Editor’s note: Army Lt. Matt Spartz, a lifelong Lombard resident, served a one-year tour that ended in May with the 101st Airborne Division in Afghanistan. From there, he provided reports for the Daily Herald on topics ranging from his own wounding to our troops’ reaction to the killing of Osama bin Laden. His final day on active duty is Saturday. Spartz is a 2008 journalism graduate of the University of Illinois.

Last Veterans Day my hands were shaky. I sat in the concrete cubicle that was my room, my oasis, under the sky-scraping Afghan mountains that our company was going to air-assault into during the coming pitch-black hours. I prayed this largest mission of our deployment would be uneventful.

My hands were shaky. I obsessively cleaned and loaded my M4 carbine ammunition, studied my maps and checked the batteries on my radios.

By the end of this mission, called Bulldog Bite, six of our brothers were killed and nearly 20 wounded, including myself.

Today, also Veterans Day, marks my final day on active duty, though it’s technically an Army holiday. My final leave begins Saturday, and I will be separated from the Army on Dec. 1.

The dichotomy of these two days astounds me. A year ago my greatest concern was quite literally staying alive. A five-day air assault mission that involved resources from around the entire country, and a targeted bomb drop that I organized — one that had to be signed off on by former Gen. David Petraeus himself — may as well have been a Bruce Willis movie I fell asleep to on Netflix.

At home these past few months has been back to business-as-usual, and sometimes I forget I was ever even in the war.

A few nights ago I was driving down a narrow street, squinting through a dirty windshield to see the road. My eyes nervously scanned the cliffs buttressing our path. Suddenly there was a white trail of smoke darting from a house. It was too late. It sliced through my windshield and exploded in my face with a concussive BANG! That startled me awake at 2 a.m.

These dreams are now rare but sometimes seem to be the only thing that make my yearlong deployment seem real. Only intense experience could cause such a visceral reaction, I tell myself. Looking back at pictures and reading journal entries from last year may as well be the adventures of Huck Finn — fiction, but familiar.

And if you can believe it, life has gotten much more complicated. Some returning veterans have trouble coping with the mundane mediocrity of finding parking spaces in crowded malls, keeping up with grocery lists and abstract political debates. My girlfriend, Brittany, has effectively become my post-traumatic stress-o-meter, venting my anger at simple problems upward and not outward.

My current stress is now job interviews, relearning business professional matters and wondering what people do on dark fall mornings when you aren’t expected to run until your eyes water, lungs burn and fingers freeze.

War is easy. Wake up, eat, walk, shoot, sleep. Repeat.

After our deployment, and during the readjustment period of last summer, it seemed like I had to run away from the noncombat garrison Army and away from the newly complicated civilian world. I wanted to finally live close to Brittany and find meaning in a nonviolent world. I’d given the Army everything I had on as many days as I could; I ran through a piece of broken bone in my foot, narrowly escaped the shrapnel that ripped a speck of flesh from my arm, the memories of brotherhood lost now a sullen hole in my heart.

Every vet has a life after the Army, and so begins mine. I leave the Army with a smile on my face, knowing it was and will be something I wanted to do in my life, but not for my entire life. The important thing for every separating veteran should be how to revive and appreciate the memories of our service, recognize those who are currently forging their paths, and to serve and strengthen our civilian communities.

But most of all, we honor our fallen brothers. To those I’ve served with: It has been an honor and my greatest pleasure. To those we’ve lost: You’ll never be forgotten.

Copyright © 2011 Paddock Publications, Inc. All rights reserved.

The epic ABU VIDEO!

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Here my CO gets a COIN from the bosses bosses bosses boss…I think… He gave out coins to guys for various things, including having three years or more deployed. One of our guys was even in the 101st during Petraeus’ command in Iraq.

He also presented our Battalion Commander with an Army Commendation with Valor award.

