Journal of a Veteran

After my first month in Baghdad and the temp reaching near 130 degrees, there were 5 things that I, and anyone living there quickly learns about Iraq.  These 5 things are quite plain and simple and always hold true….

1.  It is HOT….it was hot yesterday, it is hot today, and it will be hot tomorrow.

2.  The sun shines everyday…it is always present….I didn’t seen many clouds while I was there.  The forecast yesterday was clear…today it is clear…and tomorrow it will be clear (truth #2 goes hand-in-hand with truth #1).

3.  You never go anywhere without two items….a bottle of water and your sunglasses.

4.  If you touch a piece of metal in the open during the day, it will burn you.

5.  When the sun goes down at night, it is dark…very, very dark.

As you can tell, everything pretty much revolves around the sun…everything.  It is that plain and simple…it permeates everything…it is always present…always on your mind.  It influences how you act, what you do, practically everything that exists here has a relationship to the sun.

As I thought about this, I wondered: is that how it is in my life as far as my relationship with the Son of God?  Does Christ, the Son, permeate and influence everything I do…everything I am?  Is He always on my mind?  Are my actions a reflection of Him in my life? 

I can testify about the sun in Iraq and its influence over the entire country.  In 1 John 5:11-12, John also testifies…but, about the SON… “And this is the testimony:  God has given us eternal life, and this life is in his Son.  He who has the Son has life; he who does not have the Son of God does not have life.”  It is that plain and simple.

When you log in, you will be taken to wordpress and this is where you can start a new comment string.  You need to check the box of the conflict you want it filed in OR YOU CAN START YOUR OWN CATAGORY SUCH AS PTSD.  If you want to comment on an existing comment string, click “visit site” and click on the title of the comment you want to add to.  There is a new skip change of this software, but last time I tried to download it, the previous work was erased and I had to restore.

In August of 2001 I PCSed to Fort Hood after spending a year in Kuwait.  Of course, the next month, we were attacked on 9-11.  I was in the G4 shop of the First Cavalry Division and suspiciously was chosen to be the Support Operations Officer of the 15th Foward Support Battalion in the 2nd Brigade Combat Team, Blackjack.    3 days later, we got our deployement orders.  The battalion commander pulled me in to her office and asked me if I was sure I wanted to go.  She realized that I had just come from there and had been seperated from my family for the last 12 months.  I didn’t get dramatic, I just told her “yes, I am going.”I was on the first plane of 7 guys.  Our mission was to set up Brigade operations after drawing the entire fleet at Camp Doha.  In fact, we built Camp Virginia and Camp Pennsylvania.  The pre-existing camp was re-named New York to cover all 3 of the states attacked on 9-11.  We were in the middle of the Udari range.  I have to say that it was “business as usual” at Camp Doha and they were not expecting us.  Anyway, with much hand wringing, we “checked out” the entire rental fleet.  It seems the contractor had not been maintaining all of it to standard and only had enough ready for the standard Battalion (+) Intrinsic Action Rotation that had been going on since Desert Storm.   For example, a brigade needs at least 10 each 5k fuel tankers and a BN usually only drew out 3.  Therefore, they had 6 of them deadlined.  Anyway, we got nasty with the contractors and their greensuiter OIC, LTC Gay.  Yes, we made them look bad and they deserved it.  We got our equipment and got out to the desert to build the camps.  A couple of weeks later, we ended up sending guys to Afghanistan and our deployment became the start of Enduring Freedom.  I was happy to enable the Iraqi ground war by building the logistical camps.   We redeployed after 7 months and my total time over there was 19 months out of 2 years.  Of course, when we got back, the rest of our division was jealous and after a few months it was totally forgotten that we were gone at all.  We had a BN change of command and we got the new guy that had never been to combat.  By this time in my career as a Major, I was authorized to wear 4 different combat patches.  I have seen this as a rift in the Army where we have so much experience with the young guys and alot of the senior leaders have never lead troops in combat.  They have punched their ticket like good company men.  It is not as bad now because most people have been at least once.  Luckily for me, I got sent to Germany because the Army suddenly discovered that I speak German.  While I was over there, I got torn up skiing in Austria and tore out an ACL.  I had complications after the surgery with blood clots, so now I am non-deployable because I am on Coumadin for the rest of my life.  I felt really guilty about this, but since I have spent 1 out of every 5 days in the Active Army in a combat zone (Just Cause, Desert Storm, Bosnia, Kuwait, Enduring Freedom, Iraqi Freedom), I figured I had pulled my weight over the years.  I will soon be retired and have really enjoyed leading soldiers in difficult environments.  The thing that I am most proud of is that every morning I look in the mirror and see a man who always took care of his troops and never stabbed a fellow officer in the back.  There is too much of that going around.

