You'll probably get a medal or something for that....

"You'll probably get a medal or something for that...." the other mechanic said. And i looked at him, knowing he meant well, but still unable to speak. I just thought to my self how much he really didn't get it.

We had a plane that needed an engine change ....broke somewhere "on the road".I worked my normal 12 hr shift and was informed that i would be leaving later that evening on the recovery team. So i went to pick up my gear.... my kevlar, gas mask, flak vest, m-16......& ammo ...& then I packed an overnite bag....ate chow, showered, put on a fresh uniform and went to get my intel breifing......... I tried to doze off for half an hour..... trying to get some sleep, because i knew whatever i could sneak in right there was about all i was getting that night. & i waited some more...i waited & waited...... waited....For paperwork, manifests,for all things buerocratic.....we're leaving in one hour,... no two.....no tomorrow......no ... "your ride is inbound!! ten minutes out! ... grab your gear, i'll take you out to the plane"... Damn i was almost falling asleep!!

Never quite did understand the whole way military keeps time. If you are supposed to be there at 0800, that means 0745. If someone else is supposed to be there at 0800, if your not ready it means 0700, if you are it means like 0930- 1000. So while i waited that hour and a half for the ride that was "ten minutes out".... I thought about how tired i was..........how long a day or two it would be......and I hoped that nobody would make any mistakes that could damage anything and or/ anyone...............and then.........

i thought about how .....however tired i was, there are people who have been more tired and have done more important things. My brother in law is a doctor.....& his residency, was alot like like ranger school, from what i gather.....but with scalpels instead. He'll preform surgeries after being up a day and a half straight....food? may or may not eat ......it depends.

But when i was sitting there waiting for my ride.......trying to doze a little laying on the pavement.....I thought about all the guys out there, doing what almost seems humanly impossible......."soldiering on" long after the sleep and food reserves have been exhausted. I have some freinds in infantry, some that are ranger tabbed, but i'm guessing just about everyone who has wandered out side the wire far enough can relate to what i'm saying. But i can hardly say that this was the norm. for me. I know that however, for many it is. But thinking of my infantry freinds out there, put things in perspective. To them this would probably be an easy day. Finally, it was time to go.

So i got on the plane for a relatively short flight, i hadn't flown in awhile and i forgot how good it felt. We landed and did an engine running off--load of the mxs team and our gear.........and 24 hrs into my day we got to begin our engine change.

Although, nothing in the world of the military is quite that simple. We were parked off by ourselves and we would need an escort to get to our plane, because you had to contact the control tower to cross active taxi ways. The wings over hung the dirt/sand/ rocks which made it difficult to push the stands around. Some broke airplanes were parked behind ours...so when we were done fixing ours we would have to tow it to a runup pad (so our exhaust didn't pelt the broke aircraft in back of ours....)...and of course we would need an escort for that too... to be on tower frequency. Really very typical, though nothing hard or complicated about this one.. Our plane is just too big to be able to be completely self reliant, on a job like this. No big deal but whenever you need someones help....more waiting....

The engine change was no small deal in itself.......with a fresh team, under perfect conditions we would be looking looking at 12 hrs (before its ready to fly). And this particular location isn't ideal and the mxs team wasn't fresh.............that spot gets mortared regularly, and all i could do was hope we weren't gonna have any attacks to slow us down. I was hoping for the best but not counting on it.

We got the engine changed without much incident. The mxs team sent were all good guys willing to work together, & all knowledgeable in our trades (which is unusual under these circumstances.) I disconnected the engine from the plane while two of the guys removed the prop, and one drove the crane. The Army airfield commander made us take lunch after about 6 hrs of work cuz he wanted us out of the sun. But we were other wise just planning to eat an MRE. This sucked too cuz we had to take a bus.......then we were waiting for a bus ride back to stand in line to get something to eat...oh we had to stand to eat too....they were redoing another chow hall so this one got all the overflow....and couldn't accomodate everyone with seating......then we waited at a bus stop... and no bus came, and after waiting for about 20 min....we deicided to hoof it back....and got lost ....and of that.....all we seemed to accomplish was losing probably an hour and 1/2 (cuz it takes like 10 min to eat an mre)....and as a bonus we ended up feeling like crap ...'cuz full bellies on tired mechanics in the hot iraqi sun isn't exactly a pick- me- up.But we "soldiered on" ....or i guess "wrenched on"..... I hooked up the lines on the engine while the guys swapped the prop from one motor to the next, and while they did that....in the process they pinched a seal, so we were about to do our ops checks and the prop started leaking. We had to yank the prop back off to reseal it. Bummer. What was looking to be about an hour till we were ready forthe ops checks before lunch which was at o-lunch-thirty, now looked like it would be more like beer-thirty ...after the lunch fiasco and leaky prop. The later it gets the fewer the chances of getting a ride home that night too......

But we wrenched on, and resealing it turned out to be pretty smoothe. We finally finished...and went for an engine run ops check........ all of which took one second to say....but an hour or two to do .

Anyway, the engine change checked out........ we did a really good job...

And i suggested skipping the buerocracy and getting a ride back "home" now.....begging forgiveness later....but in keeping with military tradition....the ranking individual was not privvy to the traveling system, and bias to getting his azz chewed. (and a litle annoyed with my suggestions......."they are already working that" and.... "they said the only plane we can take is at oh-what-thirty local, there is no other way".....i have a hard time swallowing the bullshit that they feed the rank of the moment, when i personally know better. But i bit my tongue... as every good "knuckle dragger" should, and i just left him to think inside his box.


