Thank you Ranger Up!

LOL

Short

simple

to the point.

I am liking this fashion statement. Head over and check out the flip side.

"Biggest Mistake" Check it out over at One Marine's View

The Major did it again over at One Marine's View. Check it!

You have to laugh

American idiocy at it's finest. Shame on them ruining a perfectly good implication of a color. My 7 year old daughter would have something to say since she has a personal investment in all the various hues of pink.

As far as I'm concerned PINK, in their case, stands for People in Need of a KickintheAss (that one is gonna show on spellcheck huh?) Many thanks to the Marine 1st Sgt who sent this to me earlier this evening.

By Our Missive (crosspost)

I wrote today on a good article by Zen Traveler. Go by and have a look.

All Hands Update from 'One Marine View'

All Hands Update from the Major over at 'One Marine's View'. Their link is to the left on the WFW blogroll.

You are going to miss this I tell the young Marines especially the ones bitching about the deployment. There is something primitive about being deployed during war . Your entire focus is killing the bad guy or the other extreme helping them back to life. You eat, sleep think about your girl back home, workout train, prepare, eat, sleep think about your girl, and repeat cycle. You don't get into a routine like that back into the states. Not like here. Even Marines who stay on the FOB still prepare to eventually do one of the above, kill or help or support those who do. When you get back to the states this all changes. You wont have enough time to workout as much, you sleep, eat different and the orbiting threat of someone trying to kill you goes away. Sometimes as soon as 72 hrs, you could be back in the states if you fly home and be missing your routine you had while being deployed. You miss your Marines. Even if you are still with them in the states it's not the same. No matter what you do in life it seems you always want what you can't have. If I'm in the states, I miss the camaraderie of being deployed and hunting bad guys. If your deployed, you miss your girl, clean showers, shitters and the several other nice things we take fro granted in the states. So, I guess the only choice you have is to suck it up, kick ass and do your best wherever you are or what ever you do. Plumbers, Bankers, Truck Drivers, Crane Operators, Construction Workers or Marines, it doesn't matter you owe it to those you are with or those away. At the end of every day you have to look in the mirror and ask yourself if you gave 100% today. Regardless of the answer, you have to adjust, see how you can improve (there is always room to improve) and then remember regardless where you are, stateside or deployed, enjoy it while it lasts because you cant stop time and things will change.

On Patrol

Since I wrote this piece for my personal blog in the Fall, I have come to more fully understand no soldier, Marine, sailor or airmen weathers the war the same. They all absorb their experiences, differently.

In any case, I believe unequivocally in the responsibility we have as a nation to meeting them where they are and giving them the best parts our nation has to offer in service to them just as they have shared with our nation the best parts of themselves in service to us.

It was beautiful today. I took Jake to a birthday out on Clear Lake. About half way through the festivities the hostess of the party notices a young man--by young, I mean late twenties. His clothes were irregular and layered, his jean jacket too small, paint spattered around the bottom of old jogging pants and yet I thought there was a familiar bearing to him.

The hostess told us, as she came back to make a plate for him, that she had approached him to ask if he was traveling and if he would like something to eat. She explained that his gaze shifted to the present and he smiled and said yes. His hair was cut close to his head and as he walked, his eyes swept back and forth across the park as he met her to get his food. After he took it he started to turn to leave and then turned back again to the hostess and asked her what her name was. She replied that it was Elizabeth and he extended his hand to her and said, "Thank you, Elizabeth. My name is Sterling."

After that he moved onto a nearby gazebo where he put down his rucksack and sat and ate looking up from his food to glance right, left and behind from time to time.

In a little while he returned to thank Elizabeth again and motioned towards a chair asking to sit down. His conversation was stilted like you sometimes see on the news when someone is on the other end of a satellite feed only it was obvious it wasn't technology that was slowing him down--that it was his own mind doing it. sometimes he just sat and opened a worn book with pictures it looked like he had drawn and had conversations with others only he could see. On his forearm you could see part of a military unit tattoo.

When I got home I told my husband about it and he looked up from the stove and said, "Well? Where is he? Out in the car?

Would that I could.

