A fateful day in Fort Hood

It was a warm evening on Oct. 9. The sky was brightly colored, shot through with deep orange gold rays from the sun just setting over the horizon. Everyone was just chilling outside the barracks, chatting about the upcoming training event, as others talked about their families and friends back home on the islands. A few were having a quiet smoke break underneath the stairwell.

I was walking behind him, remembering his usual friendly smile.

“Hey Jul, you’re going running?” I asked the obvious.

“Yeah!” he replied, with a distinctive sound as though he was very proud that I notice this.

He sure stands out among us, I thought for a brief moment. I usually call him “Jul” for Julian.

“A’nimu hau dai chetlu (A brother who is a persistent hard worker)!” I said as some sort of encouragement.

As he walked away with his running buddy, I remember him glancing back at me with a smile, a sight that will forever be imprinted in my thoughts.

He gave a wave and said, “Esta later, Indy!”

Subconsciously, I continued to look as he turned away into the distance. I continued to watch him, as he began his first steps to run his usual route, admiring this soldier’s endurance, his persistence and motivation. As he fades away from my view, I decided to join the others for a short evening chat, sharing about Jul’s dedication to jogging.

“That guy always love to run!” said someone. “Yep! That’s airborne,” I said.

That evening, the barracks hallway was echoing with sound, filled with a busy chatter, laughter and movement of soldiers walking in and out. I listened as I lay there quietly in my bunk, not thinking of anything but my families, mixed with what the next day will be.

In the midst of my reverie, my bunk buddy walked in and said in a low voice, “Hey Indy! Did you see what happened out there? They said Julian Manglona collapsed and the ambulance is there.”

He seemed very calm as he told me this, so although I was shock for a moment, I felt reassured that “everything will be alright” for Julian.

After a short moment, though, I had a gut feeling, as if something might be more serious. I thought, “Oh my God!” A flash of thought about Iraq, Jack, and Lieto quickly appeared as if it was just like yesterday. I could vividly see their faces.

“No, it’s not going to happen again,” I told myself. I struggle with my thought to deny every possible worst scenario. “What could it be? Is he going to be OK? God, I hope his OK!”

A moment later, the door opened and somebody spoke aloud in the hallway. “Everyone must report downstairs for a formation.”

Since mostly everyone were already aware of the incident, we all jumped up from our bunks, while others stopped what they were doing and rushed to our formation area. As we all stood there in the formation, I looked around at everyone, and they were all silent, patiently waiting, as if they were preparing themselves for what they will hear from our first sergeant.

I struggle with denial during what seemed like long minutes, standing and waiting for our first sergeant to give us his report on the status of SSG Julian Manglona. It was a painful silence for everyone. No one was talking, but the sight of worry and sadness were on everyone’s faces.

Finally, the moment arrived: Our first sergeant stood before us and said, “Bring it in closer guys and gather around me.” He paused for a moment, as if he was not prepared to take on the difficult task of informing us of our fallen comrade. He was well aware that everyone was a relative and family of Julian Manglona, and this would not be an easy task for him.

He said, “I’m sorry to inform you that Julian will no longer be with us…”

There was a sudden roar of shock, mixed with denial among the men. I was confused on how I should feel. Others were in tears but remained silent, shock and disbelief at the sad news suddenly coming upon us. I felt the pain all over again.

After a moment, our chaplain stepped forward and gave a short prayer for Julian and his families, and for all of us to continue remember Julian as a good husband, father and soldier.

On that fateful day, everyone stayed up late as if we were having our own rosary, talking about the best memories we have of Sergeant Manglona.

Early the next morning, a scheduled brigade run took place. Everyone in our company remained in good spirit as we ran, taking turns to carrying the guidon of the Echo Company, as we all remember SSG Julian Manglona.

“Go For Broke!” brother, yan adios esta man ale hit talu gi lan’git (goodbye until we see each other again in heaven).