thedrifter
03-15-08, 09:09 AM
Article published Mar 15, 2008
Soldiers' stories bring war home
By DAVE NORDSTRAND and DAVID WIRTH
The Salinas Californian
Five years ago Thursday, U.S.-led forces invaded Iraq, and their Shock and Awe entrance painted the night sky over Baghdad a blood red.
The related war in Afghanistan had started already, in October of 2001, in reaction to the Sept. 11, 2001, attacks on America.
Residents from the Salinas area have taken part, or will take part, in the broader conflict, and the war continues to affect them in many ways.
Enlisted to help others heal
Even though both his parents are military veterans, Alex Wilkins' mom was not happy when he told her he enlisted to be an Army chaplain.
"She really did not want me to join," he said, "but at the same time, she said she couldn't tell me no, because I wanted to be there for spiritual reasons."
Wilkins, now 19, was a 14-year-old student at North County High when the war started. He said he'd initially wanted to "fight and take lives," but that changed after his older brother, also an Army man, returned from a deployment in Iraq. His brother was suffering psychologically from a friendly fire incident.
"I don't have too many details," Wilkins said. "My brother is really kind of quiet about it - it's an emotional issue. He'd say a couple of words, and then not so much."
Spiritual support is lacking in Iraq, Wilkins said.
"They go from completely loving their jobs to completely hating it overnight," he said. "I want to help people like my brother that are going through some emotional problems."
The night before he left for training last fall, Wilkins' mom, Teresa, finally came around.
"She was just like, 'I'm so proud of you. You're going to be so successful,'" he said. "(There were) tears in her eyes. She really cared about what I was doing. She was so full of pride."
The loss of friends
Jesse Alonzo of Salinas came home with his limbs intact.
But the war in Iraq left its mark on mind, he said.
"When I got home, I developed a fear of being in public places," the 26-year-old said. "Relationships didn't last. It was hard to get along with everybody.
"They didn't understand. They didn't know what happened. I drank a lot (of alcohol) in order to sleep."
Alonzo graduated from Alisal High School in 1999, and he joined the Navy that year.
"I was committed to serve the country," he said.
In the Navy, Alonzo was part of the Fifth Fleet, and he guarded oil platforms in the Persian Gulf off the coast of Iraq. After his honorable discharge, he joined an Army military police unit. The unit provided security for U.S. troops in Iraq as they shuttled from an airstrip to a base of operations.
"I had friends who were wounded," Alonzo said, "and some died."
The losses affected him so much that, once home, his thoughts remained in constant turmoil.
In September of 2007, he was diagnosed with chronic post-traumatic stress disorder, Alonzo said. He's since been receiving counseling at a veterans' mental-health clinic in Monterey. The treatment, Alonzo said, has helped.
He stopped drinking and started taking prescribed medication to stabilize his moods and help him sleep, he said.
"Still, when I watch the news of the war, it triggers a negative emotional reaction," Alonzo said. "I have buddies still out there in Iraq."
Recently, he went to a funeral. A soldier in his unit, a woman, had lost her husband in combat. The couple have a year-old daughter.
Since her husband's death, Alonzo said she has struggled financially. He said he believes a backlog has made government relief slow to reach her. The soldier has had to sell her house and move back in with her parents.
"I don't think the government has done a good job in taking care of her or other vets," Alonzo said.
He's now working toward a degree in psychology at Hartnell College and volunteers at the San Jose Veterans Center. Alonzo is still a sergeant, too, serving with a reserve military police company in San Jose. Last week, he took part in training at Fort Hunter Liggett.
Word is that his unit may be sent back to the war zone in October. Having seen what he's seen, Alonzo said he's lost faith in the war mission.
"I'm terrified of going back," he said. "We're not making a difference, so why risk the loss of life?"
Married to the military
Eddy Wilkins (no relation to Alex) is a member of the U.S. Army Special Forces, the kind of soldiers who inspire dramatic Tom Clancy novels.
For Eddy's wife, Linda, who lives on the former Fort Ord, his job is more likely to inspire loneliness. Eddy's first post-marriage deployment was tough on her.
"When I took him to the airport, I felt like I was losing my lifeline," Linda Wilkins said. "For two days, I cried. I shut myself up in my room, and I just cried."
Sometimes 51-year-old Linda has to go weeks without any contact with her husband. When that happens, she turns to her faith for support.
