Izabella...

On the morning of February 23, 2008, I sat up in bed and took my little girl from Monica’s arms and sang happy birthday to her. With tears running down my cheeks I pulled her close to me. I nuzzled and kissed the top of her head. Her little hands grabbing and pulling on my ears. I whispered in her ear, “Happy birthday mijita. Thank you for being with me.”
A year before, at around 1:30 in the morning, I awoke to a loud banging on my “can” door. In Al Asad, Iraq, military personnel are assigned to live in what amount to be upscale shipping containers, or “cans”. I opened the door and my XO was standing there. “Big Z, we just received a Red Cross message for you. Get dressed.” About five minutes later I was riding with him back to HQ, or the “hive”. (Seabee speak) “You’re wife is due any day now, right?”
“No, sir. She isn’t due for another three weeks.” I’m certain that he picked up the concern in my voice, if not my facial expressions.
“I wouldn’t worry about it.”
We walked over to the admin office and he handed me the message. “Monica Zamora. Baby on its way. Emergency room.”
“Go ahead and use that phone. I’ll be down the hall if you need anything.”
I picked up the handset and dialed. It took me no less than five tries to enter the right number. I reached my parents house, my moms and my dads’ voicemail, nothing. I called my mother in law, my brother and sisters mobile numbers, nothing. I was now in a panic. Full blown. I dialed my sisters’ number. How I remembered it, I’ll never know. One ring, two rings…
“Hello?”
“Carlos? It’s Sergio. Where’s Monica?”
“Serg?! What’s up, man? How are things in the sandbox? Is it hot?”
“Carlos! Where’s my wife?!”
“What? Oh, yeah. She’s cool. She’s at the hospital. Congrats, Big Papa! You got your little girl. But call your pops number. He’s with her now.”
I was speechless. “Thanks, bro. Later.”
I placed the phone in its cradle. The realization that my wife had delivered our little girl and the relief of knowing that they were ok started to overwhelm me but I had to talk to her or someone close to her. I dialed my Dads number again. He picked up on the first ring.
“Hello?”
“Dad. It’s me! What’s going on?”
“Mijo? Como estas? Estoy con Monica y la nina. Mijo? Sergio? Can you hear me?”
It was just too much for me. I dropped to my knees. And started crying. Everything just came out. The eight plus months of worrying over all of the little things that could go wrong during the pregnancy. The months of trying not to think about what could wrong during one of our projects, or convoys. It just all came out. I kept hearing those two words, “La Nina”, little girl. My baby girl.
“Mijo. Sergio? Are you there?”
“Si, papa. Aqui estoy. How are they?”
“Mijo, no llores. Be strong. They are fine. Everyone is fine. They are both sleeping right now but everything is ok. Be strong. Stay focused. Give thanks and get home safe, ok. Can you hear me?”
“Si papa, I know. And I will. I’ll call later, ok.”
“Si mijo. Te queremos mucho. Cuidate.”
“Love you too, Dad.”
Click. I set the phone down. I took a few minutes. Got my thoughts in order and stepped outside. The XO came out of his office.
“Mom and baby, ok?”
“Yes, sir. Good to go.”
“And you. How are you doing?”
“Good, sir. Anxious but I’ll be ok.”
About twenty minutes later I was back in my ‘can’. It was now about three in the morning and I had a hard time falling back to sleep. I kept thinking about Monica, the baby, Sergio and Marcelo and the rest of my family. I finally did fall asleep but I woke up about two hours later. I got dressed and headed to the dining facility. Word had already gone around so when I sat down with some of the guys from Alfa Co. the congratulatory words and comments started piling on. With a grin from ear to ear, I welcomed all of them. We finished up our breakfast and headed back to the hive for our briefing. I was scheduled to take part in a convoy out to one of the combat out posts that we were helping the Marines build up.
