Lt. Col. Chris Lozano, USMC

Operation Iraqi Freedom Travelogue 1

This is Chris Lozano's travelogue for Operation Iraqi Freedom. The forward is written by his brother, Bob Lozano, as part of an email that went out to friends and family.

All-
I know it's been awhile, but as you may or may not know Chris is deployed with 1 Marines Expeditionary Force and is on the verge of war. Chris got this off just before the open internet connections were turned off (as part of the planned final preparations). His email address will not be operational again until after this conflict is over.

For all who have sent emails he's really appreciative- for those who've sent prayers for all we're thankful.

I think the BibleGeek from LifeTeen.com put it best- whatever your perspective on the political or complex moral aspects of this war, I think we can agree that all are in need of prayer. Prayer for wisdom for the leaders, safety for the participants and their families, a quick resolution, a brighter future for the Iraqis, and a serious dent in the capabilities of the terrorists.

This is, unfortunately, likely to be only the next step in the longer conflict against terrorism and terrorist states that will require sustained commitment to win. It would be nice to just wish it away, but that probably won't be enough to protect our families and our country.

I've also attached a few of the more recent pictures that Chris sent. We'll try to put up a small web site with the interviews and stories that have aired locally (thank you to Charles Jaco for the interviews), and will let you know once that is up.
- Bob

Travelogue V- On the Eve of War

To my family and friends: greetings from yet another distant and foreign land. As I enter my second year away from home I have begun to reflect on the events of the last year and capture some of my thoughts and recollections. It has been a time of great joy and even more intense sadness; and a chance to meet God in a very deep and personal way. In the words of St. Francis, I have worked to turn my desert of loneliness to a garden of solitude.

The MRE

The 50 mph wind is rocking the 7 ton truck like it's a toy car. Our convoy is sitting in the middle of the Kuwaiti desert as a sandstorm howls outside. It's been six hours now and there is no sign of it abating. You can't see a thing; it's a total brown out. Sand has found its way into every possible place, in your ears, your mouth, your nostrils; clothes, equipment, everywhere. We are supposed to be setting up camp but right now we are hunkered down and there is little to do but try to sleep or read. I've crawled into the back of this truck to at an MRE with a friend of mine. I plunk myself down on the bench and take off my flak jacket and helmet. The floor of the vehicle is lined with sand bags which act as an extra layer of protection should we hit a landmine but it just seems to add to the dust. There are several Marines curled up sleeping like animals in a storm, dust simply piling up on top of them. I am grateful to be among such men.

I grab an MRE and open it up. The contents are familiar and I follow a routine; first heat up the entrée (a beef patty) then eat my peanut butter and crackers. The MRE comes with a chemical heater that is activated with water and gets quite hot. I slip the entrée into the sleeve and put it back into the box to heat. The trick with the crackers is to open the package without crumbling the crackers. To my surprise I manage and slide the crackers out. I open and then squeeze out the peanut butter onto the cracker. To keep the sand off the peanut butter I put the second cracker on top. Slowly I begin to eat, the taste of sand and grit evident in my dry mouth.

After about five minutes I pick up my entrée and try and adjust it inside the heater packet. But, in my fatigue I've forgotten about the water and I pour scalding water all over my hand. I let out a yelp and drop the package rousing a couple of sleeping Marines who quickly lay their heads back and close their eyes. Half laughing and half embarrassed I give up and go ahead and decide to eat my meal half heated.

Now anyone who has ever eaten an MRE knows that without a knife the packs are very hard to open up and I've forgotten my knife. I try to tear the pack with my teeth but I'm doing a poor job. I put my finger in the hole I've made and try to push it open. I manage to get a second finger inside the hole and start to pull. Suddenly, and without warning, the packet tears wide open and my beef patty falls out onto a sandbag. My hands, pants and the deck are covered in juice and sand is quickly sticking to every wet surface. I stare in disbelief at the mess I've made. There in a pile of juice and sand lies my dinner.

When you're a Marine you do things that other people might think strange. When you're a Marine in the field you do things that most people would find downright unthinkable. But when you're a Marine whose been in the field for three months you do things that even you think are peculiar. With a shrug and sigh I pick up the patty, brush off the sand and begin to eat, the wind and sand my dinner companions.

The first six months of 2002 saw me deploy to Kuwait, then spend nearly three months in Afghanistan. My days in Afghanistan are filled with memories of intense friendships founded both in pain and common purpose. And just as quickly my days back in Kuwait are filled with friction and frustration at being thrown into a military culture totally foreign to me that I was glad to leave. So, on July 11, I found myself returning to the states, with no clear idea of the future but happy nonetheless to be close to home and to see my precious family.

