<body><div><figure><img src="https://img.particlenews.com/image.php?type=thumbnail_580x000&amp;url=3YHp9C_1Gz3zCoi00" alt="https://img.particlenews.com/image.php?url=3YHp9C_1Gz3zCoi00" width="400" height="500" ><figcaption>Bulletin photo by Joseph Ciembroniewicz Carlos Bernal, a medically separated captain in US Air Force 1st Special Operations Wing, took up photography as a hobby. After he got connected with the Johnson County Cowgirls, he began shooting their rodeo events at the Johnson County Fairgrounds. Bernal said that photography helps him to focus on the beauty in the world. Joseph Ciembroniewicz</figcaption></figure>As a young Air Force captain, Carlos Bernal led special operations teams into combat on missions the government never publicly acknowledged. Nowadays, he spends his days behind a camera documenting events such as the Johnson County Fair and Rodeo.He calls his camera his “emotional support dog.”Bernal, a Buffalo resident since 2020, was medically separated after an injury in northern Iraq and then spent decades fighting for the veterans benefits he was owed. His passion for photography, he said, is what puts his mind at ease.“When I put the camera up, just silence,” he said. “And then I think about, what’s the subject matter? What am I going to try to capture here? What’s the emotion?”Flight commanderGrowing up in Wasco, California, Bernal was fascinated by the Apollo space program. In high school, he saw a commercial for the U.S. Air Force Academy and made up his mind.“Holy crap, that’s what I want to do. I want to be an astronaut,” he said.Good grades and a congressional nomination got him into the academy. He graduated in 1984 with a degree in aerospace engineering and was assigned to the Air Force Space Division, where he helped manage shuttle and satellite operations.In January 1986, he was in Houston as the safety specialist for a satellite aboard the space shuttle Challenger when it broke apart after launch. Afterward, the Air Force ended its shuttle program, and Bernal’s route to space closed with it.The Air Force sent him to navigator school instead, where he graduated first in his class. Every top graduate wants fighters, he said, but no slots were open. His squadron commander told him he instead had intentions for him in special operations.Bernal was assigned to the 1st Special Operations Wing at Hurlburt Field, Florida. The “Air Commandos,” as the unit was known, delivered Delta Force and Navy SEAL teams into hostile territory by parachute from C-130 aircraft or by helicopter. Every mission was classified.“I got to see the world twice, but I also saw a lot of the bad parts of the world,” he said.He rose from lieutenant to captain and became a flight commander, responsible for two full teams and, at one point, 128 troops, some of whom outranked him. A lieutenant colonel and two majors took his orders, he said, and were fine with it.The job went far beyond the mission, with personnel management requiring significant time and energy. From one sergeant who had credit card companies trying to reach him, to multiple troops whose wives sent them divorce papers and others who were expecting kids — those were the kind of situations dealt with as a flight commander.Bernal was gone constantly. From August 1990 to May 1994, he said that the longest stretch he spent at home was 11 days. He estimates his unit’s divorce rate at about 60%, with his first marriage being among those.He also learned something about himself that he looks back on with regret. A fellow captain once pulled him aside and told him that his “obsession” with completing the mission at all costs was going to get the team killed. Therapists later called it adrenaline addiction.“I became addicted to the adrenaline rush,” he said. “If a really crazy, impossible mission was presented, I wanted to jump on that immediately.”Back to civilian lifeWhile conducting operations supporting Kurdish civilians in northern Iraq, Bernal suffered a severe lower back injury to his vertebrae. He could no longer jump with his teams or lead missions. The military flew him to Bethesda, Maryland, where doctors told him they could not repair the damage. Three weeks later, he was a civilian.He had made the promotion list for major but was separated before he could earn the rank.On his way out, he was taken into a secure room and told he could never discuss what he had done.Bernal said the Department of Veterans Affairs denied his first disability claim, telling him there was no proof he had been in combat because his missions were classified. He fought the decision for roughly 20 years. The mission was eventually declassified in 2020 and his full benefits began that year, though they were not backdated to his original claim.The years in between were difficult for him.“I was angry at the world, and I wanted to burn the world,” he said.He also became addicted to painkillers and developed a problem with alcohol.He also carries the loss of people he served with. He thinks every day about Paul Weaver, a mentor he knew from the academy, who commanded a gunship lost during the first Gulf War. Bernal was told by therapists that the feeling is called survivors’ guilt.A turning pointA turning point for him came in 2003, when he met his wife, Moselle.“She was like an angel from God,” he said. “She has the greatest capacity for forgiveness of anyone I’ve ever met. And I guess I needed that.”Not long after they started dating, he bought a small digital camera to record their life together. He didn’t initially think that the purchase would amount to anything. It took years for the camera to become something else.After the VA recognized his service in 2020, Bernal began receiving PTSD treatment and qualified for the rehabilitation program.“Somewhere in that process, I just kind of started picking up photography,” he said.He couldn’t name one particular moment, but suspects it had something to do with a photograph he saw in downtown Buffalo of a rider on a horse.“I thought, man, that is just beautiful,” he said. “Maybe I can pick up a camera.”In 2022, the Johnson County Cowgirls invited him to photograph their rodeos. Once he was introduced to board members with the Buffalo Chamber of Commerce, the gig eventually became a regular job and he even got connected with the Johnson County Tourism Association. Along the way, he learned some tips and tricks of the trade, like where to stand.“They helped me come out of where I was and just start a whole new hobby,” he said.His passion for photography helps, he said, because it replaces one kind of attention with another. Behind the lens, he thinks about composition, framing, color and light. The more he does it, he said, the fewer intrusive thoughts he has.“It basically blocks everything out, and I can just focus on that one moment,” he said. “My camera became my emotional support dog. It helped me get over PTSD in a big way.”Despite this, he still feels the effects of the disorder. Nightmares of radio calls from teams under fire, constantly looking for defensible positions and the direction that a potential threat might come from are still with him today.“PTSD doesn’t go away,” he said. “I didn’t want to become the disgruntled, disabled veteran and wanted to be a contributing member of society.”What holds him at the rodeo, he said, is what happens in a fraction of a second.“I’m trying to capture the best of the world because I’ve seen the worst,” he said. “When I first got out, I wanted to burn the world down. Now I’m looking to capture all the beauty that there is still in the world.”For Bernal, Veterans Day is first about those who didn’t make it home.“It’s remembering those that have passed,” he said. “That needs to be honored, that folks have died so that you have the right to go vote.”Bernal also thinks about those who don’t make it home in other ways as well. A few years ago, he said, he heard a report on veteran suicide and worked out what the rate would mean for the 128 people he once commanded.“I burst into tears when I heard that,” he said. “We cannot have those vets committing suicide.”He tries to stay close to as many folks he’s served with as possible.“It’s just nice to know that we’re not going to forget each other,” he said. “Some of these guys are closer to me than my family members.”</div></body>

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As a young Air Force captain, Carlos Bernal led special operations teams into combat on missions the government never publicly acknowledged. Nowadays, he spends his days behind a camera documenting events such as the Johnson County Fair and Rodeo. He calls his camera his “emotional support dog.”. Bernal, a...

A new focus after combat

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As a young Air Force captain, Carlos Bernal led special operations teams into combat on missions the government never publicly acknowledged. Nowadays, he s

A new focus after combat

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