Pvt. Aiden Craig, 18, died on Aug. 5 after initially suffering from an undisclosed ailment during a routine physical fitness test. Craig was taken to Tri-City Medical Center in Oceanside, California, and pronounced dead four days later.

The Texas native enlisted in the Marines on June 1, 2026, and was assigned to Alpha Company, 1st Recruit Training Battalion at Marine Corps Recruit Depot San Diego. Craig was on day 47 of recruit training at the time of his medical crisis — roughly halfway through the 13-week boot camp — according to USMC officials.

Craig posthumously earned the title of Marine, MCRD San Diego confirmed to Military Times.

The investigation into Craig’s death is ongoing, “and no further information will be released at this time,” according to the Marine Corps.

Communication has been difficult to come by, and he is now on medical hold.

Loma, who lives in San Diego, said her husband had been repeatedly overextended before he tried to jump from the carrier.

“He’s scared,” Loma said. “He thinks he’ll get a dishonorable discharge, and just because he was burnt out, his 13-year career is ruined, just like that. That’s not fair, that’s not right. That’s not what he should be worrying about right now.”

Loma said she initially received a call from the ship’s ombudsman after the incident but has not heard from anyone with the Navy in recent weeks.

Lincoln’s roughly 5,000 sailors and Marines remain on a deployment that began Nov. 21. The carrier has been deployed for more than eight months while supporting U.S. military operations in the Middle East against Iran.

The deployment, which was anticipated to end in May, has been extended with no publicly announced return date.

In a separate incident aboard Lincoln, a sailor on watch saw a shipmate preparing to go overboard, and he intervened, according to the sailor’s wife, Maria Rodriguez.

Rodriguez said her husband called out to the sailor before reaching the individual and grabbing their arms, pulling them onto the deck. Her husband told her the sailor had not yet gone over the side when he got there. Three other sailors heard the commotion and came running to help.

Rodriguez’s husband told her about the incident several days after it happened.

“He said he hadn’t felt adrenaline like that in his life, and he was just so thankful he was able to get to [the sailor] in time, to stop them from going overboard,” Rodriguez said.

She did not know what happened to the sailor afterward.

Separately, Stars and Stripes reported Tuesday that sailors described an incident in which watchstanders stopped a crew member from jumping overboard. Stripes reported that the crew was informed about the incident through a shipwide announcement.

More than 200 family members attended a meeting in San Diego last week with acting Secretary of the Navy Hung Cao. During a separate virtual meeting later that evening, families raised concerns about sailors’ mental health, exhaustion and safety, according to recordings of the meeting reviewed by MS NOW.

Vice Adm. Joseph Cahill, commander of Naval Surface Forces, acknowledged the strain on sailors and their families during the virtual meeting.

“We hear you loud and clear [regarding] the impact this has on families, on service members and the long-term ability of us to stand, sustain our forces’ health,” Cahill said, according to MS NOW.

Cahill described deployment-resilience counselors and chaplains aboard warships, along with Human Factors Councils designed to review factors affecting sailors’ well-being and identify related risks.

The Navy has said Lincoln’s leadership is continuously assessing sailors’ psychological readiness and that the carrier has access to counselors, chaplains, medical professionals and other support services.

The Navy did not provide a precise number of sailors who have attempted to go overboard or engaged in self-harm aboard Lincoln during the current deployment.

Shelby Sanders, whose mother is serving aboard Lincoln, said connecting has been difficult over the past eight months. When her mother does manage to send a note, Sanders said, she can tell she’s struggling.

“When she can email me, she’s definitely down,” Sanders said. “I think they’ve had five weeks of non-stop combat operations or something like that, so that makes it really tough to communicate consistently or even know if we’ll be able to. It sucks.”

Sanders is preparing to begin her senior year of high school without knowing whether her mother will be home for the milestones that normally mark the year.

“I don’t know how to enjoy starting my senior year when my mom isn’t here, you know?” Sanders said. “Will she be back before homecoming? My birthday? Christmas? I have no idea, and that’s all that I think about.”

Manuel Guevara, whose son is serving aboard Lincoln, said he sounded exhausted, down and worried the last time they spoke.

“Us being out there keeps wars out of our country, but it sucks having your family away. It makes the homecoming that much sweeter, but the uncertainty of when that day will come starts to eat away at you,” Guevara said.

The Navy father said it is difficult to stay focused when he hears about problems aboard the ship and knows his son is worried about day-to-day circumstances, such as eating, doing laundry and having adequate living conditions.

“I don’t want to worry that the circumstances of this deployment will get the best of my son, and he doesn’t make it back home,” Guevara said. “That’s an unbearable burden on my heart.”

The Navy is preparing the USS Theodore Roosevelt carrier strike group to relieve Lincoln, Cao told families at the San Diego meeting. Officials have not provided a timeline, however, citing operational security.

Meanwhile, Loma is caring for the couple’s three children, and her husband remains in medical hold.

“I’m trying to keep a happy face for our three kids,” she said. “They’re little, they miss their daddy, they just want to know mommy and daddy are okay. So I can’t just worry and break down, even though I want to — every single day.”