The briefing contained the usual information. Weather, time of departure and estimated time the round trip would take, road conditions, count of vehicles making the trip, escorts, etc. We went out to our vehicles and started going over our check off list again. The chaplain gathered us up for our pre-trip prayer. Just before he finished, he added, “And we want to thank you for the arrival of Baby Zamora. We ask that you keep both baby and Mom safe.” I was kind of hoping that the chaps would not mention anything about the baby’s arrival. Right when he did though, I opened my eyes and glanced around. A couple of the other members on the convoy team were burning holes into me. See, good news before a convoy can be an omen and a new baby is at the top of the list. A couple of hours later we headed out of Al Asad. Dan “Boy Band” Chen was driving our vehicle and I was running comms. At any other time, the trip to COP Ellis would take about an hour but this being a time of war; the trip took about four hours. Dan and I would normally kill time by talking, telling jokes or just BS’ing but Dan was not himself. We arrived at COP Ellis in the middle of a sand storm but we managed to unload the gear and materials that we were hauling. The plan was to spend the night but our senior chief decided to head back. A bad sign? Maybe. We loaded up again and rolled out. On the way out of Ellis we passed by a group of fellow ‘Bees.’ One of them being my brother from another mother, Mary Gill. He was driving a dozer and made his way over to the road but once the convoy starts rolling along, we can’t stop. I opened the door and started to holler at him. Between the sand and the vehicles noises, we couldn’t make out what we were trying to say to eachother. I got on the radio and started talking to him and some of the other ‘bees that out there with Marty.
“Hey, Z! We heard about the baby! Congrats.”
“Yeah, man. Congrats. Tell Monica that we send our best!”
“Thanks, man! Everything is cool. I’m riding with Dan-O. You guys be careful! And we will see you in a few days.”
“What’s up Dan-O!!! You guys be good and have a safe trip back home.” (Al Asad)
The convoy kept rolling out and pretty soon, I could no longer hear them. Dan and I have a solid relationship with Marty and leaving him at the COP weighed heavy on us. It would have been great to get the chance to spend an evening with him and the other ‘Bees, shoot the breeze, catch up, smoke a cigar or two but orders are orders.

We rolled along but I kept noticing that Dan was not saying much. I did not bring it up. The sun was now on the horizon. I don’t know if it’s just me but once the sun sets over there, it get dark in a hurry. I mean pitch black. The lead vehicle came across something suspicious, so the convoy came to a halt. And over the radio I hear, “Dismount. 5 and 25.” A “5 and 25” is a perimeter search around the vehicle that either the driver or the comms guy has to conduct.
“Dan, I got it. I’ll be right back.”
I grabbed my rifle. Pulled the charging handle back and let it go. “Clack!” Loaded. I opened the door and looked out at twelve o’clock. Nothing. I turned on my flashlight, checked the ground below me. Nothing. I hopped out of the rig and started my perimeter search. The muzzle of my rifle and the flashlight pointed at the ground, two to four feet ahead of me. I kept my feet moving, not too fast but not too slow either. I was looking for footprints, tracks and more importantly, wires. I continued with my sweep. I finished the “5” and headed further out for the “25”. I kept my weapon and beam moving back and forth but then I did the one thing that they warned us not to do. I lost focus. Here I am, middle of the desert, BFE or BFI, walking along with a flashlight to give away my position and I lose focus? I’m walking along and my mind goes from “Footprints. Tracks, Wires. Footprints. Tracks. Wires.” To, “Gee, I wonder how Monica and the baby are doing? I’m a dad. I’m a dad to a beautiful baby girl!” I stopped looking at the ground and my gaze went up to the star filled evening sky. “We have a baby girl!” And then it hit me. A little voice asked, “Hey stupid, what are we doing out here?” Huh? Out where? What? Oh fuck. I stopped in mid step. I looked down and sure enough, wires. I froze. I took a deep breath and ever so gently and slowly I put my foot back down. I looked down and noticed that there were two wires on the ground but I could make out both ends. Just left overs. After cursing at myself for 10-15 seconds, I finished with my sweep and climbed back into the rig.
“Everything cool?”
“Yup.”
About five minutes later we received the call to head out again. About two hours later we were back at camp. And again I noticed that Dan did not say a whole lot. After securing our rig and our gear we made it back to our cans. It was now just before ten at night. Dan and I hooked up for our post convoy trip ritual of smoking a stogie. We sat there in the dark for a few minutes, looking up at the sky, trying to unwind from a long and bumpy day. The smoke from the cigars lingering over our heads. Both us leaning back in our chairs, looking up at the stars. Our thoughts, as always, on home and on our loved ones.
“Hey Dan. Everything all right? You haven’t been yourself today.”
The question just hung there for a bit. After a few seconds, I heard Dan shift in his chair. I looked over at him. I could see tears in his eyes.
“Bro, I just want to get you home to your little girl.”
We both looked back up at the stars.
“Thanks, Dan. Love you, bro.”