So we spent the night WAITING TO BE MORTARED because there, a whole day without an attack is pressing your luck. So we were there spending the night after a 36hr shift of working straight, probably about 40 hours till we were able to sack out. Nothing like working a day and a half straight...to find your self lugging your flak vest kevlars, weapon, ammo, overnight bag, around the base in the middle to a night to stumble into a tent...to try to find a vacant spot to sleep. By vacant i mean a bed without a body in it....because there was too much left over trash to really consider it vacant....oh.....they forgot to tell me when i check in at billeting....no linens. What the heck did i check in for? We dont pay....they dont take a credit card.....basically you tell them that hi im here i will be staying overnight. And they say ok....go try to find an empty spot...... they couldn't have told me then to pick up linnens. And now i have to go back to where i just came from....AND Nope!!! cant leave your weapon...or your ammo...or your anything...so back i go stumbling around IN THE DARK... to go pick up my linnens....but actually by this point i was so tired i was numb...beyond numb....and i didn't even care. Then i pick up my linens and stumbled around again by this point the straps from my pack pushed the sling for my rifle down on my arm, and i'm shortto begin with so the butt of my rifle was dragging in the stones----but.YUP!!..you guessed it!! wasn't caring!!...too tired and my hands were just too full to adjust. And if i stopped i didn't think i'd ever get going again...

So i got back to the empty spot at my LOVELY new home. Threw my junk down....by this point i was pretty much foaming at the mouth in need of water...because it is all non potable.....and it was now ending up to be a really long time since we had any access to water that we knew of. So i went to find some one (me and my trusty weapon and ammo and...)to ask where they had water available. Of course the places they pointed out were a hike and a half, and when you get there...."oh that's were we used to keep it.....now we keep it over there......" Arrrrghhhh.... I was about to say "screw it" when some guy came up and asked me if i needed any help.
I was about to ask him to marry me.... but i figured it would freak him out and i would never get any water..... so i just told him how happy i was to hear those words and asked if he had a bottle of water or new where i could get one. By this point my desperation musta been pretty evident, cuz i dont think he would have been more startled if i had gone and asked him to marry me. That was a looooooong day.

I passed out in my grease covered dcus....with my linen in a pile next to my bodyarmor and rifle on my bed. I did unlace my boots though. I have a question for you been-there-done-that's? What the hell do you do with your weapon when you shower? Do they have somewhere in the shower bay for you to put it so it doesn't get wet? Cuz this shower bay may as well not have curtains at all....if it was anywhere in there it was fair game..............

So yeah... i was just wondering.....

Our ride back to our ..... i guess.....rob..... rear operating base...landed at oh-what-thirty local..... almost 24hrs after we were done fixing mis piggy (the broke herk)& dropped off the flight crew. Then "persco" (people in charge of screwing up travel throughout the military from what i gather ) fed the rank more crap . (Did you notice...i just found how to make italics today)

Now............ they said that there was a plane coming in at almost-tomorrow-thirty local and maybe they can take us, and persco then said we couldn't get on that plane that we just fixed and fly back to our base with it because there wasn't enough time to do the paperwork. This was almost 19 hrs they had to do the paperwork. I have seen people get manifested in ten minutes when persco is trying to cover one of their screwups.......

Meanwhile, I did the stuff mechanics do, assisting the flight crew with the inspection to get the plane ready to go. The flight crew said that they had room to take us .

When our boss breifed us that almost-tomorrow-thirty local or ...(another-night-in-this-shithole-thirty zulu) ...was the only option......... i again tried to change his mind......because i knew other options.....and then was promplty reminded to bite tongue........

And Thuunk......Thuunk..Thuunk....then we got hit......and i was wlking in the direction of the bunker at the time anyway, and about maybe 30 ft in front of me i was now looking at this big cloud of dirt and smoke that seemed toto keep shooting upwards, and keep shooting upwards and keep shooting upwards....But no sirens, no one seemed particularly alarmed. WTF? No one looked even to be taking cover. And i look at the smoke and sand shoting up in the air and i said "is that what i think it is" to someone walking by without their armor...."thuunk ...Thunk....thnuk....." and he said Yes....as he began to move a litle more expeditiously now...... I wasn't wearing my kevlar or flak vest or anything, I heard a couple more "thunks"& i decided i wasn't gonna wait for the military to decide to sound the alarms......(back to that whole timeliness thing again)..... After all this was an airbase & Alarm red to the airforce usually means "last call"....... & probably that taking cover is a precautionary deal.....something that you do....but there is never a real actual threat!!!! That is pretty much the mentality ....or so it seemed.....

It was surreal....noone was taking cover.Like i was the only one who saw/heard it...I'm a cherry what can i say? I thought.... are we getting attacked?!?!?!? WTF?!?!?! No sirens.....???? (Maybe it's just EOD with UXOs or something....no sirens?? or nobody taking cover.?!?!?!?!?...).and i was looking at the smoke and then i heard more thunks and then finally sirens and sombody yelling in the most desperate chilling tone i have ever heard in my "high rent military career" "Is anyone O negative?!" and then people started taking cover.........but it was wierd .......you'd think people would take cover quicker cuz they get attacked and hit every day. The smoke and sand i came to find out was indeed a UXO or rocket that didn't go off...a dud. One airman wasn't as lucky as me..... one detonated 10 ft from him....and he lost both his legs and one arm.

