Finally

“All who wander are not lost.” This is a small quote on a shirt my father-in-law gave me for Christmas. It may explain a little about why I do what I do. My sister who used to work on the top of the rock nearby may have seen me from above and wondered why I wander. I still ask myself the same question from time to time, but the answer is simple. I like an adventure.

I’m not just wandering, though. I’m learning. I try to use the eyes and the mind I was given to observe the wonders of the world around me. When I joined the Army back in 2001 before the 9/11 attacks, I thought I’d catch a slice of the world I might otherwise not see. Who knew it would have taken me this far on a journey I’ll never forget.

My journey isn’t over and neither is yours. But, this particular chapter in my life is ending and I will forever have the memories and friends it provided.

I dropped by the unit in Decatur today. I picked up my discharge. Eight years in the Army Reserve has come to an end. It’s a bittersweet day for me. The Army is the hardest thing I’ve ever done. It tested me in ways I never imagined. It provided me lasting friends. It scared me to death a few times and it made me laugh as well. I know a lot of you are glad that I’m out. I guess I am too. But, in many ways, I’m sad to see it end.

I learned a lot about folks who choose to serve in the military. I understand and appreciate the choices they make and the consequences they are willing to accept.

There are so many people who have impacted my feelings and attitudes over the last few years. There are so many I want to thank for the kindness, motivation and support. This is the last chapter of the Daly Briefing and I owe it to all of you who read it and kept me going throughout the deployment to Iraq.

Granny – Your gift for writing letters was hard earned in World War Two. But, it kept the ol’ Sarge going 60 something years later.

Padre and Mom – You gave me the foundation I needed to live. You taught me that kindness and common sense make good things happen. Beyond the foundation, you gave me the love and support I needed to make it through. It’s because of the groundwork you gave me that I was able to take flight on my own.

Lyndon and Jo Anne – You kept me caffeinated and never let me forget what I was doing there. Thank you! And thanks also to your good friends at the church, the Starbucks and the VFW.

West Coast Leprechaun – Thanks for the memories of “back in the day.” Your humor and friendship is always a positive motivation. And to your lovely bride, I thank you and wish you all the best. Little Miss Audrey Marie is in good hands.

Top of the Rock and the boys – You continue to fill me with laughter and happiness. I hope I can do the same for you.

3 Lil’ Bulldogs from Athens, GA. You all have been on my mind since the day you came to the “Going Away” ceremony in Decatur. And to my special Goddaughter, thanks for taking care of the wings. They are in your hands now for good reason.

Brother Tim - You and your church kept me in your prayers. I needed all the help I could get at times and I feel like you made a difference  for me. Thank you Thank you.

Susannah, Jay and Master Jack – Thank you and I hope to see you all soon. Maybe we can have some fried clams with bellies in the near future.

Buckeye Timmy and his ladies – I want to see you all more this year! Mostly, because I love you all. But also because you make a world of difference to me.

Live Apartment Fire and Wife – Your friendship has been wonderful. Your blog has entertained me. I look forward to a great year with you. We have the background to succeed. Now we shall. You’ve been with me through this and I am forever grateful.

Live Apartment fire and Buckeye Timmy…it’s time to get together for a bonFIRE. When it happens, please bring the material I gave you before the deployment.

Student of Life – we are all students of this life, but YOU are an exceptional one. Grade A. As you have your second child, you will no doubt be a good Teacher of Life as well.

Art, Nora, Jonah and Roman – You are beginning a journey now that I hope leads to good things. Thanks for always being there even when I wasn’t around.

Beach side of Butler – You have a gift for writing humor. You also had the gift to lift my spirit with your words on some of the most tense of days. You may not have known. But, that counted on so many occasions.

Tybee Mom and the entire Savannah crew – Thanks for writing in. Thanks for the grace, charm and fun you all provide. I look forward to seeing you all this summer. We’ll watch the moon rise over the Atlantic and have some laughs.

Mike and daughter Amy – Mike – Thanks for your service and leading the way. Thanks for sharing your memories with me. Amy – Thanks for writing in. I believe you when you say your father is great. I hope to meet you all some day.

Joanie – I hope you have made it through your test of will this year. Thanks for reading and sharing with us on this journey.

Otis – My man.

Unlce Ted – Thanks for the CW.

Kevin – Long time no see. Hope you are well.

Juan Z – Thanks for checking in and for all your support.

The Wookie – Thank you for writing in.

Mel – It’s great to re-connect with you and Andy after all these years. I tried to impress you once by almost joining the band. Now, at least from a distance, you have impressed me. I always knew you two were the high school sweethearts that would succeed and raise a wonderful family. Thank you for your kindness.

Chris (Sharp) – Thanks for reading and for that save against Aaron B. in 1983.

Lt. Col Nutter, MSG Martinez, SFC Opet – The 3 kings and an E-6 tour, also known as Fobbit Tour 07 was a prelude to what I went through this year. It was a good time and I’ll never forget especially with the Opet Christmas card of last year.

Lt. Col Northstar – I wish you had been in Baghdad. When the PAO left, you would have been the ideal replacement for him. I’ve seen you work and no one is better at the job you do than you. MNSTC-I would have been better. I just couldn’t pull enough strings.

MSG (Retired) Coley – When I ended up as the NCOIC in my section, time and time again I asked myself, “What would Master Sgt. Coley do?” Thanks for your training and leadership from the years at Bragg.

Hasnein – you were a great roommate at Fort Bragg. Ana tabanin. Walak shanan. Bal darechlawau.