During that first deployment, Linda said, "the spirit of the Lord spoke to me and said, 'Linda, I am your lifeline.' As soon as I heard those words within myself, I was OK. The Lord guarded my heart the whole time."
Eddy Wilkins has been in the military for 20 years, and of course, Linda knew that she was marrying into that life when they said their vows six years ago.
But that was during peacetime.
"I was OK with it," she said. "That's just who he is, and I had to accept that. I thank God for the people who enlist and protect what is ours so we can remain a free country. That's what America's always fought for."
Trained and at the ready
Like most parents, Rose and Marion Barich prayed for their son when he was deployed into the war zone.
"I guess a parent is always apprehensive when a son or daughter is in combat," Marion said.
No matter the child's age. Their son, James Barich, is a 1979 Palma High School graduate. The 46-year-old Marine Corps officer was promoted to full colonel in late February.
In 2003, though, James spent seven months in Afghanistan. He piloted troops and supplies from ship to shore, missions flown mostly at night "on the back side of the clock," he said.
The hours were long and exhausting.
While he would write home, security concerns kept him from telling his parents where he was or what he was doing.
While concerned for their son's welfare, his parents also felt confident he would return safely.
"My feeling was that he was trained specifically and trained well," Marion said. "From speaking to some of his fellow pilots, I know he's very safety-conscious."
Rose felt apprehension, "but only a little," she said.
"I felt that was his duty, and he had to do it," she said. "That's what he chose."
The experience proved a great learning tool, James Barich said.
When he returned to the United States, he was in charge of 10 of the world's most powerful helicopters, the 99-foot long, 3-story tall Sikorsky Aircraft CH-53E Super Stallions, and the mechanics and crews which kept them in the air.
With a shooting war thundering over the horizon, the Marines trained at maximum intensity. The idea was to keep the edge should orders arise suddenly to deploy to Iraq or again to Afghanistan.
"Our job was to be ready," to head to either country, said Col. Barich, speaking by phone from Washington, D.C., where he now lives.
"You had friends and comrades over there, and your turn could be next, and you didn't want to let them down."
Col. Barich starts his new job Monday at the Pentagon. He'll serve with the Aviation Division of the Marine Corps.
If the call comes to return to Afghanistan or to go to Iraq, though, there'll be no hesitation.
"At the Pentagon, I'll be 'flying a desk,' but if the call came to go back, I'd do it in a minute," he said.
A long period of readjustment
In 2003, former Californian City Hall reporter Jerry Jimenez, 34, found himself in an Army uniform and headed for Iraq as part of a reserve unit out of Mountain View.
For 11 months in 2003-2004, Jimenez served in the northern part of the country on a windy forward-operating base near the city of Mosul.
What he remembers is a bulging orange sun, 130-degree days and mortar rounds falling like hot hail from the wretched skies.
Then there was the sense of disconnect when the tour ended, and Jimenez stepped once again onto American soil.
"In Iraq, I was a 'civil affairs specialist,' meaning a liaison between the military and the local populace," Jimenez said. "We'd deal with needs such as building schools and health clinics."
"Outside the wire" referred to the open spaces beyond the base. IEDs, the infamous improvised exploding devices, set to blow apart any passing vehicle and maim or kill anyone inside, were common.
"Inside the wire, you never knew when or where a mortar would land," Jimenez said. "You felt vulnerable all day."
Mosul was dangerous when he was there and, after he left, a suicide bomber eluded base security and blew himself up in the base mess hall, killing many.
Jimenez works today as a public affairs specialist for an East Bay water district.
"When you first come back from Iraq, you feel changed," Jimenez said. "It takes a couple of years to become stable and feel like everybody else, a part of society again."
Relationships suffer, he said. People didn't know what to say to him.
He no longer felt pleasure in things he had enjoyed before going to war. Before Iraq, he'd gone to the movies at least once a week.
"When I came back, I had no interest in movies or even in reading," he said.
In Iraq, combat raged about, but never so close that he had to fire his own rifle. Once home, he was saddled with an uneasy feeling that his luck had run out. He waited constantly for something bad to befall him.
The whole experience gave Jimenez insight into the larger picture of how to treat the returning veteran. The Army, for example, should do more to help vets readjust to a life without IEDs, he said.
"The Army gave us one or two briefings. Then they sent us on our way," he said. "We were left with all the pieces to put back together.
