The Toll of War: Iraq, five years later

By ROGER W. HOSKINS
rhoskins@modbee.com

last updated: March 19, 2008 12:16:28 PM

IRAQ: Five Years Later

Five years ago, the United States invaded Iraq, touching off a war that's become increasingly unpopular and has cost Americans thousands of lives and billions of dollars. This week, The Bee looks at the war's past, its impact today and what lies ahead.

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• War voices: Mothers speak

War wears many faces. After exactly five years of U.S. military involvement in Iraq, the Northern San Joaquin Valley reflects them all.

Triumph, tragedy, laughter, fear, futility and courage all have crossed the stage in a drama that seems to have no closing curtain. And in a score no one wants to keep, 21 men and women from Modesto and surrounding communities have been killed.

The shadows of war arose with the smoke from 9-11, which primed a nation for battle.

The only question was who would pay. Afghanistan and Osama bin Laden would take a back seat beginning in March 2003. The White House identified its new villain-in-chief as Iraqi dictator Saddam Hussein, one of the least sympathetic characters in the world.

When the bombs burst and the guns fired in Iraq, the early voices of war echoed the bravado of the first days of the American Civil War.

First Lt. Andy Riise of Oakdale wrote his parents just days after the war began about how he felt en route to Iraq: "I received word that the ground war had started in the middle of the flight and my stomach dropped the thousands of feet to the earth. It's a weird feeling knowing you are entering a war zone in the middle of the fight. It's even more frustrating now that the 'Super Bowl' is half over and you're still stuck on the sidelines."

That first week, America learned that justice was a two-edged sword. Victory came with a price. But in the early days of the ground war, grief kept a safe distance in places such as Bloomington, Ill., Harrison County, Miss., and Waterville, Maine. Soon, the casualty list included names from Los Angeles and other California communities.

The sound of cannons was inching ever closer to home.

Dread and worry seized the hearts of many on the homefront. In an age of instant communication, no word at all would shred family nerves. Harried by four little ones at home, Linda Serrato of Modesto couldn't keep her mind off the one in harm's way. She sought help from the men who recruited her son.

Master Sgt. Gilbert Diaz of the Modesto Marine Corps recruiting station advised anxious parents to watch the television news; maybe an embedded reporter would give them a glimpse of loved ones. A few valley parents were sure they had spotted a son or daughter among the desert camouflage uniforms and grimy faces.

Around the Serrato dinner table, the family prayed for Linda's son, Daniel Wongtouwan. Brothers and sisters, ages 5 to 10, would plead in turn for Daniel's safety, good food and protection from lizards. Desert lizards and spiders had frightened them on television and they worried for Daniel.

Modestan George Rezendes, with darkening bags under his eyes, spoke for many parents in the opening weeks of the war. He was looking for news about his son, Thomas Perez, a 1998 graduate of Modesto High. "I haven't slept properly since the war started," Rezendes said. "Last night, I was up until 2 and then up at 7. Then it's war news again. God keep 'em safe."

Divided families and parents of married service personnel dreaded the telephone. A chaplain and bereavement officer visit the closest listed relative, usually the wife or mother. Beyond that circle, families and friends held their breath.

Jim Watts of Modesto knew his son Corey's mother would get the personal visit. Once, the phone rang at an unusual time for Watts, at 10:40 a.m. on a Tuesday. His heart sank and his blood froze. It was a call from Iraq — from Corey.

"I just cried," Watts recalled. "He said, 'Call (Mom). I'm all right. Everything is going according to plan and I should be home soon.' "

A choked up Watts said all he could manage in 60 seconds was, "I'm glad you're all right. Keep your powder dry."

On March 27, 2003, the full weight of war fell upon the Central Valley. Marine Gunnery Sgt. Joseph Menusa of Tracy was killed in an Iraqi ambush. The first blood shed from the valley would hardly be the last.

On May 1 that year, President Bush declared victory in the war with a "mission accomplished" speech aboard a Navy ship. But the fighting and dying went on. The valley learned a new war vocabulary. Opponents of allied forces became "terrorists" and "insurgents." Land mines became IEDs, or improvised explosive devices.