Old Stuff...

I'm not even sure what happeded to the following but check it out.... Dec. 31, 2006 Howdy! Well, 2006 is now history and 2007 is off and running. What did I do for New Years? We sat around and played poker. One of the guys received a box of holiday “chocolates” and we tried to catch a buzz but it was no use. Oh well, another holiday that we are going to have to celebrate when we return home. So what has been going on since the last time that I updated my blog? Lots of work with a couple of close calls. We have a couple more rockets that hit our perimeter. It’s kind of strange that we are now getting to know what the incoming rounds actually sound like. Not good. We continue to receive care packages from family members, friends, church organizations and strangers. Some of the gifts are very practical and some are just off the charts for example, the box full of sandwich bags that my buddy received. Regardless, the fact that we are being thought of really goes a long way to help us get through some of the tough times that all of us are going through. Being away from home this time of year is something that none of us are enjoying. We do lean on one another but it is just not the same as being home for the holidays. I received an e-mail from my oldest son. Sergio just turned eleven. (Sorry Mijo, but we will make up for it in a couple of months, how about a tattoo?) His e-mail read as follows: “Dad, we know that you love the Navy but we want you to retire. Don’t leave us again.….” Going into this deployment I knew that my being away was going to take its toll on the family and on me too. Can I tell you that he is not one to open up and seeing these words hit me harder than I have ever been hit before. Why am I putting this in my blog? Well, more than a couple of people have asked me why I stayed in knowing that I was going to deployed. The truth is it is my hope that my being away from home will prove to be the reason, or example that my sons need to keep from having to make some of the choices that I have had to make. If they decide to join the military, then so be it. All that is that they look into the various branches of the military, decide on what they want to do, short and long term and then go for it. Preferably with a commission. Yes, being out here the hardest thing that I have ever had to do. But I do not have any regrets about staying in and being out here is not about chasing glory it has always been about the guys that are next to me right now. We serve with pride and with honor. That in itself makes being here, away from all that we love, that much easier to deal with. Jan. 2, 2007 Another day down the drain. We spent today working on the IA side of the base, that would be the Iraqi Army. Their base is attached to ours with only a string of concertina wire separating us. We have heard stories and read some of the reports about these guys being trained by American troops only to switch sides and turn around and attack the same guys that trained them. The SOP for going over there is full battle dress. Which consists of flack jacket and Kevlar helmet and of course our M-16, loaded. I am certain that most of the IA’s do want our help over here but all it takes is for one of them to go over to the dark side and doing that will bring a world of hurt on everyone on that side. So we do not take any chances. We stick to a strict rule of two man integrity. Meaning, where one goes another man must follow. Jan. 4, 2007\ Well, we spent the last two days working on the Iraqi side of the base. We went into thinking the absolute worst but we were surprised by how friendly they are. Some of them did give some awkward stares but I think it just has to do with the fact that we are Americans and we just don’t belong here. The other thing is that they are very curious about us. One of my friends, Marty Gill received a couple of care packages from home. The packages contained canned goods, peanuts and lunch packs of tuna. He made the mistake of opening the package in front of a group of Iraqi soldiers. They made a bee line over to him and instantly began asking for hand outs. He obliged with a couple of items. He did want to hold on to a few things but they have a hard time understanding the word, “NO”. This happened yesterday so when they saw us return today they came over expecting another box of goodies. No go. We do not have to return to that side of the base for a while but I must say that my opinion has changed a bit. But I still cannot trust them 100%. Jan. 5, 2007 Today was one of those days where you keep telling yourself, “Self, why did you get out of bed this morning?”. It’s not that it was a bad day, we did get a lot done but it was cold and miserable and we got some rain mixed with ice. I almost forgot about the wind that kicked things around a bit for us. It was so cold that my fingers and toes were numb for most of the day. We were laughing about the weather and the gear that the navy issued us. See, when we were going through our training in Gulfport the higher ups decided that we had to mimic the conditions that we would have to deal with out here. So we drank a heck of a lot of water and carried all of our gear just about everywhere that we went. They got us worked up and ready for the extreme heat that this part of the world is famous for. Not once did anyone step and say, “Just in case it does get cold over there, you want to have some cold weather gear issued out as well.” That would have required foresight