The cold waters of a Lithuanian peat bog have claimed four American heroes, their armored vehicle swallowed by the earth, their lives extinguished in service to a nation that has yet to hear a word of mourning from its former commander-in-chief.
These soldiers—names withheld, families still clutching the fragile hope of a different outcome—were not lost to enemy fire, not felled in some distant combat zone, but vanished during a mission of repair, of duty, of the quiet labor that sustains armies.
The fourth soldier was found deceased near Pabradė, Lithuania the afternoon of April 1.
And yet, as the world pauses to honor them, one voice remains conspicuously absent: that of Donald Trump, the man who once sent them into harm’s way, who once embarrassed himself and dishonored the fallen with a callous phone call to a grieving widow, now silent when silence is the cruelest response of all.
For six days, the world watched as allies and brothers-in-arms waged a desperate battle against mud and time.
In the early morning hours of March 25, the four soldiers went missing. The first three bodies and their M88A2 Hercules armored recovery vehicle were recovered from a peat bog in the early morning of March 31.
The fourth body was found April 1, after a search conducted by hundreds of rescue workers from armed forces of the U.S., Lithuania, Poland, Estonia, and many other elements of the Lithuanian government and civilian agencies.
Lithuanian helicopters scoured the terrain. Polish and American engineers wrestled with cables and winches, their boots sinking into the same unstable ground that had stolen the M88A2 Hercules and its crew.
U.S. Navy divers plunged into the murk, blind but determined, groping through sediment thick with loss.
Hundreds of tons of gravel were poured, not as foundation, but as funeral shroud.
And when at last the vehicle was raised, it yielded not answers, but three empty spaces where soldiers once sat. One remained missing until a day later.
The statements from commanders—Maj. Gen. Norrie, Maj. Gen. Taylor, Col. Armstrong—are heavy with grief, weighted with the knowledge that no words can mend what has been broken.
“They were not just soldiers,” Norrie said, “they were family.” A Mass was held in Vilnius, attended by generals and ambassadors, by Lithuanian ministers and NATO leaders.
“As the fourth and final soldier has been recovered from this tragic accident, we will continue to mourn their loss as we work to quickly return our dogface soldiers home to their families,” said Lt. Gen. Charles Costanza, commanding general, V Corps, who expressed thanks to Lithuania, Poland, Estonia, the U.S. Navy and the Army Corps of Engineers.
Prayers rose like smoke, curling into the vaulted ceilings of the Cathedral Basilica, a sacred echo of the secular truth: These men mattered. Their lives mattered. Their service mattered.
And yet, from Mar-a-Lago, from the rallies, from the endless carnival of self-aggrandizement that is Donald Trump’s existence—nothing.
No tweet. No statement. No moment of recognition for the families who must now bury their sons, their husbands, their brothers.
This is the man who, as president, told the widow of a soldier killed in Niger that her husband “knew what he signed up for.”
This is the man who views sacrifice as transactional, who measures loyalty only in adulation, who cannot fathom that leadership demands more than bluster.
The contrast could not be sharper.
Lithuania, a nation smaller than West Virginia, mobilized its entire military apparatus to recover American soldiers. NATO sent resources. Polish troops stood shoulder-to-shoulder with U.S. engineers. The Archbishop of Vilnius led a congregation in prayer.
The Fort Stewart, Ga.-based 1st Armored Brigade Combat Team, 3rd Infantry Division and its 3,500 soldiers are the centerpiece of the mix of U.S. Army units that deployed to Europe in January, taking up positions in Poland and other areas as part of a troop rotation focused on shoring up NATO’s eastern flank.
“Raider is ready and willing to take on this vital mission,” Col. James Armstrong, the brigade commander, was quoted in Stars and Stripes. “We have trained hard, and we have no doubt in our ability to answer the nation’s call.”
Four of those answered the nation’s call with their last full measure of devotion, shild their incompetent commanders engage in leaky group chats, political cover ups, Hawaiian tours and remain warm in their leather chairs.
America’s top national security officials are more concerned with political positioning than force protection, more invested in covering their own asses than protecting the troops.
Most alarming and outrageous, the man who is Commander in Chief cannot muster a single public word to honor or mourn those who served with their final breath.
We are left, then, with questions that cut deeper than grief:
- Why does a foreign nation honor our dead more fiercely than our own commander-in-chief?
- Why do allies weep while he remains silent?
- And when, at last, will this country demand leaders who meet sacrifice with something more than indifference?
The investigation into this tragedy has only begun but one truth is already undeniable: In the face of loss, some men rise to the occasion—and others reveal, yet again, that they never could.