The Marines have Landed – Operation Unified Assistance - Part 2

Perera and I – author photo

The first of the Sri Lankan police and army officers reached us not long after we stepped off the beach. They came in from inland, picking their way around debris and stalled vehicles, their uniforms already darkened with sweat. One of them approached me directly, a young army captain in blue camouflage with his sleeves rolled high. There was mud caked around the tops of his boots. He looked tired but composed.

“Captain Perera,” he said, offering his hand. His English was clean and unaccented enough to be surprising. “Sri Lanka Army. Welcome.”

He paused for a beat. “Thank you for coming to help us.”

He explained the situation quickly as we walked. Roads were blocked in multiple places. Power lines were down. Aid was piling up at the beach with no way to move it inland. Helicopters would help, but they needed somewhere to land. He gestured past the road toward a stretch of open ground choked with tall grass and scattered debris.

“That field,” he said. “It is not perfect. But it is large enough for a helicopter landing zone.”

He stopped and looked at me. “I assume you would like to establish one here.”

I nodded.

Perera smiled. “Then let us get started.”

The morning heat was already settling in, thick and wet. Closer to the beach the ground was muddy and torn up, but beyond the road the vegetation grew thick and tall, hiding uneven earth underneath. Civilians were everywhere. They stood along the road, climbed into trees, perched on broken walls and rooftops to watch what was happening below. 

Children followed us at a distance, barefoot and quiet, their eyes tracking every movement. Police moved through the crowd with whistles and sharp gestures, pushing people back from the field, trying to carve out space where there wasn’t any.

Sri Lankans crowd the beach – author photo

The field was large and suitable for helicopters.  We walked the ground with Captain Perera, stepping around debris and pointing out obstacles for removal. He listened closely, nodding, occasionally giving orders to the soldiers who followed him. They quickly cleared it of civilians and debris. Well, the field wasn’t completely empty. 

Large monitor lizards moved through the grass and wreckage, their thick tails dragging long lines through the mud before disappearing into the brush.

Huge Sri Lankan lizard – author photo

Sergeant Elliott frowned when he spotted one and glanced toward Captain Perera. “Are those things poisonous?”

Perera shrugged slightly. “Not really poisonous,” he said. “But they have a vicious bite and carry a lot of bacteria in their mouths. I would avoid them, if I were you.”

Elliott nodded and turned back toward the group. “Leave the lizards alone, Marines.”

The Marines acknowledged the command and gave them space, stepping wide without comment as they continued working the field.

A moment later, a voice cut through the noise. “Holy shit, did you see that? That damn snake just stood up.”

It was Lance Corporal Hoch.

Perera raised an eyebrow. “That is either a naja snake or a king cobra,” he said evenly. “Both are highly poisonous.”

Sergeant Elliott didn’t miss a beat. “Goddammit.” He turned on his heels and started jogging in Hoch’s direction. “Leave it alone, dumbass!” 

It took about another hour to finish clearing the landing zone, roughly the same amount of time it took for the LCU to cycle back in.

When it returned, it was carrying a bulldozer and a team of combat engineers. The tone of the field shifted the moment the machine came ashore. The engine fired and settled into a low, steady growl as the blade dropped and began pushing debris aside, flattening grass and carving out usable ground in slow, deliberate passes. Engineers moved ahead of it, marking edges and signaling corrections, watching the field take shape. Dust hung in the air and mixed with the humidity, clinging to skin and uniforms as the heat continued to build.

I crossed paths with Hoch again near the edge of the field as he hauled gear toward the dozer. “I thought you were on mess duty,” I said.

He grinned, sweat streaking down his face. “Sir, I wouldn’t miss this for the world.”

I groaned. “Try not to play with any snakes. Especially the kind that stand up.”

He shrugged, a grin spreading across his face. “No promises, sir.”