For some time I have thought if I were writing something, it should be worth reading. During the past few months I hadn’t written much, and in fleeting moments I simply figured I didn’t have anything left worth reading. I also had a shadowy fear that I couldn’t write anything worth reading after the fall campaign that claimed six of our soldiers, and the winter passing of my grandpa.

But after nine straight months in combat, I finally had my two weeks “R&R” vacation. I was concerned that being reunited with my family and friends would be a barrage of questions and heart-to-hearts. They were all very understanding, and never pushed an issue farther than I wanted to talk about it.

And that’s when I realized that I could have had plenty to say over the last few months. Sometimes it’s just easier to shut off our brains.

It took actually coming home to realize that I was at a point at which I didn’t even want to come home. I was more than caught in the daily grind. At one point in January, I was filling in for two other officers on their vacations and working 20 hours a day, seven days a week. I could have cared less if I came home or stayed in Afghanistan another year.

My brain was shut off, the cruise control was on.

Coming home did more than hit the dusty reset switch in my brain, and my soul. It gave me a chance to again be on the reader’s end of the war. For example, one tragic incident in my Pech Valley reportedly claimed the lives of nine Afghan children.

One of the few times I spewed some noxious commentary on the issue to my dad and girlfriend, they stared at me in deep thought. They had never considered, for example, that it was a little more than an odd coincidence that a herd of boys were collecting firewood in the mountains during a rocket attack on one of our bases, and that they stayed long enough for helicopters to respond to the situation. They had never heard of boys being used to aid insurgent attacks on coalition forces.

Now, I am in no way saying that is what happened in this incident. This time, I was not there. However, these relative details of Pech Valley fighting are usually glossed over in standard coverage. A U.S. military mistake usually makes a better story than the recent report that civilians killed by the Taliban (75 percent) have risen sharply this year while the numbers accidentally killed by coalition forces have decreased by more than 20 percent.

During my brief home stint many people graciously complimented this column. Here I’d like to apologize for taking the easy road these last few months and turning off my brain. I would like to continue advancing my readers’ depth of understanding of this complex war.

Heck, if I told you I completely understood it I’d be lying.

But now I’ve entered the fourth quarter. One thing Glenbard East football instilled in me was to “play to the whistle.” Let’s just consider the last few months my half time water break. Of course it was my family and friends who reminded me the importance of finishing what you started, even when it’s the hardest thing to do.

So, my brain is back on, and I plan on taking you all with me these last two months to the final end zone.

A C-17 holds 158 passengers. There are over 500 people waiting for flights to Bagram. This place averages two flights a day. One flight from last night was canceled.

I believe this is an ACT question in which the answer is: Not getting out of Kuwait anytime soon.

Getting here was relatively straight forward but anything but painless. The jumbo jet the government commandeers for cost-effective military transport is probably the oldest, most cramped in any modern fleet. It’s like flying in that old, broken down jet from Transformers 2. You know, the one that was a transformer from before the time of the Mayans, and awakens as a falling apart rust bucket.

The plane gives you a comfortable seat 12 inches wide, three to a row on the edges and a claustrophobic four wide in the middle. This allows about negative three inches of shoulder/elbow wiggle room and barely that in leg realestate.

Part of me doesn’t mind a pause in the squirming air travel. If there’s one place to get stuck, this is it. Like I said, good food and actual (albeit, slow) internet. But with the downhill ride to the deployment finish line less than 60 days away, I’d take a time portal to Honaker in a heart beat.

So here I sit in the USO bidding my time. It’s really not all that bad; I had a wonderful breakfast (why is he food so much better in Kuwait?!), read Stars and Stripes, and owned their Sudoku while sitting outside in the thick spring air.

Last night I thought I dreampt of being lost in a giant storm, a concoction of stumbling on a rainy tugboat deck and wandering through some Afghan brush. When I emerged from the tent this morning I realized the air was still pregnant with last night’s very real storm, and sporadic rain continues to pelt a feedback-static on our tent.

But my outlook is fairly bright. Fourth quarter, ladies and gents. Time to pick up the pace, dig deep and grind it out (insert which ever army cliché de jour).