SFC (Retired) Mitchell – All is “Redcon 1”

Sgt. Taylor – Fo shizzle.

Dale - We did the right thing covering the front-liners.

To all the “Pitbulls” who suffered through the cold at Fort Riley to prepare for the blazing sands – I’ll never forget you all.
“Can do” Cancel
Cole “Garage door man”
“Race car”…not “Rock Star” Rice
The Jedi Master
“Kilroy”
The Milfman – “AH say Pleeeeeze!”
“C” man Chapman – You pulled it all together for us.
SSG Peck – Thanks for sharing your story with me. None of us know what it was like when you went through hell on earth, but we are all glad you survived to work with us. You taught us what we needed to know to survive.
“Flo Jo”
“G Bear” Barnes – I’d love to buy you a Corona right now.
“Joker” AKA “The Good Master Sgt.” – I never saw you lose your cool. If I had, I would have panicked. Thanks for watching the night for us.
“Saber” – my Respect goes out to you and every firefighter.

MAJ Eshenour – Truly one of the best bosses I ever worked for. You worked miracles on that tiny outpost and I’m glad to have served with you. Best of luck to you and your family as you move on.

SGTS Viruet and Rivera - The “Rican Medics.” It’s rare that you meet people in such a short time that you know you will be friends with for life. Thank you for being some of the best people I’ve ever known. I only wish that we lived closer and could see each other more. I’m looking at a trip to PR in July for my wife’s birthday. I’ll let you know when I’m near.

SGM Terwilliger – I now know how to give proper handshake. Thanks to you, I have better priorities. I hope we meet again someday. When we do, the Budweiser’s on me. And this is something you can’t outrank me on. I’ve never met a better Marine.

LTC Sullivan - Thanks for all the help when I needed it.

SFC Massey – Thanks for your wisdom, sense of humor and kind words.

LTC Wellman – You had the right idea. You got it. Which is more than I can say about your successor. Wish we could have worked together more.

MC1 Leroy Grizzard – Thanks for keeping me sane and grounded. All the conversations we had on the deck were enough to keep me from losing my mind at times, although I’m sure you will argue that I did lose my mind. I hope you have finally seen your baby while on leave and are ready to go home soon.

A1C Davis – Good luck and thanks for all the hard work. You are a great photographer and “That’s Huaw!”

FC1 Carpenter – The fatted calf is down to skin and bones…we carry on.

Capt. Tony – your kindness in the midst of it all was welcome. You were the link for the enlisted crew and I don’t know if you know how much that meant to us.

SGT Shoemaker – Thank you for coming in with the smile on our face and managing to keep it there in spite of it all and in spite of the boss.

SFC Collucci – Thanks for taking over. I hope I had things ready for you and I’m sorry about any unfinished business.

To the rest of the PAO crew – I can only hope that you all learned something about yourselves and your potential. It’s unique how in the Army a group of complete strangers can come together and work it out in the midst of it all. And if nothing else, we can all say, “I served in Baghdad with Gazis.”

Christopher Frost – I wish we could have worked together.

Interpreters: Victor, James, Rebeen, Cobra – Shukran Habibis. Ma Salama.

Drill Sgts. Horvah, Smith and Eisen – Thanks for hanging in there with the old man at basic combat training. I’m not quite sure how you put up with me, but I’m glad you did.

SGM Ibrahim, SGM Wali, Chief Ibrahim, Chief Mohammed, Chief Mortar, Areef Awol Ibrahim – Shukran Jazeerah. Ma Salamah, Allah bil Khere.

The Carmelites – my link to Nana and Grandaddy. Thanks for your prayers. Looks like they worked!

Annie, Matt, Jen and Mark – Next fall shall we gather again at the island? Thanks for staying in touch when Ol’ Sarge was a long way from home.

Orange Monkeys – Give me some time to work it out, but I’m hoping I can give you a season as a defender.

Deb and Byron Mortimer – You make me smile. Especially, now that you brought little Miss Althea into the world.

Dave and Meg – I named my pipe birds after you two. They weren’t the Boffleheads we saw at the river, but they kept me entertained.

Goat Gal - Thanks for reading. All the best to you and your kids. I love saying that to Goat Gal.

Maddie and Guisseppe – your antics are worth coming home to.

Finally and most importantly…to my wife Julia – You do not know this, but time and time again during the deployment, you held my hands when they were shaking. I needed to hear you say, “I Love you.” And you never let me down. We never had a conversation where we didn’t tell each other that we loved each other.
When I put that sticker on your car that said, “Army Wife…toughest job in the Army,” I wasn’t kidding. You made it.
When I dropped out of the sky at Airborne school, I saw you from the air. You were waiting for me to land on the LZ.
When I graduated from the NCO Academy, you were there.
When I finished BCT, you were there.
When I had to hang up because the alert was sounding, you answered when I called back.

When I passed through on the way back from Afghanistan and Iraq, you were there with a coffee for me the first two times and a smile on this last one.

You never let me down.

No one fully understands what you went through for the three years I was gone. Only you know that. You are a brave and beautiful young lady and I love you dearly.

For this old soldier who is tired, you were the best thing to come home to.

I don’t know if I will ever be able to give you a sense of how important you are to me. I try on a daily basis. But, I am forever grateful for you hanging in there with me on this journey. I don’t think anyone else could have done it.

The End

Christopher Frost

“Be careful what you wish for”

Last weekend I celebrated the holidays at my parent’s house in Stone Mountain, Georgia. It was a wonderful day. Each time I hugged my father, mother, sister, brother, grandmother, goddaughter cousin or friend, I held them for a second longer than I used to.

