MIAMI -- They're some of the most powerful pictures of war, taken not by professional cameramen, but by soldiers themselves. There's no way to track the number of video and still cameras attached to helmets, rifles, inside Humvees or on Stryker turrets. What is clear: storytelling is no longer just a journalist's domain. Soldiers and Marines are telling their stories to a worldwide audience. Some of the videos on YouTube have been viewed by more than 200,000 people. On Doonesbury's "The Sandbox," a popular blog among members of the military, videos from those fighting in Afghanistan are now drawing an audience.

Some of the pictures are raw, ugly, and hard to stomach. Other videos are silly diversions from war: a look at the comic relief from so much intensity. Interestingly, while there are complaints that the media doesn't tell enough of the "good news" from Iraq, I found few soldiers or marines telling that story themselves. These videos appear to be the ongoing evolution of journalism in the Internet age. Military home videos are a subset of the growing so-called "citizen journalism."A captain I spoke with at U.S. Central Command in Tampa called these "the new social fabric."

VIDEO: Click here or on the image above to watch raw video shot by a U.S. soldier in Iraq.

Some of the posted clips are simple, like "A Sniper's Story." It's still photos taken by a sniper, set to music from the movie "The Gladiator." The sniper asked we not reveal his name, but he wants us to see the war he's seen: positions often miles from insurgents, a lonely existence behind walls or hidden by rubble.

Film producer Chuck Lacy told me, "the genie is out of the bottle." He looked at hundreds of hours of videotape taken by more than a dozen members of the New Hampshire National Guard during their one-year deployment. The tape was turned into an award winning film "The War Tapes."

VIDEO: Click here or on the image to watch a preview of the film "The War Tapes."

I've personally been in and out of Iraq for a total of about six months over the last four years. My first trip was as an embedded journalist with the 2nd Battalion, 8th Marines. I remember meeting a Marine back then, Lance Cpl. Johnny Zonnefeld, who was going to put a camera on his helmet and record the war. It never quite worked out in those early days of war. It was too complicated to roll a camera and fight. But as Marines and soldiers have gotten into the routine of battle, so too have many gotten into the routine of recording their experiences and then uploading them for all to see.

Tonight on the broadcast we'll take a look at this unique perspective of the war, as told by those fighting it.

FORT MYERS, Fla. -- The City of Palms is electric with talk about the kid from Japan. Twenty-six-year-old Daisuke Matsuzaka, better known as "Dice-K," is wowing the fans and non-fans alike as the biggest baseball mystery in a decade.

I joined the 150-plus credentialed Japanese reporters to get a glimpse of the $103 million dollar pitcher (that's what it cost the Red Sox to talk to his team in Japan, and then acquire his services for the Red Sox). The sports world has qualified him as "a phenom."

The constant question that remains unanswered is: Does he throw the fabled gyroball? I watched him pitch four innings against Baltimore and I still don't know if I saw it. It's a pitch that no one can say for sure any human can really throw. It was developed at the Riken Brain Science Institute by physicist Ryutaro Himeno. In theory, it can be thrown. Unlike other pitches, the gyroball spins like a bullet. The motion allows the ball to take a surprising turn away from right-handed batters. It breaks faster than a curveball. It's slower than a fastball. It's magical. It's mythical, and it's got everyone wondering: Does he or doesn't he?

Dice-K won't say.

I can confirm one tidbit of information: Dice-K speaks only in Japanese. He has a translator with him every step of the way. So we assume he doesn't speak English.

But when he walked past NBC News producer Mario Garcia Sunday, Dice-K looked at the baseball cap on Mario's head. It was a Seibu Lions hat: Dice-K's former team. Without missing a beat, with an accent that could easily pass for any kid in California, Dice-K said in English,  "Nice Cap." Cap! Not hat.

I can't help but wonder: Every time he's asked a question in English by journalists, fans or whomever, does he understand long before he answers? And if he does, then he may be just smart enough to throw the gyroball and never reveal he can do that either.

ENTERPRISE, Ala. - Mother Nature never ceases to amaze. Often in horrific ways. The tornado that ripped through here was a monster. Today, a team of forensic experts combed through the debris, took calculations and have an early determination: this was an enhanced F3 with winds in excess of 150 miles per hour. 

But there's no need to hear that when you're standing in the midst of the rubble. Cars upended and tossed into homes, huge pine trees snapped like toothpicks, and the look on the faces of those who survived the disaster: shock, and now despair. Eight students died in the tornado. It lasted about 15 seconds, but stole futures. Children who had plans, or maybe were too young to even have plans. But each held promise.

The sadness here is as thick as the piles of debris now stacking up. There are folks here who keep saying, "it could have been worse," and "we're lucky more people didn't die," but those comments are from survivors who didn't lose a loved one, a friend, someone who made their life just a little richer.

