In Memory of Corporal Paul Nick King

Today is the 19th anniversary of the death of my friend and mentor, Paul Nick King. A sniper in Fallujah killed him on June 25, 2006.

I didn’t have the privilege of serving with Nick during the Iraq deployment. Instead, my connection to him started months prior during the Battalion's pre-deployment training. I was a new-join to the 81mm Mortar Platoon, a young PFC fresh out of infantry school.  

On the first official day of mobilization, I had spent a sleepless night in the hotel just outside of Devens. A light snow coated the area overnight. I was up well before the sun to hoof it to the front gate of Devens. Still ignorant of the base layout, where I thought the gate was, towered an unpassable iron fence.

“Fuck.” 

My parents had dropped me off at the base the night before. I didn’t have a car. So, I followed the road to Devens. It was going to be a long walk. The weight of my seabag hindered me. Panic set in; I wouldn’t make it to the muster on time. 

Slowly, out of the darkness, a pair of headlights illuminated the area as a Jeep Wrangler carefully drove down the snow-packed road. It stopped next to me. It was Cpl. King and his partner. “Need a ride?” 

“Yeah, thanks for stopping. I thought I wasn’t gonna make it on time.” 

That’s when I began understanding how Corporal King became revered in the mortar platoon. He was trusted. He was considerate. When it came to putting down indirect fire, he knew his shit. I was lucky to see this in action when we were sent to Camp Margarita for Division Schools. I was assigned to his gun team as the assistant gunner. The entire platoon was tested through a series of scored evaluations. We dominated those exercises under his leadership. Our gun team ranked at the top of the class. 

Outside of the 1st Marine Division mortar gunnery course at Camp Margarita.

Fast forward a few months to the afternoon of June 25, 2006. His loss sent a devastating shockwave through not only his MAP, but to everyone who knew him in the 81s. That shockwave finally caught up to me last year.  

The sandbag with Cpl. King's name on it, dedicated in his honor on June 25, 2023.

While on the final day of a veterans retreat in Montana hosted by the PB Abbate book club, each member of the group memorialized someone by writing their name on a sandbag and placing it around the fire pit. The fire pit had become a sacred place where we shared vulnerable moments from our time in service. Some of the stories were about combat. Most were not. 

When it came time to talk about the name on our sandbag, I couldn't help but to weep. It was the 17th anniversary of his death. The pain I had felt on the day of his death came rushing back. When I dropped that sandbag and talked about those emotional wounds, a new sense of gratitude overwhelmed me. I said his name and called him my mentor. That’s who he was to me and so many others. 

Thank you for your sacrifice, Corporal King.