Today, I spent a quiet Christmas with my wife. I’m not sure if she truly understands why I hold her closer these days. I am thankful for every second I spend with her.

When I deployed to Iraq in February of 2008, I expected to be assigned to a place where I could use my skills as a video photojournalist. That’s what I thought my job was. It’s what I do. It’s how I roll. It’s the only thing that I’m good at.

When I was called up in October of 2007, I was told to fill out a bio and resume. I was going to train to be an advisor for the Iraqi Army. But, I was told time and time again that I would probably be placed in a position where I could use my skills as a video photojournalist. I didn’t doubt that this would happen. There are very few Soldiers in the Army with my job skill. There was even a day in the first half of my assignment where the 3rd Armored Cavalry Regiment was going to send a convoy to pick me up to shoot a memorial ceremony for them. At the time, I was the only Army video photojournalist in the northern half of Iraq.

I thought I would do a better job as an Army Video Photojournalist or Broadcaster than I was doing at the assignment I received when I got to Iraq. I was sent to a small base near Mosul to be an advisor and trainer to the Iraqi Army. I would help them conduct basic combat training and several other schools.

Be careful what you wish for.

I was mad. What the hell was the Army thinking? I joined the Army to tell Soldier stories. Even though I found reward in working with a small group on a lone outpost with Iraqis, I felt I had earned a slot as a video photojournalist and could not understand why I was being assigned to admin duties for a small group of soldiers in he middle of nowhere.

Be careful what you wish for.

If I had my wish, I would have been at the job I eventually came to have. I would have started when I entered the country at the end of February.

Eventually, the Army figured out that my skills as a photojournalist were not being utilized. They brought me to Baghdad to tell the story of U.S. Soldiers training the Iraqi Security Forces. I traveled the country gathering stories of Soldiers, Marines, Airmen, Coastguardsmen and Navy folks training the Iraqis to stand up on their own. But, they should have brought me there sooner. That’s what I wanted and I couldn’t understand why the hell they couldn’t put me where I belonged.

Be careful what you wish for.

Air Force Staff Sergeant Christopher Frost had the job. He wasn’t a video photojournalist, but he told the stories and took pictures with a still camera. He’d been in the Air Force since June of 2002, a year after I joined the Army.

Now, he was in Iraq working for the Multi National Security Transition Command – Iraq. He traveled the country looking for stories to explain whether the Iraqis were becoming a force or not.

On Monday, March 3rd, 2008, Staff Sgt. Christopher Frost had an assignment. He was to do a story on Iraqi Helicopter pilots and that’s what he did. Christopher Frost is a person I don’t know much about. One of our Iraqi cultural advisors told me a lot of good things about him, but I never knew him. He was there before I made it to the position I was pitching for.

He seemed like a good person. Anybody who knew him had nothing but good things to say about him and he was doing his job. He was doing it well. When covering the Iraqi helicopter pilots he most likely had a choice to make to gather the pictures he needed for the story. He could fly in a U.S. helicopter and shoot pictures of the Iraqi helicopter flying along beside him. OR… he could fly with the Iraqis and shoot pictures of them, at the controls of their own helicopter. He could watch and see how they handled the controls. He could get pictures of their faces as they took flight in the new Iraqi Air Force. Hands on the cyclic and collective…feet on the pedals…eyes on the altimeter. Pilots factoring speed and direction towards a destination knowing they were accomplishing something. Where should the photojournalist be in this situation? Should he be in the helicopter flying next to the Iraqi pilots? Or should he be flying with them to gather pictures that gave texture to the story? There’s only one answer. It’s where I would have been. It’s where he was.

Christopher Frost flew with the Iraqis on March 3rd, 2008. As a photojournalist, he was exactly where he should have been. There was no other choice.

My guess, from what little I know of him, was that he lifted off with the Iraqi pilots and had smile on his face. He was on an adventure. Even though he was far away from his wife and two beautiful children, he was doing the job he loved and with purpose. He was showing whether the Iraqis were stepping up to the plate or not. They are a fledgling force with many of the same problems we have, but also with many good people who are trying to make Iraq a viable nation. It’s tricky. It’s tough. There is no easy answer to how the country will succeed. Christopher Frost did his part to find out how they were doing.

His work appeared in a magazine that the Multi National Security Transition Command – Iraq published called The Advisor. It is designed for publication across the United States and Iraq with the purpose of tracking the accomplishments and challenges of the Iraqi Security Forces as they train, under U.S. guidance, to be a viable nation that can protect itself.

But, on March 3rd, 2008, Air Force Staff Sgt. Christopher Frost took flight with an Iraqi crew flying a helicopter. At some point during the flight, one of those dust storms appeared out of nowhere. From the account I heard, the pilots were good and well trained. I don’t know if anyone knows exactly what happened. They flew into the storm.

24-year-old Air Force Staff Sgt. Christopher Frost was with the Iraqis doing his job exactly the way he should have when the helicopter crashed.

No one survived.

His wife and two children will not have Christopher to celebrate Christmas and New Year’s with this year. He is gone.

I admired his work. He was a good photographer and on more than one occasion, I had to look to his files to find a picture we needed for a story. He made the right choice as a photojournalist, even though it cost him his life. I’ve made many choices as a photojournalist, right and wrong, but have been lucky that none have cost me my life. I admire him and wish I could have met him. If I had, it would have been because I had the assignment I had wished for…but it could have put me on the same helicopter with him.