Private Harry Johnston

    Private Harry Johnston was my grandfather; my father’s father.  At age 15, he ran away from his orphanage in Iowa to join the Army.  He changed our family name from Johnson to Johnston so they could not track him , lied about his age, and entered the Army prior WWI.  At the time, there was a famous British explorer, Sir Harry George Johnston and I suspect this inspired the choice in name changes.  We do not have detailed records on his service, but we know he was in the horse cavalry or horse artillery.  The picture above of him on a horse was supposedly taken at Camp Oglethorpe, Georgia.  When he reached Europe, he was handed a second pair of shoes and was informed he was now Infantry.  He was wounded in France in the Argonne.  As a little boy, I would sit in his lap and look at the severe scars on his forehead.  He told of how he was hit by a fragment from an enemy artillery shell and was unconscious for two days.  His scalp was completely peeled over his face and he was left for dead. Two days later, the burial detail came through tossing bodies on a horse drawn cart.  When they grabbed him, he awoke and they dropped him and ran off in fear.  They came back a couple of minutes later and took him to a field hospital.  His wounds were to the extent that nobody wanted to operate on him.  A young Army doctor in Paris took the mission and basically sewed up his scalp like the end of a sausage.  As the story goes, Grandpa brought all kinds of war souvenirs home.  This is a familiar story to all collectors of militaria.  He married grandma in the 1920s, and she tossed all of his stuff.

    WWI was not the end of military service for grandpa.  He entered the Navy in the 1930s.  When the US entered WWII, he was off to the Pacific.  While he was not wounded as he was in the First World War, he did escape death once again.  We don’t know the name of the submarine, but grandpa was a maintenance chief on it.  While in port, he was struck with a appendicitis.  The ship left port without him and was sunk by friendly fire.  

    The last battle grandpa fought was a massacre.  As first hand witnesses have testified, grandpa entered the house from the war clutching his sea bag and unthinkingly tossed it down the basement steps.  My dad, about 6 at the time, began rifling through his sea bag and found a compromising picture of grandpa and a Hawaiian hula dancer.  Not unlike the Gestapo in the movies, he immediately turned the evidence over to the Supreme Allied Commander (grandma).  Grandpa lived for another 38 years, but he never rested after that day.  They both now lie in Arlington National Cemetery; he gave 34 years of military service to the United States of America.

John Wesley Cooksey

    Wes Cooksey was my wife’s grandfather.  Our first son is named after him and unfortunately, I never got to meet him because he died of a stroke before my wife and I ever met.  However, I am very familiar with his military service since he was an excellent “documenter” with his extremely detailed letters and he took fantastic photographs.  He served his country in both World Wars.  He was with the 25th Aero Squadron, Second Army Air Service in WWI and served as an aviation logistician in WWII in North Africa.  His tribute will take some time to assemble because he left us with much material to sort through.

    Prior to WWI, Wes Cooksey was from Brookville, Indiana.  He entered the service and served with the 25th Aero Squadron AEF.  The 25th was originally formed at Kelly Field, San Antonio in 1917.  Apparently, the squadron was in constant turmoil and changed commanding officers every few weeks.  They deployed to Scotland on 9 January 1918.  Their pilots were farmed out to various British Squadrons and the enlisted men (mechanics, medics, clerks, etc.) were assigned duty with the RAF.  On 18 August 1918, the RAF declared the enlisted soldiers to be “highly trained and an exceptionally good bunch of mechanics.”  Then, they were accepted back into the ranks of the American Second Army and the pilots were recalled from their British squadrons.  The Second Army bought them British Scout Experimental No. 5s (S.E. 5s) and training commenced at Issoudun, France.  By the time the pilots knew their craft, the war was over.  The squadron only flew two patrols and the squadron joke was that they were to receive the highly coveted “Cross de Ocean.”  However, this lack of action did not stop young Wes Cooksey from finding the war.  

Arthur Caldwell Cason Jr.

