(Operation Iraqi Freedom 03-04 | 101st Combat Aviation Brigade | Q-West Airfield, Iraq | Fort Rucker Flight School)
Before we dive into these stories, let’s set the stage. This was Operation Iraqi Freedom 03-04 (OIF 03-04), and I was serving with the 101st Combat Aviation Brigade as a brand-new Apache pilot.
Fresh out of Fort Rucker Flight School (now Fort Novosel), I had gone through Officer Basic Course (OBC) and spent time studying the aviators who flew in Vietnam, thinking, man, that is so cool. That was, until I got my orders—straight to Hunt Army Airfield to catch up with my unit already deployed to Iraq.
No transition, no slow buildup—just straight into combat-loaded flights in an Apache. And let me tell you, I quickly realized I could’ve used a little more time on my gunnery tables to ensure I knew exactly what I was doing. Was I scared? Hell yes. But these stories aren’t about fear—they’re about the absurd, the funny, the unbelievable, and the moments that, even now, bring back memories that make me laugh, shake my head, and yes, sometimes even tear up.
Now, how does all this tie into winemaking? I’ll let you decide—but if nothing else, the lessons I learned in the cockpit have shaped me into the vintner I am today.
Lesson #1: Always Carry an Extra Pencil
(Or How I Earned a Very Unfortunate Call Sign)
It was my fourth flight in country, up near Qayyarah Airfield (Q-West) in northern Iraq. It had been a relatively quiet day, and I was gearing up for my night orientation flight. I had everything laid out—checklists, maps, notes, and of course, my trusty knee board with a pencil. I was ready to go, helmet on, HDU (helmet display unit) aligned, everything squared away.
And then… I dropped my damn pencil.
Now, if you’ve never been in the front seat of an Apache, let me paint a picture for you: I’m 210 pounds, crammed into a tiny space wearing body armor, with an M4, a 9mm, and all sorts of gear strapped to me. I could barely move, let alone retrieve my pencil. So, I did what any good officer would do—I called for help.
“Crew chief, I need assistance up here.”
He climbs up the side of the aircraft, leans in, and asks, “Where’s your pencil, sir?”
“…It’s between my legs.”
Now, I get it—it sounded bad. But I really had dropped my pencil down there, and I needed it back. The W-4 in my backseat, getting ready to fire up the APU (auxiliary power unit), hadn’t said much—until the camera flashes went off.
Yep. My backseater carried a disposable camera and captured the moment for posterity.
Needless to say, I spent the rest of the deployment hearing, “Hey, sir, you asking anybody to look for your pencil lately?”
Lesson Learned:
Always carry an extra pencil—especially when flying combat missions in Iraq.
Lesson #2: Perspective is Everything
(Or Why Standing on a Rooftop Watching Rockets is a Bad Idea)
In Iraq, it wasn’t uncommon for the enemy to launch rockets from the berms surrounding our bases. Most people, upon hearing incoming rounds, would take cover.
Not us.
One night, while the alarm bells were going off, I was standing on a rooftop with an S3 major and a sergeant major. We cracked open some Coca-Colas and just watched the rockets fly.
We weren’t being brave—just young, dumb, and probably a little too fascinated by the fireworks. At the time, it felt surreal—like we were spectators instead of targets. Now? I look back and think, Damn, that was pretty stupid. But sometimes, when you’ve been in the thick of it, your perception of risk changes.
Fast forward to years later—I was in Africa, and Gina was on the phone with me as sirens blared in the background.
“Why aren’t you going to the shelter?” she asked.
“Babe, I haven’t done that in a long time.”
Some habits never change.
Lesson #3: The Perils of Redneck Engineering
(Or The Time Our Makeshift Shower Almost Killed Us)
When I first arrived in Iraq, showers were a luxury we didn’t have for the first two months. Then, someone got creative.
In a burned-out building, we figured out how to rig a 220V hot water heater to a water can, mounted it above a pallet in a closet, and called it a shower.
It was sketchy as hell—but it was warm, and it worked.
Until it didn’t.
One day, a medic walked over and said, “Sir, I think there’s something wrong with the shower.”
“What’s wrong?” I asked.
“Every time I touch the handle, I get shocked.”
Sure enough, the wiring had a short, and anyone turning the metal knob got a good 220-volt jolt. A few more people got zapped before higher-ups found out and banned our makeshift shower. Turns out, another soldier on a different FOB had died from a similar setup.
Lesson Learned:
Some inventions should never see the light of day.
Lesson #4: The Meaning of Holidays
(Or Why I Treasure Every Thanksgiving, Christmas, and Season Now)
By Thanksgiving, they had just finished building our new chow hall, and we got our first real meal in a while—some crazy-looking turkey with cranberry sauce.
As I sat there eating, I thought about home, about my family, about how much I wanted to be there just for that one day.
When I got out of the military, I made a promise to never take holidays for granted again.
I love Christmas.
I love Thanksgiving.
I love watching the seasons change.
Most people don’t think twice about these things—but for those of us who spent years away, they mean everything.
So when you’re home, remember—you’re home because someone else isn’t.
Final Thoughts: How This Ties Into Wine
Every glass of Z&M Twisted Vines wine is a reminder that life is meant to be enjoyed.
From the cockpit to the vineyard, the lessons remain the same:
• Preparation matters.
• Perspective is everything.
• Don’t take life too seriously.
• And always, always have an extra pencil.
Cheers. 
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