Tuesday, July 15, 2003
Thursday, July 10, 2003
Wednesday, July 9, 2003
Friday, April 4, 2003
OTTAWA DAILY TIMES: Embed With the Media
KUWAIT – It’s a word that, by now, if you’re watching any sort of news coverage about Operation Iraqi Freedom, you’ve heard hundreds of times.
“Embed.”
“We now go to our embedded reporter…”
“…who is embedded with…”
More than five hundred members of the media, and close to ten of our own AFN correspondents (including myself, embedded with V Corps out of Germany), are also members of this elite group of journalists that is the new catch phrase of the media.
Operation Iraq Freedom is the biggest campaign ever to involve members of the media in a war, as it happens. It’s the chance of a lifetime that one journalist for the New York Times relishes.
“Well, I just read about it and it sounded like a very interesting idea. I was quite frankly pleased to get out here, see what it was like, and do it.”
Harold Weinarub is actually an entertainment correspondent for the Times out of Los Angeles. He got the call from his editor several months ago to see if he was willing to trade in the bright lights of Hollywood for the blazing sun of the Kuwaiti desert.
“To be honest, I had no idea what to expect, what it would be like, and when you read about being embedded, it’s all very hypothetical. For me at least, it’s been a very positive experience.”
Embedding is nothing new. During World War 2, journalists like Edward R. Murrow and Walter Cronkite were assigned as war correspondents to units making the jump into France or the Allied landing at Normandy. Vietnam even had several reporters attached to units, though at the time they weren’t known as embeds.
What is new in this war is the scale of the coverage and the technology.
Most embedded reporters have instant access to cable news channels or their newspapers by way of a videophone, or even a satellite uplink. Gone are the days when networks and papers would have to wait for a film canister or the mail to be delivered. They get the news from their embedded correspondents as it happens, right on the ground. Even we have a videophone that is used to send daily reports back to our headquarters in Frankfurt, Germany.
But the technology is only as successful as the story, or even the storyteller.
Weinraub is also embedded with V Corps. This isn’t the first time he’s seen combat.
“I spent two years in the Army and I covered Vietnam, so that’s why they asked me.”
As I glance at the chemical protection mask fastened to his side, I asked him if this war was more dangerous for him than the war in Vietnam.
“I don’t know about danger, but the different element here is a chemical attack. It’s new. My wife is, as you can imagine, really nervous, and I try to assure her that I’m not in any real danger.”
His regular entertainment beat with the New York Times usually involves interviewing famous actors and entertainers.
The only stars Weinraub sees on this assignment are the ones on a General’s uniform. He’s eager to get into Iraq.
“I just want to get up there, whether by convoy or helicopter, and I think it’s going to be in the cards. It’s where everything is going on.”
“Embed.”
“We now go to our embedded reporter…”
“…who is embedded with…”
More than five hundred members of the media, and close to ten of our own AFN correspondents (including myself, embedded with V Corps out of Germany), are also members of this elite group of journalists that is the new catch phrase of the media.
Operation Iraq Freedom is the biggest campaign ever to involve members of the media in a war, as it happens. It’s the chance of a lifetime that one journalist for the New York Times relishes.
“Well, I just read about it and it sounded like a very interesting idea. I was quite frankly pleased to get out here, see what it was like, and do it.”
Harold Weinarub is actually an entertainment correspondent for the Times out of Los Angeles. He got the call from his editor several months ago to see if he was willing to trade in the bright lights of Hollywood for the blazing sun of the Kuwaiti desert.
“To be honest, I had no idea what to expect, what it would be like, and when you read about being embedded, it’s all very hypothetical. For me at least, it’s been a very positive experience.”
Embedding is nothing new. During World War 2, journalists like Edward R. Murrow and Walter Cronkite were assigned as war correspondents to units making the jump into France or the Allied landing at Normandy. Vietnam even had several reporters attached to units, though at the time they weren’t known as embeds.
What is new in this war is the scale of the coverage and the technology.
