Pulled Through by His Buddies

When Marine Capt. Jeff Houston talks, you can hear his scars.

Houston, a native of King, was shot in the neck and jaw two years ago in Iraq during an ambush on a road outside Baghdad.

The injuries left his voice thin and raspy. Sometimes when he's talking, it breaks like the dry reed of a clarinet. A pale scar trails down his neck, under his right ear.

It's a daily reminder of what happened that early April day in 2003 along the road near At Tuwayhah as he commanded the Marine Corps 2nd Tank Battalion's Charlie Company.

The war diminished his voice but not his love of being a Marine.

"I don't know how to explain it. Obviously, you know, battling my injuries, and whatnot, everything has changed. As far as me as a person, I have not changed. I think my outlook is the same as it was before," Houston said last week. "My heart goes out to other wounded soldiers."

Houston returned to full duty in less than two months. Being able to do so helped tremendously in his recovery, he said.

"I would have been devastated," said Houston, a 1996 Citadel graduate and a descendant of the legendary Gen. Sam Houston. He's 30.

Soon after returning to duty, his assignment took him to the Horn of Africa. There he served on a military staff that worked to deter the threat of international terrorism.

In June 2004, he was reassigned to the Marine Corps Fourth Tank Battalion's Fox Company, a reserve unit based in Tallahassee, Fla., where he still works as the inspector and instructor for the unit.

During his days setting up training for reservists, Houston said he sometimes thinks about April 4, 2003, and his tank driver that day - Lance Cpl. Billy Peixotto.

Houston said he knows that Peixotto is one of the primary reasons that he's still alive.

That day, Charlie Company had rolled into what they thought was a deserted road. It turned out to be a deadly trap.

Houston's tank - named "Let's Roll" in honor of the passengers and crew who thwarted hijackers on United Airlines Flight 93 on Sept. 11 - was among 14 other tanks in his company of about 85 men.

They were the first to enter the trap as they rolled down the road about midday. A car bomb exploded, signaling the start of the ambush. Snipers started directing fire into the midst of the tankers, and rocket-propelled launchers rained grenades into the convoy.

Houston's tank was hit and disabled, forcing him to order his crew to abandon it. He was shot, he said, as he tried to use a telephone at the back of the tank.

Peixotto was the first to reach him. He didn't know if Houston would make it.

All he remembers is applying a compression bandage to Houston's neck.

It was instinct.

"Because of the way you train as a Marine, you don't think about yourself. You basically, you think about others. You see somebody down like that, I mean no matter who you are, you think about yourself for a brief second, and you decide, you go do it," said Peixotto, 24.

While he worked to save Houston, Peixotto fired his gun and barked orders into a phone held to his ear by another Marine. Peixotto later received a Bronze Star for his actions.

"When it happened, I wrote my dad a letter telling him not to tell my mom or anything. They had told me not to do anything stupid, and I did," said Peixotto of risking his life that day.

"Before they got the letter they found out about it. I actually had been pronounced killed in action over the radio. I think the whole crew had been. Nobody knew where we were. My mom called, and all a woman would say was that they had no information. It was about three or four days of about pure hell for my parents."

"If I could do it over again, I'd tell him (Houston) to stay in the tank," he said.

The last time the two men saw each other was in the summer of 2004, at Camp Lejeune.

"The weirdest part, about him being a captain and at the time me being a lance corporal, was even just having someone of that rank give you a hug and say 'I appreciate everything you did.' He was very, very appreciative just like anyone else would be," said Peixotto, who left the Marine Corps in August 2004 after four years of service. He now lives in Frisco, Texas, and owns a landscaping business.

Houston said he would have done the same for Peixotto. It's a Marine thing, he said. Most people don't understand.

"It's hard to piece that apart and put it into words that describe it best," he said.

A bullet pierced an artery in Houston's neck and crushed parts of his jawbone. At a military hospital in Germany, Houston underwent surgery to repair the artery as well as to replace some jawbone with titanium. His mouth was also wired shut.

Well after he was flown to Bethesda Naval Hospital, Houston learned that three Marines were killed in the attack. One of them was Bernard Gooden, a 22-year-old corporal whom he had trained for more than six months.

Houston would later help dedicate a library at Camp LeJeune in Gooden's memory.

The wound and the surgeries that followed left him unable to speak for a time. And Houston, a 6-footer, lost about 30 pounds from his usual 200-pound frame.

On April 22, 2003, he went home to visit his parents and was welcomed with a reception of more than 60 relatives, friends and former classmates.

By then, Houston could only whisper. He wrote notes, just as he had when President Bush visited him at Bethesda to award him a Purple Heart.

Houston teared up as he absorbed the homecoming in King. It was hard, he said, not to think of other military families who would not be putting on welcome-home parties.

"I was about as close to losing your life without actually losing it. I'm thankful to still be here," Houston said last week.

"I think the Lord definitely took care of me in his way. Those Marines who were there and we lost, I was the commanding officer for one of those who were killed. The rest were in my battalion. You have an obligation. As the commander, you are responsible. We are all brothers.

"It's really, it's hard to explain it."

Houston's father, George "Chuck" Houston, of King said that it horrified him to learn of his son's injuries.

"The initial notifications, they never really give you a lot of detail. Of course, it's not as bad as having that knock at the door," he said.

As long as the United States is in Iraq, the media images of war will bring back those feelings and memories to the family, George Houston said.

"I guess we're certainly more aware of the sacrifices that are being made as well as the effects of the sacrifices on the families of the service members," he said. "I guess every time we hear of a casualty or another injury ... it really is worrisome. I think although we understand that, that we certainly feel like we need to stay the course and make sure we finished what we started," he said.

Peixotto said he now feels unsure about the reasons for going to war in Iraq, and that he thinks often of the Marines and other soldiers serving there.

"It hurts me to know one of my brothers is over there and they are getting hurt," he said. "It makes me angry. I feel like the war was started for nothing, over someone else's vendetta. Now that we're in it, we can't just get out.

"I hurt for them because somebody else just pushed them in the middle of it. When I was in the military, I didn't feel that way because it was my job," Peixotto said.

Houston's support for the Iraq war remains unwavering despite his personal ordeal.

"I'm still dedicated to the Marine Corps. I think of those who were killed that day often."

"I'm comfortable in the fact that they didn't give their lives in vain. You know, they gave their lives to help other Marines and to help another country and essentially to help a whole other culture."

He would deploy again to Iraq if needed, he said.

"We, as not only a Marine Corps or United States military and as a government, are doing a fabulous job. We're doing a fabulous job. And obviously that doesn't come without sacrifice," Houston said.

• Sherry Youngquist can be reached in Mount Airy at (336) 789-9338 or at syoungquist@wsjournal.com