Nancy and I took the kids to a week-long vacation on St. George's Island on the Florida panhandle. It was a magical week where we relaxed, swam, and did a lot of laughing. Without my kids knowing it I secretly found myself glancing at each of them, overwhelmed at how each of them had changed, how their personalities had blossomed and just how blessed Nancy and I are with each of them and with one another.

The adventures and experiences of the first six months were met by an equally mundane and routine return to my headquarters in New Orleans. With only four months remaining on my mobilization there was no place to put me that wouldn't be more disruptive than helpful so I was given that most dreaded of terms in the Marine Corps the "Special Projects Officer", otherwise known by an equally ubiquitous acronym "SLJO" or "Sh***y Little Jobs Officer". I began to anxiously count down the days to my return home once and for all. But, the drums of war began to beat and I knew if there was to be a war that I would be there; had to be there. I did manage to get home several weekends to see the kids play fall sports which was a real treat. We packed as much into my short weekends as possible and began planning for the future.

We also added a new blessing to our family when Nancy found out she was expecting our 7th child. The girls want a sister, the boys want a brother and Alex wants a twin. Recently, my mother sent a picture taken of Nancy and I nearly nineteen years ago. I looked at it and marveled at two things; first, how much we've changed and second, that Nancy is still pregnant all these years later. God has blessed us many times over.

A Call and Thanksgiving

"Chris, you received a phone call from someone at I MEF, they said it was urgent and to call him at home if necessary", came the message from Col. Joe Collins my office mate and movie trivia compatriot. I knew instantly that this was "the call". My call to LtCol. Pete Ramey confirmed it with "Chris can you get to a secure phone?". I had made "The Show", the big leagues, the varsity. I was being asked based on my reputation to be part of the I Marine Expeditionary Force battle staff. "When do you need me?" I asked. "When can you get here?" was his answer. As I hung up the phone I sunk into my chair stunned. "Twenty years you waited to go to war and now you're going to go for the second time in less than a year!"

I think I surprised myself by my first reaction, which was excitement, even if I knew that accepting this assignment would mean continued hardship and danger. How would I tell Nancy about the call? How could I ask her if I could do this after all she and the family had sacrificed in the past year? And now there was our very own War Baby to think of...child number 7.

My surprise at my own reaction was equaled or surpassed only by Nancy's calm answer. "Oh well, you've been gone this long what's another few months? But this is your last war!" she said with a chuckle tinged with sadness.

Getting to Kuwait turned out to be very hard and I wound up being able to go home for Thanksgiving due to the incompetence of our administrators. It was a glorious weekend filled with poignant moments as we went about our daily lives where simple things were filled with great meaning.

Over the last several years I have taken on the mantle of cooking Thanksgiving dinner. Nancy and I and the family always arrive on Wed. so the kids can visit as I cook. I have long savored the challenge of producing a memorable meal for the family and was greatly relieved that I would not miss this year. Yet, it was not the same. I wanted time to stand still and silently vowed that this would be the last time I'd be gone, knowing well that I couldn't promise that.

That evening I took my three oldest sons aside and carefully taught them how to prepare smoked turkey, going over each step carefully. I know why I did this but I didn't need to tell my sons. Then, late that night with everyone in bed I found myself weeping in the cold outside, overwhelmed with feelings of remorse and sadness.

In the end Thanksgiving was a typical Lozano holiday; bigger, louder and longer than the year before. It was memorable not for the food but for the community that our ever growing family has become. There were many things said as well as felt that let me know our family would be fine.

My orders finally came to deploy suddenly. I received my orders on a Thursday and was to report to Camp Pendleton on Monday. I had been preparing myself but when the moment finally came I quickly said my goodbyes not wanting to linger. I left the next day and just like that New Orleans was behind me once again.

My last weekend home with the family was filled with the sites and sounds I have come to cherish; fighting, laughing and loving. Sunday night we attended the Life Teen mass at Incarnate Word, a mass I have come to love for its vibrancy. We arrived late (no really) and the only seats were behind the musicians, which was fine with me.

The church was filled with a soft glow and the wafting of incense and holy water. I tried to hold myself together but first Nancy, then Ali began to cry as then did I. Then it became a deluge with Eric, Sophie and Alex joining in. I think I even saw a tear in Andy's eye, though he swears there was something in it.

As mass ended we were embraced by people from my brother Bob's prayer group who asked simply if they could pray for us. Together we stood in warm embraces, unashamed of our tears and totally loved and vulnerable before God. In that moment I was filled with peace.

Preparation

Monday morning came quickly and secretly I was glad for an early flight because the pain was becoming almost too hard to handle. We arrived at the airport and for the first time I can remember I didn't carry a darn thing, as each of my things was carried by one of the kids. Nancy and I held hands and walked proudly with our brood to the terminal.

