Yes, I am a Veteran, as I served in the U.S. Air Force for 4 years, and I come from a family of Veterans where my now deceased Father was a Marine to whom fought the Japanese in WWII, and have a Brother to whom, had been in the first Gulf War, who survived, and just retired after 20 serving the Air Force as well. I guess the greatest story I could give a yarn about, has mainly to do with my fortunance, to when I was born, and to it's coinscidence to my not having to be placed into the horrible face of war. It's a short one, but holds importance not just to me, but to all those to whom understand what it means to have served. Growing up, one of the strongest things I had heard from the time I can remember, came in the form of the Draft, and the War in Vietnam, and the horrible way Americans treated those brave souls dying, being maimed, and being shamed. It scared me to say the least, as in 1973, I entered High School, and soon to be having to think about the good possibility of being one of those ill treated servicemen, as well as the possibility of maybe getting killed. Not the things a young man should have to ponder, or at any age for that fact. Well all of a sudden, it came, as our now dearly departed Gerald Ford had finally put an end to the horrors of Southeast Asia in 1975, and I graduating High School in 1977, it was a close call, but also a fortunate end, after seeing how long the Vietnam War had been escellating, there was more from me than just a sigh of relief. Yup, I had been saved from all the humiliation, the fear, and the thoughts of dying, and doing so in having it cease only two years before my graduation date. Believe me, it had me concerned, as I had friends to whom had brothers and uncles killed over there. Now again, after a little over 10 years from that saving grace, I had left the Air Force in 1987, and all through my enlistment it had been peace time, except for a few skirmishes like Gernada, and the Aid of the Contras and such. In peace time I had been involved with and awarded 3 unit citations, part of the dedallion and phoenix awards, qualified for Below thew Zone rank, reciving the good conduct medal, as well as the Air Force Achievement Medal for Merritorious Service, and so forth and so on. Looking at my list, fortunance comes again serving my country, thank God, no Purple Hearts for me. After leaving the service, the rays of light began to shine upon me once again, as after just a short time, I soon realized that my fortunance was to be continued, as it soon came to pass that I would just miss being involved in the first of the Gulf Wars by only 3 years, and one that surely would have thrown myself into that war by just one stroke of the reinlistment pen. Yes, my story is one of fortunance, but also know, as fortunate as I have been, there have been so many lost and not as so fortunate in my life time. Do I feel guilty? No, not by any means, and this is one to inform any, that if it had come for me in my prime time, I'd be there along with all those brave people doing that fight right now, as well as way back when, along with those that had done so anytime before me. My fate of fortunance would be so much different than the one I have been blessed with for sure, but no less would it have been a life, even if cut short. The story isn't quite finished, as I and all should know, War is a terrible thing yes, and we may hate it yes, and we may have been fortunate yes, as not to have been thrusted into any war's ugly jaws, but when we have our own anywhere in that heat of battle, we need to remember to be there with them always! Fortunate or not, aggreeing with the conflict or not, we all need to be there with them in our hearts, and in our supportive souls, and always giving them our undying love. This is how we all do serve our country, and help ourselves and support our neighbors during times of conflict. This is how we all become the Veterans of war, and we are such, because like it or not, we are all in that conflict together, and as such we have loved ones that have been in battle, and we feel their pain when they are gone, and we all live every day, there at their side in our concern and in our worry. Even if one does not agree with any confrontation that may be at hand, we have stand by those to whom have no choice but to go, and fight our fight, and up to us to do what we can here to bring them back home in one piece. The success of our resolve isn't measured by our protests to those giving their lives, nor does it come by trashing them there fighting and dying keeping us and others free. It comes by doing what we can here to end any conflict by our voices to those having ability to stop it, and also by giving those in it, the highest moral possible. that can only be done by letting them know we are truly with them, and by knowing and understanding how fortunate we are not having to be there ourselves, as well for knowing, appreciating, and understanding how lucky we are for having them there to do it for us, whenever needed. I know it's not the greatest story ever told, but to me, it's one of the the most important as being an American, and one any can remember when there are those around us that are vetrans, and for those to whom will be as our soldiers of today. Be well, and peace!