I am angry that this vet was in a park and that somehow he has fallen through the cracks. I am sad that we can't get our acts together better than we are. There has got to be something more we can do for warriors like Sterling. Pretty soon ,when this war is over, there will be more of these young men in parks in real time, but still on patrol in their minds.

We have to do better than this.

When the Marines Landed in Monrovia

Hope has been hinting I should post here again. I wrote this a couple years ago for my own site. After rereading it, I think it is well suited for this one as well.

Barely out of my teens and a two-year veteran of the marines, I guarded the American Embassy at Monrovia, Liberia. This Sub-Saharan Third World nation is located on the western coast of equatorial Africa. The embassy is situated high on an escarpment with an absolutely stunning view of the Atlantic Ocean. Scattered in every direction there were always at least a dozen ships of various types at anchor. What I really loved was to sit at day’s end near the cliff’s edge as the sun began to slip out of sight; the sky, no, the very air would turn a tropical pink.

It was THE best duty I ever had, bar none. When we weren’t protecting the grounds and people of the embassy, my fellow marine guards and I spent most of our time socializing and going to dinner parties. I’ve got lots of good memories from those days working for the State Department, including…

… when the U.S.S. Iwo Jima made a port call. (I only just now learned that this impressive combat ship is now long gone, reduced to scrap about ten years ago – what a pity). Whenever a large navy ship comes to any town, things can get interesting, and it was no different when the Iwo Jima showed up. The streets filled with young American marines and sailors, paying too much for taxis and driving up the cost of everything else as well, especially for booze in the drinking establishments and tourist-goods of all types, such as wooden carvings and gold jewelry.

For a week, we half-dozen “local” marines found ourselves overwhelmed and outnumbered. It was strange to find myself amongst hundreds of similar looking fellow American citizens, where as before their arrival I had felt isolated and deliciously “singular.” I had already learned that being white in an African country can make one feel quite self-conscious and exposed, but once I got used to being in a fishbowl, I felt pleasantly distinctive, and yes, even special. Truthfully, I came to enjoy it. It’s not like I was treated poorly for being American; actually, I sort of got deferential treatment.

Aside from temporarily losing my uniqueness as a young American serviceman in a town usually bereft of them, there were a couple of interesting happenings stemming from the presence of all those honest-to-goodness teenage “war gods.” One of these extraordinary events was a parade; the other was the awesome spectacle of a “vertical envelopment” performed by the experts of such warlike proceedings, the U.S. Marine Corps.

Before talking of those things however, I will tell you how my Liberian friends conducted their many parades, really more procession than parade. These West African folk love pageantry, and so of course they love parades. For the most part though, they sucked at it, although they didn’t realize it. I observed several of these home-grown street spectacles and they were… well, . . . interestingly pathetic, and actually quite absurd to watch; but fascinating just the same, like watching a slow motion train wreck filled with Keystone Cops.

One of the absurd parts of the parades was the “get up” of some of the marchers – the “Americos,” as they call themselves, who wore Lincolnesque toweringly tall black top hats and 1800s-style black suits. Here’s a little history on these particular parade marchers: The founding “fathers” of Liberia were freed slaves from America. They were brought over from The States over several decades starting in the 1820s, continuing their “reverse migration” through the mid 1800s. In fact, the capital city is named after the American president, James Monroe, thus the name Monrovia. The country’s title, Liberia, was derived supposedly in honor of the immigrant ex-slaves’ newfound liberty.

A final bit of Liberian history: The Americos were very proud of their American descendency. In effect and ironically, they defeated and enslaved the indigenous tribes of the region, and while I was there in 1977 – 1978, the powerful Americos dominated the country. These folks had all the money and pulled all the strings. During the parades that I saw, they marched proudly through the streets in their traditional 19th Century black costumes, evidently to demonstrate their importance. To me, it all just looked ridiculous, especially when the army troops marched by in their unkempt and undignified formations.

As a marine, schooled in marching and on the importance of looking good while doing so, I was amazed that these people would do what they did, which to me seemed to be nothing more than public self-humiliation. Their uniforms were mis-matched and sloppy; they didn’t try to maintain order, much less straight lines and even ranks. They looked around, talked in formation, scratched, and waved to friends. I shook my head in amused amazement. What exactly did they think they were doing?