Sgt. Darilyn C. Duong, a DI with the 3rd Recruit Training Battalion, was found in her apartment in Port Royal, just north of the installation. She was 25 years old.

The cause of death is currently under investigation, Marine spokesperson 2nd Lt. Joshua Hartley said in a statement.

“The Marine Corps extends its deepest condolences to the family, friends and fellow Marines affected by this loss,” Hartley said. “At this time, it would be premature to speculate on the circumstances or results of the investigation. … Out of respect for the Marine’s family and loved ones, no additional details will be released at this time.”

A native of Winnebago, Nebraska, Duong is the second drill instructor assigned to Parris Island to be found dead in as many months.

On May 30, Sgt. Albert Haynes II, 24, was found dead in a hotel room in Starke, Florida, where he was staying while attending a poolee function with U.S. Marine Corps Recruiting Station-Jacksonville.

Duong, who was single with no dependents, enlisted in the Marine Corps as a Food Service Specialist before becoming a drill instructor.

Her awards include the Global War on Terrorism Service Medal, the Navy Meritorious Unit Commendation, two Sea Service Deployment Ribbons, two Good Conduct Medals and the National Defense Service Medal.

The ceremony, known as a “dignified transfer” of the bodies, comes amid growing frustration with the U.S.-Israeli war with Iran.

The war has cost U.S. taxpayers at least $37.5 billion, has led to the deaths of 18 U.S. service members and injured more than 450 troops. It has killed thousands of Iranians.

Both Republican and Democratic lawmakers have raised questions about the war, which has boosted global oil prices and shows no signs of ending. Since the war started in February, President Donald Trump has offered differing objectives for the war.

The president traveled to Dover Air Force Base in Delaware for the ceremony.

“We’re going to honor them. For me it’s one of the hardest things to do as a president. But it has to be done,” Trump said before leaving for the ceremony. Asked what he would tell the families of the fallen, Trump said: “All I’m going to say is, we love you. We love your child, and that’s what they are to them. They’re their children. There’s no games, no nothing.”

U.S. presidents, vice presidents and dignitaries regularly attend the solemn transfer ceremonies at Dover — home of the largest U.S. military mortuary — during times of war or conflict.

The three U.S. service members killed when an Iranian missile hit their sleeping barracks at Muwaffaq Salti Air Base in Jordan on Friday were 1st Lt. Tyler James Feehan, 25, Sgt. Angel S. Rampersad, 28, and Pvt. Isabella Gonzales, 19. All three were assigned to U.S. Army air defense brigades.

The fourth death, of Sgt. Michael Emmanuel Swinton, 30, occurred on Sunday in a separate incident in Erbil, Iraq, during a controlled detonation of an attack drone.

The Pentagon said on Monday that 100 service members have been injured since July 7 and 96% have returned to duty.

Four in five Americans expect ‌the war to drag on for an extended period, according to a Reuters/Ipsos opinion poll conducted this month. Some 37% of respondents approved of U.S. military strikes against Iran.

The Defense Department on Tuesday identified Sgt. Angel S. Rampersad, 28, of Ozone Park, New York, as the third soldier killed during an enemy attack at Muwaffaq Salti Air Base, Jordan.

In the wake of the assault, U.S. Central Command confirmed the deaths of U.S. Army Pvt. Isabella Gonzales, 19, of Carrollton, Texas, and 1st Lt. Tyler James Feehan, 25, from Ewa Beach, Hawaii, who died July 17 and July 18, respectively, according to a DoD release.

CENTCOM originally noted that a third U.S. service member was missing, however, the command announced on July 19 that, “After a thorough search, U.S. military personnel found unidentified remains at the location earlier today. An examination process to verify the remains is ongoing.”

The missing third service member appears to be Rampersad.

The Pentagon noted that the incident is under investigation, with the soldier status updated from “missing” to “believed to be deceased.”

According to the release, Rampersad enlisted in the Army in 2019 and was assigned to 1st Battalion, 57th Air Defense Artillery Regiment, 52nd Air Defense Artillery Brigade, 10th Army Air & Missile Defense Command, Ansbach, Germany.

“Today, we mourn the loss of Sgt. Angel Rampersad,” Brig. Gen. Glenn Henke, commanding general of the 10th Army Air and Missile Defense Command, said in a statement. “We extend our deepest, most heartfelt condolences to her family and all those who are navigating this unimaginable loss. The 10th Army Air and Missile Defense Command is grieving, and we will continue to support one another as we process this tragedy.”

Rampersad’s awards include the Army Commendation Medal, the Army Achievement Medal with two Oak Leaf Clusters, the Army Good Conduct Medal, the National Defense Service Medal and the Army Service Ribbon.

The latest casualties bring the toll of American troops killed in the war with Iran to 18. More than 400 U.S. troops have been wounded in the campaign, which began Feb. 28.

J.D. Simkins and Christina Stassis contributed to this report.

