Iraq,
through the eyes of a soldier:
The pictures are all from the Anbar Province (Mamudiyah, Iraq)
We'd like to thank Jason Tillison
LCPL USMC for sending these pictures so that we can see both the good and
the bad.
Jason sent us this email on 8/24/04:
I would like to express my utmost gratitude for your support . My name is Jason
Tillison, I am currently serving with 2nd Battalion 2nd Marines in Maymudiyah, Iraq. Our
ventures have taken us to Fallujah, Baghdad, Najaf, Lutifiyah and many more areas of Iraq.
We are almost finished with this deployment, and this will be my last. I served with 3rd
Battalion 2nd Marines last year in Al Nasariyah and Al Namaniyah.
The support that we are getting from everyone back home, well almost everyone, is
incredible. I read the story about the steak house incident, and it made me very proud to
hear that civilians can stand up for their honor in our country and its president and
military, the way that she did. It also reminded me that not only are we the ones in
hardships, but our wives (married also) actually have it harder than we do. As we still
have our high school buddy and our brothers in service with us, they are all alone or with
very few close friends and family.
I am enclosing a picture of my 1998 (1/2) Dodge Ram 2500. It is a Quad cab, 4x4 with the
5.9 Cummins turbo diesel. I have not had a chance to modify it ( or even drive it.) My
wife, Crystal purchased it for us. From what I can see and from what she tells me, I'm
pretty sure I already love it.
Sincerely
Jason Tillison
LCPL USMC
Jason is home on leave and here's a picture of him "playing" with his new toy:
Flat Drags:
Jason placed 3rd in the consistancy class. The first run was 9.058 the second was 9.101.
Jason was beat by .03 and .39. His wife took the pictures from the stands.
What do you think is going through Lance Corporal Jurden's mind?
Corporal Ron Jurden at Saddam's Guest Palace in Tikrit, April 2003.
Pictures from Fallujah
Lorretta,
I don't know if you remember me or not, but I was the guy from Iraq … Some
of the pics from Iraq: me and my guys, an Abrams tank, and the sign outside
of Fallujah were we were stationed. Thanks again.
Sincerely,
Andrew Campbell
Sgt / USMC
Please take the time to visit the following link. The first couple screens are text, then there are some awesome pictures. It will take up a few minutes out of your busy day, but it reminds us of numerous important issues.
The following story makes you think long and hard. Then you get angry, cry, and finally stand a little taller because you're an American! Don't forget to thank a soldier and support their family while they are away protecting ALL of the rights we cherish as Americans.
I was sitting
alone in one of those loud, casual steakhouses that you
find all over the country. You know the type--a bucket of peanuts on
every table, shells littering the floor, and a bunch of perky college
kids racing around with longneck beers and sizzling platters. Taking a
sip of my iced tea, I studied the crowd over the rim of my glass. My
gaze lingered on a group enjoying their meal. They wore no uniform to
identify their branch of service, but they were definitely "military:"
clean shaven, cropped haircut, and that "squared away" look that comes
with pride.
Smiling sadly, I glanced across my table to the empty seat where my
husband usually sat. It had only been a few months since we sat in this
very booth, talking about his upcoming deployment to the Middle East.
That was when he made me promise to get a sitter for the kids, come back
to this restaurant once a month and treat myself to a nice steak. In
turn he would treasure the thought of me being here, thinking about him
until he returned home to me.
I fingered the little flag pin I constantly wear and wondered where he
was at this very moment. Was he safe and warm? Was his cold any better?
Were my letters getting through to him? As I pondered these thoughts,
high pitched female voices from the next booth broke into my thoughts.
"I don't know what Bush is thinking about. Invading Iraq. You'd think
that man would learn from his old man's mistakes. Good lord. What an
idiot! I can't believe he is even in office. You do know, he stole the
election."
I cut into my steak and tried to ignore them, as they began an endless
tirade running down our president. I thought about the last night I
spent with my husband, as he prepared to deploy. He had just returned
from getting his smallpox and anthrax shots. The image of him standing
in our kitchen packing his gas mask still gives me chills. Once again
the women's voices invaded my thoughts. "It is all about oil, you know.
