A Noble Undertaking

On leave in April, 2007:




Pointe-du-Hoc, Normandy





American Cemetery Statue





Steve, reflecting on wars past and present





Among the fallen

A roundup of required reading.

AoD: The True Hollywood Story

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Live Free, Die Well

My old team leader Jesse was a curious mix of disarming humor and overt seriousness. He would joke and jump around, shouting quotes from Rambo and countless Schwarzenegger movies. His laugh, deep from the belly, echoed down the halls of the barracks and in between the plaster and brick homes of very bewildered Iraqis. Just as quick, though, he'd delve into moments of austere reflection on the tide of war that swept over us. While training to deploy, he hunched over to Josh and me and let us in on a secret ritual that he did during his first deployment with the scouts. Right before the ramp dropped, he would shout, "Live Free!" to which we would reply, "Die Well!" Even though we were about to dismount to shoot blanks and throw fake grenades at people pretending to be insurgents, he said it exactly like he would in combat.

When I was younger, I took the time on Memorial Day to think about men I never met. The Marines that didn't come back with my uncle from Vietnam, and the infantrymen who gave their all with my grandfather in Korea. I thought about a distant relative, killed in battle at Gettysburg. Now that I'm on the other side of the civilian coin, I'm not sure what to think or do on this day. Like I've described before, every day is Memorial Day when you spend months and years with someone, learning their favorite movies and parent's names and their least favorite Spice Girl, only to see their lives end much too soon. The moment you leave a memorial service for someone killed in action, the feelings that come out on Memorial Day are amplified and refracted across the spectrum of emotion. You get a bit each day, forever.

Jesse and Chevy will never be with us again, but their spirits carry on. I can't even look at my backpack without sparking a memory of Jesse. Chevy's name is etched across the bracelet of my wrist, never to be removed. Reminders of their sacrifice are not limited to the attachment of physical objects, but to the future itself. They died well so we could live free. Keep that in mind today, for tomorrow the flags will come down, the barbecues will simmer and the memories of the fallen will quietly fade away.

Please use the comments section to post a story of someone you knew that fell in battle. Doesn't matter who, doesn't matter what war.

New Progress in the Old Hood

A recent piece on C-SPAN features a reporter embedded with a Stryker unit in Baqubah, the old stomping grounds of my unit and nearly every Stryker brigade since we left. Those familar with the area might laugh at using metal detectors in open fields and clearing the palm groves. Again.



Money quote: "It's a little bit difficult to figure out exactly who's the most honest people over in Iraq, but the soldiers are pretty much willing to deal with anyone who's not an insurgent."

I can haz shaky alliance?

War Games

I had two loves in high school: military history and videogames. Both subjects kept girls and a social life at bay, but I was satisfied with sitting at home on a Friday night playing Medal of Honor or watching Black Hawk Down for the 100th time. So imagine my excitement over the announcement of a videogame based on actual events in the Battle of Fallujah. Six Days of Fallujah, a third person tactical shooter (more Full Spectrum Warrior than Call of Duty) is set to release next year, with the narrative lifted from the experiences, pictures and diaries from the Marines in the battle.

Battle of Fallujah will be the first major game released while the war in Iraq still rages. But it got me thinking - what other games could have been released so far?

Legend of VBIED: The Opel of Time

Sorry Link, but your VBIED is in another AO!

Gamers are transported to an ancient land forgotten by modern technology with one of few exceptions: the legendary Opel sedan. They crisscross Iraq in the thousands, their cheap and reliable models a favorite in the hands of insurgents. Players will set out in a 3-D world with one mission: to find an Opel, loaded with hundreds of pounds of explosives, with only the color of the car as their guide. The player earns points by pulling over suspicious Opels and searching the car, only to find jerry-rigged water bottle radiators and twenty year old cassette tapes. The game ends when the player finds an Opel that is actually driven by insurgents, making the replay value nearly endless.

Euphrates City Ransom

Is he carrying a stick or a hot dog?