Sgt. Michael Emmanuel Swinton, 30, of Fayetteville, North Carolina, was killed in action during the detonation of unexploded ordnance at Erbil Air Base, Iraq, a release states.

Lt. Gen. John L. Rafferty, commanding general of Army Air and Missile Defense Command, said in a statement that Swinton died “during an operation to safeguard fellow soldiers.”

The circumstances surrounding his death are under investigation. A second service member was wounded in the detonation and received treatment for a minor injury, U.S. Central Command said.

Swinton enlisted in the Army in 2017 as an Air Defense Early Warning System Operator. He was stationed in Fayetteville and assigned to D Battery, 2nd Battalion, 55th Air Defense Artillery Regiment, 108th Air Defense Artillery Brigade, 32nd Army Air and Missile Defense Command.

Following his death, Swinton will receive the Bronze Star, Purple Heart and Combat Action Badge, the Pentagon said. He will be posthumously promoted to staff sergeant.

“His service will not be forgotten, and his sacrifice is not in vain. We will support Sgt. Swinton’s family and his unit during this difficult period,” Rafferty said. “His loss will inspire his fellow soldiers to continue the mission.”

Swinton’s prior awards and decorations include the Army Commendation Medal, Army Achievement Medal, Army Good Conduct Medal, National Defense Service Medal, Global War on Terrorism Expeditionary Medal, Army Service Ribbon and Combat Action Badge.

Brig. Gen. John L. Dawber, commanding general of the 32nd Army Air and Missile Defense Command, said Swinton “took great pride in his work and the people around him.”

“He answered the call to duty with courage, honor, and selfless dedication,” Dawber said.

Separately, the Pentagon released the identities Monday of two other U.S. soldiers killed in action in recent days in an Iranian ballistic missile and drone attack at Muwaffaq Salti Air Base, Jordan.

U.S. Army Pvt. Isabella Gonzales, 19, of Carrollton, Texas, and 1st Lt. Tyler James Feehan, 25, from Ewa Beach, Hawaii, died July 17 and July 18, respectively, according to a Department of Defense release.

The deaths bring the toll of American troops killed in the war with Iran to 17.

A third U.S. service member is missing, the command release added, while four more troops had to be medically evacuated to hospitals in Jordan.

Those four service members have since been discharged, the command added.

“Other personnel who were evaluated for minor injuries have returned to duty,” the release stated.

U.S. Central Command is withholding the identities of the dead until 24 hours after the service members’ next of kin have been notified.

Additional information about the exact location of the attack had not been provided as of publication.

The casualties in Friday’s attack bring the toll of American troops killed in the war with Iran to 16.

Most recently, the commanding officer of the Navy’s Helicopter Sea Combat Squadron 5, Cmdr. Gabriel Edwards, was killed on July 1 when the MH-60S Sea Hawk helicopter he was aboard went down in the Arabian Sea. Three other sailors were rescued following the emergency landing.

More than 400 U.S. troops have been wounded in the campaign, which began Feb. 28.

Cpl. Johnny Tamayo and Cpl. Emily Martinez, both assigned to 3rd Battalion, 6th Marine Regiment, received the Navy and Marine Corps Commendation Medal and the Navy and Marine Corps Achievement Medal, respectively, for their actions following the June 6 shooting at Unhinged Nightclub, where one person was killed.

The Marines had recently returned from a 10-month deployment and were out with friends when gunfire erupted inside the nightclub.

Tamayo was upstairs when the shooting began.

“As soon as the gunshots rang out, I already knew what they were,” Tamayo said in a release. “I looked down and saw the victim at the bottom of the staircase. Everybody else had already run out, so I instinctively ran down there.”

Tamayo tended to the victim, searched for additional casualties and potential threats and directed someone to call 911. He used towels to try and control severe bleeding from a gunshot wound to the victim’s neck.

Martinez, who was outside when the shots were fired, realized Tamayo had not exited the building with the rest of the crowd. Afraid he might be injured, she went back into the nightclub and joined him in providing emergency aid until the police arrived.

The victim later died from his injuries.

“They executed exactly how a United States Marine should, and I’m immensely proud of them,” Master Sgt. James Boles, 3/6 communications chief, said in the release.

Both Marines credited their response to their training.

“Trust your training,” Tamayo said. “I didn’t actively think about helping him. It just kicked in.”

This report contains discussion of suicide. Troops, veterans and family members experiencing suicidal thoughts can call the 24-hour Suicide and Crisis Lifeline at 988 and dial 1, text 838255 or visit VeteransCrisisLine.net.

“Who knows what was going on in Cpl. Mobley’s personal life?”

The question hung in the air.

“Who knows if he had a girlfriend, fiancée? Who knows if they were having relationship issues? Who knows if his parents were having relationship issues?”

First Sgt. Christopher Rushton fired off the list of “who knows” questions as members of the Aircraft Rescue and Fire Fighting unit at Marine Corps Base Quantico in Virginia sat in stony silence.

“Who knows if his sister was having relationship issues? Who knows if his favorite dog died? Who knows if his favorite teacher just got in a car wreck and died?”

