Staff Sgt. Travis Twiggs, At War With Himself

At war with himself
Posted by Ron Thibodeaux
June 06, 2008 11:16PM
The all-points bulletin that crackled from the radios of law enforcement officers across southern Arizona was explicit in its urgency.

Be on the lookout, authorities were warned, for a white, late-model Dodge hatchback bearing Arizona license 606RFC, believed occupied by two brothers who had carjacked it from the Grand Canyon two days earlier.

The Border Patrol had tried to detain the vehicle at a checkpoint near Yuma, but the driver sped away, and officers were now in pursuit. Both men were said to have violent criminal histories, and anyone coming in contact with them should consider the suspects armed and dangerous, the bulletin warned.

Thus informed, anxious deputies and police officers from communities along Interstate 8 joined in the chase, speeding brothers Travis and Will Twiggs, both St. Charles Parish natives, toward an unlikely destiny on the morning of May 14.

But that fateful call to arms was only half right.

Until they had wrecked their own car at the Grand Canyon and uncharacteristically forced their way into someone else's, these guys were no criminals. Will Twiggs, 38, lived a quiet life in Metairie, and other than driving under the influence now and then, he didn't get into trouble. Travis Twiggs, 36, knew violence all too well, but it was in the line of duty, as a Marine staff sergeant who had pulled a staggering five tours in Iraq and Afghanistan since 2002.

He was good at what he did, utterly devoted to duty and country, but all that time in "the sandbox" had messed with his head. Although physically fit, he was an emotional wreck, a classic case of post-traumatic stress disorder if there ever was one.

So it wasn't just Travis and Will in that stolen hatchback. Jared and Bobby were there, too.
Never mind that the explosion from the enemy mortar attack wasn't the sergeant's fault, couldn't have been avoided. Ever since Lance Cpl. Jared J. Kremm and Lance Cpl. Robert F. Eckfield Jr. had died under his command in Iraq in the fall of 2005, they were with their sergeant always. Every day. Every night. Everywhere.

Travis Twiggs had returned from earlier deployments with battle scars from the combat he had seen with his men. Although his injuries were not visible, were "only" psychological, he was no more whole than if he'd had a leg blown off. The only way he knew how to cope was to get back in-country with his Marines.

But once he lost Jared and Bobby, he spiraled out of control. And no amount of treatment, or counseling, or booze could persuade him he was not to blame for their deaths or teach him how to live with the guilt.

Those Arizona cops had no way of knowing it, but when he sped away from that Border Patrol checkpoint and took off through the desert with his brother at his side, Travis Twiggs wasn't running from them. He was running from his demons.
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Tomorrow is part two of this story.