I had an interesting conversation with my besty, Tom, regarding the end of tour slide. It was an odd thing taking leave after nine-plus months. I was definitely in a rut of unforeseeable end. You work so much and are in a place so long, you become so disconnected you don’t really miss “the real world.” Before I left, I could have stayed another year and it may not have phased me. Like hitting the wall on a run, my legs and brain and heart were chugging along without regard to whether it was killing me or not.

Coming home, for better or for worse, reminded me that life exists beyond Afghanistan. I remembered what it was like to have a real day off, to drink coffee on the couch and watch “Meet the Press,” to call and text Britt more than a few times a week, and have it be the same time where she is receiving it. I remembered what it was like to be able to get in my truck and drive anywhere.

Cancun was a different story all together. Besides being the greatest vacation I ever had, I went from one extreme (Afghanistan), to normal (home), to the antithesis of war. This all-inclusive gluttony of relaxation felt like waking up from a bad dream by being thrown into a cold ice bath – eye-opening shock and numbing.

My hair was a little long, I ate way too much, and partied a few times until sun rise. Had anything of the last year actually happened? It didn’t seem so. When my family came to the house for a small get together, it seemed like literally yesterday when they were sending me off on my last birthday. Time in retrospect always fades quickly. The days are long only when you are dragging through them, not in remembering them. But this honestly felt like I had walked out of the longest movie ever, in which I was playing a part, and now the curtains opened, the lights came back on, file to the exists everyone and we hope you come back real soon.

I guess things will get real enough soon enough, so we’ll see how that changes things.

Well this is probably the longest post of the last year; we’ll see if anyone gets this far…

Next stop, Afghanistan – The Ending.

We have been hearing for months that the “fighting season” leaves as soon as the snow arrives. Until the last few weeks, this was not the case. But as the temperature drops and clouds fade to snow fall, these shoeless, roofless mountain warriors have all but clocked out. Not that I’m complaining, but it has been a seismic shift in the order of business.

At times I’ll sit in my room watching a movie on my laptop and completely forget that I’m in Afghanistan, or a “war zone” for that matter. Even when I briefly walk from my room to the latrine through soupy mud puddles, with the mountains ripping rain out of the sky, I might as well be on a camping trip.

The only thing this really does is make my wait for leave arduous. Things aren’t so bad when you’re busy, as the hours scream by like wailing RPGs through the trees. But when you are less than a week from a promised flight to civilization, rainy days can drive one crazy.

I have been less than motivated to write lately. I’m sure my adoring fans have been remiss without my bi/monthly columns (ha!). I’m trying to do what I can to break out of this funk and writer’s block. When that happens, I usually turn to my camera.

We had a visit from the commanding general, ironically named GEN Campbell. He presented one of my soldiers with his valorous award for kicking ass and taking names on New Years Day.

As some know I used to have quite the hand for drawing. Over the years that talent has transfigured to photography and now even some graphic design. Sometimes the hardest thing to do is put my thoughts into words on a page; sometimes it is much easier to write a thousand words in the snap of a shutter. And soon, I’ll be playing with my new 24mm lens! Another reason the wait to go home is so painful…

We had a few (possibly too many) guys on R&R the last month, so I’ve been filling in for nearly five different jobs. It wasn’t terrible, just that taking the ball while running was a lot like drinking from the fire hose.

The only real update in the past few weeks, however, is that it has finally gotten cold enough to show some snow. I realized I hadn’t really updated any photos since, like, October. I’ve gotten pretty sick of taking the same pictures for six months, so I took a break.

But now, new scenery! My CO says he feels like we’re in a Coors Light commercial and I’ll agree to that. Ironically enough it still doesn’t get too cold during the day (for us Chicago descendents) but the nights are nearly freezing.

Other than that, we haven’t let up on taking the fight to the enemy. Yesterday we tested our TOW missle system that was back from maintenance, and I got one of the best shots of the deployment!