“Who the fuck knows that?” demanded Rushton, a former drill instructor. “Do any of y’all? So how are you going to sit here and try to tell me, or tell the CO, that this environment caused [the death of] Cpl. Mobley?”

On April 7, 2025, one of their own—Cpl. Drew Mobley—had taken his own life.

During an internal investigation after Mobley’s death, a number of his fellow Marines complained about the command climate, accusing leadership of ignoring Mobley’s declining mental health and tormenting him after an injury sidelined him from regular duty.

Now, three days after Mobley’s memorial service, the rest of his unit—known as ARFF— was getting grilled. Rushton and Col. Scott Warman had gathered the Marines, collected their phones, and were taking turns berating them. The closed-door meeting lasted more than two hours.

Secret audio recordings, later shared with The War Horse, reveal what happened inside.

A War Horse investigation into the events surrounding Cpl. Mobley’s death points to systemic failures before and after his suicide and an alarming disregard for protocols spelled out in 98 pages of Marine Corps Suicide Prevention System Procedures. After inquiries from The War Horse, the Corps said it is investigating.

In the secret recording, Rushton is heard reading aloud and mocking individual Marines’ written concerns with command leaders: “Oh, master sergeant yelled at me. I’m sad. Boo-the-fuck-hoo. You really think ISIS cares?”

At one point later, he tells them: “Call CNN. Call Fox News. See how that works out for you.”

And he insisted Mobley’s fellow Marines had no idea why he took his own life.

“He made a very personal decision,” Rushton sternly told the Marines, “to turn a temporary problem into a permanent solution. Very deliberate in what he did.”

“You can’t sit here and tell me that ARFF was the reason that he did what he did,” Rushton told them. “Do any of you have a suicide note from him?”

Again, silence.

“No, you don’t,” Rushton finally said. “You don’t know what was going through his head.”

‘Not Going the Way We Thought’

For years, the military has been struggling to come to grips with an alarming number of suicides among service members. Suicide rates have climbed in the military since 2011, but, in a glimmer of hope, declined in 2024, according to the most recent Defense Department report. Still, there were 471 suicides—more than one a day—in the U.S. military in 2024. And the Marine Corps has among the military’s highest rates. Studies and the Marines’ prevention protocols warn that exposure to suicide can lead to a higher risk for similar behavior.

In a social media post in February, Sgt. Maj. Carlos A. Ruiz, the Corps’ highest-ranking enlisted member, encouraged Marines to speak up if they are struggling with their mental health.

“This tribe demands that when you need help, you ask for help,” he said. “We bend together, and we don’t break together.”

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Despite its ‘suck-it-up’ image, veterans interviewed for this story say the Corps has made strides in looking out for troubled Marines in recent years. But what happened at Quantico last April provides a rare and unvarnished look into a culture that critics say can persist on the inside when unit-level commanders think nobody else is listening.

Over four months, The War Horse spoke to six Marines who worked in ARFF with Mobley. In interviews, they described working long hours for an understaffed unit, missing time with their families, and toxic leaders who dismissed their mental health concerns. The Marines who spoke with The War Horse also noted that Mobley’s death was the third suicide in the Marine Corps Air Facility, which includes ARFF, in less than two years.

The Marines who spoke out had hoped their feedback would hold ARFF’s leadership accountable for their perceived role in Mobley’s death, which Michael Snell, a former ARFF unit member, calls “horribly preventable.”

“The maltreatment had been going on forever and was getting ignored, and by literally everyone in the command,” Snell said in an interview with The War Horse. “And we basically all got told that we’re committing acts of mutiny.”

“We kind of all knew the moment they said, ‘Everybody put your phones outside’—we were like, ‘Oh, this is not going the way we thought it was going to go,’” said Malakai Standifer, another former ARFF Marine.

The War Horse reached out multiple times over a two-month period to four members of ARFF leadership—Warman, Rushton, Master Sgt. Jerry Chapman III, and Gunnery Sgt. Brian Tabares. Rushton and Warman directed inquiries to the Quantico communication office. The others did not respond.

After The War Horse submitted more than a dozen questions, detailing the allegations and sharing a number of Rushton’s and Warman’s comments from the closed-door meeting, Capt. Michael Kennedy, a Marine spokesman responded: “This incident is currently under investigation and no details regarding the investigation can be provided at this time.”

Rob Bracknell, a retired Marine officer and judge advocate, reviewed the recordings of the meeting at the request of The War Horse. He was not involved in the investigation.

“Berating Marines weeks after the third suicide in two years—that just sounds like the worst possible way to handle this,” Bracknell said. “Your first instinct should be, pull those guys into your arms and go, ‘Hey, let’s take care of you.’”

‘Be a Marine and Protect Earth’

When Drew Mobley ended his life at 22, he was working at what was supposed to be his dream job.

He’d known it since he was just a third grader. At Wallace Elementary in North Carolina, an hour’s drive west of Marine Corps Base Camp Lejeune, he wrote an essay on what he wanted to be when he grew up.