1918-2005

Captain Arthur Caldwell Cason, Jr. died at his home in Bradenton, FL in 2005 after a long, valiant battle with cancer. He was 87. Casey, as he was known to his friends, was born March 20, 1918 and raised in Norfolk, Virginia.   He signed up to become a naval aviator and was commissioned an Ensign in the Navy in 1941, joining the Pacific Fleet in February 1942 as a dive-bomber pilot.

For 30 years, Casey made the Navy his home. He rose rapidly through the ranks to Captain, retiring in 1972.

In 1942, then Ensign Cason, shipped out to the Pacific Theater, where he distinguished himself as a Dougles Dauntless  dive-bomber pilot, Hellcat fighter pilot and landing signal officer in all the pivotal battles of the Pacific. He earned many combat awards, including the prestigious Distinguished Flying Cross on October 19, 1942 from Admiral Nimitz for “bombing and strafing fleeing enemy forces without regard for his own safety” in the Battle of Midway, where he sank a cruiser and damaged a transport ship. While on a mission in the battle of Midway, he returned to the Hornet only to find it on its way to the bottom of the ocean.  He and the rest of his squadron were forced to land on another carrier. 

He served with equal valor in many other battles such as the Coral Sea, Solomon Islands, Guadalcanal, Santa Cruz, Leyte Gulf and Philippine Sea. He was aboard the carrier Hornet when General Doolittle launched his raid on Tokyo.
 

Many of the carriers on which he served–the Hornet, Lexington, Enterprise and Franklin–were heavily damaged or sunk. While on the Hornet, three Japanese planes crashed into the ship, one passing through his stateroom. He had flipped coins and was sitting in the ready room at the time rather than his room. While seated there, a bomb plunged through the deck and in front of the chair on which he was resting his feet. The pilot next to him was killed, but Casey survived. His extraordinary good luck held later near Bougainville when, separated from his squadron in bad weather and with his radio out, he descended from the clouds, by chance, over a Japanese fleet of fifteen warships. Braving intense anti-aircraft fire, he strafed and bombed repeatedly a transport before his guns jammed. His fuel low, he searched in vain for his carrier. With only five minutes of fuel remaining, he spotted a fleet in the distance, but could not identify whether it was friend or foe. Approaching, he was challenged by radio but couldn’t respond. He was then fired on by his carrier’s escort vessels, but Navy air cover identified him as friendly and he landed unscathed.

After W.W.II, he served as a flight instructor and then became a ’hurricane hunter’ out of Miami. Joining the anti-submarine patrol bomber community, he eventually became Commander of Fleet Air Wing Eleven in Jacksonville,Florida, overseeing some 120 planes. His wing achieved notoriety for having taken the first photos of a Soviet nuclear submarine on the surface of the ice at the North Pole. Later, his planes participated in the naval blockade of Cuba, taking photos of the Soviet ships with nuclear missiles heading to the island. Later in his career, he servedas Commodore of the Middle East flagship, the Greenwich Bay, and was Executive Officer in Jacksonville Naval Air Station and at the French Navy base in Port Lyautey, Morocco. He was a student at the Naval War College near the end of his career, and upon retiring he worked for several defense contractors as a consultant.

Captain Cason passed away in April of 2005 at age 87.

Stepfather of my Uncle David Bassett (his biological father was assistant platoon leader of the Airborne Test Platoon and killed in a helicopter crash in the 1950s).

Jack Bradley

Jack Bradley was my wife’s great uncle.  He flew a P-51B “Mustang” with the 354th Fighter Group of the 9th Air Force.  They were called the Pioneer Mustang Group because they were the first to receive the P-51.  His squadron was the 353rd Fighter Squadron.  The Group flew its first combat mission in ETO on 1 December 1943 and ranked 1st in the war with 701 confirmed kills in aerial combat.  Jack Bradley was 3rd overall in the Fighter Group with 15 confirmed kills.  I met him several times at family get togethers and unfortunately, he died several years ago.  

Here is a newsclip from 1999:

Friday, October 1, 1999

Retired area aviator to be honored
By JOHN STARBUCK
Staff Writer

A Brownwood man who shot down 15 enemy aircraft during World War II will be recognized today by the Confederate Air Force.

Retired U.S. Air Force Col. Jack T. Bradley is among eight individuals and a squadron scheduled to be inducted into the American Combat Airman Hall of Fame at the CAF Headquarters in Midland.

