Pfc. Jesse Halling was praised by other soldiers for his actions during a battle in Tikrit. He was at his post at a military police station when his unit began taking small-arms fire and rocket-propelled grenades. He ordered others in his unit to take cover while he remained at his post and returned fire until he was hit by shrapnel. Halling, a graduate of Ben Davis High School in Indianapolis, was awarded a posthumous Purple Heart and has been nominated for a Silver Star, the Army’s third-highest medal for valor behind the Medal of Honor and Distinguished Service Cross.
(www.armytimes.com)

*NOTE:  Halling was promoted posthumously from PVT to PFC, therefore, this memorial has been identified with his final rank.

INDIANAPOLIS - A 19-year-old Indianapolis soldier whom the Army calls a hero for staying at his post in an attack that killed him was laid to rest Tuesday.

Family and friends gathered at Speedway's St. Christopher Catholic Church for the funeral of Pfc. Jesse M. Halling, who was killed when his unit was attacked June 7 near a military police station in Tikrit, Iraq.

From everything I heard, he went out on a limb for his friends, so we're proud of him," Halling's father, Al Halling, told RTV6 Tuesday.

Jesse Halling, a 2002 graduate of Ben Davis High School, was awarded a posthumous Purple Heart and has been nominated for a Silver Star Medal, the Army's third-highest medal for valor. Halling had ordered others in his 401st Military Police Company to take cover during the attack while he remained at his post, trying to reload his machine gun and firing an M-16 rifle until he was hit by shrapnel.

"He died doing what he wanted to do, and that was serve in the military and serve his country. Of course, that left a big void in our hearts," Al Halling said.

After Jesse Halling's death, the Army made special dog tags and gave them to his loved ones. The tags featured his name and the words "Iraq War Hero."

"The result of him being in that position saved many others -- they say at least three to five other soldiers' lives -- due to his heroism," Army Brig. Gen. Randal Castro said.

Indianapolis Mayor Bart Peterson ordered American, state and city flags in Indianapolis to fly at half-staff Tuesday to honor Halling.

Danny Ahlbrand, a friend of the soldier's, said he and Halling had been planning to start a motorcycle business. He credits Halling with pushing him to get passing grades in high school.

"I don't think it's going to sink in until August, when I'm expecting him home," Ahlbrand said.

TIKRIT, Iraq -- On the last night of his young life, Pvt. Jesse Halling was hunkered down with his squad in a looted Iraqi police station in Saddam Hussein's gritty home town, wet with sweat in his bulletproof vest and helmet, waiting for something bad to happen. It was what one soldier called "the witching hours."

On June 7, the ghosts came out -- armed with rocket-propelled grenades -- and found a 19-year-old recruit from Indianapolis. Since Baghdad fell on April 9, 66 U.S. soldiers have died in Iraq, in vehicle and munitions accidents, drownings, medical emergencies and increasingly, like Halling, in ambushes. In the last 19 days, 10 soldiers have been gunned down in assaults that appear increasingly organized and sophisticated, carried out by determined foes that the Pentagon now calls "subversives."

This is the story of one of those soldiers.

Halling's company commander, Capt. Marc Blair, sat this week on a wobbly chair in a hot, barren room on the grounds of Hussein's Tikrit palace, rubbing his temples, barely talking as his men described the attack to a reporter. Blair looked grim and sad, and very tired, like he was carrying the weight of the world. "He exceeded what he should have done," he said of Halling. "And that's why these three men sitting here in front of you today are alive."

"Some people label soldiers 'heroes' who don't reach that level, in my professional opinion," said Sgt. Chris Dozier, the ramrod-straight and tall leader of the 2nd platoon of the 401st Military Police Company out of Fort Hood, Tex., to which Halling belonged. "But Jesse was a hero. And that is what every soldier in the platoon thinks about him."

The room grew smaller, and the soldiers found a wall to stare at for a couple of minutes, blinking.

Into the Crucible

It was after midnight last Saturday, but in the brown, flat semi-desert north of Baghdad, the daytime temperatures that soar to 120 degrees melt away slowly. The troops who were there that night remember it felt as warm as a bread oven. Streets were empty, shops shuttered.

In Tikrit, where portraits of Hussein still adorn walls of auto parts shops and kebab joints, many citizens close their doors at night and stay locked inside until dawn.

Halling's squad had been running patrols earlier that night, and had returned to the walled compound of the Iraqi police station.

Around 2 a.m., the attack started with sporadic but accurate small-arms fire. Pop. Then silence. Then another crack of rifle. Then nothing but dogs howling.

"They were probing us. Seeing what our reaction would be," said Sgt. Jaime Carrasco, whose men were three buildings away from Halling's position, at a former municipal building that holds the Civilian Military Operations Center, known as the CMOC.

Carrasco said it was hard to know, initially, where the shots were coming from. The streetlights were on, so the men could not use their night-vision goggles. They were looking for muzzle flashes, they said, for phantoms.

Later, they realized their attackers had taken positions on rooftops at several houses directly across the street, and were moving from house to house, in a classic hit-and-run guerrilla tactic.

Halling was suited up and ready to go.

"We were at the police station and there was a call to respond and Halling's team went out from the station and immediately started taking small-arms fire," said Staff Sgt. James Ferguson, the leader of Halling's squad.