“I am going to be a Marine and protect [E]arth,” he wrote. “No one is stopping me until I die or end the war.”

His essay won a contest for the Duplin County School District.

More than a decade later, Mobley was at Quantico on a Sunday afternoon. He updated his life insurance policy in the ARFF rec room. He played basketball for a bit with a few of his fellow Marines. He went to a sporting goods store, where he purchased a gun, and another store to purchase hollow-point bullets.

Then, he drove his Hyundai Sonata to the parking lot of the C.F. Phelps Wildlife Management Area. Around 6:30 p.m., he messaged some of his friends on Discord, a social app he liked to use, telling them he’d be offline for a while. His internet search history shows he was on his phone until after midnight.

Then, sometime in the early morning hours, he shot himself.

A few Marines who were sent to check on him discovered his body after friends tracked his location on Snapchat.

His mother later pieced together the last hours of Drew’s life from his phone log, receipts, and accounts from other Marines. In the months leading up to his death, Mobley was struggling, fellow Marines say, but they didn’t know how bad it was. He started isolating himself. His hair appeared unwashed. He arrived late to his shifts. He stopped wearing cologne.

“The boy loved cologne,” said his mother, April Mobley. “And always wore it.”

They checked in regularly on the phone, but he never told her how much he was suffering.

“My son was not a complainer,” she said. “He didn’t share his feelings.”

She remembers him telling her, after two other Marines’ suicides, that he didn’t understand why they would take their own lives. On their last phone call, he told her he was worried about his friend Cole McEachern, another ARFF Marine who was struggling.

Drew Mobley felt like he’d lost his purpose on base, Standifer said. At first, he’d enjoyed his job, April Mobley said. He made friends and had earned a nickname, Horse, because he’d “kinda just roam and graze and do [his] own thing,” said Snell.

It was random, but stuck. When Mobley left work, the other Marines would joke that they were “letting Horse out of the stable.” Later, Snell got a tattoo of a horse and the date of Mobley’s death on his shoulder.

In Sept. 2023, a year and a half out of boot camp, Mobley broke his leg and tore his ACL while playing football during physical training. In Feb. 2024, he had surgery to repair his ACL, but his leg didn’t heal as expected. He was eventually placed on limited duty.

It kept him from the airfield, where Marines trained for and responded to aircraft emergencies. Quantico is also home to Marine One, the president’s helicopter.

He was assigned to dispatch duty, and around Christmastime 2024 he was sent up to the “tower.” The shifts were punishing—12 hours, sometimes longer—and indeed, Mobley felt punished, he told his mom. Typically, dispatch shifts rotated among unit members, maybe up to six shifts a month, Standifer said. Mobley had been left on them full-time for three months.

Standifer said he witnessed Chapman, the master sergeant who was named 2024’s USMC Executive Fire Officer of the Year, berating and belittling Mobley on a regular basis.

He’d get flak for attending medical appointments that took him away from work, Snell said. Toward the end, the abuse got worse, he said.

“Basically, he was in Master Sgt. Chapman’s office, like, every day, just getting torn down, berated, basically getting told that he was garbage because he couldn’t work normally, like everybody else could,” Snell said.

McEachern, another former ARFF member, was also on dispatch duty because of an injury, alternating 12-hour shifts with Mobley. “They treated our injuries like we chose to get them and treated dispatch as a punishment,” he said.

“You’re a guy all alone, separated from your friends and family,” Standifer said. “Then you get injured. You can no longer do the job you’re passionate about. The people above you are now reminding you every single day that … you’re a piece of shit, and you know they don’t want you there.”

“Why didn’t they just kick him out?” April Mobley asked. “Why keep doing that to him every day?”

‘Felt I Had Let Him Down’

Months before Mobley’s death, ARFF unit members filled out what’s known as a Defense Organizational Climate Survey. Congress mandated the annual surveys across the military to service members to provide what is supposed to be confidential feedback about their command. The War Horse submitted a Freedom of Information Act request on March 31 for ARFF’s surveys but is still waiting for a response.

In the survey, Mobley explained that he felt he was being treated unfairly and said his shifts were isolating, according to a friend and fellow Marine who read over his submission. Mobley wanted “to ensure it would be taken seriously by the command,” the friend told The War Horse. He asked not to be identified because he is still serving in the Marines and feared retribution for speaking to a reporter.

Marines who spoke to The War Horse said many of their concerns about leadership were glossed over.

“We all felt completely unheard,” said the Marine who advised Mobley. When nothing changed, Mobley, in particular, took it hard. “I felt I had let him down by saying that the command would take everything seriously.”

Within a few months, Mobley was dead.

His death rattled his family.

April Mobley wasn’t one to coddle her kids, she said. “I am the toughest mama that you can find.” But Drew was such a good boy, she said. An easy, likable kid. Always the first person to ask how you were doing, always the last person to complain about his own problems. The chaplain at Quantico told her that Drew would often stop by and ask how he was doing. Nobody else ever did that, the chaplain said. (The chaplain didn’t respond to a LinkedIn message from The War Horse.)