LCAC from the Bonhomme Richard delivering supplies in Indonesia

Behind us, the beach stayed busy. LCUs cycled in and out, offloading pallets of supplies while the Marines from the Combat Logistics Battalion stacked them into rough distribution points. Civilians gathered closer, pressing in as police tried to keep lanes open. Kids climbed higher into the trees for a better view. The noise of engines, voices, and machinery blended into a constant hum that never quite settled.

I walked the stacks of supplies slowly, taking stock of what we had to work with. Most of the pallets consisted of food, water, and medical supplies. I stopped short in front of a row of shrink-wrapped pallets and did a double take. Tampons? Five full pallets of them.

I found the logistics officer nearby, standing over a clipboard and talking to one of his Marines. “Help me understand something, sir.” I said, nodding toward the pallets. “Why are these a priority right now?”

Hoch was standing a few steps behind me, hands on his hips, taking in the scene. “Well, sir,” he said, deadpan, “they’re absorbent.”

The logistics officer frowned and looked up from his paperwork. “We were told to offload everything we had.” He shot a dirty look at Hoch and the Marine beat a hasty retreat.

I looked at him for a moment, then shook my head and kept moving.

Marines move supplies during an exercise in Sri Lanka (2023)

Beyond the supply area, the engineers were already pushing inland. The bulldozer eased its way onto the first blocked road and began clearing a path through a tangle of debris, nudging cars aside, pushing shattered wood and roofing material into growing piles along the shoulder. Each pass opened a few more yards of pavement. Sri Lankan police moved ahead of the machine, waving people back, arguing with drivers who seemed determined to squeeze through gaps that didn’t exist.

The situation on the roads was exactly as Blonder had described it. Cars, motorcycles, and trucks appeared from every direction, horns blaring, drivers shouting over one another as if volume alone might solve the problem. A few stalled vehicles were simply pushed out of the way by hand, locals and Marines leaning into them together until they rolled clear. Once the road opened enough to pass, movement resumed immediately, the flow chaotic but constant.

The heat built steadily as the day wore on. Sweat soaked through uniforms and dried again, leaving salt stains behind. The noise never really stopped. Engines, voices, machinery, the steady background hum of work in motion. Supplies began to move inland. Water points came online. The operation took on a rhythm, imperfect but functional, and the chaos at the beach slowly spread outward instead of piling up in one place.

Not far from the supply point, a small group of water dogs had already started setting up a water filtration site. It wasn’t an official title, just a nickname that had stuck over the years for the Marines who specialized in water purification and distribution. They worked quietly and efficiently, assembling pumps, hoses, and filtration units near a shallow river that ran parallel to the road. The water looked calm enough on the surface, brown and sluggish from runoff, giving no indication of what might be moving beneath it.

As the system came together, civilians began to gather almost immediately. Men and women lined up with jugs, bottles, and whatever containers they could find. Children hovered at the edges, watching closely as the first clean water flowed into a waiting can. 

The Marines worked steadily, checking connections, adjusting valves, filling containers one at a time. It was slow, deliberate work, but it made a huge difference for the local community. 

Captain Perera stood beside me for a moment, watching the line form. He nodded toward the river. “You should be careful near the water,” he said casually. “There are crocodiles in some of these rivers.” He peered into the river.  “And water snakes. Of course.”

Sergeant Elliot with a Sri Lankan family – author photo

Sergeant Elliott glanced over at him. “Damn it, Perera,” he said, shaking his head. “Does everything here want to kill us?”

Perera thought about that for a second. “Well,” he said, “you should also be on the look out for flying tree snakes.” He paused a beat. “They are poisonous.”

Elliott sighed. “You know what,” he said, turning away, “that’s my fault for asking.”

The story of Operation Unified Assistance continues in part III of this series.  

Author Bio:

Byron Owen is a Reconnaissance Marine with tours as both a platoon commander and commanding officer at the elite 1st Force Reconnaissance Company. He also had the honor of commanding several intelligence and cyber units to include Combat Mission Team One, Cyberspace Warfare Task Group 1, and 3d Radio Battalion. He writes about influence warfare and cyber at keyterraincyber.com, and about leadership at broadswordsix.com