Most embedded reporters have instant access to cable news channels or their newspapers by way of a videophone, or even a satellite uplink. Gone are the days when networks and papers would have to wait for a film canister or the mail to be delivered. They get the news from their embedded correspondents as it happens, right on the ground. Even we have a videophone that is used to send daily reports back to our headquarters in Frankfurt, Germany.
But the technology is only as successful as the story, or even the storyteller.
Weinraub is also embedded with V Corps. This isn’t the first time he’s seen combat.
“I spent two years in the Army and I covered Vietnam, so that’s why they asked me.”
As I glance at the chemical protection mask fastened to his side, I asked him if this war was more dangerous for him than the war in Vietnam.
“I don’t know about danger, but the different element here is a chemical attack. It’s new. My wife is, as you can imagine, really nervous, and I try to assure her that I’m not in any real danger.”
His regular entertainment beat with the New York Times usually involves interviewing famous actors and entertainers.
The only stars Weinraub sees on this assignment are the ones on a General’s uniform. He’s eager to get into Iraq.
“I just want to get up there, whether by convoy or helicopter, and I think it’s going to be in the cards. It’s where everything is going on.”
Thursday, April 3, 2003
2002 MG Keith L. Ware Journalism Awards Competition Results
USAREUR News Release
Judging for the 2002 Keith L. Ware Journalism Awards Competition was conducted March 5-6, 2003, in Alexandria, Va. A panel of 23 professionals from the commercial media, academia and Department of Defense community personnel reviewed 230 print and 80 broadcast submissions. Comments from the judges will be released to the field in the future. Examples of placing print entries will also be made available on the new KLW Web site. Top entries will be forwarded to DoD for the Thomas Jefferson Competition April 22-25. American Forces Information Service is scheduled to announce results May 5. The following is a list of Department of the Army winners in broadcast categories:
The John T. Anderson Military Broadcast Journalist is SGT Eric Shadowens, AFN South, Italy (ABS)
The Civilian Broadcast Journalist is Kane Richard Farabaugh, AFN Europe, Germany (ABS)
The second “Rising Star” for Outstanding New Broadcaster is SPC Krestin Harrington, AFN Korea (ABS)
Judging for the 2002 Keith L. Ware Journalism Awards Competition was conducted March 5-6, 2003, in Alexandria, Va. A panel of 23 professionals from the commercial media, academia and Department of Defense community personnel reviewed 230 print and 80 broadcast submissions. Comments from the judges will be released to the field in the future. Examples of placing print entries will also be made available on the new KLW Web site. Top entries will be forwarded to DoD for the Thomas Jefferson Competition April 22-25. American Forces Information Service is scheduled to announce results May 5. The following is a list of Department of the Army winners in broadcast categories:
The John T. Anderson Military Broadcast Journalist is SGT Eric Shadowens, AFN South, Italy (ABS)
The Civilian Broadcast Journalist is Kane Richard Farabaugh, AFN Europe, Germany (ABS)
The second “Rising Star” for Outstanding New Broadcaster is SPC Krestin Harrington, AFN Korea (ABS)
Wednesday, April 2, 2003
OTTAWA DAILY TIMES: Sound the Alarm
KUWAIT – It’s o’ dark thirty somewhere near the airport. In our large tent, hundreds of soldiers are playing cards, talking, getting ready for a night’s rest on the plywood floor. Most are stuck here, just passing the time while they wait to move “forward.”
Many of the soldiers that we’re with are from the 300 Quartermaster Company from Peru, Illinois, deployed here to help in Operation Iraq Freedom. They’re here waiting to get to the front lines.
The steady hum of cargo and passenger aircraft traffic on the nearby tarmac has a soothing effect as this background noise drifts into the dark Kuwait night.
It’s all suddenly drowned out by the piercing scream of an air raid siren.
“Lightning…Lightning” comes the voice over the loudspeaker, and in an instant, the tent comes to life. Everyone springs for their gas mask. It’s something they’ve been training for, but here in Kuwait, it’s not a drill.
“There will be no more SCUD EXCERCISES,” reads a sign on the entrance to the chow hall. “If you hear an alarm, it’s the REAL THING.”