In this game, you play as Ahmed, an up and coming Son of Iraq that witnesses his donkey being kidnapped by al-Qaeda terrorists. Fuming with anger, Ahmed embarks on a cross-country war of retribution against the merciless organization. The game is a classic style side scrolling beat 'em up featuring weapons ranging from pool cues to rocket propelled grenades. Gamers will be required to finish complex puzzles like IED construction and severing the heads of nonbelievers. The final level of the game is set in a three dimensional puzzle where the player must navigate the 99 Levels of Iraqi Government to claim the Goblet of Legitimate Security, but beware of Prime Minister Maliki and his dual Gatling guns!

Duke Chuck 'Em 3D

Have you ever wanted to recreate the act of Iraqi journalist Muntadhar al-Zeidi, but don't want to rot in a Baghdad prison for a year? In this thrilling first person shooter, you play as Zeidi, a calm and cool undercover agent sent on a top secret mission to chuck a shoe at President Bush. Through twenty-four levels spanning from Camp Victory to the Green Zone, the player will encounter enemies, like pogue chow hall guards and feral dogs covered in shit, and throw wingtips at them. The final boss is George W. Bush, an agile an elusive enemy. Show that brush clearing imperialist who's boss!

Super Hussein Bros.





You'll be fighting over the controller with your 72 virgins when you play this fun platformer! You play as Captain X, a special forces operator hunting for two of the most wanted men in Iraq, Saddam's sons Uday and Qusay Hussein. Levels include underwater lairs, torture dungeons and unpredictable spider holes. Track down the elusive brothers alone or with a team. You'll be packing heat with fireflowers, super mushrooms and daisy cutting MOABs.

Petraeus

This isn't a rip off of Tetris, it's a...re-imagining. Rush to fit all the pieces of the Iraq war together before the SOFA time limit expires! The most important rule: do not let the Paul Bremer piece touch the Iraq piece. The results are catastrophic to the game and could extend the level for seven plus years.

(This post is dedicated to SSG Jesse Williams, my former team leader and fellow gamer. He always made fun of me for my penchant for videogames but always found time to play. He died from wounds suffered in Baqubah two years ago yesterday.)

The 2009 Milblogging Conference

This time next month, many of your favorite military bloggers will descend on Washington, D.C. in a whirlwind of snark, booze and insightful panels at The Milblogging Conference. Someone made the grave error in inviting me to join a panel of my peers, and before they realized their mistake, I graciously accepted. I join a crowd that's really a who's who in the military blogging community and look forward to meeting a few heroes of mine. The panels are slowly coming together, so below are the panels already set for Saturday, April 25:


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New Media Agora: What is the impact of the “new media” on issues concerning national security, military doctrine and concept development, training, education, and lessons learned? A discussion of the issue by those at the frontlines of the debate.

Moderator: Greyhawk

Dave Dilegge
Andrew Exum
Bill Roggio

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Beyond MilBlogging: Taking the blog to the next level. From book deals to paid writing assignments, documentaries, speaking engagements, television and radio appearances and much, much more, many milbloggers have been able to branch out beyond the blog. We’ll find out how a few of them did it, and what projects they have in the works.

Moderator: David Stanford from The Sandbox

JD Johannes
Uncle Jimbo
Lily Burana
airforcewife
Craig Stewart

****

Back to Our Roots: Some say the “Golden Age” of milblogging has passed. The age when milbloggers were a small, tight community. Today, there are so many interesting milblogs. We'll meet some milbloggers you may or may not have heard of and get back to the finest tradition of milblogging - celebrating and highlighting the diversity of voices within our community.

Moderator: Matt from Blackfive

Alex Horton
Solomon Fein (Tentative)
Maggie of Boston Maggie and Castle Argghhh!
Rebekah Sanderlin

Would you like to be there to witness the shrewd wisdom of Abu Muqawama, the keen insight of Bill Roggio, and the disturbing laughter of Uncle Jimbo? Registration is still open! At last count, 75 seats were still available, and they sold out in 2007. It costs only $50 to attend, so reserve your seat now. The conference is held at the Arlington Westin, so it would be wise to book your room there.

I hope to see many of you at the conference!

A Man at Sunset

As the days turn into months that become years, it becomes difficult to imagine that the collective experiences of second platoon Bravo company grow more distant from the present, drifting in a sea of time away from the shores of what was known, and loved. One fights to recall the names and faces of certain characters that were surely there, but not so easily remembered. Firefights and shootouts, dismembered bodies covering the earth (and below it), and uproarious fits of laughter grow fuzzy, their events occasionally muddied in skepticism - did they happen quite the way I remember, or did I simply fill in the gaps with piecemeal memories?

