Jim Spiri in Iraq

In this photo, two soldiers who hail from Philadelphia
pose for the camera. Sgt. Soumas, left, and Spc.
Labele, right, are both big time Philadelphia Eagles
fans. They took good care of me while on patrol this
day.

Southeast of Baghdad, Iraq...In this photo, Spc. Stetson is seen on
rooftop position during mission into a Sunni village
where AQI causes much problems.

Southeast of Baghdad, Iraq...In this photo, soldiers from Apache
Troop, 1/40 Cav, are seen taking up positions during
daytime patrol in a Sunni village.

Southeast of Baghdad, Iraq...In this photo, Spc. Moege, of Apache
Troop, 1/40 Cav, from Ft. Richardson, AK, is seen on daytime patrol.

Southeast of Baghdad, Iraq...in this photo, a group of soldiers
from Apache Troop, 1/40 Cav, are seen taking up
positions enroute to objective during daytime patrol.

Southeast of Baghdad, Iraq...In this photo, Cpl. Williams, of
Apache Troop, 1/40 Cav, is seen taking up position
while other soldiers move to objective.

Southeast of Baghdad, Iraq...In this photo, Spc. Baugus, of Apache
Troop, 1/40 Cav, is seen taking up position as others
move to objective.

Southeast of Baghdad, Iraq..In this photo, Spc. Studley, of Apache
Troop, 1/40 Cav, is seen on rooftop overwatch
position.

Southeast of Baghdad, Iraq...The scene on patrol.

Southeast of Baghdad, Iraq...Capt. Klascius, commander of Apache
Troop, takes up position at corner during patrol.

Southeast of Baghdad, Iraq..."Lt. Dan" Doverspike on patrol.

Southeast of Baghdad, Iraq...What the neighborhood looks like where
Apache troop patrols.

Southeast of Baghdad, Iraq...The farm that we maintained a presence
at for several hours.

Southeast of Baghdad, Iraq...Apache Troop patrolling towards
objective.

September 27, 2007 FOB Falcon, Iraq

This is a very complex area. There is not a simple
way to explain it. Although I do not have a firm
handle on it, yet, I will do my best to covey what
I've learned, and still am learning. For those that
teach me, go daily into the heart of the lions den.
These are the soldiers of 1/40 Cav, from Ft.
Richardson, Alaska, who have allowed me to accompany
them into their trek through enemy territory lately.

As I've mentioned in previous posts, I am in an area
that is more or less southeast of Baghdad. Where I am
is rural and an agrarian way of life surrounds the
landscape. One of several villages in the area would
be where we would go today, starting before the
sunrise once again. The weather is much cooler now,
compared to the grueling summer heat. Still, water is
a must in the late morning hours turning towards
afternoon. We would walk from a location about three
klicks or so to the small village of Hawr Rajab. I'm
not positive on the spelling, but it's close.

Adwaniya, Iraq
In this photo, soldiers from 1st platoon, 1/40 Cav,
are seen detaining suspects at a fruit stand

Adwaniya, Iraq
In this photo, Lt. Rob Hamilton is seen on patrol in
the streets of Adwaniya, Iraq. Hamilton is from
Florida, and is the Lt. for 1st platoon, Bravo, Co.,
1/40 Cav, from Ft. Richardson, AK.

Adwaniya, Iraq
In this photo, an Iraqi Army soldier is seen during
operation in Adwaniya, Iraq.

Adwaniya, Iraq
In this photo, Sgt. Pershell, from Michigan, is seen
searching occupants of vehicle who live in Adwaniya,
Iraq. Sgt. Pershell is in Bravo Troop, 1/40 Cav, from
Ft. Richardson, AK.

Adwaniya, Iraq
Spc Darisse, from Washington State, is seen during
operations in Adwaniya, Iraq. Darisse is 19-years
old. He is stationed out of Ft. Richardson, Alaska,
and is in 1st platoon, Bravo Troop, 1/40 Cav.

Adwaniya, Iraq.
In this photo, an Iraqi soldiers takes up
position on the street in Adwaniya, Iraq, as raid to
capture suspects transpires.

Adwaniya, Iraq
In this photo, Capt. Matt Sheftic, is seen coordinating plans during operations in Adwaniya, Iraq. Sheftic is from Vermot, and is the Captain in Bravo Troop, 1/40 Cav, and stationed at Ft.
Richardson, Alaska.

