Army Reserve Maj. Derek P. Bonaldo

For many, it may be hard to believe that people volunteer specifically to go to Iraq, given the known dangers and hardship. For Maj. Bonaldo, it was a question of duty and service: “I volunteered to go in part because I had never deployed before . . . I felt that I needed to step up . . . [and] I felt I could make a difference.” For the fledgling Iraqi police force he helped, his contributions were invaluable.

In 2006, Bonaldo deployed to help train and support Iraqi policemen. As a logistics military advisor with an 11-man Iraqi police transition team, it was Bonaldo’s job to advise the Iraqi national police leadership on the logistics of battlefield procedures – including preparation, training, and combat operations. Bonaldo also served as the logistics liaison between the national police and Coalition forces.

During his year in Iraq, Bonaldo worked from bases in Baghdad, Kadhimiy, and Taji. As part of the transition team, he frequently went out on missions with the policemen, oftentimes encountering enemies who attacked with IEDs, small arms, and mortars. Fortunately, Bonaldo’s team did not lose anyone.

Upon returning to the United States, Bonaldo said that “the most gratifying part of my deployment was receiving positive feedback from the Iraqi people for how grateful they were for the job we are doing there.”

For his work, Bonaldo received the Bronze Star in February 2007. Tri-Valley Herald story.

Dublin Army major trains Iraqi police, sees combat

Derek Bonaldo spent a year bolstering law enforcement to make way for American pullout.

By Roman Gokhman, STAFF WRITER.
Article Last Updated: 05/03/2007 08:59:32 AM PDT.

DUBLIN — For most of his Army career, Derek Bonaldo worked behind a desk as a self-described paper pusher. But on May 1, 2006, he was in the middle of his first firefight near Baghdad, Iraq.

Bonaldo, a major in the 91st Support Division, based in Dublin, was training several Iraqi National Police officers at a checkpoint on the road between the International Zone and the Baghdad Airport when insurgent snipers on a rooftop opened fire.

We happened to be going by and providing support, and we got caught in the fray, the 36-year-old said. We brought in helicopter support, cornered them and got them with help from other units.

It was my first combat tour and my first combat action.

Bonaldo, a 14-year career militaryman, was sent to Iraq to train that countriess law enforcement force to stand on its own in preparation for an eventual U.S. withdrawal. He returned home last month after a one-year tour, and said that it will take a minimum of one more year before Iraq is ready to stand on its own.

It was a personal choice to go to Iraq, he said, and he was not required to do so. Hes not a Rambo, he said, but he felt that he needed to step up and relieve some troops that had have been on several tours already.

Although he had never trained troops before, he was assigned to an 11-member transition team as a logistics adviser to the Iraqi National Police and a liaison between the national police and the U.S. military.

His goal was to make the national police first responders self-sustainable. He instructed them in battlefield operating systems during training and prepared them for combat. He also kept his superiors informed on the Iraqi officers readiness.
The aim is to wean the Iraqi government off U.S. support and show them they can do it themselves, he said.

The main challenge was showing them there is an infrastructure, he said. Its in its infancy but its there on the Iraqi side.

By infrastructure, Bonaldo means items such as fuel, ammunition, uniforms and food.

His team was one of hundreds in Iraq, at least as of December, when there were 5,000 military transition personnel in the country, he said.

Some work with the military, some work with the local police, and some work with the national police, Bonaldo said. But they are all working to get Iraq to stand on its own and defend (itself).

In 12 months, Bonaldo spent time at bases in Taji, Baghdad Airport, Kadhimiy and the International Zone in Baghdad.

Training Iraqi police officers is hard work, even with the help of multiple translators, he said.

While Iraqi commanders have prior military service, privates usually have had none.

In the U.S., even before a soldier gets to his first unit, they still have much more experience, he said. Our boot camps are much more strenuous and they get a lot more done than in the Iraqi boot camps. A lot of times, (national police recruits) are not moving at the pace that a U.S. commander is used to.

But American troops efforts are slowly paying off, Bonaldo said.

Were they making progress? Yeah, he said. But you know how the American people are. They want results quickly. Its a slow process ... too slow for most people. The guys I was working with need at least one year.

And the Iraqi government and most residents still appreciate the U.S. involvement, he said.

Bonaldo and his unit returned to the U.S. last month as decorated veterans. All 11 were awarded Bronze Stars for acts of merit or bravery. Six received Army Commendation Medals with the Valor attachment and one received a Purple Heart.

