This is a shipping tag from my duffle bag, sent to Saudi Arabia in the beginning of August 1990. The bag arrived two months later in Riyadh, about 500 miles away from my location. This duffle bag contained everything I needed for the next 12 months.

A friend recently asked me to see few photos of me in the Army. After finding a few I decided that I might as well post them here. Late at night when I was scaling these images for the blog I begun to think about the current wars and our troops.

When I joined the Army in 1988 my reason for joining was so corny that I made up another reason to give out to friends and family. I had strong, emotional need to pay America back for taking me in but instead of saying it out loud I typically gave out more pragmatic and rational reason like “Oh, it’s just for the GI Bill.”

Of course, being in the military is just one of many ways to serve your country. Being a scientist, a carpenter, or a doctor does probably more good for the country than carrying a weapon. However, when I was 20 I saw donning the uniform as the ultimate service. I would imagine that many young Americans who join the military are also youthfully emotional about their decision and they want the rest of us to be proud of them. It all may sound very clichéd but I think that ideals that motivate people to join the military are real. Just a week ago on our Westwater trip I listened to Joel, who is 20, talk about wanting to make a difference by working for service organizations. The passion in his voice was energizing and I admired his selfless view of the world. Joel believes that he can affect a change and he finds a great deal of satisfaction in not focusing on himself. Civilian or a military service deserves to be recognized and respected.

While cable networks no longer consider our wars worth mentioning and debating, I feel guilty for following their lead by not staying engaged. While I am frustrated with what we do as a country, I don’t think that the troops on the ground should even care about my position on the issues. I understand that each one of these soldiers, sailors and marines is a volunteer and each made an individual career choice. But it doesn’t matter now. They are out there and the rest of us should support them with more than just a bumper sticker or a bumper-sticker talk. For many “support our troops” has become political cop out for not doing much to support them. Even opposing the policies of our administration that sends our military to fight on our behalf translates into support. Doing anything, for or against the war, means support. Forgetting our troops is unacceptable.

Find an organization near you that makes an effort to let our troops know that their countrymen back home care about their welfare. Let them know that you care. Get involved by at least sending letters, goods or give your time and money. Men and women returning from Iraq and Afghanistan have been through the hell of combat. I am not sure what they need most after returning home but I would imagine that it’s the acceptance, understanding, and professional support. And most likely they are not getting enough of any of it.

A lot of my friends already do a lot for returning troops by volunteering with CDA. Do more.

The Camouflage Years: 1990-1991

In northern Saudi Arabia, October 1990.   (click to enlarge)

Our crew in Saudi Arabia, winter 1990.   (click to enlarge)

In Germany, our group waits for transport to the airport in Frankfurt from where we flew to Saudi Arabia.   (click to enlarge)

In Germany, waiting for the van… That’s me.   (click to enlarge)

I can’t think of a good description here. Just awake in our tent. We had pretty good living conditions compared to armor folks.   (click to enlarge)

With Carlos. You can tell that he is truly enjoying his MRE. It is practically growing in his mouth.   (click to enlarge)

I am no longer driving. I am stuck and the truck keeps on sinking deeper into the mud with every atempt to move forward. It feels like quicksand and the truck is loaded with heavy equipment.   (click to enlarge)

Everyone around me is helping by watching intensly and by dispensing valuable advise.   (click to enlarge)

Chavez cleaning his weapons. There really was no “free” time, ever. We were either working, on the move, sleeping or cleaning weapons. I was drinking coffee.   (click to enlarge)

Another day at the office. We seem to be super-busy in this photo. At nights we worked only under blue lights, so Iraqis wouldn’t see any light leaks. If we would’ve used halogen street lights to illuminate our work area, Iraqis would still never see them because they would’ve been vaporized just for looking. However, using the dark-blue lights provided me with a remarkable experience of seeing everything in an interesting, off-color balance during the day. My eyes woud adjust back to daylight just in time for the evening blue lights.
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A typical landscape around us for many months.   (click to enlarge)

At “Garaj-ma Hall,” which was an underground parking for an unfinished airport. I came by there few times while in Saudi Arabia/Kuwait. This time I was recuperating from my head injury. I had these bandages on for a while but I was glad to still have my head. The missile alerts happened so often in this place that it was unwise to get undressed even for sleeping. I learned it fast by ending up one night in a bunker butt naked but with a gas mask on.   (click to enlarge)

Outside the unfinished airport.   (click to enlarge)

I cherished every piece of correspondence from family, friends and every well-wishing soul who sent letters to “Any Servicemember.” Most of the mail reached us but often with a great delay.

I asked Newsweek to send my subscription to the desert. In seven months I received only one copy of the magazine. One day I stopped by the Air Force compound in southern Saudi Arabia and I found four copies of Newsweek – addressed to me – in the tent of the “Community Recreation Center.”

I once I mailed an empty envelope to my Mom. Of course, I did it by mistake. She later told me that she called the Pentagon and the Red Cross to see if I am still alive.

With Mike.   (click to enlarge)

There were only two kinds of weather: dry, hot and dusty or wet, cold and muddy. On the move.   (click to enlarge)

For a long time there was no difference between night and day, thanks to burning Kuwaiti oil wells.   (click to enlarge)

Carlos took this photo exactly at noon. Thick, oily soot covered everything, including us.   (click to enlarge)

Dinner time.   (click to enlarge)

At our office in Khobar towers in Dhahran. An occassional stay at Khobar towers was a welcome break from the desert. Real walls, an elevator, showers, hot food and 10 minutes from Dhahran.   (click to enlarge)

Posing outside our Khobar offices. These tower buildings were blown up by a truck bomb in June of 1996. 19 soldiers died.   (click to enlarge)

Armor guys towed destroyed Iraqi combat vehicles to our compound.   (click to enlarge)

At the office. Getting ready for my night shift. We were near Hafr al-Batn.   (click to enlarge)

Leaving Khobar offices for a trek through the desert.   (click to enlarge)

Contrails all over the sky. I knew when the air campaign begun by waking up at 1 a.m. to a trembling ground. I thought that tanks were driving near my tent. Minutes later I realized that I was hearing and feeling the bombers in the air. Cruise missiles went over our headsch with a deafening roar.   (click to enlarge)

On my little island at the field airstrip. Saudi Coke was sweet and warm – a nice break from potable but not palatable water.   (click to enlarge)

Our field headquarters in the morning light.   (click to enlarge)

Another day at work.   (click to enlarge)

Ome of our compunds where we stayed for a while.   (click to enlarge)

On my way for a short visit to Bahrain.   (click to enlarge)

Carlos, a guy who you’d always want on your team. Funny, strong, and reliable. I loved that guy. Carlos was rather obsessed with having enough ammo during our escapades. Unlike Carlos, I carried so many harmful devices with me that I could barely walk under their weight.   (click to enlarge)

On my cot at “Garaj-ma Hall.” Catching up on correspondence.   (click to enlarge)

End of combat operations. After 11 months in Desert Shield, Desert Storm, and Provide Comfort I was heading back straight to the U.S. to be sworn-in as a U.S. citizen. I received a letter from the Immigration and Naturalization Service (INS) stating that they expect me in the U.S. for my naturalization ceremony in two weeks. The letter was rerouted five times and reached me almost two months after it was mailed. The INS had no idea that I was an active duty soldier, let alone that I was in the desert. This was a great reason for leaving the Persian Gulf.   (click to enlarge)