By Howard Wilkinson
The Cincinnati Enquirer

Ruth Elliott (left) and her daughter, Mia Supe, send care packages to soldiers in Iraq. (Glenn Hartong photo) | ZOOM |

America saw it all on television - the fallen statue of Saddam, its pieces scattered on the streets of Baghdad, the president flying onto the deck of a returning aircraft carrier to declare an end to the major fighting.

Seeing that, it might be easy to assume the war in Iraq was over.

But people like Ruth Elliott and her daughter, Miah Supe of Clermont County's Union Township, can't do that.

They, like thousands of other Americans and hundreds of Tristate families, still have a loved one on the ground in Iraq. Mrs. Elliott's son - Sgt. 1st Class Bobby Elliott, 39 - is a member of Task Force Ironhorse, 4th Infantry Division. He leads a platoon of young soldiers in a quest to round up the leadership of Saddam Hussein's regime.

"I try not looking at that thing, but I can't help myself," said Mrs. Elliott, pointing to the big-screen TV sitting in the corner of her daughter's living room. "I'm afraid of what I might hear."

What she has heard in recent weeks is not very reassuring. Nearly every day since Baghdad fell, Americans have heard the words "another American casualty" from the TV anchor people during news broadcasts.

Sgt. Elliott

Since President Bush issued his declaration that the major fighting was over, 20 American soldiers and Marines have lost their lives in hostile fire and nearly 40 coalition soldiers have died in accidents. The death toll continues to mount. On Thursday, grenade ambushes and hostile fire killed two more American soldiers, and two more soldiers were declared missing in action.

"People are still dying. American boys are still getting shot at every day," said Tania Ward of Loveland, a military mother who organized the StarSupport Network, a group of about 300 volunteers who have been e-mailing military people overseas and sending care packages.

"I don't know how anybody can read the paper or watch the news and see the casualties still coming in and think this is over," said Ward. "It is not over. We're going to be sending our young people over there for a long time to come."

But it is not just the casualty figures that cause sleepless nights for Mrs. Elliot, her daughter and Sgt. Foster's wife, Aurora Elliott, who lives at Fort Hood, Texas, the 4th Infantry Division's base. It is the nature of what Sgt. Elliott is doing in Iraq.

As part of Task Force Ironhorse, which is assigned to mop up Iraqi opposition, his platoon is under hostile fire every day. Their days are filled with stifling heat, with temperatures soaring often to 130 degrees; sand fleas that swarm and bite; short rations; 2 liters of water; and the anxiety of not knowing whether the smiling and waving young Iraqi who is approaching your Humvee wants to be your friend or blow you to pieces.

"They are living through hell,'' said Aurora Elliott, who is alone at Fort Hood, caring for the couple's 14-year-old daughter and 13-year-old son.

Many military families with loved ones still in Iraq, Aurora Elliott said, are frustrated by signs that the nation's attention may be turning away from the servicemen and women who are still in danger. She has noticed that the TV networks devote less time to news of what is going on in Iraq, that most of the embedded reporters who traveled with the troops during the "hot" war are now long gone.

"Fort Hood is a place where there is nothing but military families; nearly everyone has somebody still over there," Aurora Elliott said. "Most other people don't. And it makes it hard for them to understand what we are still going through."

About two weeks ago, Aurora Elliott's husband was able to make a brief phone call home to Fort Hood. It was a relief for her to know that, at least at that moment, her husband was OK.

But he talked about some of the young men in his platoon who are from poverty-stricken backgrounds or broken homes.

"He said that when mail call comes, a lot of those young guys get nothing," Aurora Elliott said. "Can you imagine how miserable, how lonely, they must be?"

After the call, Aurora Elliott and a number of the other soldiers' wives from the 4th Infantry Division began preparing "care package" boxes for the boys in the platoon who ordinarily get no mail.

So, too, did Miah Supe and Sgt. Elliott's mother. Armed with a list of every soldier in the company - and notes about their backgrounds and circumstances - they began organizing a campaign to have people write letters and packages to the soldiers of the 2nd Brigade Recon, Task Force Ironhorse.

"We don't want one of those young men who is giving so much to have to stand there at mail call and not hear his name called," said Supe. "We want them to know they aren't forgotten."

E-mail hwilkinson@enquirer.com