September 29, 2007 FOB Falcon, Iraq

In the last 48-hours, I have been on two patrols which
occupied me for almost forty of those hours. I felt
it necessary to see and accompany the troops I'm with
currently, as much as possible in the short time
remaining. The last mission I just finished would be
with Bravo Troop, 1/40 Cav, 1st platoon, under the
command of Capt. Matt Sheftic and assisted by Lt. Rob
Hamilton. There are not enough words to explain the
things I continue to learn from such warriors. But I
will try to once again convey the experiences of the
time spent with these soldiers.

October 2, 2007

The Journey never ends.

I would leave FOB Falcon at night, on September 29, via UH60 Blackhawk helicopter. It was time to make my way to the place where everything for me concerning the "War In Iraq" began in early January of 2004 at Balad Air Base, at Camp Anaconda.

I would make it my purpose to get on the C-17 medivac flight that I know carries wounded to Ramstein, Germany, several times a week. In times past, I personally assisted in loading them and coordinated space A passengers leaving theater.

This time, I would be one sitting next to those that had been blown up by IED's.

The Army and Marines had coordinated all my travels up to this point in a manner that was superb all the way down the line. It would now be time to be handed off to the US Air Force, always a problem. The first answer is always "NO". But I've learned over the years that when the front door closes, the back door is the only way to enter. I would once again implement this tactic as nothing was going to stop me.

Especially not some "POG's" or "fobbits" who worry mostly about whether their hair dryers and cappuccino machines are functioning properly. This statement NEVER applies to the CASEV crews and medical personnel who for years and years have performed above and beyond the call of duty in caring for the wounded.

These are the ones I helped for over two years while stationed in Balad. Now they would help me. No matter what the admin people thought. I was on a mission.

I landed in BIAP, (Baghdad International Airport) and miraculously caught a flight from there to Balad and arrived in Balad at 0200 hrs. I was now realizing that cat naps of an hour here and an hour there are all a grunt needs to maintain his mission. I found my way to the air terminal with the help of some acquaintances and was able to manifest myself onto the flight for Germany. It would be leaving by noon, which was now ten hours away. I would go through customs and sit down in front of a TV and fade in and out until the roll call for the flight. I was taken with six other passengers to a bus and driven to the flight line where the wounded had been loaded up and the aircraft was awaiting the Space A pax, (which I was one of).

Just prior to disembarking the bus I noticed an Air Force person taking pictures on the flight line.

Immediately word came down that it "must be the media guy with the camera", which the Air Force assumed, INCORRECTLY was me. I was immediately removed from the loading and escorted back to the terminal where I was met by a female Air Force Major who began to assail me for not coordinating with her.

I explained immediately that I was not the person taking photos and that I had been manifested already while the Air Force had spent the last 36-hours trying to figure out a way for me to accomplish what already had been accomplished. It was soon realized that it would be smart to put me back on the plane before it took off, being that it had my bag on it already. I was told that I could not speak to anyone nor take photos. I was not surprised. I explained that I would just keep my eyes open and watch.

In years past, I had watched countless number of media folks all with big fat name tags, do exactly what the Air Force was telling me I could not do. That was fine by me, I know how to write. Eventually, I felt like Moses and the children of Israel being forced out of Egypt crossing the Red Sea. Pharaoh was wanting me out of their hair. I was all too happy to accommodate them. I was rushed to the airplane before it took off, marched up the stairs, given my place next to the other six passengers, and buckled my seat belt. The doors closed, the engines roared, and we taxied down the runway picking up speed until the "wheels went up".

I was leaving Iraq, once again.

In front of me were about 30-litters holding wounded and sick soldiers. Across from me were more wounded and sick soldiers that were not in bad enough shape to be on litters, they would occupy seats just like mine.

I watched for the next five and a half hours the medical crews work on the CCAT patients as well as tend to the other wounded. I thought about times past when I would go into the medivac planes and carry the litters with some of my former coworkers. I remembered times going to severely wounded soldiers and praying over them with chaplains as the life from their bodies slipped away. I remembered all the missing limbs from all the soldiers I had seen over the years. I was now the passenger watching.

It was not easy.

Directly in front view of me was a soldier whose right foot had been pretty much blown half off. I would watch his expression the entire flight. He was awake and looked fine, but had a look on his face constantly dealing with the new challenges that were facing him from this point on. He would be one of the fortunate ones. But he was not thinking that at the moment. By watching his expression, I knew he was wondering how to cope from this moment on.

It will not be easy. But he will learn. Others might not. There were more critical ones than he on board this flight. This scene has been going on several times a week since the beginning of the war. It's been nearly five years now and pushing 30,000 wounded.

At least a third of them are severely wounded. In this light, the surge of the wounded has never ebbed. I do not see it ending anytime soon.

