Bravo Company mourns its fallen

"The nature of the conflict over here is such that it increases their stress load enormously," says Nash, ticking off the variables. "To be in a passive, defensive position; to not know who the enemy is; to know that the people you are shaking hands with during the day, and giving candy to their children, are going to be the same one who mortar you at night."

"The changing rules of engagement; the lack of clarity of the mission; political issues back home - all of those add to the stress level," he continues. "I reinforce the basics: We are professionals, and this is our job - but once we're here, we're fighting for each other, to protect each other, so that as many as possible can go home well and alive."

With guns slung over their shoulders, standing uneasily at podium made by an olive-drab mosquito net draped over a table, Marines put an emotive human face on comrades whom they often refer to only by rank and last name.

A few wept, or buried their faces in their uniforms. They spoke of brotherhood melded by combat and the stress of Iraq, and pranks during past deployments together.

Sgt. Kelley Courtney of Macon, Ga., "left behind a wife, Cindy, a 1-year-old daughter and a younger son, all of whom he loved very much," said one marine.

Lance Cpl. Andrew Riedel, who lived in Northglen, Colo., had a "[military] bearing," and protected his younger sister by scaring away potential suitors - an image that brought some laughter. He had, said a friend, "a certain arrogance, which you want in a machine-gunner."

Cpl. Christopher Lapka, of Peoria, Ariz., was "gracefully clumsy" and couldn't bear to remain in college while other soldiers fought. He had a love for video games, not a love for the Marine Corps, and "wanted to be better than himself."

Quotes from the Bible were read, including one from Ecclesiastes: "A time to kill, and a time to heal; A time to mourn, and a time to dance. A time for war, and a time for peace."

One officer also quoted Teddy Roosevelt: "The credit belongs to the man who is actually in the arena; whose face is marred by dust and sweat and blood; who strives valiantly - who knows the great enthusiasms, the great devotions, and spends himself in a worthy cause."

Lance Corp. John Byrd II, from Fairview, W. Va., exhibited those devotions. When he came to Iraq, his wife Jessica was pregnant, marines said, adding that "the day he was married, he was the happiest man on earth."

"John didn't know how to dance, so I decided to teach him a few steps," said one friend, prompting laughs. "I had to drag him out there on the dance floor, but he got the hang of it."

"Now he's in a better place - a place where there is no fear. He's in peace with the Lord," the marine said.

"He kept telling me: 'I just want to see my child,'" another marine added, about Byrd's son, due in February. "He wasn't scared of dying. The only thing he feared was that his child would be without a father."

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