Our soldiers will go in and rape and steal all the oil they can in the
name of 'freedom.' Hmph! I wonder how many innocent people they'll kill
without giving it a thought? It's pure greed, you know."
My chest tightened as I stared at my wedding ring. I could still see how
handsome my husband looked in his "mess dress" the day he slipped it on
my finger. I wondered what he was wearing now. Probably his desert
uniform, affectionately dubbed "coffee stains" with a heavy bulletproof
vest over it.
"You know, we should just leave Iraq alone. I
don't think they are
hiding any weapons. In fact, I bet it's all a big act just to increase
the President's popularity. That's all it is, padding the military
budget at the expense of our social security and education. And, you
know what else? We're just asking for another 9-ll. I can't say when it
happens again that we didn't deserve it."
Their words brought to mind the war protesters I had watched gathering
outside our base. Did no one appreciate the sacrifice of brave men and
women, who leave their homes and family to ensure our freedom? Do they
even know what "freedom" is? I glanced at the table where the young men
were sitting, and saw their courageous faces change. They had stopped
eating and looked at each other dejectedly, listening to the women
talking.
"Well, I, for one, think it's just deplorable to invade Iraq, and I am
certainly sick of our tax dollars going to train professional baby
killers we call a military." Professional baby killers? I thought about
what a wonderful father my husband is, and of how long it would be
before he would see our children again. That's it!
Indignation rose up inside me. Normally reserved, pride in my husband
gave me a brassy boldness I never realized I had. Tonight one voice will
answer on behalf of our military, and let her pride in our troops be
known.
Sliding out of my booth, I walked around to the adjoining booth and
placed my hands flat on their table. Lowering myself to eye level with
them, I smilingly said "I couldn't help overhearing your conversation.
You see, I'm sitting here trying to enjoy my dinner alone. And, do you
know why? Because my husband, whom I love with all my
heart, is halfway around the world defending your right to say rotten
things about him." "Yes, you have the right to your opinion, and what
you think is none of my business. However, what you say in public is
something else, and I will not sit by and listen to you ridicule MY
country, MY president, MY husband, and all the other fine American men
and women who put their lives on the line, just so you can have the
"freedom" to complain. Freedom is an expensive commodity, ladies. Don't
let your actions cheapen it." I must have been louder that I meant to
be, because the manager came over to inquire if everything was a all
right. "Yes, thank you," I replied. Then turning back to the women, I
said, "Enjoy the rest of your meal."
As I returned to my booth applause broke out. I was embarrassed for
making a scene, and went back to my half-eaten steak. The women picked
up their check and scurried away. After finishing my meal, and while
waiting for my check, the manager returned with a huge apple cobbler ala
mode. "Compliments of those soldiers," he said. He also smiled and said
the ladies tried to pay for my dinner, but that another couple had
beaten them to it. When I asked who, the manager said they had already
left, but that the gentleman was a veteran, and wanted to take care of
the wife of "one of our boys."
With a lump in my throat, I gratefully turned to the soldiers and
thanked them for the cobbler. Grinning from ear to ear, they came
over and surrounded the booth. "We just wanted to thank you, ma'am. You
know we can't get into confrontations with civilians, so we appreciate
what you did."
As I drove home, for the first time since my husband's deployment, I
didn't feel quite so alone. My heart was filled with the warmth of the
other diners who stopped by my table, to relate how they, too, were
proud of my husband, and would keep him in their prayers. I knew their
flags would fly a little higher the next day. Perhaps they would look
for more tangible ways to show their pride in our country, and the
military who protect her And maybe, just maybe, the two women who were
railing against our country, would pause for a minute to appreciate all
the freedom America offers, and
the price it pays to maintain it's
freedom.
As for me, I have learned that one voice CAN make a difference. Maybe
the next time protesters gather outside the gates of the base where I
live, I will proudly stand on the opposite side with a sign of my own.
It will simply say, "Thank You!"
___________________________________________________________________________
(Lori Kimble is a 31 year old teacher and proud military wife. A California native, Mrs.
Kimble currently lives in Alabama.)
Freedom is not free.