Some events transcend space and time, full of vivid color and smells and gut-feeling that will never go away, no matter what the calendar seems to read. Soon it will be two years since March 14, 2007 - a day that has been on the minds and hearts of everyone that knew and cared for Brian Chevalier.

He was a man that did his job without reservation and without complaint, far outshining and outclassing those of us that bitched at the slightest notion of additional work. His job in combat was a vital one: to navigate the treacherous roads, fields and alleys of Iraq and drop off his squad safely and quickly so they may carry out their mission. He was rarely seen by others not in his squad; the position of driver carries with it extra maintenance and care for the vehicle. While others in the platoon played videogames, smoked cigarettes and sat at the poker table, Chevy was in the thick mud of the motorpool making sure his vehicle was in peak condition. And he did it for his squad.

Perhaps it was best that Chevy never saw it coming. The only indication that something was about to go terribly, horribly wrong was the children on the outside of the school. They seemed to be the only living creatures along the far-reaching road our column of Strykers and Bradleys were on. The children watched each vehicle pass with dark, detached eyes. Baqubah was a city where insurgents operated with impunity, a place where a few men could cut into the street with a concrete saw and bury a massive bomb - and nothing would seem out of the ordinary. The children had a front row street to the mayhem, and almost in unison, they all plugged their ears with their fingers in anticipation for what they knew what was coming: an explosion from deep underground.

What happened next replays in my mind every single day. In an instant, a loving father and a good soldier lay dead on the ground, and the squad he so readily guided was a tangled mass of limbs in the back of the vehicle, turned sideways from the force of the blast. For just a a brief moment, Chevy was airborne. Even in death he was elevated far above his contemporaries. Yet the blast didn't just end his life. For each of us that knew him, it was the defining moment of our lives when we became not only familar with death, but intimate with it. We were a band of young soldiers, many in our early to late 20s. We were not accustomed to the idea of departed souls, and that explosion was the catalyst that set in motion a new reckoning of what it meant to truly love someone, only to see them go. From that day on, we fully understood the power of the bonds forged in the dusty plains of Yakima, in the sand-blasted tents of Kuwait, and on the muddied streets of Iraq. In a snapshot of time, we aged well beyond our years and gained a luminous insight into life and loss that we will forever carry with us in our hearts.







A friend from the platoon recently came to me, worried that he was thinking about Iraq, especially the time of year that Chevy passed.

"I don't know man, I've been thinking about him a lot lately," he said.

"Don't worry," I replied. I think about it every day. Almost anything reminds me of something."

"Yeah, me too."

I realized I wasn't the only one trying to sort out Chevy's death two years later, to search for the meaning behind it all. The explosion that shook our world to its core and ended the life of an honorable man changed something inside of us, a subtle transformation that we felt but continue to define as the years wear on. It took the loss of Chevy to make us whole, and for that, I cannot thank him enough for being a part of second platoon and the spirit for all of our successes and triumphs already accomplished and not yet realized. He brought us home, and for that we owe him a debt of gratitude measured only in prosaic terms.

On March 14 and every day, I'll be thinking of him.

A Man at Sunrise

For the past month I've been writing about my best friend Steve. He had been out of the Army for more than a year before he was ordered to report for medical screening and inevitably a deployment to Iraq. Having done more for his country in three years than the sum of whole organizations (I'm looking at you, College Republicans), Steve was once again called upon to do the work so many have shunned over the last eight years. I am more than relieved to report that today his exemption from involuntary mobilization has been granted and his orders canceled. Many people congratulate you when you get out of the Army like you're getting out of jail, but getting out of the IRR is like leaving purgatory behind. So many congratulations for Steve. Your future is back in your able hands. Now squeeze that GI Bill for all its worth!

As for the many more veterans in the IRR, I'm not giving up on this plight now that my friend is safe. There are still daily injustices that must be corrected, not only dealing with recall but the other back door draft of stop loss.

Thank you all for your e-mails and comments of support for Steve and others in his unenviable position. I truly appreciate it.