They usually had a sort of a military band that attempted to play their ancient and ill-working instruments, always strolling along as a rabble and utterly out of step. It seems that marching for these pitiful performers was out of the question, and it was virtually impossible to pick out what song titles they were playing. As for melody, at rare moments I could pick out something that sounded vaguely familiar, but not for long. What added to my amusement was the fact that these folk, both paraders and parade watchers, were quite pleased with themselves. Looking back at it now, I guess watching them made me feel superior, but that seems to be typical of youth, and especially true of arrogant young marines.

Then, as I said earlier, the U.S. Marine Corps came to town on a huge floating warship called The Iwo Jima. Upon their arrival, the marines were invited to take part in a local parade. No way was I going to miss that! But, before the parade, a heliborne assault demonstration was scheduled to take place on the outskirts of town at an army-training base. Of the seven marine embassy guards stationed there with me, five of us went out to the demo site in a large van we checked out of the consulate motor pool. We took two full trashcans loaded to the rims with iced beer meant for our brother ship-borne marines; so we could all slake ourselves after the conclusion of their little combat show.

Several hundred Liberian Army troopers already waited in two large sets of bleachers on the edge of a large open grassy field. These guys looked to be of a higher caliber of soldier than the ones I had seen around their national training center not far from the Presidential Palace just down the road from the embassy. I’m sure these fellows had been selected to watch because they were of better quality, or perhaps they were part of a “crack” Liberian combat unit. Whatever the reason, they wore U.S. Army style olive drab uniforms, probably American surplus, and all had on soft baseball-type green uniform caps.

My marine guard comrades and I wore our everyday civilian “uniforms,” as we called them. As embassy guards we were not supposed to wear shorts, jeans, t-shirts or any casual wear in public, unless we were doing physical training of course. Slacks, short-sleeve button-down shirts and leather shoes were our required dress. All of us waited expectantly for the Iwo Jima marines to “attack.” We knew it was going to be a great performance.

“Here they come!” One of my fellow sergeants pointed directly at the jungle line directly to our front. Approximately 2000 meters away, a single narrow-bodied Cobra attack helicopter hovered slightly above the trees. Suddenly, a whole line of six other helos seemed to pop directly up from behind the same tree line and bore down on us. At this point another Cobra appeared, and the pair of Cobras zoomed directly in our direction. In no time they flashed passed, one on each side of the bleachers at extremely low level.

I found it tremendously exhilarating, but the Liberians were visibly shaken and green around the gills. Many jabbered excitedly, some standing up, while others broke from their seated ranks and jumped to the ground cowering low. I don’t think they’d ever seen military helicopters before, especially none like these angry-looking aggressive flying war machines. As soon as the Cobras flashed around our flanks, the wasp-like birds broke in opposite directions, swooping back out over the field toward the rest of the attack force to continue their simulated fire support.

They had done their job, because as our attention returned to our front, the six CH-46 Sea Knight troop transports had already approached within a few hundred meters. The pilots placed their choppers at slightly skewed angles to allow the door gunners the use of their 50 cals. We had been briefed that the attack sim would feature the use of blank cartridges and so they did. These alarmingly loud “blanks” made for some terrifically realistic battle effects, much too realistic for the local soldier spectators, because at this point about a dozen of the Liberian soldiers bolted and sprinted away. We yelled at them not to worry that they were just firing harmless blanks, but they were too frightened to listen.

In unison, the half-dozen CH-46s flared and landed on staggered line about 150 meters to our front. Each helo disgorged a dozen combat marines, all sporting fierce-looking black and green face paint. They followed procedure – sprinting out the lowered back ramps, six on each side one behind the other. The dual lines of troops split around opposite sides of their respective copters to form a protective perimeter around the entire attack force. As each marine reached his designated position, he threw himself to the ground facing outward.

While all this action was going on, the door gunners continued to fire. Once all attackers were set, the pilots took their “birds” vertical, allowing the door gunners to fire with even greater effect. This was the signal for all the marines to rise up and charge directly at us, some firing from one knee or prone, while others sprinted forward. Back and forth they stormed our position in this leapfrogging manner, all in perfectly choreographed, super fast motion.