I watched the flag pass by one day,
It fluttered in the breeze.
A young Marine saluted it,
And then he stood at ease..
I looked at him in uniform
So young, so tall, so proud,
With hair cut square and eyes alert
He'd stand out in any crowd.
I thought how many men like him
Had fallen through the years.
How many died on foreign soil
How many mothers' tears?
How many pilots' planes shot down?
How many died at sea
How many foxholes were soldiers' graves?
No, freedom isn't free.
I heard the sound of Taps one night,
When everything was still,
I listened to the bugler play
And felt a sudden chill.
I wondered just how many times
That Taps had meant "Amen,"
When a flag had draped a coffin.
Of a brother or a friend.
I thought of all the children,
Of the mothers and the wives,
Of fathers, sons and husbands
With interrupted lives.
I thought about a graveyard
At the bottom of the sea
Of unmarked graves in Arlington.
No, freedom isn't free.
Enjoy Your Freedom & God Bless Our Troops
They are so young
This is written by a Navy Commander at a port in Kuwait .. No commentary
needed, the 3- minute read below says more than a 20- page article could
about our warriors and the constitution of our men.
Where do we get such men?
I was going to the gym tonight ( really just a huge tent with weights and
treadmills), and we had heard that one of the MEUs (Marine Exp Units) that
had come out of service in the "triangle" was redeploying (leaving country).
We saw their convoy roll in to the Kuwait Naval Base as the desert sun was
setting.
I have never seen anything like this. Trucks and humvees that looked like
they had just come through a shredder. Their equipment was full of shrapnel
blast holes, and missing entire major pieces that you could tell had been
blasted by IEDs. These kids looked bad too! I mean, sunken eyes, thin as
rails, and that 1000-yd. stare they talk about after direct combat. Made me
pretty (Stinking) embarrassed to be a "rear area warrior".
All people could do was stop in their tracks and stare... and feel like
me...like I wanted to bow my head in reverence. A Marine Captain stationed
with me, was standing next to me, also headed to the gym. He said, "Part of
1st Brigade Combat Team, 8th Marines, sir. Took the heaviest losses of any
single unit up north as part of Task Force Danger, sir."
As the convoy rolled up, all of us watching just slowly crept toward these
kids as they dismounted the Hummers and 5-tons. Of course, we were all shiny
and clean compared to these warriors. This kids looked like they had just
crawled from Iraq. I had my security badge and id around my neck, and
started to help them unload some of their duffle bags.
A crusty Gunny came up to me and said "sir, you don't have to do that..." I
said, "Gunny... yes I do..." They all looked like they were in high school,
or younger!! All held themselves sharply and confident, despite the extreme
fatigue you could tell they had endured. "You guys out of the triangle?" I
asked. "Yes, sir". 14 months, and twice into the grinder, sir" (both fights
for Fallujah).
All I could do was throw my arm around their shoulders and say "thanks
Marine, for taking the fight to the bad guys...we love you man".
I looked at these young kids, not one of them complaining or showing signs
of anything but focus, and good humor. 'Sir, they got ice cream at the DFAC,
sir?" "I haven't had real ice cream since we got here..." They continued to
unload... and after I had done my handshakes and shoulder hugs, the Captain
and I looked at each other ...
They want ice cream, we'll get them ice cream. You see, a squid O-5 and a
focused Marine O-3 can get just about anything, even if the mess is closed.
Needless to say, we raided the closed DFAC (mess tent), much to the chagrin
of one very (Ticked) off Mess Sergeant and grabbed boxes of ice cream
sandwiches (as many as we could carry), and hustled back to the convoy. I
felt like Santa Claus. "Thank you, sir.." again and again from each trooper,
as we tossed up the bars to the guys in the trucks. I'm thinkin', "Son,
What the hell are you thanking me for? I can't thank you enough."
And they are so young ... I will sleep well, knowing they are watching my
back tonight."
GOD BLESS THE USA & OUR WARRIORS IN HARMS WAY
Jack, Exile in LA
HOME OF THE FREE BECAUSE OF THE BRAVE!
STAND TALL AND PROUD AND DO YOUR PART TO SUPPORT
OUR TROOPS!
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