An outpouring for "Little Mike"

Grace Washington looked through the peep hole and saw two Marines standing on her front porch. They wore their dress uniforms, not fatigues.

She knew her son was dead even before she opened the door. Still, she prayed that maybe her handsome, charming boy had merely been wounded.

But no.

The first person she called was Seattle firefighter Mark Lundquist. She asked the longtime family friend to track down her husband, Michael W. Washington, who was working overtime at one of Seattle's fire stations.

The Marines arrived at the Queen Anne station and approached Washington as he was getting ready to go out on an emergency call. He was stopped in his tracks with the words: "We regret to inform you ... "

"That's when the fog rolled in — and it's been around us ever since," said Washington, a Seattle firefighter and a retired Marine master sergeant.

It was nearly two weeks ago when the Washingtons learned that their 20-year-old son, Marine Sgt. Michael T. Washington, had been killed in action in Afghanistan's volatile Farah province.

Since then, the family has been comforted by the constant presence of their extended family of firefighters and military veterans, who live with the pride and sometimes the pain of serving country and community.

"It's a brotherhood. When you consider what we do for others, we bear a disproportionately large share of the hardships in life," said Seattle Fire Department Capt. David Pagan, another longtime friend who also served in the Army and Navy. "People die performing their jobs. It builds a bond; it builds a mutual respect you carry around with you all the time."

Knowing that Michael's parents were overcome with grief, Pagan and Lundquist have planned every detail of today's funeral — from the motorcade procession to the 21-gun salute at Tahoma National Cemetery in Kent. Hundreds of people — friends and strangers alike — are expected.

Their help is the least they can do, Pagan and Lundquist said, to honor a boy they watched grow into a man. After all, Michael was already part of their firefighting family by birth. When he put on the uniform, he became a member of the military brotherhood, too.

"To a fine son ... "

Sgt. Washington — or "Little Mike," as he was known at his dad's fire station — was a good kid, a responsible kid. He was a charmer who used to joke that it "hurt so bad getting hit with the pretty stick," laughed his sister, Aja Collins.

He was 14 when his father was sent to Bosnia and his family was profiled in The Seattle Times. Seattle firefighters rallied around his mother, Grace Washington, to make sure she and her children were cared for during "Big Mike's" absence.

Later, when he returned, his father gave Michael a plaque that still hangs in his bedroom: "To a fine son who stepped up to the challenge and acted like a man."

Though his parents hoped he'd go to college, Michael, a graduate of Tacoma's Stadium High School, enlisted at 17. Last year, the third-generation Marine served a seven-month tour in Iraq. He was twice commended for his bravery, tactical abilities and quick action with a machine gun — honors he never mentioned to his parents.

Before deploying for Afghanistan in April, he was promoted to sergeant and put in charge of an infantry unit of 12 Marines assigned to the 2nd Battalion, 7th Marines, 1st Marine Division, I Marine Expeditionary Force based at Twentynine Palms, Calif.

"It's the hardest work out there — you're rooting out the enemy and coming to terms with them face to face," his father said. "... But as Michael said, that's where you can effect the most change. You're protecting that village so they can dig that well or build that school — you give them a chance to stand up on their own."

"Those guys are the face of hope" for Afghans who've lived under the Taliban's repressive rule, his mother added. "That's how they know people do care."

It was June 14 and a convoy of Marines in Humvees had just delivered a group of combat engineers to an undisclosed location. As the Marines were heading back to base, an unseen insurgent detonated an explosive buried in the road. The bomb tore apart a Humvee, instantly killing Michael and three of his men. A fifth was critically wounded.

Michael's "company got hit again," his father said on Monday: Three Marines and a Navy medic who served with his son were killed.

And yet, the Marines who fought alongside Michael continued to send his family messages of sorrow and support.

"We're worried about them," his father said, "but everybody over there is just so worried about how we're doing over here."

"He's a fine Marine"

From the front lines to their Tacoma neighborhood, friends, neighbors, members of their church and many of the kids Michael grew up with have reached out to the Washingtons.

Some have run errands, washed laundry or brought food. Many offered rooms in their homes for out-of-town guests coming to the funeral.

The Washingtons' mail carrier came to their door in tears. Their son's one-time Boy Scout troop leader sat with Grace through a movie she said she hardly watched. Strangers sent flowers and e-mails.

"One man called me, and I'd never met him before," said Grace Washington, wiping away tears. "He was crying so hard, almost as hard as me, that he could barely talk."

The outpouring has meant so much, especially since the wars in Iraq and Afghanistan — unlike previous conflicts — seem remote, removed from life back home, Michael Washington said. Even during the Vietnam War, anyone could receive a draft notice and be sent off to fight.

"There's not a shared sacrifice, there's no economic hardship, no rationing, none of these things to make everybody think, 'I'm in this, too,' " he said.

These days, most people don't even know someone serving in the military, Michael Washington said. But it's the families with long military histories, like his, he said, that are most likely to see their sons and daughters enlist.

And, when one of them falls, said Pagan, the longtime friend, it's important to honor them and their families.

That's why it was important, Pagan said, that he and Lundquist were on the tarmac to greet Michael's father, who had escorted his son's body back from Dover Air Force Base in Delaware to McChord Air Force Base last week.

Standing shoulder to shoulder were firefighters and military-service members who saluted as Michael's flag-draped casket was loaded into a hearse. The solemn wail of a bagpipe filled the silence.

"I can tell you it wasn't real until I saw his casket come out of the plane," Lundquist said later.

A procession of cars and motorcycles escorted the hearse to an Auburn funeral home. Along the motorcade route, firefighters and police officers saluted from roadsides and highway overpasses.

A couple of hours later, Pagan pulled out of the funeral-home parking lot with Washington in the front-passenger seat.

"Wow, wow, wow," Washington said. "I knew there would be a presence but — wow."

A few blocks away, as the friends entered the Rainbow Cafe, those inside saluted Washington.

"OK, guys, it's time to throw one back in honor of my son," he told his comrades.

He raised a silver flask: "In honor of my son. He's a fine Marine. Semper Fi!"

A chorus of voices responded: "Oorah! Oorah!"

Sara Jean Green: 206-515-5654 or sgreen@seattletimes.com