I’m not sure why things work out the way they do. All I know is that I am thankful for the many blessings I have. I am thankful that I have a wonderful family and fantastic friends. I am, thankful that I have a wife who has put up with me through all of this. She may wonder why I am holding her a little longer and not saying anything these days. It it is because I love her and am grateful for every minute we have to share.

I am thankful to have had the opportunity to pick up where Christopher Frost left off. I didn’t fill his shoes, but I hope I did a good enough job that if we had known each other, we would have had mutual respect for one another’s work.



Air Force Staff Sgt. Christopher Frost
May 4th, 1983 - March 3rd, 2008

Then

1966 - “My flight log showed I had March 28th off, probably as a result of having flown 6.8 hours the day before, logging 13 takeoffs and landings. I probably slept all day.”


Remember childhood? The world seemed less complicated. Everything was fun. My early childhood was great. The only dissatisfaction beyond having to do basic chores was being told to go to bed after watching Mutual of Omaha’s Wild Kingdom with Marlin Perkins. Even when the ice storm struck in ’72 (or was it ’73?), being out of power for 2 weeks was an adventure, with Chef Boyardee heated over Sterno cans and then living with Granny for a few days.

I was fortunate to have a great childhood with wonderful grandparents, parents, a brother, sister and friends.

Most of us had heroes when we were young. I’m talking about those outside the family beyond parents and grandparents. There were people in this world that you idolized. I thought Hank Aaron was the best baseball player ever and was thrilled when my father took my brother and I to see "Hammerin'" Hank hit homerun 713. His next home run would tie Babe Ruth’s all-time home run record and I remember hoping he would hit a second home run that night. It didn’t happen until the next season, but I was happy to have watched him get closer to the milestone…and on a school night at that.

My parents took me to a soccer game when the Atlanta Chiefs played the New York Cosmos. Sure, I thought it was great that Atlanta had a pro soccer team, but I was there to see the great Pele, who had come out of retirement to play for New York.

I also had a childhood hero that I never really knew. He was a long way from home when I was born, but as I grew up, my father told me some stories about him because they were good friends from their childhood in Savannah, GA.

By the time I was 7 years old, I knew what I wanted to do when I grew up. I was sitting in the school library reading a book on helicopters when I was in second grade. It was a picture book, mainly. It showed helicopters with big bubble cockpits. It had pictures of the Huey and the Cobra and the odd-looking Chinook. I knew I wanted to fly helicopters.

My father’s friend was a helicopter pilot in Vietnam when I was born. Even though I hadn’t met him, I knew he’d flown helicopters. What could be cooler than that? This man became someone I admired, even though I knew little about him except from stories my father told me.

My view of helicopters was of an exciting world of being able to lift off the ground and fly. I don’t know what his view was. As a child, I wasn’t thinking about flying in a combat zone.

I never became a helicopter pilot. My bad eyesight did me in. I’ve had the laser surgery that corrects vision, but when I was young enough for military flight training, I was nearsighted and would have been considered a “NO GO.”

I took to video photography instead. The career choice worked out fine. I used to be one of the guys who sat on the side of the bright red Chopper 5 for WAGA TV in Atlanta. I remember flying over downtown with the doors off. I was strapped in with a harness and when it came time to shoot a scene, I would flip my feet out the door onto the skid and zoom in with a shoulder-mounted camera. Those days came to an end with the new gyro stabilized cameras that sit in a ball mount on the nose of the news helicopters. Now, the operator just sits in the helicopter with a control panel and a joystick.

I flew a lot in Iraq. I loved flying in Blackhawk helicopters, especially when the doors were off. Even though I never lived up to my childhood dream of becoming a helicopter pilot, I enjoyed almost every ride.


On Tuesday, October 14th, I posted this picture. I didn’t know it at the time, but my father’s friend was reading the Daly Briefing. Padre had been in touch with him. They were nearing their 50th high school reunion. He sent his friend the link and on October 21st, I received an e-mail from him.

“Just wanted to say hello and tell you how much I enjoyed hearing about you from Tom. I looked at your blog and had to chuckle when I saw your latest with the picture of your boot and your thoughts about “getting short”. Also your Aug 4th one about signs. Some things never change.”


He also said this: “see attached shots from ‘66”

I couldn’t wait to open the pictures. This was the first.

Look at the shot of his right boot. Green uppers over black leather toe and heel “Jungle Boots.” Well, you can’t see the heel too well. Looked like a muddy day for him. I can’t imagine what his boots walked, marched and flew him through. It’s a nice connection, though. The shot of his boot was taken about 42 years before I took mine and yet they are similar (even though I was just riding and he was actually flying while he took his).


He also sent this one. Read the sign.





















I wrote him back and asked him if he had any recollection what he was doing on March 28th, 1966…the day I was born…the day my father named me Michael…the day my father named me after his friend who was in a war a long way from home.

He wrote me back.

“My flight log showed I had March 28th off, probably as a result of having flown 6.8 hours the day before, logging 13 takeoffs and landings. I probably slept all day.
Looking closer though, and considering the time change, it was already the next day in VN when you arrived, so I was probably already on my way to (or back from) Phu Loi on the 29th if I remember the 3 letter location correctly. It was apparently a short, easy day.”

He then sent me a link to photos he has in a collection.

“A few years ago I decided to get my old slides from Vietnam out of the garage and scan them. I did this and put them on CDs. I also scanned all the letters I had sent home – my mom had saved them all. I also wrote and got my flight records from the Army’s archives. All this stuff went into a small suitcase and back into the garage.
After reading your blog the image of my boots popped into my head and back out of the garage came the slides.”