We sat there in the bunker....... And i said to the ranking guy...."you know they didn't take off yet....we can still catch them, if we hurry" ....(after alarm yellow). Now he listened.....So i went to let the guys know we were gonna need transportation out to the plane to try to catch them (the flight crew) before they takeoff becuz they will be in a hurry to leave to avoid further delays due to any subsequent attacks that may or may not occur. And so after we got the all clear......we went out back to the plane but before we got there.............we were getting hit again............... so we went back to the bunkers .....this time with the flight crew ..... which became our new ride home.

While we waited that one out.... i wasn't afraid nor was mostly anyone else, around me....there was nothing you could do but take cover... and we were.... from what i have seen fear is anticipating the things you cant control.....and bravery is not the lack of fear but proceeding in spite of it....So there i was...not brave , and not afraid ...just there.

......and the other mechanic said........."you'll probably get a medal or something for that"... WTF?!?!?!? And i looked at him, knowing he meant well, but still unable to speak. I just thought to my self how much he really didn't get it. of my freind Adam who had his ears blown out....who didn't want a purple heart........and of the airman who was so badly injured..........I knew he would get a medal or two...but no medal is great enough to award sommeone for sacraficing their limbs, or their life. How did he think by doing nothing i could have deserved one, much less have even wanted one.....especially in comparison to all the great sacrafices that have been made by so many....................

Well i'm here in iraq............

Hey XXXXX,
Found this on CombatLeadership.com and knew you'd like to see it. This Lt. has a knack for writing!

--------------START OF THE LETTER-----------------

Well, I’m here in Iraq, and I’ve seen it, and done it. I’ve seen everything you’ve ever seen in a war movie. I’ve seen cowardice; I’ve seen heroism; I’ve seen fear; and I’ve seen relief. I’ve seen blood and brains all over the back of a vehicle, and I’ve seen men bleed to death surrounded by their comrades. I’ve seen people throw up when it’s all over, and I’ve seen the same shell shocked look in 35 year old experienced sergeants as in 19 year old privates. I’ve heard the screams-“Medic! Medic!” I’ve hauled dead civilians out of cars, and I’ve looked down at my hands and seen them covered in blood after putting some poor Iraqi civilian in the wrong place at the wrong time into a helicopter. I’ve seen kids with gunshot wounds, and I’ve seen kids who’ve tried to kill me.

I’ve seen men tell lies to save lives: “What happened to Sergeant A--?” The reply: “C’mon man, he’s all right-he’s wondering if you’ll be okay-he said y’all will have a beer together when you get to Germany.” SFC A-- was lying fifteen feet away on the other side of the bunker with two medics over him desperately trying to get either a pulse or a breath. The man who asked after him was SGT B--, bleeding from two gut wounds and rasping as he tried to talk with a collapsed lung. SGT B-- made it-SFC A-- didn’t.

I’ve run for cover as fast as I’ve ever run-I’ll hear the bass percussion thump of mortar rounds and rockets exploding as long as I live. I’ve heard the shrapnel as it shredded through the trailers my men live in and over my head. I’ve stood, gasping for breath, as I helped drag into a bunker a man so pale and badly bloodied I didn’t even recognize him as a soldier I’ve known for months. I’ve gathered my breath, stood up straight and walked out of a bunker where everyone was taking cover to check the trailers for my men. I’ve run across open ground to find my soldiers and make sure I had everyone.

I’ve kicked in doors to houses and seen them fall flat at my feet-like in every action movie you’ve ever watched. I’ve raided houses, and shot off locks, and broken in windows. I’ve grabbed prisoners, and guarded them. I’ve looked into the faces of men who would have killed me if I’d driven past their IED an hour later. I’ve looked at men who’ve killed two people I knew, and saw fear. I’ve seen that, sadly, that men who try to kill other men aren’t monsters, and most of them aren’t even brave-they aren’t defiant to the last-they’re ordinary people. Men are men, and that’s it. I’ve prayed for a man to make a move towards the wire, so I could flip my weapon off safe and put two rounds in his chest-if I could beat my platoon sergeant’s shotgun to the punch. I’ve been wanted dead, and I’ve wanted to kill.

I’ve sworn at the radio when I heard one of classmate’s platoon sergeant’s call over the radio: “Contact! Contact! IED, small arms, mortars! One KIA, three WIA!” Then a burst of staccato gunfire and a frantic cry: “Red 1, where are you! Where are you!” as we raced to the scene, as fast as our HUMVEES could take us, knowing full well we were too late for at least one of our comrades. I’ve sped through towns, guns at the ready, my gut tight, as we drove down the only road we could see towards an ominous black cloud of smoke rising on the horizon. I’ve seen a man without the back of his head and still done what I’ve been trained to do-“Medic!” I’ve cleaned up blood and brains so my soldiers wouldn’t see it-taken pictures to document the scene, like I’m in some sort of bizarre cop show on TV.

I’ve heard gunfire and hit the ground, heard it and closed my HUMVEE door, and heard it and just looked and figured it was too far off to worry about. I’ve seen men stacked up outside a house, ready to enter-some as scared as they could be, and some as calm as if they were picking up lunch from McDonalds. I’ve laughed at dead men, and watched a sergeant on the ground, laughing so hard he was crying, because my boots were stuck in a muddy field, all the while an Iraqi corpse not five feet from him.