Bradley was attending Howard Payne University when he enlisted in the Army Air Corps.

After graduating in 1941 from flying school in California, he joined the 9th Air Force’s 354th Fighter Group as a second lieutenant after it was formed in San Francisco.

Based in Portland, Ore., the 354th was deployed in the fall of 1943 to Europe.

He flew the P-51 Mustang, which saw its first combat during WWII, and was part of a group of pilots who recorded 701 aerial victories against the Germans and another 300 wins on the ground.

“That fighter group destroyed more enemy aircraft in the air than any organization in the entire military,” Bradley, 81, said.

Besides claiming his share of enemy planes, Bradley also had nine probable kills and damaged 12 additional aircraft. Two planes were destroyed in a 10-second span.

He later became commander of the 354th. When the war ended in Europe in May 1945, the fighter group was deactivated.

“My best memory was when the war was over. It was pretty costly,” said Bradley, born and raised in Brownwood.

Although a majority of Bradley’s service was with the 354th, he also took brief charge of another fighter group during the Battle of the Bulge in 1944 after its senior officers had been killed in action.

His decorations included the Distinguished Service Cross, Silver Star and Distinguished Flying Cross.

He returned to California and took command of the 1st Fighter Group, which flew the first P-80 and F-86 jets in the Air Force. He also saw time with the Royal Air Force in England.

Retiring from the Air Force in 1962, Bradley worked in the aircraft industry for several years.

He later owned an international marketing consulting firm, and was a cattle rancher and construction engineer.

Signing up for the military, Bradley knew that America had a job to do and he wanted to be a part of it.

“I was very patriotic,” he said. “Our main concern was winning the war.”

Otto Hiegel was one of the first people I met in Lambsborn, Germany.  He does not speak very much English, but I can speak pretty good conversational German.  Over the course of time, we have become friends and he has shared his stories of WWII with me.   Otto was born in 1925.  Lambsborn is located on the second echelon of the West Wall or Siegfried Line.   I was thrilled when I found this out.  We have 35 bunkers spread around the  town and surrounding woods.   When I moved here, I found German field gear in the loft of my barn because there was  a garrison stationed here to defend.  Eventually, the 26th “Yankee” Infantry Division pushed through in 1945.    There was a small firefight here and 3 German soldiers were killed.   I have spent much time hunting for relics with a metal detector and my “virtual museum” is one of my next projects.  However, in 1939, with Europe on the brink of War, Hitler himself came to Lambsborn to inspect the defensive positions.   Hitler only inspected one of the bunkers, but when the staff car pulled up on the street, 12 year old Otto Hiegel slipped under the arms of the surrounding staff officers and saw Hitler face to face at a distance of 3 feet.  Hitler made a brief visit to the bunker and then left. In 1942, Otto’s older brother, Robert had joined the Army and Otto joined the Hitler Jugend.  Once he was old enough, Otto joined the Luftwaffe and signed up to be a radio operator on German bombers (Ju 88s  and He 111s).  Ironically, the Luftwaffe extensively trained him in Morris code and radio operation with only rudimentary training in weapons such as the MG 15, 98K, and P-38 pistol.  Otto’s brother, Robert, was killed in Stalingrad and this made Otto want immediate revenge.  However, by then, fuel was scarce for the  Luftwaffe and fighters were the priority.  Otto was going nowhere in the air.  In 1944, Otto got a new job offer.  In Otto’s words, “the blue uniform went away, and I put on the gray uniform.  As Germany prepared for a winter offensive, Otto was plucked from the Luftwaffe and assigned to the 3rd Battalion Sturmgeschutz of the 1st SS Division known as LAH or Liebstandarte Adolf Hitler.  He was a radio operator on a STUG.  Most of the men in his battery were born and raised SS.  Otto and one other comrade were Luftwaffe transplants.  The SS men had their blood type tattooed on the inside of each arm.  Otto and his friend did not.  This would later prove crucial.  Otto participated in the Battle of the Bulge (Wacht am Rhein or “watch on the Rhein”) and indeed, fought against American forces.  In the town of Recht, Belgium, Otto stated that American planes flew over dropping leaflets.  They stated that the Germans had 30 minutes to get out of town or the they would all die.  All the Germans laughed and held their ground.  Exactly  30 minutes later, the American bombers flattened the town.  After the Battle of the Bulge,  Otto’s unit was transferred to the Eastern Front where they engaged the on-coming Russian Hoard.  In Liter, Hungary,  on 22 March 1945, Otto’s self propelled gun was hit by a Russian tank.  He was pulled out of the hatch and taken for medical treatment.  Below is a card of shrapnel that worked its way out from under his skin over the years.  Also, is  a  picture of the coin purse that he had in his pocket at the  time.  It stopped a large piece of Russian steel and is imbedded in the purse to this day.  Otto’s wounds were severe and he still has many scars.  Otto ended up in a hospital in Prague, Czechoslovakia, and was captured  when the Russian came through.  As previously stated, Otto did not have the SS blood type tattoo under his arms.    Both the Russians and the French were executing soldiers who did bear these marks.   Otto survived  and was released by the Russians because his wounds precluded him from working.  On 8 October 1945, he received a pass to cross the US sector and arrive home to his family in  Lambsborn. He soon married and went to school to become a engineer.  He and his wife had two children and he even owned one of the first cars ever in Lambsborn.  Due to his preciseness from his engineering degree, he has become a defacto town historian and has helped publish two history books about the region.  His life is quiet now.  He and I spend alot of time drinking beer and talking about the war, politics, and guns.