Nobody died and we did what we were supposed to do, he said.

Once he got home, Bonaldo took a month off to spend time with his wife, Erika, and his family.

Erika Bonaldo said the two also had their first real wedding ceremony; when they were married in 2004 it was an elopement, and five planned ceremonies were postponed because of his military requirements.

She said her husband learned a lot from his experience, but also imparted more knowledge to the people he worked with.

He built a good rapport with the people there ... and it was probably easy for him.

Roman Gokhman can be reached at (925) 416-4849 or by e-mail here.

Marine Corps Reserve Cpl. Mark A. Camp

In May of 2005, Marines stationed in Anbar province began a week-long hunt to root out insurgents and foreign fighters in the volatile areas around the Syrian border. Dubbed Operation Matador, those tasked with carrying out the mission encountered enemies who had dug in and were ready to fight: deadly roadside bombs, sniper attacks, and several well-planned ambushes.

One day after the operation began, then-Lance Cpl. Camp and his company were sent to New Ubaydi on a house-clearing mission. As Camp’s squad entered one of the houses, insurgents hiding in a closet and in an underground crawlspace opened fire, shooting four Marines. Camp, outside, heard the gunfight and immediately ran inside to help. Three separate times he entered and exited the building to recover his squad members and clear the house of insurgents.

On May 11, Camp was again tested. This time, his company was heading to another small town to clear other insurgent strongholds. Camp was standing at the top hatch of his amphibious assault vehicle when he noticed an eerie silence. Camp was instantly on alert – but that could not stop the roadside bomb that detonated at that moment, hitting the vehicle and throwing the man standing next to Camp into a nearby field.

Shrapnel dug into Camp’s right thigh, and the explosion lit his hands and face on fire. He was thrown back into the burning vehicle, and he began beating out the fires all over his body and head.

Then, Camp heard the call of one of his teammates still trapped inside. As he crawled back into the wreckage, heat was cooking off ammunition all around him, ammunition that ricocheted inside even as insurgents continued to fire from outside. And then there was another explosion. Camp fell back out of the vehicle, on fire once more. Again, he beat his body until the flames subsided.

His comrade was still in the vehicle. So Camp went back inside and tried to grip the Marine’s pack, his helmet – anything – but by then Camp’s skin was melting from his hands. Camp later told the Columbus Dispatch, “I [was] screaming for someone to help me . . . someone with fresh hands.” Finally, some Marines answered his calls, and pulled Camp and the other Marine free.

For his actions and bravery, Camp was awarded the Silver Star on May 15, 2006. Columbus Dispatch article here.

Two Lima Co. Marines to receive awards for valor

Sunday, August 20, 2006

Jeb Phillips
THE COLUMBUS DISPATCH.

Every day threatened the lives of Lima Company Marines in Iraq. Insurgents planted roadside bombs. They ambushed squads on patrol.

In the end, they killed 23 members of that Columbus-based company. More would have died if not for the Marines routine acts of bravery. And then there were a few whose courage went beyond what anyone could have expected.

Today, two of them will be awarded the Silver Star.

The award is the third-highest for military valor and the highest that any member of Company L, 3 rd Battalion, 25 th Marines received for their sevenmonth deployment last year.

One of the recipients, Cpl. Mark A. Camp, grew up in Maine and attended Ohio State University. He joined the reserve unit in July 2003, in part because he didn't know what do to with his life, in part because he wanted to serve his country.

The other, Sgt. David N. Wimberg, grew up in Louisville, Ky. His enlistment surprised his parents, but his older brother was a Marine, and Wimberg looked up to him. He was on active duty first, then joined the reserves. He had decided to leave the reserves just before Lima Company was mobilized, but he decided he couldn't let the company go over there without him.

Camp will accept the award himself. Wimberg's parents will accept his.

The company had come from New Ubaydi near the Syrian border, where, on May 8, 2005, two of its members were killed clearing a house in Operation Matador. On May 11, they rode in amphibious assault vehicles, called Amtracs, to clear a small village of insurgents.

Lance Cpl. Mark Camp stood in the top hatch of one, providing security, making sure things looked safe. He put his goggles over his eyes, but he had left his fireproof gloves in his pack.

At first he saw children playing, which is usually a good sign. But as the "trac" rolled on, everyone seemed to disappear. It got quiet.

Then ... boom. A roadside bomb launched the trac into the air, throwing a Marine standing with Camp into a nearby field. Inside, shrapnel tore through the men.