I’ve heard men worry about civilians, and I’ve heard men shrug and sum up their viewpoint in two words-“F***** ‘em.” I’ve seen people shoot when they shouldn’t have, and I’ve seen my soldiers take an extra second or two, think about it, and spare somebody’s life.

I’ve sat in a sandstorm and spat grit out of my teeth. I’ve slept in a thundershower in the desert. I’ve seen vehicles disappear into the wind not ten feet in front of me-not even their lights visible. I’ve seen the dawn, and I’ve seen flashes of light brighter than the dawn at midnight.

I’ve heard things that sound surreal-things you tell yourself you’ll never hear, never say. “We’ve got a bird down!” “Light ‘em up!” and “There is no such thing as a white flag.”

I’ve been the new guy-“What are those for?” “Stops RPGs, sir.” And, in a month, I’ve been the veteran-“Why do your men have a .50 cal round tucked in their body armor, sir?” “They say the big bullet keeps the smaller ones away.”

I’ve bought drinks from Iraqis while new units watched in wonder from their trucks, pointing weapons in every direction, including at the Iraqis my men were buying a Pepsi from. I’ve patrolled roads for 8 hours at a time that combat support units spend days preparing to travel ten miles on. I’ve laughed as other units sit terrified in traffic, fingers nervously on triggers, while my soldiers and I deftly whip around, drive on the wrong side of the road, and wave to Iraqis as we pass. I can recognize a Sadiqqi (Arabic for friend) from a Haji (Arabic word for someone who has made the pilgrimage to Mecca, but our word for a bad guy); I know who to point my weapons at, and who to let pass.

I’ve come in from my third 18 hour patrol in as many days with a full beard and stared at a major in a pressed uniform who hasn’t left the wire since we’ve been here, daring him to tell me to shave. He looked at me, looked at the dust and sweat and dirt on my uniform, and went back to typing at his computer. I’ve stood with my men in the mess hall, surrounded by people who’s idea of a bad day in Iraq is a six hour shift manning a radio, and watched them give us a wide berth as we swagger in, dirty, smelly, tired, but sure in our knowledge that we pull the triggers, and we do what the Army does, and they, with their clean uniforms and weapons that have never fired, support us.

I’ve heard people who’ve been the Army fifteen years longer than I have thank me a thousand times for providing them security when their vehicle broke down even after I told them they were in a pretty safe area. I’ve heard my soldiers laugh at what other people consider dangerous, and heard them make jokes about death.

I’ve given a kid water and Gatorade and made a friend for life. I’ve let them look through my sunglasses-no one wears them in this country but us-and watched them pretend to be an American soldier-a swaggering invincible machine, secure behind his sunglasses, only because the Iraqis can’t see the fear in his eyes. I’ve taken off my helmet and glasses inside someone’s house, just trying to calm them down, to reassure them that I’m not the robot I look like with my gear, and my weapons, and my radios. I’ve waved at little kids who smile and wave back, I’ve winked at little toddlers who hide behind their mother’s leg when we come inside, and I’ve seen coy smiles from doorways as girls in their teens peer at us when they aren’t supposed to, and, occasionally, if they think they can get away with it, wave at us-the exotic, dangerous, foreigners. I’ve seen a woman give roses to my senior scout, who was quite unsure what to make of it, and more than a little worried that her husband or brother or father was back inside the house, looking for his AK.

I’ve said it a thousand times-“God, I hate this country.” I’ve heard it a million times more-“This place sucks.” In quieter moments, I’ve heard more profound things-“Sir, this is a thousand times worse than I ever thought it would be,” and, “My wife and SGT C--’s wife were good friends-I hope she’s taking it well,” and “Sir, I know I said I wanted my CIB, but now I think I’ll be okay if I never get it.”

I’ve told men to get in their vehicles and do what I say or I’d send them to jail, and I’ve asked the same soldiers how they were taking it. I’ve had my men tell me they couldn’t trust me one day, because our mission ran long, and had them run to me and ask if this or that was true two days later. I’ve had them tell me I’m not afraid enough for them-and had other soldiers laugh, because they know, like me, that they’ll come through it all right. I’ve heard my soldiers who were so scared only a few days earlier that they told me they wouldn’t go out on patrol get angry when they heard another soldier actually did refuse to go out on a mission. They say they’re scared, and say they won’t do this or that, but when it comes time to do it, they can’t let their buddies down, can’t let their friends go outside the wire without them, because they know it isn’t right for the team to go into the ballgame at any less than 100%.

That’s combat, I guess, and there’s no way you can be ready for it, it just is what it is, and everybody’s experience is different.

Just thought you might want to know what it’s really like,

2LT, North of Baghdad
------------------------------------------------


......Most have seen this, i think CBFTW even had it on his blog.........
but somethings never get worn out..................... Author unkown......



The average age of the Infantryman is 19 years.

He is a short haired, tight-muscled kid who, under normal circumstances is considered by society as half man, half boy. Not yet dry behind the ears, not old enough to buy a beer, but old enough to die for his country. He never really cared much for work and he would rather wax his own car than wash his father's; but he has never collected unemployment either.

He's a recent High School graduate; he was probably an average student, pursued some form of sport activities, drives a ten year old jalopy, and has a steady girlfriend that either broke up with him when he left, or swears to be waiting when he returns from half a world away.

He listens to rock and roll or hip hop or rap or jazz or swing and 155mm Howitzers.