"Families and friends need to be supportive, too."
Ellie
Soldiers' stories bring war home
By DAVE NORDSTRAND and DAVID WIRTH
The Salinas Californian
Five years ago Thursday, U.S.-led forces invaded Iraq, and their Shock and Awe entrance painted the night sky over Baghdad a blood red.
The related war in Afghanistan had started already, in October of 2001, in reaction to the Sept. 11, 2001, attacks on America.
Residents from the Salinas area have taken part, or will take part, in the broader conflict, and the war continues to affect them in many ways.
Enlisted to help others heal
Even though both his parents are military veterans, Alex Wilkins' mom was not happy when he told her he enlisted to be an Army chaplain.
"She really did not want me to join," he said, "but at the same time, she said she couldn't tell me no, because I wanted to be there for spiritual reasons."
Wilkins, now 19, was a 14-year-old student at North County High when the war started. He said he'd initially wanted to "fight and take lives," but that changed after his older brother, also an Army man, returned from a deployment in Iraq. His brother was suffering psychologically from a friendly fire incident.
"I don't have too many details," Wilkins said. "My brother is really kind of quiet about it - it's an emotional issue. He'd say a couple of words, and then not so much."
Spiritual support is lacking in Iraq, Wilkins said.
"They go from completely loving their jobs to completely hating it overnight," he said. "I want to help people like my brother that are going through some emotional problems."
The night before he left for training last fall, Wilkins' mom, Teresa, finally came around.
"She was just like, 'I'm so proud of you. You're going to be so successful,'" he said. "(There were) tears in her eyes. She really cared about what I was doing. She was so full of pride."
The loss of friends
Jesse Alonzo of Salinas came home with his limbs intact.
But the war in Iraq left its mark on mind, he said.
"When I got home, I developed a fear of being in public places," the 26-year-old said. "Relationships didn't last. It was hard to get along with everybody.
"They didn't understand. They didn't know what happened. I drank a lot (of alcohol) in order to sleep."
Alonzo graduated from Alisal High School in 1999, and he joined the Navy that year.
"I was committed to serve the country," he said.
In the Navy, Alonzo was part of the Fifth Fleet, and he guarded oil platforms in the Persian Gulf off the coast of Iraq. After his honorable discharge, he joined an Army military police unit. The unit provided security for U.S. troops in Iraq as they shuttled from an airstrip to a base of operations.
"I had friends who were wounded," Alonzo said, "and some died."
The losses affected him so much that, once home, his thoughts remained in constant turmoil.
In September of 2007, he was diagnosed with chronic post-traumatic stress disorder, Alonzo said. He's since been receiving counseling at a veterans' mental-health clinic in Monterey. The treatment, Alonzo said, has helped.
He stopped drinking and started taking prescribed medication to stabilize his moods and help him sleep, he said.
"Still, when I watch the news of the war, it triggers a negative emotional reaction," Alonzo said. "I have buddies still out there in Iraq."
Recently, he went to a funeral. A soldier in his unit, a woman, had lost her husband in combat. The couple have a year-old daughter.
Since her husband's death, Alonzo said she has struggled financially. He said he believes a backlog has made government relief slow to reach her. The soldier has had to sell her house and move back in with her parents.
"I don't think the government has done a good job in taking care of her or other vets," Alonzo said.
He's now working toward a degree in psychology at Hartnell College and volunteers at the San Jose Veterans Center. Alonzo is still a sergeant, too, serving with a reserve military police company in San Jose. Last week, he took part in training at Fort Hunter Liggett.
Word is that his unit may be sent back to the war zone in October. Having seen what he's seen, Alonzo said he's lost faith in the war mission.
"I'm terrified of going back," he said. "We're not making a difference, so why risk the loss of life?"
Married to the military
Eddy Wilkins (no relation to Alex) is a member of the U.S. Army Special Forces, the kind of soldiers who inspire dramatic Tom Clancy novels.
For Eddy's wife, Linda, who lives on the former Fort Ord, his job is more likely to inspire loneliness. Eddy's first post-marriage deployment was tough on her.
"When I took him to the airport, I felt like I was losing my lifeline," Linda Wilkins said. "For two days, I cried. I shut myself up in my room, and I just cried."
Sometimes 51-year-old Linda has to go weeks without any contact with her husband. When that happens, she turns to her faith for support.