It was all too much for the woefully unprepared Liberians. As a mob they panicked and ran for the hills. We held our arms up to show them it was okay, but to no avail. The wide-eyed looks of terror on these African faces caused us to bend over in gut busting laughter. It sounds cruel, but their fear-charged faces were hilarious to see. Some of them even had telltale damp places on their trousers where their bladders had betrayed them. Over the deafening fire of hundreds of blank rounds going off, I began to hear a command roaring from the mouths of sergeants and officers as they realized the unintended result of their all-too-real exhibition of American littoral might. “Cease Fire! Cease Fire!” They yelled repeatedly.

It took more than a few seconds before the firing stopped completely. Believe me, firing blanks just a few inches from one’s ears induces temporary hearing loss, so not all the marines could immediately make out the order to cease and desist. Eventually we were able to convince the stampeded Africans that their lives weren’t in danger, and they drifted back like a flock of uncertain sheep; and indeed, the look on their faces was VERY sheepish. A tall lean black marine, a captain, was in charge of the attack force. He became ambassador and statesman as he greeted the ranking Liberian officer, who although hadn’t run completely away like most of his subordinates, he HAD taken a position of cover behind the stands.

On command, the ferocious marines reversed gears and became amiable in an effort to encourage the skittish Liberians to come out on the field and mingle with their American allies. All the helos had finally shut down, and with the return of relative silence, the gun-shy Africans began to laugh at themselves, realizing how foolish they had acted. Truthfully, I can’t really blame them. Marines on the attack are something dreadful to behold. If I had thought they might be for real, I would have made a run for it too; but dang, it sure was hilarious! We drank our iced beers in the hot African sun and continued to chuckle and shake our heads over the memory of it. We always used to claim that a company of Marines could take over most any African country – after that exhibition; I think there might be a grain of truth in that bit of blustering hyperbole.

That afternoon, I went out to catch the parade. First, the Liberians made their usual meandering and leisurely unprofessional appearance. Once again, I covered my mouth to hide my mirth. They really did not realize what a ridiculous spectacle they made. Perhaps they began to get it though, when the first of three large formations of U.S. Marines came into view. They wore soft caps starched into circular submission topping homogeneously close-cut “whitewall” haircuts. Their creased camouflage utility uniforms were pressed perfection above gleaming black combat boots. Sleeves were neatly rolled high to expose bulging biceps, especially those arms cradling M-16 rifles at the right shoulder. Every head was aimed flawlessly frontward, eyes staring unblinkingly straight. A gunnery sergeant in charge of the formation called cadence unnecessarily; the sound of the marine band in its own perfectly marching formation at the rear provided a perfect bass drum beat with which to keep step. I was so proud of them I nearly wept, especially when the band stirringly began playing The Marine Corps Hymn. Rank after rank of these strapping teenage warriors strutted by, their heels striking the pavement resoundingly as one. I would have killed to have been out there with them.

The Monrovians around me watching this sublime display of martial perfection were obviously astounded and fascinated by what they saw. None of them had ever dreamed that human beings could look and act so impeccably precise. I heard one old African woman remark breathlessly, “My God, look at them; they are perfect!” And so they were.

We'll Be Here for Another Hour

Big Texas Howdys!

If you are a Texan, you know about the Houston Livestock Show and Rodeo, it's one of the biggest in the country. If you are in Texas you will learn hospitality is another commodity we are known for on a large scale.


The folks above, in the trademark black Stetsons and khaki jackets, are Rodeo Greeters. They are strategically located throughout the event, especially at the main gates into the grounds near Reliant Stadium. While we waited for tickets, they heard about the mil support we do and wanted to extend our famous big Texas howdy to the men and women serving here and overseas. "Tell them thank you for us," they said, "tell them we hope to see them 'round here next year! Hear?!" Barry and Marcia Toeppe are in from Bandera Texas out near Big Bend country. They manned the city of Bandera booth and got to talking to the kids who again told them all about their warriors. Seems Mr. Toeppe served in Vietnam and his son served in Desert Storm. He and his wife had me come back to their booth later on. They said they had some things out in their car they wanted to give me to send to our guys.