“To see how they just pulled the life out of him, the happiness,” she said, her voice quaking.

At Drew’s memorial, Gunnery Sgt. Brian Tabares approached his mother and told her they knew Drew was struggling, she said.

“They knew,” April Mobley said. But she was too grief-stricken to ask Tabares: Why didn’t anyone do anything to help him?

“I just, I can’t understand that,” she said.

‘Maybe Your Feelings Need to Be Hurt’

Unprofessional. Lacking values. A disgrace to the uniform.

These are among the insults Rushton and Warman hurled at ARFF just weeks after Mobley’s death. When the doors shut, and the meeting started, Warman, a first-generation Marine with two combat deployments, made it clear not everyone was on notice.

Some of you will do “great things,” he told the group. “There’s a great deal of you who have such amazing future potential, not just in the Marine Corps, but in life.”

His focus quickly shifted.

“Some of you are selfish. You’re entitled. And you’re the most disloyal people I’ve ever met.”

After Mobley’s death, several Marines had specifically called out Chapman, the master sergeant.

Chapman had a “tendency to pick certain individuals he deemed not to his liking,” Standifer wrote in a statement he provided to investigators and later shared with The War Horse. “No matter the skills or actual work the individual does, they will always be bottom-tier low-lives to MSgt [Master Sergeant].” Drew was one of these, Standifer wrote.

“Cpl. Mobley was verbally and publicly ridiculed for his inability to work shift due to a major leg injury,” Standifer wrote. This “caused him to get put in dispatch over and over, locked in a hole with only the occasional visits from shift members to keep him sane until he was pushed too far and ended his life.”

Another Marine was “constantly accused of using his mental health appointments to get out of work,” Standifer wrote.

These statements were supposed to be kept confidential, Marines said—they were told they’d only be shared with Warman and other officers involved in the investigation. But now, here they were. Less than three weeks after Mobley’s suicide, Warman and Rushton were sitting in front of the entire unit, reading snippets from those same statements.

Marines had complained about limited time with family. Some hadn’t seen their families in weeks, they said. In response, Rushton reprimanded them for not being team players.

“You don’t want to switch shifts, because, ‘Oh, my wife’s schedule won’t allow it,’” he said. “Nobody gives a fuck about your wife’s schedule. Sorry if it hurts your feelings—maybe your feelings need to be hurt.”

Some Marines complained that leaders discouraged them from attending medical appointments—including mental health appointments—during work hours. Rushton insisted these appointments needed to happen on personal time.

As for those who didn’t agree with him, Rushton said: “They’re being fucking lazy. … That’s you being fucking selfish.”

“How many of you’ve ever deployed to a combat zone?” asked Rushton, who shared he had been three times. “Do you really think ISIS gives a fuck about your feelings?”

Rushton scolded the unit for blaming Mobley’s death on leadership. “Stop blaming the chain of command over your own personal problems.”

One after another, he read aloud and rejected the criticism.

“The work climate at ARFF, and I quote, ‘Will not improve if Master Sgt. Chapman remains in charge. I respectfully and tactfully request a review of Master Sgt. Chapman’s leadership and its effect on the unit.’”

Rushton was having none of it: “Know what that sounds like to me? There’s a naval term that that falls under. … What term am I referring to? Mutiny. It’s a fucking mutiny.”

‘Every Marine Feels Supported’

Capt. Michael P. Kennedy struck a different tone in the Marines’ official response to The War Horse about the unit’s claims and the closed-door meeting.

“The loss of even one Marine to suicide is one too many,” he wrote in an email. “Our prevention and postvention efforts are applied with equal commitment and seriousness across Marine Corps Base Quantico. At Marine Corps Base Quantico, we are dedicated to fostering a community where every Marine feels supported and knows that help is always available.”

But an examination of the Marines’ official suicide prevention procedures calls into question the response before and after Mobley’s death.

The latest version of the document from the Commandant of the Marine Corps—coincidentally issued four days before Rushton and Warman’s meeting with ARFF—lays out procedures, from suicide prevention training requirements to dispelling the stigma of mental health care.

“Command climate is a critical aspect of suicide prevention in the Marine Corps,” it reads.

Leaders should be “involved with every aspect of Marines’ lives in the unit” and they should “facilitate the discussion of life stressors between Marines and leadership without judgment or stigma.” It lays out potential warning signs that might urge a commander to order a mental health evaluation for a subordinate Marine, including “significant changes in performance” and “behavior changes that appear to be unmanageable by the Marine.”

It also offers guidance for how to respond in the aftermath of a suicide. Those left behind might experience guilt, anger, shame, and betrayal after a suicide, it says. It’s common for those left behind to “seek answers and assign blame,” the document says. Leaders can help by “fostering hope” and avoiding framing that causes shame or guilt. Trust in leadership is key, the document instructs. “Ask other Marines how they are and actively listen.”

Leaders should “foster a positive, safe command climate that promotes healthy stress responses.”

After a suicide, other Marines can be “at high risk.” These efforts help survivors cope with grief and prevent future suicides.