I’ve looked at his pictures. It’s funny how the Army has changed in so many ways since he was in and how so many things stay the same. I read a couple of letters he sent my father before going to Vietnam. I found out that we are both paratroopers and his description of “Jump” school back in the 60’s was similar to what I went through in 2003. There were giant sergeants screaming at you to do pushups or, if you were wearing your chute, to do deep knee bends. “Beat your boots, Airborne!”

It’s impossible to quantify the amount of respect I have for Vietnam Veterans like my helicopter pilot namesake. My father-in-law too is a Vietnam Veteran ground pounder. Everyone makes their own sacrifices as we go through life but these guys were tested beyond what most people can understand. They stood up to the test and lived. Many of their sacrifices led to improvements in the Army today. For that, I am forever grateful and proud to say that I served in their boot steps.

I’ve made contact with the helicopter pilot I was named after. We call each other Mike. I’m glad to have finally touched base with him. I don’t know what he went through as a pilot in Vietnam. I’d like to know more and hope to visit him some day. For now, I’m happy just knowing that he’s well. Sure, in childhood, people we admire are larger than life. That’s the way I viewed the helicopter pilot when I was reading through that book in the library. That’s still the way I view the helicopter pilot today.


****************************************************************************************************************
There are only two more chapters left in the Daly Briefing. Give me a few days. In the meantime, I hope everyone is getting ready for a wonderful Christmas and New Year. I wish all the best to my crew still serving in Iraq. I hope the days to come are quiet. And even though you are a very long way from home, I’m thinking about you all and wishing you a Merry Christmas.

Fate

fate n - the force or principle believed to predetermine events.

Fatalism - fa·tal·ism n - the philosophical doctrine holding that all events are fated to happen and that human beings cannot therefore change their destinies.
Encarta® World English Dictionary © 1999 Microsoft Corporation. All rights reserved. Developed for Microsoft by Bloomsbury Publishing Plc.

I’ve told many of my friends that I am not a fatalist. I don’t believe that there is some big plan that we are all designed to make happen.

“Things happen for a reason,”
“If it was meant to be…”
“It was God’s will.”
“It was destiny.”

I’ve never believed that a higher power would wrap us into a role that disabled us from changing our paths in life. I’ve always believed that instead of things happening for a reason, things happen as a result of decisions we make and circumstances that surround us. Choices affect our outcome in life, not destiny or predetermination. I know plenty of folks who will argue this or believe differently. But, it’s just the way I see things.

I don’t always know why things happen the way they do. But, now that I’m home in a warm house, I keep thinking back on some things.

Events happened in Iraq that I didn’t get very specific about when writing. There were reasons for that at the time. Mostly, this was for protection of my fellow soldiers and myself. I don’t know who all is reading The Daly Briefing. It’s out there on the World Wide Web and certain information about my location and the number of soldiers I was working with could not and still cannot be revealed.

There were other things I didn’t get into because I didn’t want to have my wife or family or friends worrying too much. Everybody knows Iraq can be hostile and dangerous. There is risk that every soldier takes by just showing up in country. I wasn’t at risk nearly as much as many of the soldiers who work in Iraq. I did not go out on continuous combat patrols or convoys. I wasn’t going door to door looking for terrorists. But, there were a couple of times where I think back and I’m glad to be able to write this today.

My first location was at a small outpost near Mosul. When we first arrived, Mosul was a “Hot” location. The Army Times called it the last stand for terrorists in Iraq. Mosul was a hub for terrorists entering the country from Syria. I’m not saying that we were north, south, east or west of Mosul, but we were in the Ninevah Province. It was Northern Iraq, but not as far north as the Kurdish regions. We could see the mountains of what we called “Kurdistan” in the distance, but only on very clear days.

My job was to advise an Iraqi Army training center. Later, I was moved to Baghdad to work in the Public Affairs Office and flew to training locations all over to country to report on progress and challenges faced while putting the Iraqi security forces back on their feet. I never made it back to my original location, which was a lone, small outpost.

It was remote. There were towns around us, but we were located away from any of the larger compounds across Iraq. Most of the time it was quiet. The Iraqi commander told us from the time we arrived that there wouldn’t be any problems or attacks because it was a calm area.

But, things aren’t always what they seem and he wasn’t always right. The Coalition team we replaced referred to him as the “Tony Soprano” of the area and that is why things kept quiet. For the most part we liked him. However, within days of the old team leaving, he was lying to us about certain things. For instance, he told us it was our responsibility to order ammunition for training the basic recruits. I e-mailed a member of the old team and he responded by telling me that the Iraqi commander was trying to pull a fast one on me. So, although he said things were calm and that it was a peaceful area, I never completely trusted him.

On my 42nd birthday, March 28th 2008, I wrote about a couple of birthday cards that were lucky to have arrived at the compound. One was from my parents and one from my grandmother. I left out parts of that story. It was an interesting day and when it ended, I wasn’t a happy camper. I was, however, very thankful.

We spent part of the morning making sure that the one Humvee we had at the time was ready to roll. We weren’t going on a convoy. We just knew we had a big visitor coming in that morning and we wanted to let him know that we were on the ball. We wanted to show that we had some concern for force protection and even though the Humvee was an older model and we didn’t have the right mounting system for the machine gun, we wanted to at least try to look like we knew what we were doing.