Real thing indeed. I’m caught up in the middle of this whirlwind of activity, when I suddenly realize, I’m not immune. When the alarm sounds, it means everyone is a target, including me.
I was trained to get my gas mask on in nine seconds. After getting over the initial shock of the alarm, and then finally finding my mask, I calculated it took me about fifteen seconds. My colleague, Army Sergeant Joe Thompson, is obviously a pro at this, and is halfway done with donning his MOPP gear by the time I’m finished fumbling with my mask.
The chemical protective jacket and trousers are called J-LIST in Army lingo, and they come sealed by convection in foil pouches. Once they’re opened, they have a shelf life of about one hundred and twenty days, and already our first day in Kuwait, we have to open them.
“Thank God we’ve got two sets of this,” I said to myself while realizing a long and dangerous road is ahead of us, provided we make it through this alarm.
The soldiers around me are gearing up for a fight, locked and loaded, full battle rattle and guns ready as I finish putting on my chemical protective gear.
It’s hot in this stuff. The JLIST was not really made for warm climates, and even in the middle of the night when the weather is cool in Kuwait, I’m working up a dreadful sweat just existing in the extra layer of protection.
Joe breaks his glasses in the process of putting on his gear, and just when I begin to ask him what we should do next, a voice can be heard above the waning of the air raid siren.
“All Clear, All Clear” comes as a welcome sigh of relief for all of us in the tent, and the first thing that comes off is my gas mask.
That’s when another voice comes over the radio, in a thick British accent.
“All Clear, All Clear… British Forces… All Clear.” I tried to figure out why the British troops needed a special message. This becomes the running joke with many of the soldiers in our tent the rest of the night.
No word filters down as to what caused the alarm, and images of Patriot missiles blasting SCUDS out of the sky start running through my head.
I packed up my JLIST, my mask, and put it all back in my duffel bags to get ready for our journey into the city of Kuwait the next morning.
Three hours later, it was clear this was an exercise in futility.
“Lightning, Lightning…..”
The tent springs to life again. A soldier across from me cracks a joke as he dons his gas mask.
“Gooooooooood Morning Kuwait!”
Many of the soldiers that we’re with are from the 300 Quartermaster Company from Peru, Illinois, deployed here to help in Operation Iraq Freedom. They’re here waiting to get to the front lines.
The steady hum of cargo and passenger aircraft traffic on the nearby tarmac has a soothing effect as this background noise drifts into the dark Kuwait night.
It’s all suddenly drowned out by the piercing scream of an air raid siren.
“Lightning…Lightning” comes the voice over the loudspeaker, and in an instant, the tent comes to life. Everyone springs for their gas mask. It’s something they’ve been training for, but here in Kuwait, it’s not a drill.
“There will be no more SCUD EXCERCISES,” reads a sign on the entrance to the chow hall. “If you hear an alarm, it’s the REAL THING.”
Real thing indeed. I’m caught up in the middle of this whirlwind of activity, when I suddenly realize, I’m not immune. When the alarm sounds, it means everyone is a target, including me.
I was trained to get my gas mask on in nine seconds. After getting over the initial shock of the alarm, and then finally finding my mask, I calculated it took me about fifteen seconds. My colleague, Army Sergeant Joe Thompson, is obviously a pro at this, and is halfway done with donning his MOPP gear by the time I’m finished fumbling with my mask.
The chemical protective jacket and trousers are called J-LIST in Army lingo, and they come sealed by convection in foil pouches. Once they’re opened, they have a shelf life of about one hundred and twenty days, and already our first day in Kuwait, we have to open them.
“Thank God we’ve got two sets of this,” I said to myself while realizing a long and dangerous road is ahead of us, provided we make it through this alarm.
The soldiers around me are gearing up for a fight, locked and loaded, full battle rattle and guns ready as I finish putting on my chemical protective gear.
It’s hot in this stuff. The JLIST was not really made for warm climates, and even in the middle of the night when the weather is cool in Kuwait, I’m working up a dreadful sweat just existing in the extra layer of protection.