In Desert Storm, after the airwar had started and before the ground assault, we were hit by a trememdous sand storm know as a Shamal.  Our group had 6 GP Medium tents, each staked to the sand with special, 4 ft rebarr tent stakes.  We were all nestled in out sleeping bags when it hit.  I remember seeing the air clouded up with sand and CPT Pierre hanging on for dear life from the center beam of the tent.  He screamed “Get Out!” and flailed back and forth with the shaking of the tent.  Pierre was no small man, he was a college linebacker and probably weighed 245 or so.  We had to be told but once.  We all raced out of the tent…all except the new guy who sat up and asked “Where are you guys going?”  We didn’t reply, we just ran as fast as we could to the shelter of our radio truck.  SFC Powell was inside, on radio watch.  She was somewhat less than attractive.  All 6 of us burst through the door, half dressed, glistening with rain, and out of breath.  She calmly looked us up and down and without missing a beat, said “I havn’t seen this many naked men all at one time in quite awhile.”  Only then did we realize that we were practically naked.  When the storm passed, we went to survey the carnage.  Of the 6 tents, 5 were flattened.  Ours emitted a muffled scream.  Yes, the new guy hadnt gotten out and was now rolled up like a burito in is sleeping bag and wet tent.  It is always the new guy who has to be told twice, but that night it was every man for himself.  Of course though the rest of the deployment we all wondered what SFC Powell meant by “all at one time.”

Larry was my uncle, my father’s half brother.  In WWII, he flew in the European Theater in a B-17F with the 384th Bomber Group (Heavy), 546th Bomber Squadron.  He was a bombardier and the name of his bomber was “Jolly Roger.”  I met him several times, but he passed away a few years ago.  His widow now lives in Maryland.  She also contributed greatly to the war effort.  She was a “Rosie the Riveter” and helped manufactured B-24s.

    During the early part of the war, American Daylight bombing was a risky proposition.  Uncle Larry told me that crew members often left their M1911A1 pistol in their footlockers during missions.  During his last mission, he had six pistols in his footlocker; one was his and the others were from crewmembers who had already been shot down.  On 23 September 1943, Uncle Larry’s squadron flew a mission to bomb a harbor at Nantes France to bomb a U-Boat tender ship that would go out to sea and re-supply the U-Boats.  He said that the enemy fighter would often come straight at the bomber’s nose, one fighter after the other.  This was manageable for the bomber crew because they could train their guns on each plane as it came by.  This day, Uncle Larry looked up and saw six FW190s in two wings of three.  They were wingtip to wingtip and all guns firing.  A 20 MM shell came through the nose of the bomber and struck the bombsite.  Uncle Larry was saved by his flak vest, but he was severely wounded with 80+ small holes in his body and both hands mangled.  Apparently, more than the bombsite was struck because the pilot, Bill Higdon, gave the order to bale out.  3 of the engines were on fire.  All 10 crew members made it out of the plane before it exploded in mid-air.