This mil support project never ceases to amaze me.

Hooked on Islam Works for Me

A few days ago at Pajama Media they ran a story on Iraqi militia leader Moqtada al-Sadr having disappeared into Iran after calling for the Al Mahdi Army cease fire on U.S. Forces and the Sunni Awakening. Officially, his move into seclusion was to study and prepare him for status as Hojat al-Islam (Proof of Islam) and later a hallowed ayatollah (Sign of God). Unofficially, the Islamic powers that be think he needs some buffing up in the religion department if he is going to gain the heart and minds of the Shi'a people. Seems Al Sadr is taking the 5 year Hooked on Islam Works for Me course instead of the traditional 12 year Islamic transformation into anointed Ayatollah. He's holed up in a villa outside of Tehran and is driven to jihad school- er I mean a mosque in Qom twice a week.. Amel Taheri does a good job explaining the situation in clear language at the New York Post.

I had thought about posting about this article earlier in the week, but didn't think I had a handle on the whole story well enough to add anything to this blog. Now as the week has unfolded it is a little disconcerting to see how things are playing out and I still don't have a handle on it. At Obsidian Wings, Hilzoy posted a story on anti- Sadr folks staging a protest in a generally strong Mahdi Army region. It doesn't bode well for the stability that the Al Sadr cease fire was to offer especially in light of the recent upswing in violence.

Yahoo news simultaneously posted two hours ago a story that mentions the loss of life yesterday in Baghdad and then again the losses suffered in Iraq today.

As your average American with minimal understanding of all the powers that be in the Iran/Iraq/Afghanistan region, I can see why some just stop trying to figure it all out. This stuff makes any ongoing multi generation family feud (I'm half Mexican-American, I know aaaaaaaaaaaaall about those) sound like Horton Hears a Who. Would that you could bring yourself up to speed as fast by reading a little Seuss...sigh.

I have officially reached my saturation point today. I'm going go bake something to send one of my jarheads or Airborne folk and make a mail drop. That ought to bring things back to tone where this mama is concerned.

I'd like to know what people think about the resignation of Admiral Fallon though. Who wants to take a shot at that?

Spring Offensive

Sand storm - Al Asad, Iraq- A. Reese

Folks in the sandbox I know are emailing about a return to using the A/C and the hassle from daily dust storms wrecking havoc with equipment and communication. I wish the only thing in the air WAS Spring.

The La Times blog Babylon and Beyond ran a piece on a change in the seasons bringing with it new activity from insurgents.

The article offers quite a few links to the recent loss of life in Baghdad yesterday as well as a look at an article regarding the correlation between the weather and increases or decreases in fighting and attacks.

I am sure for the folks that have been there or are there...none of this is any great surprise. For those of us here the change in the weather should mean more than how many Easter eggs we are hiding this year or deciding the color of our new Sunday best.

'Iran Holds Keys to Afghanistan's Future'

I wonder how this bodes for our troops in Afghanistan? One thing I am learning as I go along, it behooves all involved to learn the history.

by Richard Fernandez posted March 8, 2008 at Pajama Media

The complete article can be found here at Pajama Media.

Picture from New York Times

Iran is widely perceived as one of America’s chief international foes and a charter member of the Axis of Evil. Even after an NIE expressed doubts that it was still developing nuclear weapons, Norman Podhoretz argued that the case for military action against Iran still stood. Podhoretz believed that any pause in the development would be merely temporary and that “if Iran is to be prevented from becoming a nuclear power, it is the United States that will have to do the preventing, to do it by means of a bombing campaign, and … do it soon.” Afghanistan, on the other hand, was described by President George W. Bush as a stalwart ally in the War on Terror.

It would therefore surprise many Americans to learn that Afghanistan’s largest trading partner is Iran. The association between Afghanistan and Iran goes back a long time; the province of Herat, for example, was formerly part of the Persian empire. And it is trying to get closer again in a menacing way; Teheran is furiously attempting to counter the American presence to its east by pulling every economic, diplomatic, and subversive lever it can to draw Afghanistan back into its sphere of influence.