Bracknell, the former Marine judge advocate who is now an adjunct professor at William & Mary Law School, said Rushton and Warman’s response to ARFF does not align with these guidelines.

“First Sgt. Rushton’s comments seeking to shift blame off the unit and pointing fingers at their ‘unprofessionalism’ in the wake of a suicide—that’s not the ‘positive, safe command climate’ the Commandant expected when he approved that guidance,” Bracknell said. “Instinctively, their reactions are the opposite of what any professional, caring, thoughtful, engaged leader would do in that instance.”

Retired Marine Col. Don Wogaman, who was not involved in the investigation, appeared visibly troubled after he reviewed—at The War Horse’s request—how command leaders rebuked the Marines for raising concerns after Mobley’s suicide.

The subject is painful for him. Wogaman remembers how a fellow Marine who served in the Gulf War took his own life while Wogaman was responding to his Facebook post. It “tears me up,” he said. He called Rushton and Warman’s response to the ARFF Marines “horrible leadership.”

In the Marines, Bracknell said, leaders often “fail to discern the difference between tough and cruel.” The skills hardened military commanders rely on to lead a unit are not the same ones needed to help them cope after a fellow service member’s suicide, he said.

But at times during the closed-door meeting, Warman softened his tone, sharing lessons on leadership, and living and dying as a team.

At one point, he became contemplative over the suicides: “If anybody’s responsible, it’s me,” he told the Marines. “And I accept responsibility for that, because I’m the commander, and it’s happened under my watch. I own that, and those are the things I have to live with the rest of my life—that I had three, three Marines take their lives under my watch.

“Never once in my 23-year career have I ever seen that. Ever.”

The Third Suicide

Mobley’s death was the third suicide in the Marine Corps Air Facility, or MCAF, in under two years. A senior enlisted Marine in the MCAF command died by suicide in August 2023, and an ARFF Marine took his own life about three months later. While The War Horse was reporting this story, another former ARFF member took his own life in Feb. 2026.

The War Horse was unable to contact family connected to the most recent suicide, but did reach the spouses of the first two Marines who died. In a Facebook message, one of the women said her husband “never had any issues with higher-ups or colleagues” and that command leaders were there for her after his death, “especially MSGT Chapman,” the master sergeant whom Mobley’s unit members criticized.

The other said in a phone interview that her husband had a largely positive experience in MCAF at Quantico. He suffered from post-traumatic stress disorder, which stemmed from personal childhood trauma as well as his experiences in Fallujah. MCAF was one of the most supportive units he was in, his wife said.

He took his own life a little over a week after receiving an official PTSD diagnosis, she said.

“He knew that [seeking mental health treatment] would be career-changing,” she said. He reached out to a counselor during his time at MCAF, but the counselor told him she would have to notify his command if he came to her for help, which scared him off.

Military culture dissuades people from seeking help, she said. “It’s kind of like—you should get help, and then just know that your career might be over.”

The Suicide That Didn’t Happen

In the weeks around Mobley’s death, there was almost another suicide.

The story of Sgt. Cole McEachern’s is similar to Mobley’s in many ways. During an aircraft emergency, he sustained a labral tear in his shoulder. Like Mobley, he was put on limited duty and 12-hour dispatch shifts. He and Mobley would alternate shifts, and sometimes spend extra time in the tower to keep each other company.

Unlike Mobley, McEachern wasn’t new to the military and had seen some violent things. On 12-hour dispatch shifts, he had “nothing but time” to think about these memories, he said. When he sought treatment for his nightmares and post-traumatic stress at the Quantico mental health clinic, he was told he had insomnia, and they couldn’t do anything for him, McEachern said.

That’s when he began self-medicating with cocaine.

The drugs fought off the nightmares. He’d stay awake for so long, that when he crashed, his sleep was dreamless.

Some days, McEachern would be driving to the ARFF station from the barracks, and he’d turn around, filled with dread at the thought of another day-long shift spent in solitude. Then, he said he’d think of Mobley—I can’t leave him there alone, he remembers thinking. He’d turn around again and make it to work, where he’d sit in his car, trying to psych himself up to go inside.

Around shift changes, when both he and Mobley were present, he remembers that Chapman would regularly show up to chew them out. They were the “trouble kids” because they were injured, McEachern said.

He talked to his dad Ryan McEachern on the phone nearly every day, and his father said he had noticed a shift in Cole’s demeanor. Cole was always frustrated, his father said, and he’d become more negative, more withdrawn.

“When he would call, he just kind of had this depressed vibe about him,” Ryan McEachern said. He remembers one call where Cole said a member of leadership had told him he was “a piece of shit” and that “they didn’t really want [him] around anybody else” because he was a bad influence. Cole took a lot of pride in his work, Ryan McEachern said, so that hurt.

“There’s just a meanness in people that do that, even in the Marine Corps,” said the father, a Marine Corps veteran himself.

Around Jan. 2025, Cole’s calls home became sparser, and Ryan McEachern could see on the “Find My Friends” app that Cole was keeping erratic hours, sometimes out as late as 4 a.m.