Keeping the Faith: A Letter to President Obama

Dear President Obama,

This letter comes to you from an unlikely supporter: a young Iraq War vet from the blood-red state of Texas. As an Army recruit in basic training, I cast my vote for George W. Bush in 2004 because I felt he was the best choice for a responsible prosecution of the wars in Iraq and Afghanistan. Five years and a combat tour later, I have come to understand the consequences of that decision. Last November I pulled the lever for you after hearing about the refreshing notion of a new era of government accountability that never existed in my adult life. I was sold when you promised to end the practice of involuntary mobilization, a program that reactivates veterans out of the service and sends them back to war. Given the new era of responsibility ushered in by your administration, it is imperative that you keep a promise made to the tens of thousands of veterans across the country.

I am writing to you on behalf of Steve Lewey, one of Illinois' bravest sons. Steve grew up in a working class family not too far from your old stomping grounds of Chicago. He did well in high school and went on to college to study architectural design. After realizing he and his parents could not afford to continue his education, Steve enlisted in the United States Army at the age of nineteen. He did so not only for education benefits but to satisfy the intense need to serve his country in a time of war. As an infantryman, Steve completed a fifteen month tour in 2007, distinguishing himself in the Battle of Baqubah, the deadliest battle of the surge. In one instance, after an insurgent attack claimed the life of our comrade, Steve completely exposed himself to enemy fighters by climbing on top of a Stryker vehicle and firing at three insurgents, killing them instantly. On a dirty and blood-soaked street in Iraq, no one seemed to notice the kid from Chicago in an act of remarkable gallantry. Many of my fellow soldiers are walking examples of his bravery - without his incredibly selfless act, more American soldiers would have surely fallen in that battle.

With his GI Bill in hand, Steve left the service after an extended combat deployment and headed back home to Chicago in the winter of 2007. Filled with the fire of discipline and motivation he found in the Army, he settled into a job and waited patiently for the new GI Bill to become law. He wanted to finish the schooling he started so many years ago. That dream came to an abrupt end late last month when he came home to find a thick brown envelope on his doorstep. Inside were instructions on where to report for medical screening for a deployment back to Iraq.

The IRR has been used in the past as an emergency pool of trained soldiers to augment forces overseas, but recently history has shown it has been badly abused following 9/11. The link between Iraq and the Global War on Terror is tenuous at best, yet the Presidential Reserve Call Up Authority still exists to mobilize and deploy inactive soldiers even in cases of non-emergencies, Iraq being a clear example. Though repeated and lengthy deployments are causing a terrible strain on active duty soldiers, there was no concern on the part of your colleagues to expand the size of the military to meet the rigorous demand of two wars. Instead, the Department of Defense has overindulged on inactive soldiers meant to fix temporary problems, not become long term solutions. Though you seek to draw down forces in Iraq, Mr. President, the recalls continue in the twilight of a six year war.

For combat veterans, the task of integrating back into society has been a difficult journey as old as war itself. From Odysseus to eighteen year old soldiers coming from the battlefields of Iraq and Afghanistan, the path to normalcy is wrought with post traumatic stress and a disconnect between soldiers and their civilian counterparts. The added weight of a potential involuntary recall is more undue pressure on the fragile mind of combat veterans. Army career counselors exacerbate the duress with threatening phone calls and ominous visits to the homes of veterans, suggesting recall is a certainty if they don't join the Guard or Reserves. For Steve and over 20,000 inactive soldiers across the country, their worst fears have been realized in the form of mobilization orders. For them it's another crushing defeat in an already burdensome mission to find peace after war.

For years, you have spoken extensively about the need for a more robust civil service program in the country. I cannot think of a greater civil service than serving in the military, especially in a time of war. For eight years, soldiers have sacrificed their bodies, minds, and in the most tragic of cases, their lives, to complete the mission. We have stared into the black abyss of war to see an inner reflection of triumph and tragedy. There are pieces of us, physical and otherwise, that are left on the battlefield forever. That is what we gave up for this nation. Now that the war in Iraq is coming to a close, it's time to end the recalls immediately. Every soldier in the military stands ready to report, mobilize and deploy in any corner of the world in 96 hours or less. The abrupt cancellation of the Presidential Reserve Call Up Authority and subsequent orders would seem effortless in comparison to what soldiers stand ready for each and every day.