Now, R&R is right around the corner. At the end of February I’ll be taking my “mid tour leave” – at month 10 of 12. Oh well. When I get back, there will be less than two months left!

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I faced my greatest fear in the sky-scraping mountains of the Pech Valley’s Taliban training havens, and now that fear no longer scares me.

My greatest fear was not death. I’ve been incrementally inoculated from the physical pains of war with every rocket-propelled grenade (RPG) that blew up within 20 feet of me without harm, and every bullet that has kicked up the dirt next to me, including the one that found a place in my right arm.

My greatest fear has always been that during the crucial time, when another soldier needed me the most, I would fail him.

During last week’s battle in the Pech Valley all I did was my job. Part of that job was getting air and artillery support for “Buka” platoon that was cut off from our main position. It was an excruciatingly hard task to get the right helicopters and artillery to their position, while my own position was being lit up by RPGs and with the enemy in hand grenade range. I had to fight my frustrations and instincts that told me to use my M4 carbine and fire on the enemy in front of me. I wished I could have had 100 grenades to throw.

Buka’s platoon sergeant, Sgt. 1st Class John Flemming, witnessed his men getting shot and rained with shrapnel. Under fire, Flemming administered aid to his soldiers, including patching an entrance wound in a soldier’s back and the exit wound in his chest. Once I gained control of the air assets, I sent them immediately for Buka’s position. Flemming guided the aircraft to provide suppressive fires for his position, long enough for his wounded men to be evacuated.

In the end, Buka lost four warriors in that fight, and even more were wounded and won’t return to duty this deployment.

Yet the first thing Flemming did when our men were back together was thank me for saving his life, and the lives of the rest of his platoon.

I shook his hand in awe. I told Flemming I wish I could have done more. I wish I could have held my radio in one hand and my M4 in the other, effectively using both.

The antibody to my fear is love, delivered over and over again by the greatest soldiers who’ve ever existed, who’ve given their lives for something greater than themselves.

This love also can be overwhelming. After that hard fight, we honored the four Buka platoon warriors and two others who were lost. Just before the memorial began one of the Buka soldiers was standing next to me. Large, blown-up pictures of his friends, whom I barely knew, stood atop wooden easels behind the display of tan boots, upside down M4s with dangling dog tags, topped with a lone helmet.

With tears in his eyes that soldier turned to me.

“Sir, I never got a chance to personally thank you for sending us that air (support) the other day,” he said. “Thank you.”

My greatest fear is still that I would let a soldier down in his greatest time of need. But this fear no longer scares me. I would run toward this fear 1,000 times if it meant a chance to live up to the example that these men have set for me.

I was just the guy with the radio. Now I’m just the guy with the pen.

The men of Abu Company will never forget them.

Spc. Shane H. Ahmed.

Spc. PC Nathan E. Lillard.

Spc. Scott T. Nagorski.

Spc. Jesse A. Snow.

Spc. Shannon Chihuahua.

Pfc. Christian M. Warriner.

Copyright © 2010 Paddock Publications, Inc. All rights reserved.

Sun streaking over the Pech Valley mountains are breathtaking in the morning. But winter is truly setting in; the sun used to rise at 0430 and now doesn’t make it up until after 6 a.m., and is gone by 6 p.m.

Here is our awesome front porch where most socializing/golf ball hitting takes place.

Alpha Company guidon — ABU!

Here’s my new setup. It feels uncannily like living in a U of I dorm again, which is about 1,000 times better than my previous living quarters. This is in an actual concrete building!

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Yes, I use a UGR-A (bulk rations) box for my filing system! And all of your cards and notes and pictures don’t go unnoticed — I’ve begun my  new wall!

I even have an actual storage system and an Afghan mat. The mat really pulls the place together and keeps the “prison feel” out of the room.

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Yes, we have a fire pit. At LTC in Ft. Knox circa 2007 my fellow Illini laughed that we had bon fires. Whose laughing now!

The glorious view up one of the valleys.