierrez brothers loved the season, just as their dad did. He was a big, beefy man — a nightclub bouncer and amateur football player who joined the military for the money and kept reenlisting as his family grew. But at Christmas, he was more kid than warrior, obsessed with getting the perfect tree.

"He wanted one that was big. And full," Andrew said. "It took forever to find the right one. One time, it was so big, it wouldn't fit on the car, and we had to carry it home."

Once the tree was up, the decorating ritual began. Dad's Oakland Raiders ornaments. The giant, billowy angel tree-topper. The little American flags.

"He put up a step-stool so I could reach the top," Andrew remembered.

After Gutierrez's death, the family moved from Seattle to his home town of Gilroy, Calif., where Andrew is a slight high school senior, with head-to-toe black clothes and long floppy bangs. His bedroom is filled with piles of notebooks, sketches, drawings and graphic design projects that feature dragons, flames, monsters from an alternate universe. He hopes to go to an art school in San Francisco next year.

Christmas, now, is an artificial tree. The family can't stomach the smell of a fresh-cut evergreen.

They assembled the fake version right next to Gutierrez's medals. His Purple Heart reflected the tree's white lights. They put up the Oakland Raiders ornaments. And, as they've done in previous years, they took a Christmas picture. One year it was with Gutierrez's boots, another year with his dog tags. This year it was the family holding a picture of him.

They continued trying to create Christmas traditions that are their own, without forgetting the things their dad loved. Those special chocolate cookies that Patty invented when she forgot an ingredient. Watching Gutierrez's favorite movie, "Elf."

But they still weren't able to make it to Dec. 25. On the 23rd, they opened their presents. On Christmas Day, they woke up, had a quiet breakfast and went to Gavilan Hills Memorial Park with a rainbow bouquet of flowers.

They spent most of the day at the grave, surrounding the shiny, black marker. Gabriel brought his new metal detector. When he found a bottle cap in a grassy field near his dad's grave, he thought it was a sign.

"Dad used to collect bottle caps!" Gabriel exclaimed.

Andrew used to collect them, too, but stopped after Gutierrez died.

After the cemetery, they went home and set the table for dinner. Patty's boyfriend, Joe, was coming over, with one of his daughters and the guy she's dating.

Patty, 41, made chicken coated in crushed Ritz crackers, green bean casserole, linguine, macaroni and cheese and crescent rolls. They had cakes, cookies and hot cocoa. There was laughter, conversation. Almost normal, but not quite.

Waking up the next morning, done with the Christmas, "is a relief to be honest," Patty said. "Five years later, and it's still a nice feeling to be done with it."

For her and her sons, it will never be a day filled with pure joy. "The boys and I," Patty said, "we just have to think, 'What would David do?'"

Andrew was certain he knew. "Dad," he said, "would want us to be happy."

Tiffany McKay-Mortimer, 34: Relearning everything

By Ian Shapira, The Washington Post

Tiffany McKay-Mortimer, seen with her two children Jocelyn, 10, and Jonathtan, 6, followed in her father's footsteps by joining the Army. Her father, Joseph McKay, a member of the New York Army National Guard, was killed in 2008 when a roadside bomb and rocket-propelled grenade hit his convoy south of Kabul.

Marvin Joseph/The Washington Post

First, the neurosurgeon removed a portion of Tiffany McKay-Mortimer's skull. Then he drilled away a small piece of bone behind her left eye to expose a potentially lethal aneurysm. Finally, he used a titanium clip to separate the aneurysm from her artery, depriving the dangerous bulge of any more blood.

The surgery at Emory University Hospital in Atlanta in January 2011 took just a few hours. Tiffany's recovery from it has taken years.

The Army staff sergeant, who once escorted military vehicles around Iraq, couldn't drive. She needed to relearn how to speak. She didn't know how to stand up or sit down. She had to be bathed and fed. She couldn't brush her own teeth. She had double vision.

Through months of brutal physical therapy at Fort Benning, Ga., Tiffany longed for her father, who inspired her to join the military. But Army Sgt. 1st Class Joseph McKay, a member of the New York Army National Guard, had been killed June 26, 2008, when a roadside bomb and rocket-propelled grenade hit his convoy south of Kabul. He was just days away from his 52nd birthday.

"He would have fed me. Pushed me to make me walk or sit up longer," said Tiffany, 34, a statuesque mother of two with long hair and strong arms. "My recovery time would have probably been half the time. He would have never left my side."