"Keeping faith with those who serve must always be a core American value and a cornerstone of American patriotism. Because America's commitment to its servicemen and women begins at enlistment, and it must never end."

The words above should look familiar. You said them on the presidential campaign trail as my unit conducted combat patrols in the fifteenth month of our tour in Iraq. It must be realized that above all else, the American soldier is the most valuable thing this country has to offer. The bodies, minds and lives of our fighting men and women cannot be taken for granted. There is too much at stake. Ending the involuntary recalls is a step in the right direction to repair the ties that bind the military to the citizens they stand to protect. You were Steve Lewey's senator in the great state of Illinois, and you are now his President. You must keep the faith with him and the many thousands of veterans that hold recall orders in their hand and uncertainty in their hearts. For more than two hundred years, soldiers have fought to protect this land. Now it is time to ask you, Mr. President, to fulfill your commitment to end recalls and put veterans back onto their long journey to peace and prosperity.

Very Respectfully,

Alex Horton

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I have never expected any politician to keep their word, but this issue is too important to remain pessimistic about. Lives and futures literally hang in the balance as we wait for the president to pick up his red pen and cancel the Executive Order allowing the involuntary mobilizations to continue. Please take a moment to send a message to the White House comment page. There is a 500 character limit, so please include the link to this post ( http://armyofdude.blogspot.com/2009/02/keeping-faith-letter-to-president-obama.html ). You can also contact your House representative and let them know about the issue. Anyone that can get the gears turning - newspapers, magazines, local and state politicians - let them know. This is not something to remain quiet about. Spread the word, help some veterans. Now it is your turn to protect them this time.

Best of Friends

The two car convoy came to a stop at the departure section of the Seattle International Airport. With the engine running, I climbed out of the car and waited on the sidewalk as Steve grabbed his bags from the trunk of Chris' car. The loudspeakers reminded us to make it quick - "This area for loading or unloading only" played on a constant loop as security guards leered in our direction. After seeing Steve nearly every single day for three years, I was there to see him off on his one way trip back home to Chicago. The brisk December wind whisked around us as we cracked our final jokes together. Being tough infantry types, I thought a couple of handshakes and a "Later, dude" would be enough before we parted ways. Instead, Chris and Steve came together for an emotional embrace. Then it was my turn to hug my best friend for the first and only time. "Take it easy, man." My voice cracked as the words came out. He turned and walked through the automatic door, leaving Chris and me on the sidewalk.

With a heavy heart, I got back into my car and headed back to Fort Lewis. In less than five minutes my pocket began to buzz. I pulled out my cellphone and saw a new text from Steve.

"I miss you guys already."

**

Nearly everyone I knew in the Army had one inseparable friend that they were around constantly. Steve was that person for me. We grew up a thousand miles away from each other but our paths were nearly identical. We both came from working class families and grew up on Nintendo and action movies. We joined the Army for many of the same reasons, mostly money for college that we didn't dare ask our parents for. What made us connect at the beginning was our intense love for debate and reasoning. For hours we could argue about anything. On a train from Geneva to Rome during our two weeks of leave, we debated for more than an hour about the main ingredient of salad. Anyone from my platoon can attest to our spirited, three year long argument about which band was better, The Eagles or Led Zeppelin. Of course it's Zep, but we're currently in a stalemate.

At the many combat outposts that we inhabited in Iraq, Steve and I talked about what we'd do after the Army. We both decided that one tour was enough and that higher education would be the next chapter in our lives. He wanted to be an architect and I wanted to write. We yearned to create something after wallowing in death and destruction for more than a year. The plan was simple: take the GI Bill and run with it.

After coming home from Iraq we started the separation process together, running all over post to collect requisite signatures and dodge work at the barracks whenever possible. We sat through countless briefings that warned us about the perils of getting tossed into the IRR, a group of inactive soldiers that can be activated individually and mobilized for duty in Iraq. To get out of it, one simply needed to join the Guard or Reserve and get exemption from deployments. Steve and I both had a few promises broken by the Army, so we weren't going to be fooled once more. We decided to take our chances, load up the IRR revolver, and pull the trigger.