and , well, this is the military. That said, we are making due. Many of us are just throwing on layers of clothing, gloves, scarves and head gear. Most of it is not military issue but we have to take care of ourselves out here. Jan. 06, 2007 I need to tell you about Marty Gill. He is a fellow EO2, Equipment Operator Second Class. He and I work together each day. He has got to be one of goofiest guys I have ever known. We joke around with one another about 99% of the time. As cool as that is, it can get in the way of our ability to communicate with each other. Today was a perfect example of that. We receive our mission for the following day the night before. Last night was no different. We showed up at work went over the plan for the day one more time and then we headed out. Right before we left the wire Marty stops and asks me “What are we doing again?” I smirked and asked, “You’re joking right?” He went off the deep end but I thought that he joking so I kept at it. He got even more upset. I went over the plan again and we headed off. A few hours later, after we returned from our mission I went over to talk to him and he gave me the cold shoulder which is not like him to do. Understand that he is one of the most upbeat, level headed guys out here. He is definitely one of the guys that keeps me going, heck , he does that for a lot of the guys that are out here with us. I don’t think that he knows that. We did get around to talking about it and things are back to being cool again. What I wanted to say about the guy is that he went through a real ugly divorce, got hammered in court, even though she had a year long affair. He is paying a mint in child support but his little girl, Lindsey, spends most of the time with him. If this was not enough, soon after we arrived in country he received a “Dear John” e-mail from his girlfriend of three years. He had no idea it was coming. I know that it was killing him. Through all of this hardship he manages to keep a joker like smirk on his face and he makes it a point to keep those around him in a good mood. We have had some long and deep talks about life back home. If nothing else the man can listen and he can also give some heartfelt advice. Jan. 10, 2007 It’s the moments alone that really make this place hard to deal with. I find myself lost, literally lost, in my thoughts and memories of home. We go about our day to day stuff like robots. This actually helps with dealing with the fact that we are so far from home but it’s the time spent alone that forces us to look deep within ourselves. I had one of those days today…. I was working at one of our sights, filling the Hesco’s . I was out there by myself. I started thinking about my boys, my wife, my mom and dad. Just going down the list of the people that I miss the most and it hit me. I have now been gone for over four months with at least two to three more to go. What do my sons really think of me? Do they resent me? What about my wife, does she really and truly understand why I am out here. Why I stayed in the reserves? And my parents, they were not born here. How do they really feel about me being out here? So many questions and no answers, not a single one. As it is the hold that I have on my sanity is a very fragile one at best. I was so close to giving up today. I thought about going to the chaplain’s office and just letting it all out with the hopes/intention that he would get the ball rolling to get me out of here ASAP. I’m not even sure if he could do that but the thought was definitely there. Jan. 19, 2007 This morning I received word that I will be leaving this place a few days ahead of schedule. I will be out of here on March 11. That means that I should be home in time to see my daughter pop out of the oven. Receiving the news this morning did wonders for my personal morale. I did not realize that it was that low but I can tell you that I noticed the difference immediately. Since arriving in county I set my calendar up with me arriving in El Paso sometime in April. Needless to say my countdown has taken a big and very welcome drop. As of today my count is at fifty days. Just typing fifty days makes me smile. Ha! I can now actually start planning on doing the things that I have been missing and every one of them involves my wife and kids. Ah, to be home again. Feb. 5, 2007 I am now back at Al Asad, not my favorite place to be but I am almost out of here. According to my Chief I will be on the early bird in a little over a month. I cannot wait for that. Feb. 07, 2007 I had my first official day off yesterday. Although it was very nice to not have anything to do, it still sucked. I sat around and just got lost in my thoughts. I kept thinking about my wife, the boys and my family. So much time has gone by since the last time that I saw them. How different are things for them now? How are they going to react to having me around again? These thoughts stayed with me all day long. For the most part, I was miserable. Feb. 19, 2007 I had a real scare today and that is not something that is easy for me to admit. I was told a few days ago that I would be heading out for another mission. I was slated to convoy to KV, Korean Village, which is near the Syrian border. KV is not a bad place, at least that is what I am told. I was more concerned with the trip up there. I was going to go in one of our armored trucks. I was dreading it. As I said, I knew about this trip and it had been weighting and today it hit me. Hard. I kept thinking about the battalions