    When he landed, he was in occupied France in a town called Plougue and the plane debris fell outside of Plemet; both of these towns are in the French province of Brittany.    Today, one of the engines from Uncle Larry’s B-17 is in a local museum.  A Frenchman tried to help him but Uncle Larry told him to leave him for the Germans because he knew he needed professional medical attention or else he would die of infection.  In fact, of the crew of 10, 7 were captured and the other 3 were able to evade the enemy.  According to the official Gendarmerie (police) records, of the 7 POWs, one was seriously wounded.  This was obviously Uncle Larry.  The Germans soon came and found Larry and took him to a military hospital at Loudeac where he was treated.  Because of this, Uncle Larry never had anything bad to say about the Germans.  When he was recovered, he was sent to a camp named Stalag Luft 1 in Barth, Germany.   Barth is on the coast of the Baltic NW of Berlin in what used to be East Germany.  I visited Stalag Luft 1 and there isn’t much left.

    The camp was on a peninsula and between the camp and the mainland was a Luftwaffe Anti-Aircraft Gunnery school.  The water table was high and the water in the Baltic was freezing.  The effect of these conditions meant that the guards were not too concerned about escape attempts.  In fact, they let the soldiers wear themselves out by digging tunnels.  Since the water table was so high, the tunnels were close to the surface where the guard dogs could easily hear the digging.  They would cock their ears and then the guards could play the “kick in the tunnel” game.  The guards would also let the POWs walk along the water and dig for mussels in the clay to supplement their diet.  Uncle Larry found an ancient obsidian crescent hand knife one day and used it to open the shell fish.  He kept it as a souvenir after the war.  (I have since seen such a knife in a museum in Ireland.  I was told it was an ancient Viking knife know as a Lunate Crescent.)  Soon, Allied bombing could be heard in the distance and the airmen would often slide out of the windows of the barracks to watch and cheer.  Once bombing became a regular event, the Germans put out the order that everyone was to stay in the building.  One day, an airman forgot himself and jumped out of the window when the air raid siren sounded.  A young guard shot him dead.  That was the only “war crime” that Uncle Larry witnessed.

    One morning, the airmen awoke to find the camp abandoned.  The guards had left in the night.  The Russian were near.  Many of the enlisted wanted to run wild across the country side, but the officers seized control and ordered them to stay put and stay out of the way of the dangerous Russian Army.  Small, foraging parties were formed and the airmen went to find what they could to eat.  Uncle Larry was on one of the foraging parties and they went to inspect the Anti-Aircraft Gunnery School.  There, he found a pair of Luftwaffe flight boots that fit him and he also brought back a small Luftwaffe hat eagle.  Years later, he gave me the eagle as a present.   Anyway, the camp was evacuated by B-17s landing at the nearby airport and Uncle Larry finally made it back to England.  When he went back to his squadron to visit, there was not one single person that he knew.  After the war, he went back to school and got his degree in Chemistry.  Uncle Larry was a very quiet and unassuming man.  He was extremely smart and thought things through.  I am blessed to have known him and to be able to tell his story.  

Panama was my first combat action, but not my last.  The ironic thing is notification.  We had been locked down for 3 days following some PDF firing up a car of American officers and killing one.  We thought they were about to lift the lockdown when we got called to the CO’s office at around 1830 on the 19th of December 1989.  “We are going to war” was all he said.  The next thing I knew, we were passing out the rifles and basic load.  The attack commenced around midnight.  Normally, the Army plans things ad nausium, but in this case, we executed our mission on the fly.  It was a heck of a fireworks show.

This is a link to the my book “The Land of Unknown” Memoirs from Mogadishu

http://home.comcast.net/~spotedog/somalia/BASEMENT%20OF%20HELL.pdfimg src=”http://journalofaveteran.com/wp-admin/” border=”0″ height=”1″ width=”1″ />

Also a live leak to the song that I wrote as a tribute to SGT Ron Richerson KIA

http://www.liveleak.com/view?i=fe6_1193275020

And a link to my Somalia Veterans Commemorative Patch

http://home.comcast.net/~spotedog/somalia/somalia%20veteran%20

commemorative%20patch.htmlimg src=”http://home.comcast.net/~spotedog/somalia/somalia%20veteran%20commemorative%20patch.html” border=”0″ height=”1″ width=”1″ />

This is the Grenada blog.

This is the Somalia blog.

This is the Panama/Just Cause blog.