The C-17 landed in late afternoon in Ramstein, Germany. The patients were unloaded. I was not permitted to accompany them, nor did I inquire. In years past, I rode in the buses with the wounded from the tents that held them prior to loading while working in Balad. I knew already what transpires. It has been etched in my mind now for years. I had this story written years ago, but now it would come out.

Not many know my history. It is pointless to try and explain it to some.

Eventually I would be taken off the plane and make my way to the customs area. I looked around Ramstein from the flight line. The weather was cool and the surroundings were hills of green dotted with trees that reminded me of Oregon. The air was clear and crisp. I was no longer in the sandbox and the heat.

I proceeded to the document control area and rapidly was told there was a PAO civilian contractor for the Air Force awaiting my arrival to take me outside the gate. It was there I was told, "you're on your own".

I convinced the person to take me into the small town and drop me off at a hotel. I gathered my bag, my flak gear and helmet, and took a motel room. The ci PAO person who works for the Air Force departed. I checked in, asked for a place to wash all my clothes, took a shower, and began to figure out the European phone system and cashed in some miles on an airline for a ticket to the USA the next morning. After a couple hours, my clothes were brought to me, somewhat cleaner than I had dropped them off, and I organized my things for the 0600 shuttle pick up in the morning.

That would be six hours away.

I would try to sleep. I found it was not so easy to do so. The room was nice, I was just in a whirlwind of experiences. Sunrise would be approaching, I took a shower, gathered my things, walked out the lobby and waited for the shuttle to take me to the airport in Frankfurt. I arrived with time to spare, checked in and waited for my flight to Amsterdam, where I would connect to Houston, and catch a final flight to Albuquerque, New Mexico, where my home is.

The next 20-hours of air travel would wear me out.

Eventually, I arrived in Albuquerque, to a cool drizzle. The southwest desert has an aroma to it after a fall rain. There was no way to get home from the airport, as my wife is still in Kuwait, awaiting her departure in a few days for her journey home. I called a friend of ours who picked me up and drove me to my house. It was now midnight as I looked out the windows of the car thinking back to where I had just come from. I was not looking forward to coming home.

It is never easy.

I've now been home less than 24-hours and I find myself hiding in my office that has photos on the wall as well as maps. I begin to wonder where the next photos will go. I realize soon there is no energy left in my being for anything. I'm home, I've made it. There is no euphoria. There is just a place to lay my head. The house is empty. I look at the pictures my wife has placed on the fridge. There is one of my son Jesse that I had not seen before. It was when he was in Quantico learning to become a US Marine officer. I had not seen this photo before. I determine to go visit his grave site when I'm ready.

It's been a year.

There will be at least one more entry that I will write for this blog. But I will wait for responses from all the readers. I will seek your questions now, and try to answer them in the final entry. If ever I have encouraged responses, now is that time. I've been contacted already by some media folks wanting an interview. Maybe I will tell them what I experienced as time permits. Maybe I will tell them as best I can, the things I've written. But what I really want to tell them is, "go see for yourselves".

This is what I have done. I went to Iraq, to see for all those that could not. The picture has been painted.

"To Whom much is given, much is required". This is my experience.

It is NEVER easy.

Jim Spiri
Albuquerque, New Mexico, USA
jimspiri@yahoo.com
505-898-1680

October 5, 2007

In 1973, I fell in love with Candi, who soon became my
wife. The words to the song by the group, "Chicago",
Just You n Me, would be our song forever.

In the end, there is only one person that fully
understands what I was doing. Thirty-four-years ago,
I took Candi as my wife. Somehow I have manged to
take her into and out of many, many situations around
the globe. There have been good times, and immense
suffering times. But we have remained in one accord.

Photo courtesy Spiri Freelance, August 2006, Kileen,
Texas, USA

October 12, 2007

Home. It is where the heart is. But for a traveler, home is wherever the sun comes up and each new day can present a new set of circumstances to encounter. The sun came up over the Sandia Mountains today and when I looked outside I saw several hundred hot air balloons dotting the sky. It's balloon festival here in Albuquerque and the autumn is perfect weather for such an event here in the Southwest. I brought my wife outside and showed her the morning scene. It was nice.

As I go about this "decompression" experience I find myself dealing with things I have not had to for the past twelve months. The mundane things like paying the bills, cleaning up the yard, answering the phone and once in a while going to the store for an essential or two, and coming back with a bottle of wine and a loaf of bread. Candi has the house pretty much back in good order and we await the rest of autumn and prepare for the upcoming winter. It's nice to just sleep in and wake up together and start the day with a cup of good coffee and morning prayer.

We are satisfied to be home. But it is an adjustment.
It is hard to shake the "feeling like a fish out of water" syndrome. There's time to get it right.