McKay had always been there for his daughter, taking the oldest of his three children to armory balls and watching boxing matches — his favorite sport — with her in their living room.

After the Sept. 11, 2001, terrorist attacks, he'd pulled bodies out of the rubble of the twin towers and guarded Grand Central Terminal and Penn Station.

Tiffany followed him into the military in 2002, enlisting in the Army. By 2005, father and daughter were both in Iraq. After mortars rained down on Tiffany's small compound near Baghdad International Airport, McKay arrived to comfort and bolster her.

When there were no other soldiers around, she cried, but her father told her to stop. "He just said: 'You can't be scared. You can't be out here and afraid.'"

She needed that toughness five years later, when she learned the results of a brain scan at a military base in South Korea. She'd been searching for the cause of chronic headaches she'd been having for almost a year after a Humvee accident. The scan showed the aneurysm.

Her neurosurgeon didn't think it was the source of the headaches, but it still needed to be fixed. Left untreated, the aneurysm could fill with too much blood and rupture, potentially disabling or killing her. But the surgery also carried risks — stroke or even death.

She and her children flew back to the United States. She was worried during the long flight that the high altitude would put too much pressure on her brain. As for the surgery, she said, "I was prepared to die."

Tiffany is divorced and has full custody of her kids. It fell to her mother and grandmother to take turns looking after her and Jocelyn, now 10, and Jonathan, now 6.

So much of Tiffany's rehabilitation involved managing her pain levels with nerve blockers, Botox and Vicodin. Her mother bought dark curtains for her bedroom because sunlight triggered piercing headaches, and she massaged Tiffany's forehead and feet at night.

"But sometimes," she said, "you just want your dad when your head is killing you, and you want to lay in his lap, and you want him to massage your head."

Tiffany, who was medically discharged from the Army in 2013 and now lives outside Atlanta, has made huge progress.

She is starting to use an elliptical machine. She is relearning how to drive a car, though the farthest she's gone is to her kids' bus stop a few minutes from her home.

"Right now, I am trying to do things on my own," she said. Her father would want that for her.

Jordan Phaneuf, 17: A stranger's tribute

By Ian Shapira, The Washington Post

Jordan Phaneuf, 17, used kind words she remembers at the wake of her father Jospeh Phaneuf, who died when a roadside bomb killed him in Afghanistan in 2006, when writing the essay for a college application.

Marvin Joseph/The Washington Post

From the start, Jordan Phaneuf knew exactly where she wanted to go to college: Becker, a small, historic campus in Worcester, Mass.

Jordan, who wants to be an animal doctor, loved the school's highly touted pre-veterinary program. She also liked that Becker is just an hour's drive from her family, which was rocked when a roadside bomb killed her father, Army Staff Sgt. Joseph Phaneuf II, on Dec. 15, 2006, in Afghanistan.

Jordan was 9 at the time. She remembered the early morning knock at the door, the dogs barking, her sister yelling, "What's going on?"

She is 17 now, a willowy senior, with long hair colored deep red and a soft spot for strays. She looks after a cat named Chase that she and her family found in the woods near their house in rural Eastford, Conn.

Becker might have been a reach a few years ago, when Jordan got mostly C's her freshman year at Woodstock Academy. But now Jordan was getting mostly A's and B's in honors Italian, advanced English and advanced anatomy. Her GPA had improved to a 2.6. She plays guard on the varsity basketball team — not a starter, but she likes to shoot three-pointers from the baseline corners of the court. She also volunteers with a nonprofit that helps feed poor families.

The last thing Jordan needed for the Becker application was her essay. She knew it would somehow be about her dad, who once surprised her at a basketball game by walking in after he'd been away at a training camp for two months. She dashed off the court to hug him, and the game was halted.

She still keeps his photo above her bed, another emblazoned on a candle on her dresser, and a third photo plastered on her Twitter page of him clad in his camouflage kissing her as a child. Her college essay, she felt, had to touch on his death.

But how?

Jordan thought about his wake, eight years ago on Dec. 26. There was a receiving line at the funeral home, which was decorated with poinsettias. There was a man she didn't know who knelt down in front of her as she stood with her older brother Ryan, now 23, and older sister, Danielle, now 19.

Sitting at her desk in her tan-walled bedroom, she began tapping out her memories on her Surface tablet: the mourners walking by, telling her she was too young to lose her father, how sorry they were. Their faces were a blur. Then the man bent down, wearing a suit and tie.