He is 10 or 15 pounds lighter now than when he was at home because he is working or fighting from before dawn to well after dusk.

He has trouble spelling, thus letter writing is a pain for him, but he can field strip a rifle in 30 seconds and reassemble it in less - in the dark. He can recite to you the nomenclature of a machine gun or grenade launcher and use either one effectively if he must.

He digs foxholes and latrines and can apply first aid like a professional.

He can march until he is told to stop or stop until he is told to march.

He obeys orders instantly and without hesitation, but he is not without spirit or individual dignity.

He is self-sufficient. He has two sets of fatigues: he washes one and wears the other. He keeps his canteens full and his feet dry. He sometimes forgets to brush his teeth, but never to clean his rifle. He can cook his own meals, mend his own clothes, and fix his own hurts. If you're thirsty, he'll share his water with you; if you are hungry, his food. He'll even split his ammunition with you in the midst of battle when you run low. He has learned to use his hands like weapons and weapons like they were his hands. He can save your life - or take it, because that is his job.

He will often do twice the work of a civilian, draw half the pay and still find ironic humor in it all. He has seen more suffering and death then he should have in his short lifetime.

He has stood atop mountains of dead bodies, and helped to create them.

He has wept in public and in private, for friends who have fallen in combat and is unashamed.

He feels every note of the National Anthem vibrate through his body while at rigid attention, while tempering the burning desire to 'square-away' those around him who haven't bothered to stand, remove their hat, or even stop talking. In an odd twist, day in and day out, far from home, he defends their right to be disrespectful.

Just as did his Father, Grandfather, and Great-grandfather, he is paying the price for our freedom.

Beardless or not, he is not a boy.

He is the American Fighting Man that has kept this country free for over 200 years. He has asked nothing in return, except our friendship and understanding.

Remember him, always, for he has earned our respect and admiration with his blood.

....Not much new here, a convoy got hit...........

Below is more email correspondence forwarded to me by another of my freinds. He (John an aircraft crewchief), and his cousin (Chris --works in supply) are activated reservists both serving in the desert, for different services, at different bases.I work with John, and know Chris well because they were roomates for quite some time. Long before Sept 11th.

They were not born of priveledge...as stands true of most of the enlisted ranks that i have seen. And i would have to say that each of them is just a little to kind to others, a little too eager to lend a helping hand, not as confident as they should be, and a little too giving and too quick to trust others, all of which, too much for their own good. Thier similarities seemingly end there. Chris has a medium build, shorter blonde hair and works as a delivery man. John Is larger framed with dark hair and is a mechanic. Both have blue eyes. Both are very shy and neither have been very popular with the ladies.

I'll never forget the summer Chris shaved his head. Chris has the funniest shaped head i have ever seen. He shaved his head before his two week drill, to discover that his head was horribly cone shaped. He was very embarrassed and wouldn't ever take his hat off. Of course in the military your getting away with wearing a hat indoors so during his drill he took alot of hell for it. Out in the desert he shaved his head again....though i heard him swear he never would. same as before only this drill is lasting alot longer than that last...........and there more important concerns than the shape of his head...but mostly it's covered in kevlar anyway


How's it going, John? This weather just kicks my ass, it's hotter down
by you I guess. Just wanted to thank you guys for the package, I won't run
out of reading material for awhile. I will return the favor next year
when I get back home. Would you rather get your time done all at once or do
you like your situation now? Saw your mom and dad when I was home. As usual
time flew by. Take care for now and thanks again. I wasn't sure which email
address to use.
Chris*****
*****, Iraq

"Let every nation know, whether it wishes us well or ill, that we
shall pay any price, meet any hardship, support any friend, oppose any foe,
to assure the survival and success of liberty."-John F. Kennedy


Hey Chris how's it going? Are you used to the heat again? I work
nights . That is so nice I would hate to work days. I'm almost
half way done with this rotation over here but I think I'm going to
*anywhere* for a month over and then back over here again next
*anytime* yee ha.

Stay safe
and talk to you later John






What's up, John? Not much new here. A convoy I was on got hit by a suicide
bomber last week. I ended up with minor injuries. It seems to be
gettinga little cooler here lately, if you consider 105 cool. I guess were
looking at 4 more months here and then hopefully home sometime in
*any month*. How are things by you? Take care and I'll talk to you later.

*****Chris***
****, Iraq

Ordinary people doing ordinary things....just trying to stay alive.

Underneath their kevlar helmets............

.....and beneath the body armor ....there are people. Something the media rarely captures............

A letter from Josh:

