War Born is the unforgettable true story of Perris Sutton, a man who defied the odds from the moment he entered the world. Born a premature baby weighing just two pounds and given no chance of survival, he grew into a soldier who would dedicate more than 20 eyars to the United States Army. Through grit, faith, and resilience, Perris served with distinction, completing two combat tours in Iraq during some of the most intense and challenging years of the war. His journey is not only about battles fought overseas but also the battles waged within, the scars of trauma, the weight of loss, and the struggle to find identity and healing after service.
Blending raw honesty with powerful storytelling, Perris sheds light on the unseen sacrafices of everyday soldiers, including the experiences of women and LGBTQ service members, whose stories are often overlooked. At its heart, War Born is about redemption and the strength it takes to rise again. It is a memoir that speaks to veterans, military families, and anyone who has ever faced impossible odds. Inspiring and deeply human, this book proves that no matter where you begin, your life can carry purpose, impact, and hope.
War Born is the unforgettable true story of Perris Sutton, a man who defied the odds from the moment he entered the world. Born a premature baby weighing just two pounds and given no chance of survival, he grew into a soldier who would dedicate more than 20 eyars to the United States Army. Through grit, faith, and resilience, Perris served with distinction, completing two combat tours in Iraq during some of the most intense and challenging years of the war. His journey is not only about battles fought overseas but also the battles waged within, the scars of trauma, the weight of loss, and the struggle to find identity and healing after service.
Blending raw honesty with powerful storytelling, Perris sheds light on the unseen sacrafices of everyday soldiers, including the experiences of women and LGBTQ service members, whose stories are often overlooked. At its heart, War Born is about redemption and the strength it takes to rise again. It is a memoir that speaks to veterans, military families, and anyone who has ever faced impossible odds. Inspiring and deeply human, this book proves that no matter where you begin, your life can carry purpose, impact, and hope.
Before I stepped foot in a war zone, I was already fighting battles most people couldn't see. I was born in Los Angeles in 1980 â two pounds, three ounces of premature life that doctors said wouldn't survive. It was told to my mother and my father at the time that I was completely missing my cerebellum (a part of the brain that controls motor functions). Because of this, they said I would have difficulty walking and wouldn't have normal motor functions. But God had other plans.
My story didn't start in basic training or Baghdad; it started while growing up in Denver, Colorado. I came from a family stitched together by faith, resilience, and pain. My parents weren't perfect, but they gave me something priceless: a reason to fight. Long before I wore the uniform, I learned what it meant to endure â and that lesson would become my armor in the years to come.
I spent my adolescence growing up in the Park Hill community of Denver. My mother was a strong, beautiful chocolate-Black woman with a sharp mind and a quick temper. My dad was a tall light-complected Black man and was a strong disciplinarian, who loved sports and his beer. Even with this dynamic, they held a strong relationship, which I was born into. I am the youngest and only boy of four kids. My three sisters had a different father, from my mother's previous marriage, but we never played the "half-sibling" game. My mother would always say "Y'all came out of the same vagina, there's no half nothing." I grew up loving, admiring, and trying to impress my sisters. At times I was a bit mischievous and would become the annoying little brother, but it was merely me seeking love and attention from them.
One day I was riding around with my mom in her minivan. I had to be about 4 or 5 at the time. I was sitting in the back and decided to go to the front seat to get a sip of the soda that was sitting in the cup holder. Unknowingly, my mom made a U-turn in the street to pick up my sisters, and I went flying out the front door. I remember landing on the street and seeing a car in front of me come to a screeching halt. I also remember all three of my sisters running to my assistance. Once I was put in the van, my face was bloody, and I was bruised a little . . . but alive. Jokingly, my oldest sister Katrika said, "You looked like Superman flying out of the car!" We joke about that to this day but I'm thankful that once again God spared my life.
A few years later, my father was diagnosed with colon cancer, a diagnosis that forever changed our family dynamic. My father was a veteran of the Coast Guard, loved his beer, lived in the bars, but also deeply loved his family. Shortly before he passed my father gave his life to the Lord and became a Christian. While he still had strength, I would see him walking laps in the backyard praying and talking to God. He would never tell my mom what he was saying, but I can only imagine he was making peace with the Creator.
The last memory I have of my father was the day he died. By this time, he was out of it due to all the medicine he had to take. I remember he could barely stand or hold his head up. My mother had placed him in the passenger seat of the car and was taking him to church. It was a Saturday, and I had just taught myself how to ride a bike. I saw my mom and dad pulling out of the driveway as I rode up with my bike. I said, "Daddy look, I know how to ride a bike now!" My dad looked at me and could barely hold his head up or eyes steady. He then said, "Lord how mercy" and my mom smiled. After arriving at church my father made it through the whole service. At the altar, my mother wheeled him up to get a prayer and his heart stopped. After being taken to the hospital he was pronounced dead.