"While holding my hand, he looks at me and tells me how great of a man my father was, how he is such a hero for giving his life," Jordan wrote. "He tells me how my father didn't just do this for my family, but what my father did was also for him and everyone else in this country."

More than anything after her father's death — meeting President George W. Bush or reading a letter from another soldier who was with her dad in his final moment — Jordan remembers this man.

She slapped on a title: "The Man Who Changed My Life." Her English teacher liked the essay, but thought the title was too cliched. So Jordan came up with a better one: "The Stranger."

Jordan's mother, Michele Phaneuf, didn't know who Jordan was describing and wasn't aware that he'd made such an impression until she read the essay. Jordan longed to thank him, writing that "he was the one who made me realize that my father's death was not just a tragedy, but it turned him into a hero."

After she submitted the application to Becker, Jordan called home nearly every day, asking her mother or soon-to-be stepfather whether anything had arrived in the mail. One day in late November, her mother's fiance reported there was a package from Becker. Jordan was at a friend's house.

"Could you read it?" she asked, putting the phone on speaker.

"Congratulations!" he read. "I am delighted to offer you admission to the Bachelors of Science in Veterinary Science with a Pre-Veterinary Concentration program for the Fall 2015 semester."

Jordan was in.

Avery and Alaya Alexander, 9: Fatherless from the start

By Ian Shapira, The Washington Post

Marissa Alexander, pregnant with twins, attends her husband's funeral at Arlington National Cemetery in 2005. She and LeRoy Alexander met as students at C.D. Hylton High School in Dale City, Va., where he played on the football team.

Bill O'Leary/The Washington Post

The labor pains stretched on for 15 hours before the Alexander twins finally arrived on a muggy North Carolina morning.

First came Avery, 4 pounds and 15 ounces, at 9:11 a.m. on Sept. 28, 2005. Then his sister, Alaya, 5 pounds, 1 ounce, at 9:48 a.m.

At Fort Bragg's Womack Army Medical Center, their exhausted mother, Marissa Alexander, greeted her newborns with a mixture of exhilaration and sorrow. In their small faces, she already saw the features of the person absent from the delivery room: their father.

Staff Sgt. LeRoy Alexander had been killed three months earlier by a roadside bomb near his base in eastern Afghanistan. The 27-year-old Green Beret was just a few weeks shy of coming home so he could be present for the birth of their longed-for twins, who were conceived with the help of fertility treatments.

Instead of Alexander himself, there was a photo of the 200-pound demolition specialist, taken just days before his death. He was with his comrades, wearing sunglasses and a brown T-shirt that barely contained his muscular body.

In the hospital room, Avery gazed at his mother with large brown eyes that made her think he was the "spitting image of his daddy."

"LeRoy, are you in there?" Marissa wondered.

Nine years later, the twins were eating cookie-flavored Blizzards at a Dairy Queen near Fort Lee, a military base south of Richmond, Va., where their mom is an Army logistics officer. They had just come from a soccer game, so they were wearing matching gray-and-black jerseys, their skinny legs protected by shin guards.

The third-graders do almost everything together. Though they have separate bedrooms, they routinely sleep in the same bed. They share an iPad and are addicted to Minecraft and Animal Jam.

Alaya is the more exuberant of the two, her face often animated by a big smile. She loves to draw with pencils and markers.

"I want to be an artist," she declared.

Avery imagined himself working alongside her. "I want to be an employee — Alaya's employee," he said.

That made sense to her. "Actually, at home, I am always the boss of him," she said.

They've known since they were 3 or 4 years old that their dad is in heaven and that he died fighting "bad guys." But at age 5, Avery pressed for more specifics, and his mother explained: "Daddy's vehicle got blown up."

She's told them stories about how the two of them met as students at C.D. Hylton High School in Northern Virginia. How their dad was a wide receiver on the football team, the class clown, a dancer with great rhythm.

The twins keep photos of Alexander in their bedrooms, though he's missed every milestone they've shared: Their first steps, first words, first day of kindergarten, first trip to Disneyland.

Avery said he misses his dad when he gets bullied at school. Alaya misses him when she sees her friends getting picked up at the recreation center by their fathers.

Though their mom is dating again, their father's absence makes them different from many of their classmates.

On Alexander's birthday, the twins usually brought a balloon to their dad's headstone at Arlington National Cemetery and released it into the air, with a note telling him that they love him.

