My name is Joe Stone and I was born in Tacoma, WA.

My grandpa was a World War II veteran who served in the Pacific. He never spoke much about it, from what I’ve been told he spent all of his time on ship. I also had an uncle who served in Desert Storm. I was about 11 at the time and we would write each other back and forth while he was there. Years later after my first tour in Iraq we had a pretty heartfelt conversation about our experiences.

I joined the Army right out of high school in 1997. Being in the Army is something I had wanted to do ever since I could remember. It was literally my dream job. I wanted to be G.I. Joe. In the early days of training, I was terrified. It was my first time away from home and on my own. But, I was excited and eager to learn. I would have to get used to all the yelling and the diversity of people. I went to Advanced Individual Training (AIT) following Basic Training and only had to go a few blocks down the road to get there. I was going to learn how to be a mechanic and did well too, graduating at the top of my class!
Branch of service, unite, battalion, etc. and MOS: ARMY, 571st MP Co, Ft Lewis, WA (1997-2005); D Co 3-71 CAV, 3rd IBCT, 10th Mountain Division, Fort Drum NY (2005-2007); B Co, 204th BSB, 2/4 ID, Fort Carson CO; MOS – 63B/91B – Wheel Vehicle Mechanic with H8 (Vehicle Recovery Specialist) Identifier

We were all going through the same thing in Basic and AIT, and had similar experiences. However, when I got to permanent party barracks at my first duty station that was tough. Guys had been in for a long while. A lot had deployed overseas. And, they all had cars. I had no transportation and no social life. The following are my deployments:
Fort Lewis, WA (1997-2005) w/deployments to Egypt (99), Cuba (02), Iraq (04)
Fort Drum, NY (2005-2007) w/deployment to Afghanistan (06-07)
Fort Carson, CO (2007-2012) w/deployment to Iraq (08-09)

I am standing here on top of a ridgeline in Afghanistan during April of 2007 above the Kunar River valley, waiting for a helicopter pickup. The second photo shows me waiting to roll out on a convoy from Diwaniya to Basra in Iraq during 2009. My first real taste of war, other than the daily mortar shells hitting our camp, came in April of 2004 during my first tour in Iraq. We were on support mission convoy that was heading from Baghdad to Northern Iraq to help one of our platoons travel back down to our base. We were a couple of hours into our trip when the truck directly behind mine was struck by an IED. The improvised artillery shell ripped holes throughout the Humvee and occupants within. The truck quickly caught fire, but luckily enough one passenger made it through unscathed and was able to pull his team members from the burning truck before the rest of us determined that it was safe to do so and turned around to go help. I provided first aid to the driver whose legs were peppered with shrapnel holes and had a broken leg. There was blood everywhere. The smoke from the burning truck enveloped us constantly, the acrid smoke burning our lungs and eyes making it almost impossible to do our job. Ammunition started cooking off and the sound of a bullet whizzing by was never far off. We were able to get everyone patched up and after some communication problems were able to get a medevac Blackhawk helicopter hailed. They came in pairs. One circled overhead providing security while the other landed on the road next to us. The wind from the rotor wash was intense, and the engine noise was near deafening. We transferred all of our three casualties over to the medevac crew and when I had went to tell the crew chief their conditions I had to practically scream to be heard over the engine noise. When the helicopter took off, everything got real quiet. We squeezed into our remaining trucks and continued our mission just like we are trained to do. But that experience has haunted me for years.

This has been a year’s long process to try and process all of my thoughts and emotions in regards to my experiences. When the first one happened, we were initially cold and silent for the remaining trip to Northern Iraq. No one said a word during the rest of the trip. Things changed drastically when we reached our destination and found ourselves once again in relative safety. There were fights, some of us broke down- I was one of those. I had a really hard time wrapping my head around what just happened and why we were there. My friends were on their way to Baghdad on a helicopter, burnt and full of holes, and I felt an immense guilt. That roadside bomb, why didn’t I see it first and warn them? Why was I not paying better attention? Why wasn’t it me that was hit? I found myself asking these questions many times over the next few years.

I once heard that war is 99% boredom followed by 1% of sheer terror. That’s mostly true, but I’d say the ratio is more 50% laughter, 49% boredom, followed by 1% sheer terror. When young men (and women) are in a very undesirable situation, calamity and hilarity normally ensue. Like they say, idle hands are the devil’s playground. When I sitting on top of that ridgeline in Afghanistan controlling an observation post, my soldiers were no different. They’d find various bugs like giant centipedes and camel spiders, and make them fight each other, the Soldier’s placing wagers on their demise. We’d encounter locals occasionally, and once we even pooled our money together and bought a goat. That was a damn good meal compared to all of the MRE’s we had been eating.

When you are deployed daily life is really quite simple. For the most part, you don’t have any outside influences that you are really worrying about and you just have to make sure the mission gets done. The worst part by far was being away from my kids. I’d get pictures in the mail occasionally, but that didn’t make up for all the birthdays and holidays that were getting missed at school. The infrastructure while we were in Iraq was good, so calling home and sending emails on a regular basis wasn’t a problem and mail came regularly. Afghanistan was a completely different experience. Mail came every few weeks if it ever made it, phones were few and far between, and Internet was hard to come by unless you knew the right people.

Upon returning home, the reception was warm and jovial. I was brought to tears many times in the airport when complete strangers clapped and told us ‘Welcome Home’ and nothing like what my Vietnam brothers experienced. I’m proud of my service to my country and I’m a better person for it. The friendships are life long and the bonds are sometimes closer than that you would get with family. I got married on December 20, 2013 and recently move my family from Washington State to Texas so we could be closer to a buddy of mine that I served with in Iraq. In fact we are all living together in the same house at the moment while we look for work.

I’m heavily involved with the Veterans of Foreign Wars (VFW) serving as an officer in many post-positions. I currently run the Web and Social media program for my post. I’m also a member of Iraq and Afghanistan Veterans of America (IAVA), Disabled American Veterans (DAV), and fully support Concerned Veterans for America (CVA).

I’m proud of everything I’ve done. I’ve spent a lot of time writing and talking with other people about the stigma’s associated with PTSD and have even had OpEd’s published regarding that.
~ Joe Stone, Sr., Iraq and Afghanistan Veteran

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