The explosion lit Camp's hands and face on fire and knocked him back into the vehicle. He beat on his face with his arms and put out the flames. The goggles probably saved his eyes.

His hands took longer to extinguish. He waved them, he hit them against his uniform and, finally, they went out, too, horribly burned. He yelled for someone to open the back door.

Someone did, and most of the 17 Marines who had been inside tumbled out. Everyone was hurt. Some were on fire. Camp remembers asking one if he was OK.

"No," the Marine said.

Then he heard yelling from inside the vehicle. It was Pfc. Christopher Dixon, 18, of Obetz, a member of Camp's fire team. Camp knew his voice. He crawled back into the vehicle to save him.

"He was my friend," Camp said.

Camp banged his leg, felt pain and noticed for the first time that he had taken shrapnel in his right thigh. He kept going. The heat was cooking off ammunition all around him. Bullets flew. He tried to keep low.

He grabbed Dixon with his burned hands, but he was weak. He kept telling Dixon that he was going to have to help him.

Then there was another explosion. Camp fell back out of the vehicle, on fire again. Once more, he put himself out. Dixon was still inside.

"I got back up. I crawled back in the trac," he said.

Sgt. David N. Wimberg was killed in an ambush while protecting others in Lima Company from insurgents? gunfire.

Now, Dixon wasn't moving, and he wasn't talking. Camp tried to grip his pack, his helmet, anything, but by then the skin was melting from his hands. The heat inside the vehicle grew. Ammunition fired off everywhere.

"I'm screaming for someone to help me," he said. "I'm screaming for someone with fresh hands."

Finally, some Marines pulled Camp away and Dixon free, too. The second explosion had killed Dixon.

Outside the vehicle, Camp tried to move.

"All of the sudden, I can't walk anymore," he said. His right leg, the one with the shrapnel, gave out. Lima Company Marines told that story over and over again, said Gunnery Sgt. Shawn Delgado, as an example of how heroic someone can be. "Camp was a guy that everyone wanted to emulate," Delgado said. Camp won the Silver Star for his rescue attempt on May 11, and for his actions on May 8, when insurgents who were hiding in a closet and in an underground crawl space of a house shot four members of his squad. Camp was outside, but ran inside the house three separate times to clear the insurgents and recover his squad members.

Camp spent a month at Brooke Army Medical Center getting skin grafts for his hands and recovering. He spent some time in Maine, where he grew up, and now is back in Columbus, still on active duty. He's been promoted to corporal.

The backs of his hands are all big scars; he can shake your hand, lift weights, button a shirt. You don't notice the marks on his face until he points them out. He married in July.

Camp, 25, has one more operation scheduled on his hands in the fall. He's a senior history major at Ohio State. After the operation, he wants to finish school.

Sgt. David Wimberg is not around to tell his story. But Sgt. Maj. Dan Altieri, who was with Wimberg on May 25, 2005, in Haditha, can.

About 45 Marines, including Wimberg's squad and Lima Company's commanders, walked in a column down a road, patrolling early that morning. Altieri heard what sounded like a bolt being back pulled on a gun. He turned to find a man holding an assault rifle aimed at the Marines. Altieri fired.

"All hell broke loose," he said.

It seemed the column was being fired on from everywhere, but most of the shots were coming from a house to the left, about 35 feet away. The Marines were exposed. It was an ambush.

"Cover me," Wimberg yelled at Altieri. Altieri fired in the direction of the house, and Wimberg ran and jumped over the wall just in front of it.

The insurgents aimed at Wimberg. He needed three tries to open a gate in the wall because of the fire, and his squad was able to come into the courtyard.

They moved around to the door. A squad member tried twice to kick the door in, but couldn't. Then Wimberg did. In front of him stood four insurgents, all armed with AK-47s.

They fired at him, and he fired at them. He wounded one. They killed him. But he had stunned them, Altieri said. His squad members were able to drag him away and kill the insurgents inside.

By running into the fire, Wimberg broke the ambush, Altieri said. He took the bullets for those dozens of men standing in the road.

"I don't know how many Marines we would have lost without him," Altieri said.

Wimberg's parents, Tricia and Dennis Wimberg, will accept the Silver Star for their son today, who died at 24 years old. They'd rather have him than the medal, Tricia Wimberg said, but they are proud that he's being recognized this way.

"This is a response to the final act," she said. "The last thing he did in his life was protect his Marines."

E-mail Jeb Phillips.