At their ninth birthday party in September at Fort Lee's welcome center, the twins decided to do the release honoring their father in the parking lot. Instead of attaching a note, they picked out a balloon printed with a "9" to mark the number of years since their birth — and the number of years since their father's death.

Keely Quinlan, 18: Embracing a painful reminder

By John Woodrow Cox, The Washington Post

On Feb. 18, 2007, Chief Warrant Officer John Quinlan, 36, had been piloting a helicopter in southern Afghanistan when it crashed, killing him and seven others. Quinlan, flying with no visibility through a storm, lost an engine but kept the Chinook nearly upright as it fell, saving the lives of 14 people. His daughter Keely, now 18t, keeps this memento, which has a helicopter pendant.

Marvin Joseph/The Washington Post

Keely Quinlan picked at an apple fritter as a gray-haired Army colonel methodically debriefed the freshman about her first semester at American University.

How had she done on her finals, John Evans wanted to know. Well so far, she told him. When would she head home to Tennessee for winter break? Soon, the 18-year-old replied.

And what grades did she expect to make this year? "No less than a B-minus" in any class, said Keely, prompting a thumbs-up from her lunch companion across the table.

They were the sort of questions Keely's father might have asked her, had he been there. Except he wasn't.

Eight years ago, on a cold, clear-sky Sunday morning in Clarksville, Tenn., the bell rang at Keely's front door. She opened it and found two strangers in uniform. One was a chaplain. The other was John Evans.

Keely, who was 10, stared at their shiny shoes. Then she screamed.

"I knew," Keely said.

Evans had come because he was the commander of her father's battalion. On Feb. 18, 2007, Chief Warrant OfficerJohn Quinlan, 36, had been piloting a Chinook helicopter in southern Afghanistan when it crashed, killing him and seven others among the 22 on board.

To Keely, he was "Dad," unless she really wanted something. Then, "Daddy." She and her younger sisters — Madeline, now 16, and Erin, now 11 — knew him as the biggest kid in the family. Quinlan was the first on the trampoline he set up for the girls one Christmas, doing goofy toe touches high in the air. Mustachioed and 6 feet 4, he once showed up to a Halloween party at Keely's Catholic elementary school dressed as a grandmother in curlers and pantyhose. "I was mortified," she said.

They last spoke on Valentine's Day, the week before he died. He had just shaved his extravagant auburn mustache for an official photo, and was scheduled to come home before month's end.

"Can you put your mustache back on?" she pleaded.

"It doesn't work that fast," Quinlan explained, then promised he would try.

"I love you," she told him.

"I love you, too," he responded. "See you soon."

The moment at the door haunted Evans. At the funeral, Quinlan's wife, Julie, asked him to avoid Keely because he was wearing the same uniform from the day of the notification. Evans, now 48, feared she would never want anything to do with him.

"I'm that reminder," he said, "of the worst day of her life."

He thought about Keely often and occasionally saw her at an annual Fort Campbell remembrance. Then, when she was 13, Evans took a chance. Already friends with her mom on Facebook, he sent Keely a friend request. Evans wept when she accepted.

They began to exchange messages, and he checked on her each year in mid-February. "You are an amazing young woman," he wrote in 2012, "your Dad would be so proud of you."

Last spring, both realized they would be moving to Washington. Keely to study journalism at American, and Evans to work as a fellow at the Brookings Institution. He took her to lunch at the Army and Navy Club. He and his wife invited her to have dinner at their home in Northern Virginia. She ate pot pie and watched the Army officer talk to his two daughters, 6 and 7; he reminded Keely of her own dad.

Evans is, in a way he never could have envisioned, an indispensable thread between Keely and her father. "This is a guy who got to see my dad," she said.

At their December lunch, Evans reminisced about Quinlan's booming laugh and wry sense of humor. About his command of helicopters. "A far better pilot than I was," he said.

On the day of the crash, Quinlan, flying with no visibility through an unexpected winter storm, lost an engine but kept the Chinook nearly upright as it plummeted to earth, saving the lives of 14 people. As Evans spoke, Keely chewed her thumb and stared intently at him through her dark-rimmed glasses, capturing every word.

Two hours after they arrived, Evans checked his watch. He had to return to work, he said, but they'd get together again after she returned from her break.

She hugged him, smiled and said: "Always good to see you."

Washington Post staff writer Jennifer Jenkins contributed to this report.