Baghdad, Mid-2003 My future wife and I were playing Two-Man Spades as we watched the local Iraqi men work in our makeshift bathroom. It was standard procedure at that time to monitor the workers as they performed whatever duties they had come to our base to do. Essentially that just meant that you had to have your weapon with you with your magazine in your pocket as you made sure they didn't steal anything or just wander off. After a while they prayed and knelt and all of that. Then they ate for a bit. Then came the explosion. It was about 200 yards away, near the edge of the road, which was our base border. It should come as no surprise that it was very loud and that it felt like the ground jumped up a few inches. When I snapped my head around, there were pieces of car flying upward and lots of smoke. I put the magazine in my rifle and climbed the ladder on a nearby building to get a better look. There were too many things in my way to see anything, so as usual all I could do was stay put and wait for someone higher-ranking than me to tell me what to do. The hajis ("haji" supposedly means "friend" in Arabic, as they told us) were stupified and looked on in horror. Mind you, this was in that relatively brief time after the inital US strike against Baghdad in March 2003, when things were semi-stable and peaceful in Iraq. At least compared to 2007. Now comes the point of this whole story. I started climbing down the ladder with my M16 slung over my shoulder when it slipped down my arm, still attached to me but without my control. One of the Iraqis said something like, "Here, let me help you." (as I interpreted from his facial expression and gesture) At that point he held my weapon as I climbed down. At that second I didn't even realize what I had done. In auto-pilot it was just as if someone had been helping me, which of course was exactly what had happened. But the point is that if an NCO would have seen me they would have been right in my face screaming about security threats and such. He would have been absolutely right, and that was very careless of me. However, when it comes down to it, sometimes you just gotta trust people. Otherwise, what are we but fearful antagonists? Anyways, that's the story.

SERGEANTS' MESS CAPER. Performed by: Norman Hutchinson & Dick Weston, alias Crafty). When we got out of Tobruk in 1942, the Australians set up camp at a new site in Palestine. In the process Darky Thomas, a member of my gun crew had an accident while swinging a huge mallet, hammering in tent pegs. He doubled up in pain, holding his back. Snowy and I didn't know if he was dinkum or not, but we tended to him seriously in case he really was hurt. We went to see him in the tent hospital, and decided we would have to find some way to get a couple of bottles of beer to cheer him up. But there was none to be had, except in the new sergeants' mess/canteen. Finally we decided we would have to impersonate a couple of sergeants (a pretty serious crime) and march boldly into their mess, relying on the fact that as it was supplying dozens of different units we had a good chance of not being recognised. So we bought some stripes and sewed them on and walked into the mess bold as brass. Unfortunately we didn't know about the unwritten law regarding a sergeants' mess: that if you enter the mess with your hat on you have to buy drinks for the mob. So when everyone turned around as soon as we walked in and started laughing and pointing at us, we were stunned and mystified as to how the buggers twigged we were phonies. Snowy was all for doing a strategic retreat pronto but I grabbed him because I suddenly got a faint and vague memory from somewhere about this famous universal rule. I said, "Just take your hat off 'Joe'". Then I said to the mob, "OK men, calm down, everything's under control, we've just had a win at the two-up, so fill 'em up. But first, barman, let us have a carton of Aussie beer". (ie the big 750 mil bottles) Which I handed to Snowy and said, "Here you are 'Joe', stick this in the(imaginary)jeep while I get you a drink and pay for this lot". Everyone was pushing forward towards the bar with their backs turned towards me, so I melted crab-wise to the door and ran. I didn't feel guilty. After all we were quite prepared to pay for two bottles of beer. We had no way to pay for drinks all round. So we may as well have a dozen of beer that we couldn't pay for as well. After that it was just a matter of getting out of there alive. Snowy is on the left with the pipe, I've got the short hair.