Hey Nicole how are you doing. I am sorry that i sent you an email with
just pictures. I wrote about a 3 page email yesterday to you, and then
the computers crashed because they run off of generators, and they had
ran out of gas. I WAS SO HOTT. So now I have to retype it all. But that
is ok too. So how have you been doing. I was so worried that you
wouldnt write me and email back. But I am so glad that you did. That story
with the little boy in the grocerystore was really cute. I went to the
website that you gave me, and it WORKED. WOW you look like your all of 25
at most. The picture of you in Kuwait in the tent with an old navy
shirt on, you look like 19! I bet you get hit on alot by airforce guys, as
well as army. It looks like you have been everywere in the world. I was
amazed to see all of the pictures you had, with all the places you have
been. That is something very special. Not everyone gets to leave there
state more or less the country. My step father is at the same place
lace you are. He is leaving there in June. I
believe. Is going back to pope for a week before he deploys to Rammestein AFB
in germany. He will be there for about 4 months. He is there with the
53rd APS. he is 6'7 so you cant miss him. He says he works night shift
though. Anyways the reason that I didnt go to Ft. Bragg, is because in
my contract, I didnt have airborne school guarnteed to me. So by not
having that I wasnt promised a slot. The recruiter told me if i wanted in
guarnteed that I could not have left for basic until Dec. 2003, but he
assured me buy taking me to get an airborne physical, that he drill
sgts at he end of AIT would ask if anyone would like to go to airborne
school, well they didnt, so thats how I ended up in texas! I havent really
done that much in texas though I was only there for like 2 and a half
months and then I came over here. Things are going preety well here. The
usual missions, going out and looking for stuff to do. I am on a
PST team ( Personell Security Team) for our Battalion Commander, and
Battalion Command SGT Major. So anytime they leave, I am with them. I
guess you could say that I am kinda like a body guard. thats how come I
am always going to BIAP, or the green zone, or sader city. Its because
usually they have meetings up that way. As far as my address in Iraq I
can give you that. But i dont need anything at all. My church send me a
huge box every 2 weeks, and my mom sends a box everyweek, but here it
is. It usually takes 2 weeks to get mail over here. In response
to how we got over here, we flew out of Ft. Hood on a Commercial
Airline. It was one of the biggest planes that I have ever flew in. We flew
from Texas to maine, and stayed for about 45 min, due to ice on run way,
then we flew from there to Frankfort Germany, and stayed at like a
little military airport. I saw alot of Airforce there, and then we fle
w into some Kuwait Airport. It was at Camp Wolverine, which ever one
that one is. It was about a 22hr flight overall. I will never forget it
eighter. So how have you been? How do you like the airforce, I no you
just love you job. You are a really sweet person. WOW. you
seem like one of those " cool moms" you no the kind you see in movies. I
dont no. Maybe your not to busy today. I hope you got the email with
those 4 pictures. I have sent about 5 dissposible cameras home and my dad
put them all on a CD. He is sending it to me as we speak, so when i get
it I can show you some more RECENT photos of me if you wish. Well,
thats about all thats going on for now. I hope your doing well, and are
staying cool. It is really hott over here. You take care, and i am so glad
we got to talk again.
Always
Josh

Who are they?

A letter from Steve:

Hey , how are things? i'm sorry it has taken me so long to get
back to you. before i continue with mindless army banter let me first say
that it was great to get a ride from sombody/some unit that wasn't a total bummer. you guys really were a breath of fresh air. i try to smile
and stay positive and it is really great when you get a smile back. after
all things always could be worse. anyway thanks for that and thanks for all the
wonderful words in your email.

i have to admit that i was somewhat put back when you came up on the
c130 and asked if we had email. i was expecting you to say something
like... we need a new manifest...or.... not all the bags will fit....or... we need
to put our kevlars on. that was not the case, so if i was a little
speechless, it just took me by surprise. all my guys were all... what the???
what's the lt doin? "i bet we have to where our kevlars, lame. so yeah....
you difinately gave them somthing to talk about.

i don't have much time today but here goes.... i'm an LT in howitzer
batter, 2nd squadron, 3rd armored cavalry based out of ft. carson colorado.
what that basically means is that i'm a cav trooper just like any other who
does what ever the infinate wisdom of the army dictates. i may be raiding a
house on tuesday and setting up elections on friday. who knows maybe
we'll pass some candy out or arest some "evil do'ers"! ha! we've been over
here since hummm. let me see.... apr.3rd. yup... so it has been a bit. we
sould be getting out of here in a couple of months but you know how that
goes. as a squadron we have spent our time overhere doing just about evrything.
if it was on the news chances are we had some of our guys there. we
operated out of the ramadi, falujah area for a few months and that was totally
bogus. then we left, and then, we went back. now we are out west holding
down
the borders and expansive "nothingness of iraq". okay well i gotta go.
i'll write again later when i have more time. i would love to here
more about what you guys are up to or where you guys are from. is your unit
flying us out of this joint? i know, i know,- opsec. lame.

if there is anything you would like to know spacifically just drop in
down. i'm sorry for the somewhat random ness of the email and overal poor
grammer/spelling but that is how i do it. ha!

"get up with the get up and get down with the get down!" later, steve

Lesson Learned

I got this from military.com last Veterans day. I don't know who wrote it...it was posted by a moderator, Al Locke. A worthwhile read:

Below is a speech given by a contemporary of mine. I believe it states
what the military is about very well. Happy Veterans Day to all that
have served or are serving.



Let me say before beginning that it has been my pleasure to attend
several dining-in here at West Point and hence I have some basis for
comparison. You people have done a fine job and you ought to congratulate
yourselves. In fact, why don't we take this time to have the persons
who were responsible for this event stand so we can acknowledge them
publicly.
I guess I am honored with these invitations because there exists this
rumor that I can tell a story. Cadets who I have had in class sometimes
approach me beforehand and request that, during my speech, I tell some
of the stories I've told them in class.

For the longest time I have resisted this. I simply didn't think this
the right forum for story-telling, so I tried instead, with varying
degrees of success, to use this time to impart some higher lesson , some lesson i
thought that would perhaps stay with one or two of you a little longer
than the 10 or 15 minutes I will be standing here.