At first, rifle shots from the Iraqis were focused on the operations center, which was protected by a wall of sand barricades and concertina wire, as well as an M2 Bradley Fighting Vehicle. Then the CMOC was targeted. The Iraqi attackers seemed to be drawing the soldiers onto the street. "And it wasn't sporadic anymore," Ferguson said.

Suddenly, the Iraqis fired rocket-propelled grenades, lethal missiles designed to splinter into shrapnel fragments after detonation. Their aim was true, the soldiers said; the assailants knew what they were doing.

As Halling swung out onto the street, "it was a full-out firefight from both sides," Ferguson said. Tracer fire, sound of big guns emptying, lights and screaming.

Halling was the gunner in a three-man team of MPs, meaning he sat up in the turret of the Humvee, while the driver, Pfc. Ronald Glass, and the team leader, Sgt. Angel Cedeño, sat below.

Glass said that Halling was hammering away with his .50-caliber machine gun. Big gouges remain along the rooftops hit by Halling's fire.

Just north of the CMOC, Halling was reloading his machine gun and squeezing off rounds from his M-16 rifle. All the while, he was telling Cedeño and Glass where targets were, and also telling them to watch out, to get down, Glass recalled.

Cedeño told the other soldiers later that Halling, by remaining at his post, had saved his life. He never came down from the turret, seeking shelter in the relative protection of the Humvee, as many soldiers might have done.

From one of the roofs, a rocket-propelled grenade struck Halling's Humvee. The round detonated, and a hot chunk of shrapnel tore through Halling's jaw.

Someone was shouting: "He's hit! He's hit!"

It was an ugly, mortal wound. Halling was treated in the field. A soldier from the CMOC said he thought Halling was choking on his own blood from the face wound. He was helicoptered to a hospital but did not make it.

"He never gave up; that's what you should put in the paper," Ferguson said.

'I Never Saw Him Without a Smile'

Halling's family, friends and members of his platoon describe him as a good-looking, all-American type, with a passion for motorcycles and his Camaro. He wanted to be a pilot, but his eyesight was less than perfect. So he opted for service in the Military Police corps, and thought about getting laser surgery to correct his vision.

"He was an ordinary guy, but I never saw him without a smile on his face," said Pvt. John Jones, his roommate from Fort Hood. "He'd smile when we were digging trenches."

Halling enlisted the summer after his high school graduation, and did his 18 weeks of basic and MP training at Fort Leonard Wood in Missouri. In February, he arrived at Fort Hood. On March 23, he deployed to Kuwait and was in Iraq on the first of May.

One of Halling's fellow soldiers recalled, "He told us his sister was freaked out that he was over here and was worrying about him all the time." Jesse was close to his sister, Kristina, just two years older. At a memorial service for Halling on Tuesday afternoon on the banks of the Tigris, in the shadow of one of Hussein's elaborate palaces, Jones was planning to say a few words. But he couldn't. "It was real emotional," Jones said. There were 200 people there, including Iraqi policemen who fought alongside the U.S. troops.

"I've seen a lot of soldiers in my 13 years in the army," platoon Sgt. Dozier said, "and Halling was definitely a good soldier. That stood out right away. You could tell he was a good person. That probably came from the way he was raised. He was mature. Capable. In the army, there are low-maintenance soldiers and high-maintenance soldiers and no-maintenance soldiers, and he was no-maintenance. Knew his duty and did it."

His fellow grunts described Halling as diligent and decent. He wasn't a gung-ho warrior, but he also wasn't one of those soldiers always trying to make friends with the Iraqis.

"He was kind," Jones said. "Even though these people don't like us."

Was Halling excited to come to Iraq?

"I don't think any of us were excited to come," Jones answered.

Halling's father, Alma Halling, a former Marine officer, recalled that he warned his son of the dangers he might face in Iraq. They talked on a satellite phone a few weeks ago, a rushed conversation late on a Saturday night. "He said the people were really friendly, but you had to keep your distance because you don't know who is who," Alma Halling said. "That's what makes this war so dangerous now. You don't know who are the good guys and who aren't."

"He was not shy. I would say he was reserved. He never ever got into trouble. He never got sent to the principal or got a referral or anything like that," said Natalie Mattingly, his guidance counselor at Ben Davis High School in Indianapolis, where Halling graduated a year ago. "It takes a brave man to be gentle, kind and considerate when everyone wants the macho guy."

The high school principal, David Marcotte, said: "Now the perception here and everywhere is the war is kind of over with. The war isn't over. It brought the war back to the front page for us. We have an awful lot of young American kids in harm's way over there."

His father said: "I am proud of him. What he did he did to help his fellow friends and buddies. The only thing is, he had to pay the ultimate price."

Then he said something that's been said many times before, which doesn't make it less true: "No one should have to lose their children. Parents shouldn't have to bury their children."

Jesse Halling was posthumously awarded a Purple Heart, promoted to private first class and has been recommended for a Silver Star for gallantry under fire.

He will be buried at Crown Hill Cemetery in Indianapolis, the final resting place for President Benjamin Harrison, 10 Indiana governors and 13 Civil War generals.

Special correspondent Kimberly Edds in Los Angeles contributed to this report.