The visitor, an American regimental commander, was flying in to look at some of the buildings on the compound to see if some of the Iraqi Police could use them for training. Our landing zone for helicopters was a concrete pad down by the shooting range. We hadn’t seen anyone use it before, but we wanted to get there and be in place when the visitor arrived.

Our compound was a small, nicely fortified compound within the Iraqi training base. The range with the LZ was at one end of the training base. I got into the front passenger seat of the Humvee. One of our medics was the driver and a young Specialist was up in the turret with the machine gun. One of our interpreters was in the back seat behind the driver. I didn’t like the fact that the machine gun wasn’t mounted properly or that the turret would only spin with a hand crank. The Specialist had to push the front armor to the side and put the bipod of the gun on the roof of the Humvee. We weren’t going outside of the training base, so it really didn’t matter much. It was functional, but I wouldn’t go on a convoy the way we had it mounted.

We headed out of the compound gate toward the landing zone. Our commander, a Major was following in a pickup truck. The good Master Sgt. followed in a second pickup truck. Right as we left our small compound, we heard a terrific explosion. We could tell it wasn’t within the training base, but knew something had happened nearby.

As we pulled up near the range, I could see smoke still rising from an area somewhere down near the end of the road that lead to our training base. We hung a right into the range to check out the landing zone. We wanted to make sure it was clear of any debris. There was a cow near the LZ pad and we herded it away from the LZ. We swept around and followed the cow with our horn until it left through the entry to the range.

The Major and the good Master Sgt. were inside the range now. I radioed and told them I was going to the gate to check with the guards. The smoke from the blast was down near the highway that ran past our area. We couldn’t see all the way down a hill to where the road to our base intersected with the highway. We couldn’t see if the blast had occurred on our road or on the highway.

Our interpreter asked the gate guards if they had seen anything. The said they saw an American convoy heading down the highway when the blast went off. I reported this to our commander. Then we noticed American vehicles pulling up our road and circling in an open area near the road that lead up to the gate. I wasn’t expecting visitors by ground.

I put two and two together and could only think that this convoy had been hit by whatever the explosion had been. They now had all the wagons circled about a few hundred meters from our gate. We were close to them and knew they’d been hit. I had a medic in the truck and radioed the Major to tell him we were going to go down and check on the convoy. We wanted to make contact and see if they needed any assistance. If there were injuries, we could get them to a good safe evacuation point and if there were multiple injuries we had a medic in the vehicle.

We headed out of our gate. We’d only gone a few yards and were headed toward the first barricade outside the gate when the medic driving the Humvee stopped. “What the hell? They’re flagging us!”

I looked and sure enough, turrets from their vehicles were aimed in our direction. We stayed put. Our gun was already pointed in a safe direction away from the convoy. A few minutes later we saw a Humvee heading our way. He wasn’t using the road, though; he was driving off to our left in the desert that surrounded our area. We turned to our left and went through a separate opening in the barricades and met the Humvee off the road.

A Lieutenant Colonel hopped out of the front passenger’s seat. He was a skinny man, not too tall. His face was red and his rifle was at the ready in front of him.

“Who the hell is securing this road?” He yelled.
“Sir, our gate guards watch part of it and the Iraqi Police from that check point on the highway are supposed to watch the rest of it.” I pointed out toward the highway.
“This whole goddamned road is covered with mines!” He shouted back at me. “You guys aren’t watching this road!”
“Sir,” I said trying to change the subject. “We have a medic with us. Do you have any injuries that we can help with?”
“No! That mine hit one of my MRAPs, thank God. If it had hit one of my Humvees…who the hell is working the gate?”
“Sir, they're from an Iraqi Battalion that secures this base."
"Iraqi?"
"Yes, Sir. I believe the night shift has left.” I could tell this Lt. Col. was on fire and most of his anger was directed at me.

“You better talk to those guards and figure out what the hell happened ‘cause there are mines all up and down this road and at least one was planted right under their noses!” he said pointing to the first barricade near the gate. “You can’t see it from here, but there’s a double-stacked mine on that barricade you were about to drive by! It was either planted right under their damn noses or one of them planted it!” he said referring to the gate guards.

I looked over at the barricade. From where I was, I still couldn’t see the mine. All I knew was that we would have driven past that particular barricade if we hadn’t noticed the convoy pointing their weapons at us. Two mines stacked like that would have been a rough hit on an MRAP. In our Humvee, it would have been catastrophic. I was on the side of the Humvee that would have passed the mine. My turret gunner wouldn’t have had a chance. If we had tripped that mine, none of us would have had much of a chance of surviving.

I looked over at the barricade. I was nervous. I’d almost gotten myself and my crew killed. I had let down my guard too much. I just wanted to help the convoy and thought I was doing the right thing. I spent many hour thinking of what could have happened because of my bad decision. The gunner was a great kid that was doing an outstanding job on the compound. The interpreter was a fantastic guy. The medic had quickly become one of my best friends. I almost got them killed and this still eats at me to this day.

I spent much of the rest of that day walking around with a Command Sgt. Major who was there with the Regimental commander. This particular CSM seemed to really enjoy our good Master Sgt. But every time he was around me, he kept blaming me for the unsecured road. He told me that his crews are the ones that re-supply us and that they weren’t going to be able to do that if the road was mined.

I wanted to ask him, then, if he would just leave us to starve there. I’m not giving numbers, but my team was small…very small. There was no way we could secure a road leading into the base. This guy made me livid, but he was the big fish in the area and I distanced myself from him. I tried to completely separate myself from him, but at one point he wanted his picture made with the good Master Sgt. and the Iraqi Sgt. Major.