Then on April 1, 2025, Ryan McEachern received a call he’ll never forget.

“I fucked up, I’m a piece of shit, everyone’s going to f-ing hate me,” McEachern remembers his son saying. Cole confessed he’d done drugs the night before. “He spiraled into this, just, whole conversation about how horrible he was.”

“I’m panicking,” Ryan McEachern said. “I was like, ‘Dude, where are you right this second?’”

Cole told him he was on base in his truck.

“I need you to drive to the mental health clinic,” Ryan McEachern told his son.

Cole resisted—the mental health clinic on base hadn’t been helpful in the past, so why would he go back there?

“I said, ‘Do not hang up your phone,’” Ryan McEachern said, his voice shaking as he retold the story. He stayed on the phone as Cole walked into the clinic and approached the front desk. From the phone, Ryan shouted a message to the receptionist. “Before he can say a word, I’m like, ‘Don’t let this guy leave!’”

As the clinic staff started to handle the situation, the gravity of what had almost happened hit hard. “I was like, holy shit,” Ryan McEachern said. “I think my kid was about to kill himself.”

On April 11, Cole McEachern was eventually admitted into a month-long inpatient mental health program, just days after his friend Drew Mobley died. Cole missed the memorial service.

Ryan McEachern said he wished Drew would have made a similar phone call.

“I think about that constantly. That phone call sucked, but I was sure lucky to get it.”

‘Feel Like I Owe Them’

Drew has been gone a year, but for his mother April, the pain is still fresh. Her voice is still raw with anger and sadness. Sometimes, she trails off mid sentence, choked by tears.

Drew, who as a third grader wanted everyone to “pray to God for the Marines that protected us and were willing to die,” is still with her. Once, after she visited Drew’s grave, she got in the car. The clock had changed to military time. “Never done that before,” she said.

April stays in touch with other Marines. She feels responsible for them, she said. She calls them on holidays, invites them to her home for dinners, sends their kids Christmas and birthday presents.

“Every boy that calls me, I feel like I owe it to them,” she said.

“I prayed to God. Like, what am I supposed to do? How am I supposed to have a purpose in all of this?” she implores. “What is my path?

“I truly feel like at this point, it’s to make all of these boys feel heard. To make them feel like what they went through was wrong and [for] somebody to acknowledge that.”

On the first anniversary of Drew’s death, April took a trip to the Grand Canyon with her family. On the way there, they stopped at a convenience store. April wanted to buy a Coke, Drew’s favorite drink. She didn’t know why, she just felt like she needed to. At the rim of the canyon, as they took in the view, she placed the glass bottle down on a post.

On the post, she spotted a sticker, left behind by another traveler. Its message astonished her: “Drew’s Crew.”

This War Horse investigation was edited by Mike Frankel, fact-checked by Jess Rohan, and copy-edited by Mitchell Hansen-Dewar. Video and audio editing by LiPo Ching.

Editor’s note: This story has been updated to reflect that Christopher Rushton served as a drill instructor for about four years. The story has been updated to describe him as “a former drill instructor.”

Sgt. Devin A. Seibel, 26, died on May 31 at Erbil Air Base, Iraq, according to a Defense Department release. He was supporting Operation Inherent Resolve at the time of the incident.

Seibel, a native of Robinson, Texas, was a combat medic specialist assigned to the Air Ambulance Company, 2nd Battalion, 4th Combat Aviation Brigade out of Fort Carson, Colorado.

He enlisted in May 2017 and previously completed a deployment to Afghanistan in 2020-21.

“Sgt. Seibel’s positive impact as an exceptional non-commissioned officer, friend and husband was felt by everyone who had the privilege of knowing him,” Col. Cameron Gallagher, commander of the 4th Combat Aviation Brigade, said in a statement provided to Military Times. “He distinguished himself through an unwavering commitment to professional excellence and a relentless pursuit of growth. As a flight paramedic supporting Operation Inherent Resolve, he consistently delivered outstanding patient care and embodied the highest standards of our profession. His loss is deeply felt across the entire Ivy Eagle Brigade and his legacy of service, compassion and dedication will not be forgotten.”

Seibel’s awards include the Army Commendation Medal with Combat Device, five Army Achievement Medals, two Army Good Conduct Medals, the National Defense Service Medal, the Afghan Campaign Medal, the Inherent Resolve Campaign Medal, the Non-Commissioned Officers Professional Development Ribbon, the NATO Medal, the Overseas Service Ribbon, the Army Service Ribbon, the Combat Action Badge, and the Driver and Mechanic Badge.

A statement Tuesday by U.S. Army Central and Third Army noted that the incident occurred as troops were training alongside British Army partners.

A British soldier, Lance Corporal James Freeman, was also killed in the incident.

Freeman died “following a tragic accident during routine military training activity whilst deployed on Operation SHADER, Iraq,” the British Ministry of Defence posted.

He was 29 years old.

The incident is currently under investigation, a Defense Department release stated.