Joe breaks his glasses in the process of putting on his gear, and just when I begin to ask him what we should do next, a voice can be heard above the waning of the air raid siren.
“All Clear, All Clear” comes as a welcome sigh of relief for all of us in the tent, and the first thing that comes off is my gas mask.
That’s when another voice comes over the radio, in a thick British accent.
“All Clear, All Clear… British Forces… All Clear.” I tried to figure out why the British troops needed a special message. This becomes the running joke with many of the soldiers in our tent the rest of the night.
No word filters down as to what caused the alarm, and images of Patriot missiles blasting SCUDS out of the sky start running through my head.
I packed up my JLIST, my mask, and put it all back in my duffel bags to get ready for our journey into the city of Kuwait the next morning.
Three hours later, it was clear this was an exercise in futility.
“Lightning, Lightning…..”
The tent springs to life again. A soldier across from me cracks a joke as he dons his gas mask.
“Gooooooooood Morning Kuwait!”
Sunday, March 30, 2003
OTTAWA DAILY TIMES: KC-10 Crews Support the War Effort
KUWAIT - Before the bombs start falling and the bullets start flying, they first have to get to the battlefield. It’s part of the massive military airlift that falls on the wings of the U.S. Air Force, and it keeps the war-fighter in business.
“These planes are constantly running,” says flying crew chief SSgt Michael Hojnicki, as he points out the window during a flight into the Middle East. “It’s the road to Kuwait.”
Out the cockpit window is a line of U.S. Air Force C-17 cargo planes spewing contrails into the afternoon sky somewhere above Europe.
We’re on board a KC-10 refueler, the military version of the McDonnell Douglas DC-10. The plane has a dual mission when heading into Central Command’s battlefield.
“Our primary mission is refueling, but we can carry almost as much cargo as a C-5,” says Airman First Class Carl Wise II, referring to the C-5 Galaxy – the biggest plane in the Air Force inventory. Airman Wise entered the Air Force nineteen months ago, and just got certified as a refueling boom operator last month.
“As you can see, it’s hard to fit tanks in here,” he remarks as he checks the safety harness on the dozens of crates in the cargo hold, “but you’d be surprised at what we can carry.”
“We just unloaded a lot of ‘boom-boom’,” says one airman. “Boom-Boom” is slang for ammunition, and it’s a part of the regular cargo flowing into the region. “It’s amazing the amount of work these planes are doing.”
About a dozen of these KC-10’s from McGuire Air Force Base in New Jersey are constantly airborne, forming a chain that stretches from the states to Ramstein Air Base in Germany and then on to Kuwait. Dozens of crews swap in and out, but for the most part, the planes fly around the world, around the clock.
“Sometimes we fly into Kuwait and we’re in MOPP [Mission Oriented Protective Posture] level 4,” says Hojnicki, which means everyone has to don chemical protection gear. Kuwait is a frequent target of missiles launched from Iraq.
The pace of operations in and out of Central Command’s Area of Responsibility (AOR) puts the crew of these KC-10’s on grueling schedules, some working 26-hour shifts. It also keeps many of the airmen away from their family for long periods of time.
“In the last four months, I might have seen my wife about 12 days total,” says SSgt Hojnicki. “I joined the Air Force eight years ago, and when the recruiter asked me what I wanted to do, I told him I wanted to travel. I’ve done a lot of that.”
He just got married last August, and his wife isn’t thrilled about him being on the road all the time.
“She cries every time I leave. She never gets used to it.” He’s scheduled to take his honeymoon, delayed since last year, in three weeks - if he makes it back to New Jersey in time. He’s keeping his fingers crossed, and looking forward to some time on the beach in Hawaii.
SSgt David Guerrero has similar headaches. He’s scheduled to get married on July 5th.
“We’ve got wedding insurance, but hopefully I’ll make it back and we won’t need it. They’re still honoring leave.”
The crew keeps in touch with family and friends through e-mail, on the infrequent occasion they have internet access when they’re on the ground. They can also make phone calls using MARS (Military Affiliate Radio System) through the HAM (amateur) radiophone patch on board the aircraft.
