There is wonderful news coming out of Iraq these days. Charts show IEDs are down, attacks on Coalition bases are down, engagements with terrorists and insurgents are down, civilian deaths are down. Down, down, down. And all while there are more soldiers walking and living among the locals.

But there’s something hidden going on here that doesn’t make the headlines: the injured. For every loss of life among American soldiers, several others are usually wounded.

It is those publicly-uncounted wounded that Valour-IT serves. While their buddy is laid to rest, they are the ones fighting for their lives in a hospital bed. As the family of the fallen is carried in the arms of their friends and fellow military families, the wounded soldiers are wondering what their lives are going to be like with broken bodies that will never be the same again. As their buddy is being laid to rest with honors, the politicians make a quick sweep through wards filled with wounded that will still be there after the camera flashes stop. The families of the living struggle to put one foot in front of the other and the wounded wonder if the prosthetic feet are as good as everybody says. The fallen’s loved ones dream of the day it will stop feeling like a knife in their chest, and the wounded hope that when the haze of the painkillers lifts, the PTSD and TBI won’t be as bad as they seem right now.

Loved ones whose hearts are aching in loss reach out to those around them, express themselves, plan memorials for their fallen hero, bellow out the rage over what has been ripped from them, mourn the futures lost.

Not so for the warfighter, whose connectedness is dependent on who visits or calls that day, and who is now discovering that the greatest indignity of severed nerves, shattered bones, and amputated limbs is that the soldier who once walked the streets in confidence and power is now cared for like a baby until he can find a way to make things work again.

Give that soldier something he can do for himself now–a way to express himself, write about his fallen brother, blow out the rage over the violence done to his body and build the courage to face the future that seems so impossible for now. A laptop will do that–give him confidence, dignity, self-expression, connectedness with those who will help him find a new equilibrium in his world-turned-on-its-head.

Giving out from 30 to 100 laptops per month since June, Valour-IT is in more demand than ever. We literally scraped the bottom of the barrel with our last delivery of laptops, and Soldiers’ Angels has said they cannot allocate any more funds for us until March 2008. We are filling vital gap that the government has missed, but we cannot do it without funding.

Don’t turn your face away from this just because it’s easier to think things are getting better, or because it’s too uncomfortable to think of their suffering while you are whole. They don’t want your pity; just your support. What better way to support them, to show you believe in their recovery and their future than to give them a laptop that they can operate regardless of the depth of their injuries. Please, help us help them.

I know how much it means to the guys who are stuck lying on their backs, unable to use their hands to so much as scratch. Being fed, bathed, taken care of like an infant—not exactly a fitting role for a warrior who’s used to being the one who helps others. It sure as hell wasn’t a role that I wanted, although there were many people who came to see me who helped…At that time I had no use of either hand. I know how humbling it is, how humiliating it feels. And I know how much better I felt, how amazingly more functional I felt, after Soldiers’ Angels provided me with a laptop and a loyal reader provided me with the software. I can’t wait to do the same, to give that feeling to another soldier at Walter Reed.

—Chuck Ziegenfuss, inspiration for Valour-IT

The button is up top center to make a donation.  Little donations help, as do big ones.  Oh, and pass the word about this program.

So, last week, there we sat, we salty sea dogs, the question posed and we all awaited an answer from the “shore based” component that worked in our shore based offices.

I figured I had figuratively placed the DC plug in the gaping hole that was causing figurative water to flood our hull. Feeling quite smug, but for only a very few brief seconds, she responded: “When is the next one (Combat System Assessment)?” Not to be outdone, I said “I’ll let you know.”

She left, the atmosphere was different. We, the guys thought we were gonna chalk one up on the score board and it was, at the moment, a draw, or at the least, undecided.

Russ, my trusty LDO LT was given the task of calling the USS WAINWRIGHT’s (CG-28) XO, who had been his Weapons Officer on his prior ship to see if we could bring along “our XO.” The answer was, sure. Well, minor issue, XO, our XO is a “she.” “No problem, I’ll be off at school so she can use my stateroom.”

Boy…the train was leaving the station at full throttle and here I thought the “girl” would just be quiet and go back her office and make sure our travel arrangements were on track.

Anyhow, a Combat Systems Assessment (CSA) was a 36 some hour trial of a ship, where we usually arrived around 0700-0730 and sat down in the Wardroom to to introductions, lay out the game rules and shake hands. Yes, we were there to help, and yes, they were happy to see us. From there, my team of 12 to 20, depending on how complex the ship’s equipment, went off to review the paperwork for various programs and do some safety checks. During this period, the ship was getting underway, or in some cases, clearing the sea buoy and heading to the “OPAREA.” The ships under DESRON SIX routinely went to sea the day before we arrived to practice, and we’d ride a tug boat out at Oh-Dark Thirty to the vicinity of Ft Sumter to meet them.

In most cases, by the time lunch was wrapped up, we were meeting to listen to the ship’s company Combat Systems Training Team (CSTT) brief the two sets of exercises to be run in the late afternoon and early evening. The first drill set was before evening chow, the second after chow. By about 2200-2300, we were sitting down to listen to the CSTT critique the drills. The purpose here was not to see if the crew passed, as much as to determine if the CSTT was able see mistakes and record them, so they could plan to train to correcting them next later on. If they saw what we saw, then it was a good chance the ship could train into the future.

After we listened to the crew’s debrief, then my team would meet to discuss the day’s events. Provided there were no glitches along the way, like correcting safety issues, of making sure all the equipment was propeorly configured for training, we might get into our assigned vistor “pits” by 0100 or 0200.

At 0600, we usually were on deck, walking around Combat Information Center (CIC) to observe the preparations for the “DTE” (Detect to engage), where a contracted Learjet would fly, pretending a very slow cruise missile (since it couldn’t make .9 Mach) would fly in, while the crew exercised their detection and engagement systems. By late morning, the DTE would be wrapped up, for better of worse, and my team and I would gather to grade the performance. The ship would head towards port. In some cases, we’d manage to get the debrief in before entering port, and other times, we’d do it upon arrival pierside.

Our command’s vehicles would be waiting for us (when in the Norfolk area), and we’d depart, sometimes with good feelings all around, and fortunately not often, to snarls and cold glares. By then, it was usually the end of the work day ashore. The 36 hours was almost straight through.

The team’s normal work schedule? Monday/Tuesday – CSA (as above), Wednesday – Fly somewhere in a Naval Air Logistics Organization (NALO) C-9, Thursday/Friday – Do it again, Friday afternoon, fly to back to NORVA. Next week? Rinse and repeat. If we were doing ship’s in other ports, the NALO pilots and aircrews were happy to haul our butts there, beginning at about 1330 Sunday afternoon.

Oh, yeah…we were on “shore duty.”

Next week: LCDR Hobbs rides the USS WAINWRIGHT (CG-28).

Skippy San will add dollars to ValOUR-IT – Navy/Coast Guard Team if you guess something..

Check it out!

Come on, there are wounded troops counting on us!