After my father passed, my mother stepped up and held our household together with incredible strength. She worked multiple jobs to provide for us, and eventually, my oldest sister joined in helping with bills and sharing the load. Despite the hardships, we always had a roof over our heads. We never needed food stamps or lived in the projects. That stability is a testament to the resilience and determination of two strong Black women who rose to the challenge and made sure we were taken care of.
In the summer of 1991, gang violence in Denver was at an all-time high. I was just ten years old, discovering hiphop and starting to see the gang culture and crack epidemic gripping our community. Around that time, DJ Quik came to Denver to perform at an old skating rink off Colfax Avenue. He had just released his debut album Quik Is the Name, which was making major waves across the West Coast. Quik, a known Tree Top Piru gang member from Compton, was also recognized as one of the first rappers to âbang on waxâ â a term used when gang members represent their set through lyrics and music, turning gang affiliations into recorded soundtracks.
The concert was promoted by a family friend named Petey, who helped organize the event. As part of the opening act, all three of my sisters, along with Katrikaâs friend, were selected to perform a choreographed dance routine. Back then, dancing was a huge part of hiphop culture â acts like Heavy D & the Boyz, Big Daddy Kane, and EPMD often featured background dancers, and movies like House Party and School Daze showed that parties werenât just about violence, they were about fun, music, and movement.
Petey gave my mom permission to bring me along, and I couldnât have been more excited. After my sisters danced, the DJ kept the energy high, spinning popular tracks while I stood out in the crowd with my cousin Nichole, soaking it all in. The place was packed with Bloods and Crips. A few guys recognized Nichole and showed love, dapping me up like I was one of the crew. At ten years old, I felt grown and accepted.
But when DJ Quik finally hit the stage, my mom made me sit in the back with her. Not long after he started performing, chaos broke out. Quik had flashed gang signs at a group of Crips in the front row, and they threw signs back. Then someone hurled a bottle at him, and before long, a group of Crips rushed the stage, forcing Quik and his entourage to flee out the back. He didnât return to perform in Denver for over twenty years.
The incident became infamous. Quik even mentioned it in his 1992 track âJust like Compton,â taking shots at the city with the line: âDenverâŚthey wanna be like Compton.â A lot of us were offended for years. It felt like a diss to our whole city. But like most things, time passed, and the heat died down. Still, for those of us who were there, that night left a mark.
Not long after the DJ Quik concert, I remember being introduced to something totally outside my usual lane â âSmells Like Teen Spiritâ by Nirvana. It was on the radio constantly, and even though I was deep into hiphop, that gritty guitar and raw emotion pulled me in. It was the first time I found myself really vibing with music that wasnât rap. I was hooked. Then came the news â Kurt Cobain, the lead singer, had taken his own life. I remember seeing it all over the TV and just tripping out. I had just been playing their song, feeling the energy, and now he was gone. It was surreal.
¡ I wasn't the smartest in school. In middle school, I was a mediocre student who barely passed any of my math classes. At this same time, I struggled to fit in and was suffering an identity crisis. At home Mom was working multiple jobs, my oldest sister was also working, and my twin sisters were dating, and one had a baby on the way. I was a fourteen-year-old boy who had never kissed a girl, struggled with my identity as a person, and felt a strong pull to get involved in the streets. This was during the time movies like Menace to Society, Boyz in the Hood, and South Central shaped the era and in many ways enticed the youth to want to gangbang. Denver was heavily influenced by the West Coast hiphop culture. At this time most Black youth wore Dicky suits and Chucks and had cornrows or curls on their heads. Lowriders and classic cars bumping E-40 or Tha Dogg Pound were heard cruising down the street. Gang shootings between the Crips and Bloods were prevalent, and the murder rate was rising. There I was, trying to fit in with my Crip homies, wearing Dicky's, Chucks, and implementing "cuzz" and "nigga" in every other word. But deep down I knew this life wasn't for me.
At this time, me and my best friend Tchad a.k.a Quija, were two peas in a pod. Along with my other childhood friend Ladon, we did everything from smoking weed and doing liquor store runouts, to tagging walls, and fighting opposition. Around this time, we both started to rap and take rapping seriously. We would have freestyle sessions and soon Quija could record us and learned how to make beats. In no time we were doing local shows and recording music. Back then I didn't even have a rap name, not until years later did I come up with the stage name King Real. But the hunger, love, and drive were put in me by Quija and my love for music.
The street life for me was very short-lived, damn near nonexistent. By junior year in high school I was going to a new school away from my last school district. This was after my mom had put me in a Christian private school for my freshman and sophomore years. I guess after the many fights I had been in, and the horrible grades I was getting, my mother said enough, and back to public school I went. Starting at Rangeview High School was a brand-new start to life. I was away from my childhood homies and didn't know anybody I was going to school with. It sucked being the new kid but now I look back and see it was God's plan to give me a new start, but also his plan to usher me into my destiny of being a soldier.