I tried this again last week at another dining in and I bombed. Big
time. Of course, the cadets didn't say that. They said all the polite
things Thank you, sir, for those inspiring words...
We all certainly learned. And I'm thinking , yeah you learned something all right. You
learned never to invite that SOB to be a dining in speaker again.

So in the interim I've spent quite a bit of time thinking about what
I would say to you tonight. What can I say that will stay with you? And
as I reflected on this I turned it on myself What stays with me?
What makes a mark on me? What do I remember, and why? How have I learned
the higher lessons I so desperately want to impart to you?

Well I've learned those higher lessons through experience. And as
I thought further, I realized that there's only one way to relate
experience and that is to tell some stories.

So I'm going to try something new here this evening. I'm going to
give you your stories... I'm going to attempt to relate what I've learned by
living them. I'm going to let you crawl inside my eye-sockets and see some
of the things I've seen these past 18 years.

Imagine you are a brand new second lieutenant on a peacekeeping mission
in the Sinai Peninsula. You are less than a year out of West Point, and
only a few weeks out of the basic course. You are standing at a strict
position of attention in front of your battalion commander, a man you
will come to realize was one of the finest soldiers with whom you've
ever served, and your being questioned about a mistake It's a big
mistake, one that you've made. You see, your platoon lost some live ammo.
Oh sure, it was eventually found, but for a few hours you had the
entire battalion scrambling. Your battalion commander is not yelling at you
though, he's not demeaning you, he's simply taking this opportunity
to ensure you learn from the experience. And you do you learn that
people make mistakes, that those mistakes do not usually result in the
end of the world, and that such occasions are valuable opportunities to
impart some higher lessons.

Then, out of the corner of your eye, you see your platoon sergeant
emerge from behind a building. He's an old soldier, a fine soldier
though whose knees have seen a few too many airborne operations. He
sees you and the colonel and he takes off at a run. You see him
approaching from behind the colonel and the next thing you see is the back
of your platoon sergeant's head. He's standing between you and
your battalion commander and the two are eyeball to eyeball. Your platoon
sergeant says, a touch of indignance in his voice .Leave my
lieutenant alone, sir. He didn't lose the ammo I did. I was the one who
miscounted. You want someone's ass, take mine. And you learn
another lesson . You learn about loyalty.

It's a few months Iater and you are one of two soldiers left on a hot
LZ on some Caribbean island. There's been another foul up, not
yours this time, but you're going to pay for it. you and your RTO, a nineteen-year-old surfer from Florida who can quote Shakespeare because his Mom was a high school literature teacher and who joined the army because his Dad was a WWII Ranger. The last UH-60 has taken off on an air assault and someone is supposed to come back and get you guys. But the fire is getting heavy, and you're not sure anything can get down there without getting shot up.You're taking fire from some heavily forested hills. At least two machineguns, maybe three, maybe more, and quite a few AKs, but you can't make out anything else. You and your RTO are in a hole, hunkered down as the bad guys are peppering your hole with small arms fire. Your RTO is trying to get some help and another bird to come get you, some artillery, some attack helicopters, anything. But there are other firefights happening elsewhere on this island involving much larger numbers. So as the cosmos unfold at that particular moment, in that particular
place, you and that RTO are well down the order of merit list.

You feel a tug at your pants leg. Ketch, that's what you call him.
Ketch tells you've got to wait it out. When he asked for help. The
radio is jammed with calls for fire and requests for support from other
parts of the island.
What're we gonna do, sir? he asks. And all of a sudden, youre
learning another lesson. Youre learning about the weightiness of
command, because it's not just you in that fox hole, its this kid you've
spent every second with for the last five months. This kid you've come to
love like a kid brother.

There is only one way out and thats through the bad guys. You see,
you are on a peninsula that rises about 100 feet from the sea. The
inland side is where the bad guys are. You figure you are safe in this hole,
so long as they dont bring in any indirect fire stuff, but if they come down off those hills, onto the peninsula, then youre going to
have to fight it out.And thats what you tell your RTO. We either get help or, if the bad guys come for us, we fight. He looks at you. You dont know how long. And he says only four words. Two sentences. Roger, sir. Let's rock.Appropriate coming from a surfer.

Then he slithers back down to the bottom of the hole. Staying on the radio, your lifeline, trying to get some help. You are peering over the edge of the hole, careful not to make too big a target. You're thinking about your wife and that little month-old baby you left a few days ago. It was two o'clock in the morning when you got the call. Pack your gear and get in here.You kissed them both and told them to watch the news. Hell, you didn't know where you were going or why, but you were told to go, and you went.Then all of a sudden it gets real loud, and things are flying all around and then there's a shadow that passes over you. You look up and find yourself staring at the bottom of a Blackhawk, about 15 feet over the deck, flying fast and low, and as it passes over your hole you see the door gunner dealing death and destruction on the bad guys in those hills. It sets down about 25 meters from your hole, as close as it can get. You look up and see the crew chief kneeling inside, waving frantically to you, the door gunner still dealing with it, trying to keep the bad guys' heads down, who have now switched their fire to the bird, a much bigger, and better, target.You look at Ketch and then you're off – and you run 25 meters faster than 25 meters have ever been run since humans began to walk upright. And you dive through the open doors onto the floor of the Blackhawk. There are no seats in the bird since this is combat and we don't use them in the real deal. And you are hugging your RTO, face-to-face, like a lover, and shouting at him You OKAY? You OKAY? You OKAY? but he doesn't tell you he's OKAY since he's yelling the same thing at you -- are You OKAY? You OKAY? You OKAY And then the pilot pulls pitch and executes a violent and steep ascent out of there and had you not been holding on to the d-rings in the floor and the crew chief not been holding your legs you might have fallen out. Then you're over the water, you're safe, and the bird levels out, and you roll over to your back and close your eyes and you think you fall asleep.