A Day in the Life of a Soldier in Tobruk. 1941 July 1941. 8.00 am. Slept in this morning. Went to bed late; talking politics. Then 2 stints of an hour each on guard duty. Took a spade and did potties down wind. Not much to show for it. Wish I had dysentery like the other blokes. No dunny paper. Using How to Win Friends and Influence people. Had a small sip of water. Dreamt about water again last night. I was under a waterfall, drinking it dry. Did my daily grooming: combed the dust out of my hair, and trimmed it a bit with my precious little scissors .Each hair is now about half an inch long; but it looks a bit ragged. Then trimmed beard, which is easy. Then operated on my wog-sores, cutting away dead skin. I think the fleas are making them worse. I reckon if only we had some vitamin C the wog sores would be cured. Opened a tin of bully beef; ate half, and a few army biscuits. The HQ gossip visited with news to brighten us up. He said we will be going into action later today or tomorrow morning. So all hands de-dusted and greased our Breda Anti-Tank gun. Rifles had a pull-through. Cleaned the Bren. Cleaned and tested my trusty Luger. Then a dust storm hit us. Can’t see a thing. Closed myself in my slit trench; drew the ‘curtains’ and read an Agatha Christie whodunit in very dim light. Got cross because the last page was missing. Then tackled a very boring book, Letters of Gertrude Bell, edited by Lady Bell.( About Gert having fun 1920s style with Bedouin Arabs, but in a very aristocratic manner). About mid-day the storm let up. Had a good drink of water. 50 German bombers passed overhead heading for Tobruk town, plus Messerschmitt fighters. We always ignored them and went about our business, until yesterday. Yesterday the fighters wanted us to show respect, so they machine-gunned us. Today we showed respect and ducked for cover. Quiet afternoon playing cards (rickety Kate) till about 4 pm when a great barrage of about 100 shells started coming over, landing all around us; some a bit too close. No casualties. We reckon their Henchel spotter plane was guiding their artillery. Soon after that we got a message to prepare to visit our own ‘Bush Battery’ which is 6 Italian 75 mm guns. Snowy was feeling crook, but the rest of the crew went, and each gun fired off 20 rounds. The observation post (OP) reported that we landed on target, so it was a happy day. But the rumour about going into action was a furphy as usual Around dusk the Salvation Army Padre called and gave us some writing paper and envelopes, plus a roll of toilet paper each! So I wrote to mum, aunty Glad, and Dot Colvin. Three cheers for the Salvos! Must have an early night tonight. PS. I’m learning to smoke. Plenty of cigarettes lying around. PS I’ve been scrounging around looking for stuff to make a lathe to make souvenirs out of shell-cases. So far I’ve only got an old bike pedal, and a file. Still working out how to go about it. I can easily make lathe tools out of German and Eyetie bayonets. What I really want is a 1/2 inch bolt that would screw into the base of shell cases. (Whitworth I think). Finished the bully beef and some biscuits. Drank half the water left in the bottle. Off to bed. Richard Weston Jan 2006 .......PICS are: Souvenirs, Factoy, and Bush battery

28 months iraq, 14 months afghanistan and the more i think about not being there, the more i wish we had done more.

I'm a Force Recon Veteran who served just over 25 months in Vietnam. I was an E-6 and a team leader of a Spike Recon Team assigned to MAC-V SOG in DaNang. Most of our operations were in North Vietnam. Most mussions were classified, but involved interception of key NVA personel, extradition of POWs, recon of SAM sites and recovery of airmen whi had been shot down. I was later assigned to Don Muang, Thailand. Again, our missions were classified, but involved similar assignments into Laos. I was wounded three times: Tip of left index finger almist cut-off (I reattached it myself), deflected AK-47 round to the left part of my skull and a fractured shull that ended my second tour (mortar round blew me into a grove of bamboo). Semper Fi! Celer, Silens, Mortalis!

I grew up in Alaska surrounded Viet-Nam Veterans who would never discuss their doings, but always maintained a look of immense pride mixed with a tragic sense of loss through all of my questions which they dodged effortlessly. Like most young boys, I looked up to these men as heroes. I read every book I could find on war and warriors. I wanted to be that hero. After the first Gulf War, I joined the Army on a 4 year Airborne Ranger enlistment, went to 2nd Battalion 75th Ranger Regiment and worked my way through 13 years of active duty, mostly in SpecOps. I’ve been all over the world, made incredible friendships with men I could trust with my life AND my money, and done things that most people could only dream about. 3 years of combat time spread across too many places, losing too many friends, estranging myself from my family, and far too many nightmares put me in a hole of depression for almost 3 years after I left the Service. I felt like John Rambo in “First Blood”, the book, not the movie. I still jump when a car backfires, but, I no longer hit the dirt. I still get up at night to check doors and windows which are still locked from the last time I checked them, just not as often. With the help of many people, I am now pulling myself out of that hole. A few psych types here and there, but mostly, Viet-Nam era Veterans who have taught me to see the pride inside of the loss when I look in the mirror. Although I probably do not know you, thank you Highlander, and every other Viet-Nam Vet, for making the road to humanity a little bit easier. From the tip of the spear. Sua Sponte. De Oppresso Liber.

Yes. US Army.

U.S. Navy

US Navy baby, 2 1/2 years on the USS Nimitz, vet of Operation Iraqi Freedom and Operation Enduring Freedom.

I prefer "Divorcée" and I am serving in the USAF

US Navy here, hostage crisis in 79, Desert storm in 89, Was in from 1976 until 1997

Yes, USAF. Last tour Upper Heyford, (RAF Oxford, UK)

I wish i was

Yes; I am a veteran of the Viet Nam "Conflict" as it is called .... U.S. Army...

United States Marine Corps, 1981-1987, semper fi

US Army '91-'96 Texas State Guard '05-'08

Yes. No special treatment necessary. Thanks.

Yes, I am.