I took the picture and then headed back to the gate with an interpreter. The conversation I had with the Iraqi Captain in charge of running the gate was not a pleasant one. I was ugly. My interpreter told me later that I got my point across. I think the Iraqis understood the seriousness when EOD arrived later. They detonated the bomb that was nearest the gate. I was back up at our compound at the time and the walls shook. It was a large explosion.

I’m not sure why it worked out the way it did. If the gunners on the convoy hadn’t flagged us, we surely would have driven past the barricade. One of the gunners told us later that the reason they drew down on us was because they didn’t think Americans still drove the “piece of shit” of Humvee that we had. He said he was able to see our gunner and then recognized him as a U.S. Soldier by his uniform. He told us that the MRAP had been damaged so much after the first bomb that it had to be towed. He said if the bomb had hit one of their Humvees, it would have taken the head off the driver.

There were only two bombs on the road. The whole road wasn’t mined like the Lt. Col. had said earlier. The one near the gate appeared to be intended for someone leaving the base. The base commander had left the day before which was Thursday. He usually left on Friday. My thought was that the bomb was intended for him.

When we first learned that we would be having visitors that day, we asked if they could check to see if we had any mail waiting. The convoy that came in brought our mail, including my two birthday cards. The mail had been on the MRAP that got hit but was okay and made it to the compound. I opened my birthday cards thankful to have made it to the age of 42. Whether it's fate or not, I don't know. I am fortunate enough to be able to count my blessings with hope that someday, I'll amount to something.

Delay of Game

After flying out of Baghdad, we spent almost a week waiting in Kuwait for a plane to take us back to the U.S. Originally, we were supposed to be on a plane to Fort Riley on November 3rd, but our flight was backed up to the 5th.

Camp Virginia Kuwait is where we lived in a large tent during our stay in the lovely little desert country. We passed the time playing volleyball or horseshoes. There was no lack of sand for the horseshoe pit or the volleyball court. We also spent a lot of time watching movies at the USO tent or working out at the gym. There was also a place called Green Beans Coffee. It’s the Military’s answer to coffee chains and I helped keep them in business for a few days.

The time spent in Kuwait was designed for us to unwind. We kept hearing the term “De-compress.” After too many days of this we were all starting to “Re-compress.”

I can’t tell you what our flight schedule was except to say that in the brilliance associated with military travel, we actually began the movement to the plane 21 hours before we were supposed to take off. We spent a rough morning going through U.S. Customs where we had to unpack all of our gear…and I mean ALL of it…and have some Navy personnel rifle through our stuff. I watched as the sailor began unrolling my socks and underwear and gear. I was one of the first in line because I was part of the baggage handling team. They needed me to throw duffel bags and rucksacks into a truck for transport to Kuwait International Airport.

I looked at the sailor as he was flipping through my Army paperwork one page at a time and said, “You know, if you keep this up you are going to have a very long day.” He smiled. I guess he’s heard that before.

I spent the rest of the morning in the back of a panel truck stacking bags. I was in there with two other sergeants watching each bag come up a conveyor belt. Our job, as told to us by another sailor, was to stack the bags and rucks as high as we could to make sure all the baggage would fit on this one truck.

We had a method of running to the back of the truck, jumping from bags on the bottom and slam dunking duffel bags onto the top of a well organized stack. At one point the Navy overseer walks up the stairs and says, “Seriously, you need to stack the bags all the way to the top.” I looked at our pile that was actually touching the roof of the cargo hold and said, “Yeah, I think we got it here, pal.” In other words, “Get lost!” We preferred him to sit quietly at the bottom of the conveyor belt eating his muffins rather than opening his mouth to speak and tell us to do what we were already doing. We were a little cranky because at this point, we had been up for hours.

After the last bag was loaded, they told us to head to one of the Freedom Tents, which are tents with TV’s to watch while waiting to board buses to the airport. “What do we do there?” I asked. “You stay put until we call you,” said the Navy. “Do not leave the area.” The irony of the situation put me in a country music mode, so I sketched out a song:

I’m on Lockdown in the Freedom Tent
They told me not to roam.
Locked down in the freedom tent
But at least I’m going home.

The flight is only a blur in my memory. We did stop in the Motherland for an hour while the plane re-crewed. I’ve only stopped in Ireland once before, but here I was again in at an airport in Shannon. I looked for a souvenir or two and then hopped back on the plane.

We arrived in Topeka, Kansas as the sun was rising. The tires screeched when they hit the ground and there was an unusual silence for a few seconds. Then one of the flight attendants spoke on the intercom and said, “Welcome home to the U.S.A.!”
We all clapped and cheered.

I stood at the door of the plane and shot some video of everyone walking down the stairs. For some reason, there are times when I want to be the last one to go. I’ve been what they call a “Stick Pusher” on jumps in the past. The stick pusher is the last one out the door. My only attraction to this is a symbolic feeling of knowing that there’s no one left behind from my group.

The ground was wet and there was a chill in the air. But, as we rode a bus back to Fort Riley Thursday morning, I marveled at how beautiful the Kansas countryside can be when the sun is just hitting the rolling fields. White farm houses with grain silos stood out across the fields as the morning sun lit them up. It was a slice of pure Americana that tasted so sweet.

Fort Riley is where we trained for our mission. It is where we process out. We didn’t get off the plane and run into the arms of our families, we rode a bus to post and immediately began out-processing paperwork. We went to a center where stations are set up for handling medical screening, finance and personnel matters. What we didn’t complete that day, we worked on the next.