In March 2006, the Afghan official news agency Bakhtar reported Iranian officers were secretly in border towns inside Afghanistan. Before September 11 Iran had been busily attempting to stem the influence of the Taliban, its Sunni rivals for dominance in Islamic militancy. But after the U.S. drove the Taliban from Afghanistan, Teheran cozied up to its former rivals and began making alliances with its former Sunni enemies to fight against America. It is actively working to expel the U.S. from Afghanistan.

Teheran also has many cultural and economic levers that it uses to spread its influence in Afghanistan. The New York Times describes how Iran has built highways through Afghanistan signposted every five miles with quotations from the Koran.

go here to Pajama Media for the rest of the article.

March 10 Update from Milblog, One Marine's View

Update to One Marine's View readers-March 10, 2008, If you aren't a subscriber yet, you should be. Read this latest OMV update and then head on over and sign up to get them sent to your email. Oh and yes, the red text is completely editorial on my part.

Conducted a few convoys in the area and I thought I would pass on the atmospherics in the area. Compared to my last deployment here, things are a lot better. We began in the local area and did not have to utilize any escalation of force due to vehicle threats. Roads have been repaired from past IEDs and general contracting and building is improving across the bar. However, we have had incidents that resemble my last tour here that prove that the insurgents are still around, although not as evident or as frequent.

Not much goes on at night as we were out and about (we are everywhere) and didn't see many people out. Good thing. The air is still filled with the ever present burning trash, tires etc and the temps are on the rise along with the multiple day sand storms.

The local people are very cooperative with us which foils insurgent's plans to intimidate them to get to us. This is mainly due to the Iraqi Army and police force kicking butt. Several schools and shops have been rebuilt and improved.

The main takeaway is that finally, the Iraqi people have said "enough is enough" towards the insurgents and have solidly taken a stance against them and their tactics and threats. This is gigantic for us because along with the thousands of training hours we have implemented, now the Iraqi Army and Police along with several additional security forces can protect what is theirs. This is also, why you may be reading about why the insurgents are utilizing mentally ill adults or children for suicide attacks. They have no other followers.

It really has come down to the bad guys waiting out the American people. The insurgent's foundation was that the American people would demand us out of Iraq. That never materialized, we did our job and now the proof is materializing. Those who doubted us should be ashamed. Go jump off a bridge and end the DNA chain would ya? I love it here. I volunteered to come here again. Why would you join the Marine Corps and sit on the sidelines? I am sure there are plenty of "other" organizations you could have joined and not come to Iraq. The Marines morale is sky high. They see the results of the hard work done by units before us, which motivates them to keep kicking ass and taking names. You want to shoot a couple rounds at the Iraqi Army huh Mr. Insurgent? Say hello to my little friend called the Marine Corps. However, we haven't had to be called on as time progresses. Yes, we show up armed to the teeth ready to get some, but the Iraqi forces are Taking care of business (TCB)Thankyouverymuch.

Ok, who designed the floorboard of a hummer? Did they measure the typical size of a human foot? I think the guys used the midget scale on my truck. I was smashed in these things last deployment but now with the "extra" body armor that makes me smile when I feel it compress my disks I can't hardly step out of these things. Gear is the best ever as I know of numerous Marines who either took a sniper round to the helmet or IED shrapnel to the chest and walked away, pissed but walked away without serious injury. Your Marines are doing great and keeping the wolf at bay. Thank you for supporting us.

Some Words FOR Warriors

I went to a biker bar today to get some shots of folks on their bikes for my guy at Anaconda and my other one at Jalalabad AFB. They are missing their bikes something fierce, I am told. These nice bikers had no problems coming outside and spending some time to get a few messages out.

"I enjoy riding my bike and I ride for you and my freedom!" Dyna low rider Harley- Billy Jones

"Watch your butts!" '98 Dyna wide glide--Paul Ed Nunn

This is my rifle, this is my gun...

You have to laugh.
It's a rule.

