Jim Spiri in Iraq

As I sat later that evening with this soldier, he talked to me at length of how it all works, as he monitored each departing flying machine and listened to the "wap, wap, wap," of the high speed rotor blades biting the hot night air. Soon, the flying machines taxied out of sight, but the sound could be followed for some time to come. Eventually they lifted into the night sky over this place called Iraq off to another mission.

This soldier, who is also a pilot, on stand by this night, in the event something goes wrong and he might have to fill in, tells me more stories of how this machine works and why he does what he does. The next night he will fly, and maybe I will go with him to experience all the things he is telling me objectively, for my possible subjective experience.
He tells me of flights he's done and how the long hot nights of his fourth deployment across the globe, drain his physical body of much needed water, as I watch him hydrate with another liter of bottled water.

I continue to tell him of my journeys and what I've been doing and together we share the stories of our times in this land. He introduces me to all his comrades who also do the same things he is doing while their families await their return. This soldier/pilot tells me of how he misses his young wife how at 26-years-old, (soon to be 27) life is maturing him in ways he did not expect. This soldier has facinated me like no other one, yet they all have a similar story that intrigues me. But this one in particular, strikes me as deep, very deep. He's seen so much, has suffered as many others have, has lost friends, brothers, all comrades. He presses on and continues to show me the big picture as he sees things. Where did this soldier/pilot learn such things?

As the night goes on, we and one of his fellow pilots find a small window of opportunity to get some midnight chow. We walk the 10-minutes to the chow hall with all the other soldiers up late at night, grabbing a bite to eat in the 90+ degree heat of the summer in Iraq. As we walk, soldier after soldier salute this unknown soldier I'm with, and he returns the salute with a professional, upright attitude yet returns a greeting of "have a good night" to each one that shows such respect. Who is this soldier/pilot that carries such responsibility yet can converse with men of every rank and leave them a smile as they too walk the line?

As we enter the eating place, this unknown soldier/pilot removes his cap and stuffs it into his side pocket and directs me to where the "best food is"
as he takes a special care for my well being. We find a place to sit down among his peers as they all tell him "what's up, sir? Sit here!" And we sit down among his comrades as the conversation is light and there are many smiles and jokes and for a time, we all forget that we are in this place of called a war zone.
I'm introduced to these "brothers in arms" and one by one they all greet me. They are curious as to how this unknown soldier/pilot has taken me as his guest this evening. More smiles, more joking and then it's time to exit the chow hall.

As we leave, the others had places to get to, but this unknown soldier/pilot escorts me to the road that will lead me to my quarters. We both share an ice cream as we stand there on the side of the road, awaiting to depart one another's company for the night. It's now past 1:00 am in the morning. Tomorrow will be another day. This pilot will be busy at night, carrying/flying more passengers and cargo to various places in the war zone.

I look him in the eyes that still have a sparkle of a young child, yet they are now the eyes of a warrior, a man, a mature(ing) soldier in the United States Army.
An aviator.

He gives me a bear hug, and says to me, "good night dad, I'll see you tomorrow...and we say, praise the Lord to one another.

I know this soldier, but he is a man now. He is my son, Jimmy.

love,
Jim