But then you feel a hand on your blouse, and you open your eyes and see the crew chief kneeling over you with a head set in his hand. He wants you to put it on so you do. And the first thing you hear is I-Beamer, buddy boy. I Beamer.You were in I-4 while a cadet, and that was your rallying cry. And you look up to where the pilots sit and you see a head sticking out from behind one of the seats. He's looking at you and its his voice you hear, but you can't make out who it is because his visor is down. Then he lifts it, and you see the face of a man who was 2 years ahead of you in your company. He tells you that he knew you were there and he wasn't going to leave an I-Beamer like that.And you learn about courage, and camaraderie. And friendship that never dies. It's a few years later and you've already had your company command. You're in grad school, studying at Michigan. You get a phone call one night, one of the sergeants from your company. He tells you Harvey Moore is dead, killed in a training accident when his Blackhawk flew into the ground.Harvey Moore. Two time winner of the Best Ranger Competition. Great soldier. Got drunk one night after his wife left him and took his son. You see, staff sergeants don't make as much money as lawyers, so she left with the lawyer. He got stinking drunk, though it didn't take much since he didn't drink at all before this, and got into his car. Then had an accident. Then got a DUI.He was an E-6 promotable when this happened, and the SOP was a general-officer article 15 and a reduction one grade, which would really be two for him because he was on the promotion list. But Harvey Moore is a good soldier, and it's time to go to bat for a guy who, if your company command was any sort of a success, played a significant part in making it so. And you go with your battalion commander to see the CG, and you stand at attention in front of the CG's desk for 20 minutes convincing him that Harvey Moore deserves a break. You win. Harvey Moore never drinks again. He makes E-7. And when you change command, he grabs your arm, with tears in his eyes, and thanks you for all you've done.Then the phone call. And you learn about grief. And then you're a major and you're back in the 82d, your home. And one day some SOB having a bad week decides it's time to take it out on the world and he shoots up a PT formation. Takes out 20 guys. You're one of them. 5.56 tracer round right to the gut. Range about 10 meters. And you're dead for a little while, but it's not your time yet, there are still too many lessons to learn.And you wake up after 5 surgeries and 45 days in a coma. And you look down at your body and you don't recognize it, it has become a receptacle for hospital tubing and electronic monitoring devices. You have a tracheotomy, so there's a huge tube going down your throat and you can't talk, but that thing is making sure you breath.

And there's a tube in your nose that goes down into your stomach and that's how you eat. And there are four IVs one in each arm and two in the veins in the top of your feet. There is a tube through your right clavicle and that's where they inject the high-powered antibiotics that turns your hair white and makes you see things. But disease is the enemy now and it's gotta be done. And there are three tubes emerging from three separate holes in your stomach. They are there to drain the liquids from your stomach cavity. It drains into some bags hanging on the side of your bed.And they've shaved your chest and attached countless electrodes to monitor your heartbeat, blood pressure, and anything else they can measure. They have these things stuck all over your head as well, and on your wrists and ankles.And your family gathers around, and they are like rocks, and they pull you through. But there's also a guy, dressed in BDUs, with a maroon beret in his hand, who stands quietly in the corner. Never says anything. Just smiles. And looks at you. He's there every day. Not every hour of every day, but he comes every day. Sometimes he's there when you wake up. Sometimes he's there when you go to sleep. He comes during his lunch break. He stays an hour, or two, or three. And just stands in the corner. And smiles.No one told him to be there. But he made it his place of duty. His guard post. You see, it's your sergeant major, and his ranger buddy is down, and a ranger never leaves a fallen comrade. And you learn, through this man, the value of a creed.And every four hours two huge male nurses come in and gently roll you on your side. The bullet exited through your left buttock and made a hole the size of a softball. The bandages need to be changed. Take the soiled wads out and put clean ones in. And a second lieutenant comes in. She seems to be there all the time. She's the one changing the bandages. And it hurts like hell, but she, too, is smiling, and talking to you, and she's gentle. And you know you've seen her before, but you can't talk and you still have that tube in your throat. But she knows. And she tells you that you taught her Mil Art, that now it's her turn to take care of you, that she's in charge of you and the team of nurses assigned to you, and she won't let you down. And you learn about compassion.And then it's months later and you're still recovering. Most of the tubes are gone but it's time for another round of major surgeries. And you go into one of the last, this one about 9 hours long. And they put you back together. And you wake up in the ICU one more time. Only one IV this time. And when you open your eyes, there's a huge figure standing over your bed. BDUs. Green beret in his hand. Bigger than God. And he's smiling. "It's about damn time you woke up you lazy bastard" he says.And you know it's your friend and former commander and you've got to come back with something quick and something good. He's the deputy Delta Force commander, soon to be the commander. And you say "Don't you have someplace else to be? Don't you have something more important to do?" And without skipping a beat, without losing that smile he says "Right now, I am doing what I consider the most important thing in the world." And you learn about leadership.So there you have them. Some stories. I've tried to let you see the world as Ive seen it a various points in time these 18 years. I hope you've learned something. I certainly have.Thanks for your time. Rangers Lead the Way.