Airborne Medic Saves French Soldier

Airborne Medic saves French Soldier
Posted By Blackfive
This story came across the wires this morning (Mar 6, 2008):


Spc. Nicholas Colgin (right), from Chesterfield, Va., treats a wounded French soldier during an ambush in Kapisa province, Nov. 10, 2007. Colgin was credited by coalition hosptal officials for saving the soldier's life. Photo courtesy of Combined Joint Task Force - 82 PAO.

The whole account you can find at Blackfive. The only thing I am more proud of than this medic's courage is his humility.

One Family's Journey, One Soldier's Courage

I haven't heard from one of my folks in the Sandbox in about a month and so I did the thing I hate to do most of all in milsupport, I click over to a casualty list and make sure they aren't on it. Ugh.

Anyway as I was looking I came across this young man, this Stryker soldier, US Army SPC Kevin Mowl. I don't know why, but I googled his name and came upon his family's website which chronicled the last seven months Kevin's life at National Naval Medical Center at Bethesda.

I am including a couple of journal entries posted on their site. One concerns how he came to be hurt and another from a cousin who talked about life with this young man. There are many other important entries.

All of the entries brought home clearly the strength and the character of Kevin and the strength and resolve of his family.

Here is the complete set of journal entries.

Please visit the site and sign the guestbook. I am sure his family, who buried Kevin on March 1, 2008 would be pleased to see your entry.

Originally posted on SPC Kevin Mowls family webpage
FRIDAY, SEPTEMBER 07, 2007 10:27 PM, CDT
Although we do not have much to report today regarding Kevin's condition, we do have some news regarding what actually happened the day Kevin was injured. We were fortunate to meet Command Sergeant Major Johndrow who did some investigating to provide us with details about the incident.

As you know, Kevin is part of a Stryker Battalion, and because of their unique capabilities, Stryker Battalions are in high demand in Iraq at this point in time. Although Kevin is a part of the 3rd Brigade 2nd Infantry Division, his Battalion had been working under the 4th Brigade 1st Infantry Battalion (originally from Fort Riley, Kansas). According to CSM Johndrow, "Kevin and his Battalion have done an outstanding job in making a difference in Southern Bagdad."

Baghdad is made up of 9 provinces and on August 2nd, Kevin and his comrades were on patrol in the most southern province of Baghdad called East Rashid. While on patrol, Kevin's Stryker was struck by an improvised explosive device (IED) estimated to be composed of approximately 150 pounds of explosives. They believe the IED had been put in one of the storm drains in the neighborhood. In this attack, Kevin was wounded along with 11 other soldiers and one interpreter. Three soldiers were killed.

I have never been more thankful for technology as I have been over the past few weeks. Thanks to the internet, I have been able to communicate with a few men who served with Kevin in Iraq as well as with friends and family of soldiers in Kevin's unit. It is obvious that Kevin was a part of a large, supportive family in Iraq and I can't imagine how worried these men were until they heard about Kevin's condition. I'm so glad we've been able to keep them updated on Kevin's progress. To the soldiers reading this update - thank you for everything you have done. Stay safe - your homecoming is just around the corner!

Last but not least, I'd like to share a wonderful newspaper article with you all. As my dad mentioned in his update yesterday, the staff and students at RSD held a rally in support of Kevin. Here is a link to the media coverage of that event: http://democratandchronicle.com/apps/pbcs.dll/article?AID=/20070907/NEWS01/709070350/1002/NEWS
~ Carlene

TUESDAY, AUGUST 14, 2007 09:07 AM, CDT
On Sunday, Kevin's cousin, Anthony Mowl, had the opportunity to visit him in the ICU. Anthony wrote the following after his visit:
'Entering the Intensive Care Unit of the Naval Medical Center in Bethesda, Maryland, I felt a foreboding sense of dread come over me. It was going to be the first time I was going to see my 21-year old cousin in over a year, and I had to prepare myself.

Kevin is just a year younger than I, and we share the same love and passion for finding the joy in life. Our childhood years were spent raising hell, and if our competiveness didn’t get us into enough trouble, it defined our very personalities.