There is no warning that a former soldier is about to be recalled. There is no way of knowing that the game of Russian Roulette is over and your brains are splattered all over the wall. There is only an unassuming brown envelope left on the front porch to say what is already known: Uncle Sam doesn't run out of bullets.

**
Just when I thought I was out...they pull me back in.

-Michael Corleone

I was at work when my pocket sent out a cheerful tone alerting me of a new text message. I pulled out my phone to see a new message from Steve. I figured it was some trivia question. I could tell he carried his debating persona back home from the messages he sent me. He asked about actors in movies and lesser known points of history that must have come up in discussions with his friends. I opened it to see that it had nothing to do with trivia.

"I just got official orders to go back dude."

My knees almost gave way after reading and rereading the message. I called him right away to offer any kind of help I could. As the phone rang, I looked down at my silver KIA bracelet and ran my fingers over the etched lettering - CPL BRIAN L. CHEVALIER 14 MARCH 2007 BAQUBAH, IRAQ.

A thousand miles away, Steve was wearing the same bracelet.

I relayed to Steve all the information I had gathered on the IRR. I spent countless hours hunched over my computer researching IRR callups, a challenge considering the intentionally scant information put out by the DoD and Army Human Resources Command. I told him to sign up for any classes, get a doctor's note for any condition, anything that could delay or exempt him from mobilization. There is no shame in it. Steve volunteered during a war, knowing that he would be sent into combat. Not only combat ensued, but the bloodiest fight in Iraq since Fallujah. Steve did his time, and more. His place is at home, not on the battlefield anymore.

By way of Lt. Nixon, Thomas Ricks notes a Pentagon study that reveals troop levels have remained relatively the same since 9/11. A more alarming statistic: 6% of active duty troops have served more than 25 months in a combat zone while 74% have less than twelve months in. The study concludes that the lower to mid enlisted and company grade officers are carrying the most burden. Senior officers and NCOs are hiding like cockroaches in the cracks of TRADOC posts and non-deployable slots while lower level soldiers march to the steady drumbeat of repeated deployments, failed marriages and ever-mounting cases of suicide. On top of that, the IRR continues to mobilize soldiers that have moved on, going to school or beginning careers and families. The only way to lessen the burden is to grow the size of the force. One idea: take the database of the newly minted Red State Strike Force members and dump them into mobilization slots. Those pathetic goons want to wear patches styled after special forces to fight on a battlefield of snark. They want to organize. I can think of no better way to organize than a shout of, "Dress right, dress!" The slack has to be picked up somewhere, lest our forces remain so broken that we must rely on involuntary callups to get bodies to the fight.

Steve's future hangs in the balance. School has been put on hold until a review board decides if he is fit to go back to Iraq. I have described the looming threat of recall as an ubiquitous afterthought, constantly degrading the sense of normalcy and safety as the days pile on. Now that recall has manifested itself as a clumsy destroyer of futures, the feeling has changed. Not only mental, the dread has become physical, hanging in my stomach like a sharply cornered anvil. My old infantry sore spots - back, knees and ankles - throb in a dull ache. The burden is back squarely on my shoulders, but I cannot imagine what Steve is feeling right now. I just know that as his best friend, a thousand miles away, I must carry some for him.

A few days after getting Steve's text, I got a call from our buddy Mark. We were the three biggest poker fiends in the platoon, always at the table no matter the time or the buy-in. He said to me, "You better sit down before I tell you this."

"Is it about Steve?", I asked.

"What about Steve?"

"He got recalled a couple of days ago. Got his orders in the mail."

"Fuck, I did too!", he shouted into the phone. "They got me. They got me."

**

As the weeks and months tick off the calendar, the game of Russian Roulette claims more soldiers foolish enough to play. It was nearly manageable to keep the thoughts of recall at bay before my friends started to get sucked in. Now, a family in in the suburbs of Chicago is contemplating what the future might bring for their son. The same is happening in the hills of Ohio and in cities and towns across the country. The burden that veterans carry may lessen, but it comes back with a terrible vengeance. All it takes is one envelope to throw a life off a path that was so delicately created in the humid and dust-choked outposts of Iraq.