that have come before us and historically the last month of the deployment has been the scariest and in some cases, the deadliest. I let so many negative thoughts come over that I just let them get the best of me. I sat in my can and cried. It was nothing but fear pouring out of me. I prayed to God to keep me from going. I returned to out compound and I let a few people know that I did not want to go. I did not tell them how badly this was affecting me. It did not look too good for me and I could not back out of it completely. I went to work and those thoughts came back. I sat there and thought of typing up a few good bye letters to my wife, my boys, my family and to the other ‘bees. Just in case. Chief Price came up to me and said, “Well, I hope that you did not have your heart set on this trip but I need to send someone with some solid experience on this type of equipment. Just like that, I was off of the hook. I have to say that with all of the work that the Marines and the Army have put into securing the roads for all of us, the trip itself would not be that dangerous but I let the thoughts get in, I just mind fucked myself, all day. My wife could tell that something was wrong but I could not bring myself to tell her. Not in her condition. I am now sitting in front of my can thinking about how things work and how God does work in mysterious ways. Do I deserve this reprieve? March 11, 2007 Well, Izabella Angel joined our family on February 23. Monica started bleeding and they had to go in and do an emergency C-section. Mom and the baby came out of it with flying colors. I had to wait a few days before I was able to receive and view the pics that the family had sent me. Izabella is one beautiful baby. She looks just like her big brother Sergio looked at that age. Which means that Izabella looks a lot like me. Oh well. “Sorry kid, dems da breaks.” Ha! So now I am finally on the first leg of my journey home but let me back up to Feb. 20. I was extremely concerned about the mission that I was pulled from but fate was not on my side. Due to lack of operators my Chief had to put me on a list for an upcoming series of missions. I was assigned to UD Green 2. A Driver, Comms.. with Dano as my driver. Dano, or Boy Band, is one of my closest friends out here so being assigned to his truck was easier for me to deal with. Yes, being out on the road, outside the wire, did pose a bit of a problem with me but since Dano has been running convoy missions since Day 1. So being on this (these) mission(s) with him were easier to get through. He knew that I was more than a little concerned but he did not pull me aside to give me a pep talk or go out of his way to keep me motivated. Nope, he just went about his usual routine. His “It’s just another mission” approach to this mission made me feel at ease. Their was still some apprehension but it was now manageable. We headed out on our mission, at night, and it was not as bad as I had imagined it would be. Actually, it sucked. The trucks that we ride in are not designed for comfort, they are designed for safety. Which is not a bad thing but would it cost the government that much to install another couple of inches of the soft stuff on the seats? Jeez! Dano and I rode along, the conversation was flowing. The guy is as down to earth as can be. He puts the low in mellow. He carries himself with a calmness that affects everyone around him. He is like a hit of weed. I call him the Columbian Red, the Jamaican Gold, the Ganja. Not that I know what these names mean but they sound cool. Anyway, we had been rolling along for about three hours when I spotted tracer rounds at about 500 meters. Since I was running comms, I called it in. “Victor 1. Green 2. Tracer rounds spotted. 10 o'clock. 5 clicks. Over.” You sure? “Stand by.” I turned on the NVG's, looked out towards my ten. One-thousand. One thousand-two. One thousand-...TRACERS!!! “Victor 1. Green 2. Confirmed. Tracers at 10 o'clock.” By now the other vehicles had spotted the same thing. The gunners had zeroed in on the location. We called it in to the COC. The army had engaged the enemy. Back up was not requested or needed. We waited for a few minutes. Which felt like hours but the call came over to push forward. We started moving along when our truck stalled. It just died. The convoy kept moving forward but we were dead. The lights from the vehicles ahead of us faded into the distance. Dano and I sat there, in the dark, in a dead truck. “Victor 1. Green 2. We have lost power. I say again, we have lost power.” Understand that if one vehicle dies, the other vehicles cannot go around that vehicle. All the vehicles behind that vehicle have to sit there until the vehicle is back on line, towed or dead lined. Luckily, thanks to one our seven ton trucks, we were able to pull start it. The kicker to this break drown was that after we had traveled to a point that put us right in line to where the tracer rounds were spotted. 