Joining the fight in Operation Iraqi Freedom is different for these airmen. Instead of a dusty tent somewhere in the desert, these guys get an air-conditioned cabin and occasional shut-eye in and out of hotels, where they also get updates on the war through CNN. Despite the tough schedule and the separation from friends and family, the crew says they’re proud of their role in Operation Iraqi Freedom.
During a break in his duties, SSgt Hojnicki explains why that patriotism and pride comes naturally with this mission.
“If we weren’t doing this, we’d be training, so this is what we train to do, and now we get to do it. I wouldn’t want to be on any other plane. I love it.”
“These planes are constantly running,” says flying crew chief SSgt Michael Hojnicki, as he points out the window during a flight into the Middle East. “It’s the road to Kuwait.”
Out the cockpit window is a line of U.S. Air Force C-17 cargo planes spewing contrails into the afternoon sky somewhere above Europe.
We’re on board a KC-10 refueler, the military version of the McDonnell Douglas DC-10. The plane has a dual mission when heading into Central Command’s battlefield.
“Our primary mission is refueling, but we can carry almost as much cargo as a C-5,” says Airman First Class Carl Wise II, referring to the C-5 Galaxy – the biggest plane in the Air Force inventory. Airman Wise entered the Air Force nineteen months ago, and just got certified as a refueling boom operator last month.
“As you can see, it’s hard to fit tanks in here,” he remarks as he checks the safety harness on the dozens of crates in the cargo hold, “but you’d be surprised at what we can carry.”
“We just unloaded a lot of ‘boom-boom’,” says one airman. “Boom-Boom” is slang for ammunition, and it’s a part of the regular cargo flowing into the region. “It’s amazing the amount of work these planes are doing.”
About a dozen of these KC-10’s from McGuire Air Force Base in New Jersey are constantly airborne, forming a chain that stretches from the states to Ramstein Air Base in Germany and then on to Kuwait. Dozens of crews swap in and out, but for the most part, the planes fly around the world, around the clock.
“Sometimes we fly into Kuwait and we’re in MOPP [Mission Oriented Protective Posture] level 4,” says Hojnicki, which means everyone has to don chemical protection gear. Kuwait is a frequent target of missiles launched from Iraq.
The pace of operations in and out of Central Command’s Area of Responsibility (AOR) puts the crew of these KC-10’s on grueling schedules, some working 26-hour shifts. It also keeps many of the airmen away from their family for long periods of time.
“In the last four months, I might have seen my wife about 12 days total,” says SSgt Hojnicki. “I joined the Air Force eight years ago, and when the recruiter asked me what I wanted to do, I told him I wanted to travel. I’ve done a lot of that.”
He just got married last August, and his wife isn’t thrilled about him being on the road all the time.
“She cries every time I leave. She never gets used to it.” He’s scheduled to take his honeymoon, delayed since last year, in three weeks - if he makes it back to New Jersey in time. He’s keeping his fingers crossed, and looking forward to some time on the beach in Hawaii.
SSgt David Guerrero has similar headaches. He’s scheduled to get married on July 5th.
“We’ve got wedding insurance, but hopefully I’ll make it back and we won’t need it. They’re still honoring leave.”
The crew keeps in touch with family and friends through e-mail, on the infrequent occasion they have internet access when they’re on the ground. They can also make phone calls using MARS (Military Affiliate Radio System) through the HAM (amateur) radiophone patch on board the aircraft.
Joining the fight in Operation Iraqi Freedom is different for these airmen. Instead of a dusty tent somewhere in the desert, these guys get an air-conditioned cabin and occasional shut-eye in and out of hotels, where they also get updates on the war through CNN. Despite the tough schedule and the separation from friends and family, the crew says they’re proud of their role in Operation Iraqi Freedom.
During a break in his duties, SSgt Hojnicki explains why that patriotism and pride comes naturally with this mission.
“If we weren’t doing this, we’d be training, so this is what we train to do, and now we get to do it. I wouldn’t want to be on any other plane. I love it.”
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