During that first deployment, Linda said, "the spirit of the Lord spoke to me and said, 'Linda, I am your lifeline.' As soon as I heard those words within myself, I was OK. The Lord guarded my heart the whole time."
Eddy Wilkins has been in the military for 20 years, and of course, Linda knew that she was marrying into that life when they said their vows six years ago.
But that was during peacetime.
"I was OK with it," she said. "That's just who he is, and I had to accept that. I thank God for the people who enlist and protect what is ours so we can remain a free country. That's what America's always fought for."
Trained and at the ready
Like most parents, Rose and Marion Barich prayed for their son when he was deployed into the war zone.
"I guess a parent is always apprehensive when a son or daughter is in combat," Marion said.
No matter the child's age. Their son, James Barich, is a 1979 Palma High School graduate. The 46-year-old Marine Corps officer was promoted to full colonel in late February.
In 2003, though, James spent seven months in Afghanistan. He piloted troops and supplies from ship to shore, missions flown mostly at night "on the back side of the clock," he said.
The hours were long and exhausting.
While he would write home, security concerns kept him from telling his parents where he was or what he was doing.
While concerned for their son's welfare, his parents also felt confident he would return safely.
"My feeling was that he was trained specifically and trained well," Marion said. "From speaking to some of his fellow pilots, I know he's very safety-conscious."
Rose felt apprehension, "but only a little," she said.
"I felt that was his duty, and he had to do it," she said. "That's what he chose."
The experience proved a great learning tool, James Barich said.
When he returned to the United States, he was in charge of 10 of the world's most powerful helicopters, the 99-foot long, 3-story tall Sikorsky Aircraft CH-53E Super Stallions, and the mechanics and crews which kept them in the air.
With a shooting war thundering over the horizon, the Marines trained at maximum intensity. The idea was to keep the edge should orders arise suddenly to deploy to Iraq or again to Afghanistan.
"Our job was to be ready," to head to either country, said Col. Barich, speaking by phone from Washington, D.C., where he now lives.
"You had friends and comrades over there, and your turn could be next, and you didn't want to let them down."
Col. Barich starts his new job Monday at the Pentagon. He'll serve with the Aviation Division of the Marine Corps.
If the call comes to return to Afghanistan or to go to Iraq, though, there'll be no hesitation.
"At the Pentagon, I'll be 'flying a desk,' but if the call came to go back, I'd do it in a minute," he said.
A long period of readjustment
In 2003, former Californian City Hall reporter Jerry Jimenez, 34, found himself in an Army uniform and headed for Iraq as part of a reserve unit out of Mountain View.
For 11 months in 2003-2004, Jimenez served in the northern part of the country on a windy forward-operating base near the city of Mosul.
What he remembers is a bulging orange sun, 130-degree days and mortar rounds falling like hot hail from the wretched skies.
Then there was the sense of disconnect when the tour ended, and Jimenez stepped once again onto American soil.
"In Iraq, I was a 'civil affairs specialist,' meaning a liaison between the military and the local populace," Jimenez said. "We'd deal with needs such as building schools and health clinics."
"Outside the wire" referred to the open spaces beyond the base. IEDs, the infamous improvised exploding devices, set to blow apart any passing vehicle and maim or kill anyone inside, were common.
"Inside the wire, you never knew when or where a mortar would land," Jimenez said. "You felt vulnerable all day."
Mosul was dangerous when he was there and, after he left, a suicide bomber eluded base security and blew himself up in the base mess hall, killing many.
Jimenez works today as a public affairs specialist for an East Bay water district.
"When you first come back from Iraq, you feel changed," Jimenez said. "It takes a couple of years to become stable and feel like everybody else, a part of society again."
Relationships suffer, he said. People didn't know what to say to him.
He no longer felt pleasure in things he had enjoyed before going to war. Before Iraq, he'd gone to the movies at least once a week.
"When I came back, I had no interest in movies or even in reading," he said.
In Iraq, combat raged about, but never so close that he had to fire his own rifle. Once home, he was saddled with an uneasy feeling that his luck had run out. He waited constantly for something bad to befall him.
The whole experience gave Jimenez insight into the larger picture of how to treat the returning veteran. The Army, for example, should do more to help vets readjust to a life without IEDs, he said.
"The Army gave us one or two briefings. Then they sent us on our way," he said. "We were left with all the pieces to put back together.
"Families and friends need to be supportive, too."
Ellie