I tried to stay in a good mood at even at the end of a long day. I sat down at the immunization records table late in the afternoon, knowing that we still had a ceremony to go to and we still had to retrieve our bags and check into rooms. I looked at the young lady behind the computer and said, “Hi! How are you doing?” She replied, “I’d be doing better if this day would end and I could go home.”

12 thousand miles and almost a year into my journey, I just looked at her and said, “Yes, that would be nice, wouldn’t it?”

The new commander of my unit in Decatur, GA flew out to Fort Riley so that he could oversee our “Welcome Home Warrior Citizen” ceremony. He was there to address us as we marched into an auditorium. It was a short ceremony and as we marched in, there was a smattering of applause by a handful of soldiers in the bleachers.

Our new commander made a short speech and handed each of us a ceremonial flag in a small case with our name on it. He then asked our team leader to say something. Our team leader, a wise Special Forces Lieutenant Colonel, looked at the group there at the end of a very long day and made the best speech we heard all day. He said, “Get on the bus.” We clapped and headed to the buses so we could get rooms and get some sleep. Friday was going to be another early day.

I am an Army Reservist who was activated for two years from the end of 2001 to the end of 2003. For Army Reserve Soldiers, there exists a benefit to those who have been repeatedly called up after 9/11. There’s a calculator the government has designed that will grant you 4 extra days of leave per month on the third call-up. There is a group of about 20 of us who have earned these extra days that will be tacked on to the end of our tour.

Here’s the catch:
The days I earned take me beyond the end of my 400 day orders. So, for me to be able to be paid for these days, orders have to be cut that extend me beyond my 400 days, which end in December. Now, don’t worry about the word “Extension.” This is simply paid leave I’m talking about here. It amounts to almost 2 months of pay and will help greatly as I go home and try to get my small business back underway.

Here’s the rub:
We had to apply to for the extension orders. The request went through Friday to Human Resources Command in St. Louis. The request hasn’t been seen yet as far as we know. After all, it is a four-day weekend and they won’t look at our request until after the holiday. It’s not possible for them to somehow get the orders approved and cut until after the holiday is over. We won’t hear anything about our request until Wednesday. At that point, we will finish out-processing and prepare for travel back to Decatur.

By the way, the holiday that is holding these soldiers here, these veterans who are finishing a tour in a combat zone, away from there families and friends is…Anybody care to guess?

That’s right…Veteran’s Day.

Those from the unit who haven’t been deployed before or those who work for the Army Reserve on a full time basis left this morning. We said goodbye to them knowing we’ll probably never see most of them again. We were gathered from all over the country to fill the requirements for the mission and now they’re heading home to Texas, Illinois, New Mexico, wherever.

Those of us stuck here on Fort Riley waiting to go home have a few more days to occupy. Eventually, the people that will cut our orders will get back to work from their Veteran’s Day Holiday and sort through the paperwork that will get us out of here.

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Folks, there are only a few more entries left to this blog. I will work on them when I get back home. It will be interesting and some things will be revealed that I wasn’t able to go into in the past. There will be a story 42 years in the making that you all might find interesting as well. Please be patient with me. I have access to the Internet here, but I have some pictures that I want to put on my final posts that I can’t upload here due to the equipment I’m working with. Check back in a few days, but meanwhile, Happy Veteran’s Day.

Stress Relief:

Thursday didn’t go nearly as well as I had planned. I’ve been working on a Command video for the General since August. While attempting to make a final change, the hard drive crashed. The project wasn’t sunk because a lot was backed up. But, it was the first of a bunch of things that went wrong that day.

A little while later there were two explosions that rattled our building. They were outside of our compound, but we knew there had been a bombing. We found out later that a convoy with an Iraqi official had been hit with a VBIED (Vehicle Borne IED). I knew when the walls shook that people had died. I don’t know how many, but there were deaths. It’s sad that this country has all the potential in the world to be a thriving society and yet there is enough evil here to ruin it for everyone.

Complacency can be a killer here. It’s hard to avoid, but you have to be smart and on your toes. When the alert goes off, get yourself and your crew in the bunker…like we did Friday. We never heard an explosion while in the bunker. We usually don't. We had a guy here recently that decided back during the spring attacks that he was tired of sitting in a bunker waiting for the “All Clear” to sound. He stepped out for a smoke and ended up on his ass when a rocket hit across the street from where he was. Lesson learned.

No complacency. I’m too close to the exit. Things certainly have calmed here since the spring attacks, but if there’s one thing I have learned about this country…things are never what they seem.

I had some laundry to wash in the afternoon. As it was washing, I packed everything that was left in my room. I put it in a truck I had borrowed, and then waited for the clothes to dry so I could take everything back to the office. It was late afternoon and there was a nice breeze. It was almost a dry version of a Tybee Island ocean breeze. The sun was setting and casting some rays up through the clouds that had appeared. Birds were flying all around the date palm trees and in a way, it was charming.



Today, I wrapped up some stories. I pulled things together. I tied up loose ends and I watched in amazement as it poured down rain for about a half hour making large mud puddles everywhere.



Tomorrow I say goodbye to some really good people. I’ve told them all that I won’t miss the place. But, I will miss the people. We’ve suffered through long days, dust storms, heat and stress. I know we could have had it worse, but I think I’ve lost a couple pounds and some hair and I may have aged a bit faster this year than I did last. But, I’ll be on my way home soon and Ma Sallamah to Iraq.



…and a wake up.