Check-in was normal and we moved to that most dreaded of places, the security point. This is where we would have to say our goodbyes. I called everyone together and we huddled tightly, arms around one another in a big beautiful brown ball of love. As we began to untangle the woman at the security point said "you're going to make us cry". I looked at her and said "It's hard, this has been a year of goodbyes".

The wind has turned the sky to a hazy brown, making it impossible to tell the difference between sky and ground. Pellets of sand sting my face and eyes and fill my mouth with the unmistakable taste of grit. Dust fills your equipment, your clothes, food, water, everything. Welcome to the desert.

A Christmas Far From Home

I've been gone from home so long now it's easy to get numb from the pain of being away; to become hardened out of survival. But, there are some things that will chip away at the veneer no matter how hard it has become; and one of them is Christmas.

Christmas Eve Day is business as usual, but the only scheduled event is a three mile run with the Commanding General. I busy myself with normal business. There are a few signs that it is Christmas, a little artificial tree in the Combat Operations Center, a strand of lights on a tent someone scrounged up and a few decorations. As evening comes I am miserable. I am sitting in the engineer's wind-blown tent as a cold wind whips through it. Suddenly, I hear voices and then singing I strain my ears to listen and I hear "...the first noel....". A group of Marines have formed an impromptu choir and are walking the camp singing carols. My eyes well up and I feel a great sense of remorse. This isn't how it's supposed to be.

The Business At Hand

Camp Commando is the current headquarters of I Marine Expeditionary Force, which normally is based out of Camp Pendleton. The base itself is rather small and heavily guarded. Marines patrol the perimeter and man guard posts armed with menacing machine guns and other weapons.

Originally conceived as a place for Marines to stay while they trained in Kuwait, Commando has taken on a life of its own as we build up for war. It sits within a Kuwaiti army base at the base of the Mutla Ridge. The ridge is the only identifiable terrain feature in Kuwait, which gives the illusion of height but is really a shelf to a steady drop to the sea. Even a dozen years later the base carries the scars of the Iraqi invasion of 1990. Shortly after I got here a couple of Marines clearing out a storage space found bed springs with battery cables hooked up, a reminder of the torture that occurred here at the hands of the Iraqis.

We live, work and eat mostly in tents of many configurations. In spite of attempts to disperse we are closed in and crowded. Sleeping tents are large Bedouin tents. They are remarkable primarily for the fact that they are extremely sturdy and keep out the cold at night. We sleep pretty well, having small bunk beds instead of the normal cots. I really dislike cots since their narrow configuration means I inevitably wake up with one or both arms asleep.

When I first got here I thought the amenities were rather nice and even worried that we'd get soft from the nice living. Of course I forgot that if there is a way to screw up hot chow and a shower it's the Marine Corps. What I didn't know was that the living standard was dictated by the Army that "owns" the base. Big living means big bills though and the Marine Corps has steadily worked to get its money worth by squeezing every last person it can into the camp while reducing services. The end result is food that is questionable, long lines for everything, bathing water that runs out, and overflowing toilets. And just to think I was worried about getting soft. I'd like to think it's all part of the plan, but I know better.

What few roads we have are gravel on sand or gravel and sand or just sand. I must say that I have enjoyed the camp much more than the Army base I served on last time I was here. First of all there's sand, lots of sand. You walk on sand and rocks and get stuff blown in your face. It's rugged and exposed to the weather. It feels like what a military getting ready for war should feel like.

The Marine Corps has assembled the most lethal fighting force ever assembled in one spot. With nearly two infantry divisions, two air wings and two service support groups we have a force so lethal that Hussein's defeat is certain. More importantly, the brain trust of the Marine Corps is here right now. A walk down the camp is a virtual "whose who" of the Marine Corps. I have lost track of the old friends I have run into here from years gone by, many of them here for one last war.

After three months we are honed and ready. The staff is now functioning like a team in its championship season. The time for war is drawing nearer and we can sense it. Our days are filled with preparation and more preparation. We are scrubbing plans and practicing, always practicing. Occasionally, I'll stop to think about how far we've come since the day I got her last December when there were only a few hundred Marines in the country.

For anyone who has ever been to war you recognize readiness. There's an unmistakable sense of confidence, a look of determination in the eyes, a quiet purpose in the talk. Shortly, we will add another chapter to an illustrious history of valor and success in combat. Today we are nearly 60,000 of the fiercest warriors that have ever walked the earth who live by the simple ethos "semper fidelis" or "always faithful". We will not fail America because we do not know or understand failure.

- Lt. Col. Charles C. "Chris" Lozano
Monday, 3/17/2003