Riding with the Special Forces Brotherhood Motorc
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Special Forces, past and present, came to Washington, DC, on Sunday to participate in the annual Rolling Thunder ride, where thousands of motorcyclists ride to the Capitol and back to honor those taken prisoner of war or those missing in action.
The Special Forces Brotherhood Motorcycle Club, abbreviated as SFBMC in a patch over their hearts, came from around the country to participate in the solemn event and to catch up with one another, who they consider to be family.
They came from all over the country, from Fort Bragg in North Carolina and as far as from Yuma, Arizona. They were active and retired, young and old. Many came with wives and girlfriends. Some came by themselves. But all were amongst friends.
To become a member of the SFBMC is no easy task — candidates must earn their way in. There is a vetting process to become even a prospective candidate. Candidates must have worn the Special Forces tab honorably. Ultimately every member must approve the candidate’s entrance into the club.
Full members don a black leather or canvas vest with a “Special Forces” patch at the top. Below it is the Special Forces insignia. At the bottom is a “Brotherhood” patch. On the front, each member wears their chapter names. There are chapters all over the country.
The day before the ride, they stopped at Arlington National Cemetery, to honor the brothers who have given the ultimate sacrifice. This year, they laid a Green Beret at the tomb of President John F. Kennedy, the president who officially stood up the Green Beret regiment.
They went to Section 60 to visit their fallen brothers in the long wars of their time — Iraq and Afghanistan, where many Green Berets have deployed multiples times. The club started in 2006, at the height of the Iraq War.
They visited the graves of Shawn Thomas, Logan Melgar, Andrew Ross, Eric Emond, Jason Thomas, Anthony Yost, and Alfonso Molinar, just to name some. The names are still rolling in.
At each grave, they reflected on the man they knew and loved, clearing throats, and furtively wiping away tears. They poured drinks for their friends. Sometimes they swapped funny stories.
“Let’s put it this way — you don’t want everyone to be a Jamie. But you always want a Jamie,” one Green Beret said fondly as they gathered around Jamie Otts’ grave.