'Yikes', is right. We made it back to our home base a little over an hour later. Whew. March 12, 2006 We have started the trip home. It is not as easy as getting on a plane and skipping over the Atlantic. We have to make a few stops, pick up a few more folks, stop in Kuwait and begin the decompression process. Once that is complete we will hop on another plane and then make it to either Germany or Ireland. After that we will stop in New York City or Bangor, Maine before making our final stop, as a group, in Gulfport, Mississippi. After returning all of our gear, attending a few re assimilation classes and getting checked out by medical, we will then be released into the wild, umm, start our (22 days) leave period. It is then, and only then, that we will be able to return home. Needless to say, with a brand new baby girl, two great, great sons, a loving wife and a supportive family (extended too) I cannot wait to get home. March 20, 2007 I am now going through the demobilization process. So much of it is such a waste of time. We are ordered to muster at a certain time but we never start the scheduled evolution on time. Most of the time has been spent listening to briefs on material that we are all ready familiar with. Before making it back to Gulfport, the military had been putting such an emphasis on helping us to transition back to 'normal'. The truth is so much of what we have done so far is absolutely unnecessary. Much of the information that we have received is overkill. We have been through much of this training before. It almost seems like they dug up ways to fill up our days but yet we get two to three hours for lunch. “We want to help you get processed out ASAP so that you can get back home.” And yet, if you need any follow up or additional information no one can be found as the regular navy cuts out by 3 p.m. So we have to wait until the next day. Thanks! But there's more. This morning we went down for our morning muster at 0715. We turned in the last of our gear. We were finished by 0730. I was back in my room and I did not have to be back until 1300. That is more than five hours of nothing. It does not make any sense for me. “We want you out of here ASAP but we are going to give you lots of time off.” Don't they understand that all that we do, all of us, is sit around and have WTF?! conversations about this process? For me, all that I can is watch the second hand on the clock and wonder, “How much longer before I get to go home? Hold the baby for the first time? My boys? Monica? My family? I am in a hurry to go home but before I do that I feel that I do need to uncork some of the “stuff” that I have kept inside. I have requested permission to not fly home but instead take a road trip across this part of the country. I've always enjoyed road trips but this time it will be “new”. While I was away I kept picturing scenes from small town America. The out of the way towns, hidden along the back roads that, to me, have always defined America.

Hope Rides Alone...

As I continue to feel my way around my day to day tasks, at home and at work, letters such as this one help me get over the feeling of guilt that I deal with each and every day.

God Bless America and her Troops!

Please read on and take care.

I ask you PLEASE READ the below letter from one of our fallen in Iraqand take stock. Please disseminate as you feel prudent.JimmyHope Rides Alone - Letter from a fallen soldier. It is worth your time. Oct 19, 2007 *************************************************************************** SGT. Edmund John Jeffer's last few words were some of the mosttouching, inspiring and most truthful words spoken since the tragedy of9/11 - and since our nation went to war. SGT. Jeffers was a strong soldier and talented writer. He died inIraq on September 19, 2007. He was a loving husband, brother and son.His service was more than this country could ever grasp - but the leastyou can do for the man who sacrificed his life for you ... is listen towhat he had to say. *************************************************************************** Hope Rides Alone By Eddie Jeffers : I stare out into the darkness from my post, and I watch the city burnto the ground. I smell the familiar smells, I walk through the familiarrubble, and I look at the frightened faces that watch me pass down thestreets of their neighborhoods. My nerves hardly rest; my hands aresteady on a device that has been given to me from my government for the purpose of taking the lives of others. I sweat, and I am tired. My back aches from the loads I carry. YoungAmerican boys look to me to direct them in a manner that will somedayallow them to see their families again...and yet, I too, am just aboy....my age not but a few years more than that of the ones I lead. Iam stressed, I am scared, and I am paranoid...because death iseverywhere. It waits for me, it calls to me from around street cornersand windows, and it is always there. There are the demons that follow me, and tempt me into thoughts andactions that are not my own...but that are necessary for survival. I'vemade compromises with my humanity. And I am not alone in this. Milesfrom me are my brethren in this world, who walk in the samestreets...who feel the same things, whether they admit to it or not. And to think, I volunteered for this... And I am ignorant to the rest of the world...or so I thought. But even thousands of miles away, in Ramadi , Iraq , the cries andscreams and complaints of the ungrateful reach me. In a year, I will bethrust back into society from a life and mentality that doesn't fit youraverage man. And then, I will be alone. And then, I will walk down thestreets of America , and see the yellow ribbon stickers on the cars ofthe same people who compare our President to Hitler. I will watch the television and watch the Cindy Sheehans, and the AlFrankens, and the rest of the ignorant sheep of America spout off theirmouths about a subject they know nothing about. It is their right,however, and it is a right that is defended by hundreds of thousands ofboys