While I was at Rangeview High School, I didnât play any sports, but I did attend a few basketball games. One game in particular stood out â Rangeview was playing Columbine High School. I remember sitting in the stands and seeing two kids who looked completely out of place. They were both wearing long trench coats and sunglasses indoors, and there was just something odd about them. They didnât stay long, maybe half a quarter, but they left an impression. Not long after this, on April 20, 1999, we got word that a mass shooting had taken place at Columbine High School. It shook all of us. Columbine is only about 22 miles from Rangeview. I didnât personally know anyone from Columbine, but the connection felt disturbingly close.
After seeing the news coverage later and the faces of the suspects, Eric Harris and Dylan Klebold, I was almost sure they were the same two I saw at that basketball game. I couldnât be 100% certain, but the resemblance was eerie. The way they were dressed, the sunglasses, the trench coats, it all matched. Something about them had felt off that day, and after the shooting it all clicked in a way that sent chills down my spine. Rest in peace to all the innocent lives lost at Columbine. Your memory lives on, and may we never forget the pain and lessons of that tragic day.
One day at school, I noticed an Army recruiter â SFC Santiago â posted up with a table in the hallway. I stopped out of curiosity, drawn in by the setup and the energy around it. I had already started thinking about the Army after watching Saving Private Ryan. That D-Day scene hit differently â it was powerful, raw, and honestly, it felt gangsta. It sparked something in me, especially knowing my grandfather had fought in World War II. I thought to myself, "I could do that." SFC Santiago and I started talking. He pulled out pictures from the Gulf War â real images of dead Iraqi soldiers. It was intense, but instead of turning me away, it pulled me in deeper. I told him I was interested in computers, hoping for something high-tech. He gave me a MOS in Field Artillery â Fire Direction Specialist. Technically, there's a computer involved, but let's just say it wasn't exactly what I had in mind. In August 1999 I shipped off to basic at Ft. Jackson, SC and completed my AIT at Ft. Sill, OK. After graduation, I was officially a soldier and couldn't have been prouder.
Leaving Denver, I couldnât know how Iâd miss the sweet scent of that mountain place. In my travels, I never encountered again that mountain air, the pines, and the smell of fresh-cut grass in the summertime. Iâve lived in a lot of places, sometimes endured them, but the place I was a child in, I remember still.
In February 2000, I arrived at my first duty station, Camp Hovey, South Korea. Camp Hovey was located about 10 to 15 miles south of the Korean Demilitarized Zone (DMZ). At the time it was one of the closest U.S. military installations to the DMZ. The DMZ was established in 1953 as a part of the Korean Armistice Agreement. This agreement ended fighting in the Korean War but was not a peace treaty, only a glorified ceasefire. By 1953, both sides were exhausted and over 3 million people (civilians and soldiers) had died. The U.S. was also worried the war could draw in the Soviet Union or even turn nuclear; because of this, President Eisenhower pushed for a ceasefire. In 1950 China entered the war with a large number of troops, which made it nearly impossible for the U.S. and South Korea to win. Keep in mind that this war started in 1950, only 5 years after the end of WW2. The American military was barely recovering and was thrown into another war, this time to "stop the spread of communism." The Korean War is sadly one example of America getting involved in a war that it should not have been in.
While fiction is and will always be my main jam, I donât dislike dipping my toes in the non-fiction pool every now and then. It gives me the chance to take a breather, switch gears, and provides me with a fresh challenge, at least when reviewing is involved. The thing is, more often than not, a non-fiction book comes with a couple of surprises between its pages.
War Born, written by King Real (Perris Sutton), is no exception. Itâs a memoir of an US soldier, starting with anectodes from his childhood and taking the reader along for the ride. The topics touched show a lot of variety, going from downtime fun to Iraq deployment. King Real is a drummer, likes good music, and also a competent soldier.
King Realâs honesty shines through each page; there is no attempt to make himself look better or to embellish scenes [i.e. Toronto's sexuality and how he apologized to him later on], which is something I really appreciate in a book like this.
War Born is short and told in a colloquial styleâitâs easy to picture a conversation between King Real and a reader, where he reminisces about Korea or his army brothers. Given the premise, the grammar is far more fluid than what Iâm used to: for example, tenses switch from past to present while King talks about being approached by a sex worker. Is that something that wouldnât be acceptable in any other context? Sure. It also makes for a realistic and accessible story here. Kudos for this stylistic choice! It works really well.
Iâm honestly hard-pressed to point out flaws. There are a few missteps, yes, don't get me wrong. For example, missing commas canât be ascribed to a colloquial style, for example [âYes sir I amâ while talking to battery commander is the first one that comes to mind], and the spacing is off sometimes. Nothing a pass with a good proofreader canât fix, anyway.
4 stars on GR.