Since we had last seen each other, we’ve both grown tremendously and gone our separate paths. I graduated from college and entered the working world while Kevin chose a bolder path, to serve his country by enlisting in the Service and fighting the war in Iraq. Even though I would not be allowed to enlist in the Army, seeing Kevin go off to Basic Training made me realize that I would never have the strength to do what he did, to make his sacrifice.

Walking down the corridor, all my thoughts of Kevin have been reduced to a single IED blast you could feel far beyond Baghdad. I expected the worst, because what else was there? When we arrived to the open end of Kevin’s 3-walled room, I could instantly recognize Kevin because of his trademark looks and classic dimples, but Kevin had aged considerably into a Man. He was just as I had imagined; unconscious and propped in bed, with his legs suspended by wires and body covered in tubes. Stitches and gashes are spread over his body, and bruises cover his eyes. The only sense of relief I could find was that Kevin did not appear to be in pain, and although he had the assistance of a ventilator, he was breathing steadily and comfortably. Wounds that were now a week and a half old had begun to heal as they should, and a cast that covered his leg signified that it had been repaired and would heal.

The amazing service Kevin has given his country is evidenced by how well the Army is taking care of his injuries. Kevin is among the best doctors in the world, and if he had suffered the same injuries under the care of someone else other than the United States Armed Forces, we probably never would see Kevin again. But when you combine Kevin’s strength with the 24-hour care and attention he is receiving, I can be very hopeful for a full recovery.

It is obvious the doctors and nurses there care for Kevin as much as his parents, family, and friends do, and they will do everything in their power to bring Kevin back to us.

A red line marked an imaginary barrier we could not cross, and visitors have to be content with seeing Kevin from 4 feet away. You can cross the barrier and move closer to Kevin if you wash your hands, and wear rubber gloves, a mask, and hospital gown. The strange thing is that the procedure is for your own protection, and not Kevin’s. With the potential of Kevin being exposed to chemicals and bringing back germs and bacteria from the war in Baghdad, the hospital is not taking any chances of Kevin infecting his visitors.

As I put on the gown and gloves, I looked at Kevin in amazement, because it felt absurd that he could harm me at all. But the more I look at him and think about it, the more it hits me where Kevin has been and what he has seen. Looking at Kevin’s tanned skin, I can almost feel the heat of the Middle East sun, and I wonder if a few grains from the sands of Iraq are still hiding under his fingernails. It is clear that Kevin brought a lot back from Iraq, more than we will ever know.

Looking at Kevin, I try to comprehend the forces at work that brought him to Bethesda, forces of global consequences that I will probably never fully grasp. There is only one thing I can understand, and it is the only thing that matters. Right now, Kevin is safe and resting comfortably with all the support he needs in the world.'

Sgt. Princess

This is wrong on so many levels...I wonder what kinda payback we're talkin' here?

A Pittance of Time

CI Roller sent this to me this morning. He's right--those Canadians really put something together on this one.

Woodrow Wilson Keeble First Native American Medal of Honor Recipient

Found this article over at a A Soldier's Perspective March 3rd, 2008 by CJ

Woodrow Wilson Keeble is the first Sioux Indian to receive the Medal of Honor. The President presented it to his family in a ceremony today in the White House.

It's taken nearly 60 years for Master Sergeant Woodrow Wilson Keeble to be awarded the medal he earned on the battlefield in Korea. His nominating paperwork was lost, and then it was resubmitted, and then it was lost again. Then the deadline passed, and Woody and his family were told it was too late.

Some blamed the bureaucracy for a shameful blunder. Others suspected racism: Woody was a full-blooded Sioux Indian. Whatever the reason, the first Sioux to ever receive the Medal of Honor died without knowing it was his. A terrible injustice was done to a good man, to his family, and to history.This is a long story, but one that bring pride to your hearts and possibly tears to your eyes.
What a true American hero!! Woody should a focus in every child's history class.
A transcript of the ceremony
This entry was posted on Monday, March 3rd, 2008 at 9:14 pm at a Soldier's Perspective

Can I see some ID?

There is nothing remotely redeeming about this.
It just cracked me up.

Hey!
My standards are low this morning-- okay?

I find my humor where I can--probably just like these jarheads did.
Have a good one.