and girls scattered across the world, far from home. I use the wordboys and girls, because that's what they are. In the Army, the averageage of the infantryman is nineteen years old. The average rank ofsoldiers killed in action is Private First Class. People like Cindy Sheehan are ignorant. Not just to this war, but tothe results of their idiotic ramblings, or at least I hope they are.They don't realize its effects on this war. In this war, there are noGeneva Conventions, no cease fires. Medics and Chaplains are not sparedfrom the enemy's brutality because it's against the rules. I can onlyimagine the horrors a military Chaplain would experience at the hands ofthe enemy. The enemy slinks in the shadows and fights a coward's waragainst us. It is effective though, as many men and women have diedsince the start of this war. And the memory of their service to Americais tainted by the inconsiderate remarks on our nation's news outlets.And every day, the enemy changes...only now, the enemy is becomingsomething new. The enemy is transitioning from the Muslim extremists toAmericans. The enemy is becoming the very people whom we defend with ourlives. And they do not realize it. But in denouncing our actions, denouncing our leaders, denouncing thewar we live and fight, they are isolating the military fromsociety...and they are becoming our enemy. Democrats and peace activists like to toss the word "quagmire" aroundand compare this war to Vietnam . In a way they are right, this war isbecoming like Vietnam . Not the actual war, but in the isolation ofcountry and military. America is not a nation at war; they are a nationwith its military at war. Like it or not, we are here, some of us forour second, or third times; some even for their fourth and so on.Americans are so concerned now with politics, that it is interferingwith our war. Terrorists cut the heads off of American citizens on theInternet...and there is no outrage, but an American soldier kills anIraqi in the midst of battle, and there are investigations, andsometimes soldiers are even jailed...for doing their job. It is absolutely sickening to me to think our country has come tothis. Why are we so obsessed with the bad news? Why will people stop atnothing to be against this war, no matter how much evidence of the goodwe've done is thrown in their face? When is the last time CNN or MSNBCor CBS reported the opening of schools and hospitals in Iraq ? Or theleaders of terror cells being detained or killed? It's all happening,but people will not let up their hatred of Bush. They will ignore thegood news, because it just might show people that Bush was right. America has lost its will to fight. It has lost its will to defendwhat is right and just in the world. The crazy thing of it all is thatthe American people have not even been asked to sacrifice a singlething. It's not like World War Two, where people rationed food, andturned in cars to be made into metal for tanks. The American people havenot been asked to sacrifice anything. Unless you are in the military orthe family member of a service member, its life as usual...the wardoesn't affect you. But it affects us. And when it is over, and the troops come home, andthey try to piece together what's left of them after theirservice...where will the detractors be then? Where will the CindySheehans be to comfort and talk to soldiers and help them sort out thelast couple years of their lives, most of which have been spent dodgingdeath and wading through the deaths of their friends? They will be wherethey always are, somewhere far away, where the horrors of the worldcan't touch them. Somewhere where they can complain about things theywill never experience in their lifetime; things that the young men andwomen of America have willingly taken upon their shoulders. We are the hope of the Iraqi people. They want what everyone elsewants in life: safety, security, somewhere to call home. They want acountry that is safe to raise their children in. Not a place where theirchildren will be abducted, raped, and murdered if they do not complywith the terrorists demands. They want to live on, rebuild and prosper.And America has given them the opportunity, but only if we stay true tothe cause, and see it to its end. But the country must unite in thisendeavor...we cannot place the burden on our military alone. We must allstand up and fight, whether in uniform or not. And supporting us is morethan sticking yellow ribbon stickers on your cars. It's supporting ourPresident, our troops and our cause. Right now, the burden is all on the American soldiers. Right now, HopeRides Alone. But it can change, it must change. Because there is onlyfailure and darkness ahead for us as a country, as a people, if itdoesn't. Let's stop all the political nonsense, let's stop all the bickering,let's stop all the bad news, and let's stand and fight! *************************************************************************** Eddie's father, David Jeffers, writes: I'm not sure how many letters or articles you've ever read from thegenre of "News from the Front," but this is one of the best I've everread, including all of America's wars. As I was reading this, I forgotthat it was my son who had written it. My emotions range from greatpride to great sorrow, knowing that my little boy (22 years old) hasbecome this man. He is my hero. Thank all of you for your prayers for him; he needsthem now more than ever. God bless. Though Eddie is no longer with us, you can help to let his voice beheard.