Enterprise as a community will come back. The 24,000 residents here have pledged to honor the dead by rebuilding, but for those who now have an empty bedroom at home, nothing but time will console this tremendous ache.

SAN SALVADOR, El Salvador -- It's a long way from the comforts of first class, but Nancy Rivard, a veteran flight attendant, found a way to marry her work to her passion: helping the less fortunate.

Rivard, who looks a little bit like the actress who played Wonder Woman, is herself a wonder. I traveled with her to El Salvador where she, and her Airline Ambassadors, are changing lives.

The concept is simple: Use the empty space on planes already scheduled to fly, and deliver aid donated by Americans. I went with her team of a dozen to El Salvador, where she's quietly been working for a decade. It's mostly flight attendants, who use their privileges to fly for free, and then, once on the ground, take the aid and give it to those in the most need. Rivard told me "when I started doing one thing a month that was real, I began to get interest first from flight attendants, and then from airlines."

Convincing the airlines was the hurdle. Her donated aid means added weight and that added weight means great fuel consumption. Her first donation was under the radar. She collected soap, shampoo and other hotel freebies from her flight team and put them in a bag. Then, while on a trip to Croatia, she took the bag to a shelter for abused Bosnian refugees. Small gesture -- huge impact. Airline execs, who had first balked at helping, heard the soap story and realized the potential. First one airline joined, and then another. Today there are a dozen.

What surprised me most was that those who volunteer find the lives they change the most are often their own. Ruth Matranga went on her first Airline Ambassadors trip to El Salvador. She gathered school supplies, and other small trinkets from children at St. Mark Catholic School in Southwest Ranches, Fla. She then took the boxes to orphans.

But as I saw here standing there, holding hands and comforting infants, I realized her greatest gift was not in the bags, but rather that she'd taken time from her busy life to hold a child starving for something we all want: love and attention.

Interestingly, the Airline Ambassadors, who have touched 500,000 lives in 51 countries, are now expanding beyond just flight attendants. They're recruiting folks from any line of work to join their mission.

Tara Hunnewell is a perfect example. She’s a singer and performer. She bought a ticket and joined the Airline Ambassadors in El Salvador. She wrote a song for the kids she met (click here to listen), and she left with what she calls a promise: “to do this again because it’s so easy. All you need is a few days out of your life.”

As a reporter, I usually am detached from what's happening. My role is to report. But in this case, I was sucked into the efforts the Airline Ambassadors are making. I unloaded boxes, held children's hands, talked with them, and even left with a drawing 14-year-old Ruth Abigail Ortega made of me.   

I believe Ruth Abigail's life will be every so slightly different knowing a stranger from a far away place stopped by one day to say, "I care."

All photos by Kerry Sanders. From top to bottom, Nancy Rivard, Ruth Matranga and Tara Hunnewell in San Salvador. Above is Ruth Abigail Ortega's drawing of Kerry.

Editor's note: Later today, NBC News producer Mario Garcia will also blog about this story, as will Nancy Rivard herself. You can watch Kerry's full report in tonight's broadcast, part of our "Making a Difference" series.

Editor's note: Correspondent Kerry Sanders will profile National Hurricane Center Director Max Mayfield on tonight's broadcast. Today is Mayfield's last day on the job after 34 years. We asked Kerry to share a personal story with blog readers.

I've known Max for a long long time. I began covering hurricanes in 1982. While Max was always feeding me information of what would likely happen and how unsafe areas could become, you know how we as reporters tend to head into the thick of the storm. I will remember Hurricane Ivan in Sept. 2004 the most.

I freely admit that I foolishly decided to ride out Ivan in a home built to withstand a hurricane. It was a "dome home," called that because it was shaped like a dome.

Max warned me it was a very dangerous move to ride out a category four on Pensacola Beach. He recently remembered, as we chatted about his retirement, that I had been in the "dome home" and lived to talk about it. Max's advice sticks with me. He said: "Kerry, don't ever do that again."

I can say, after riding out that storm, watching the cars wash away into the bay, that I will never do that again.

I will miss Max, and owe him a personal thank you for guiding me to safe spots to cover all those hurricanes.

DENVER-- Sometimes it is a logistical challenge to cover the news. Just getting here was an adventure.
I left Mount Hood where I was covering the tragic mountain climbing incident, when my bosses asked: "Do you think you can get to Denver?"

I made it on a plane as far as Salt Lake City. That's where the real adventure began. Paul Thiriot, an NBC cameraman, and I drove and drove and drove and drove. Finally, in blinding snow, past Rabbit Ear Pass, we could go no more. The roads were thick with snow, the visibility less than 3 feet, and there was another surprise.

The deer.

The animals were venturing onto the snow-covered roads.  We missed a buck, then some other deer. Finally, we decided we'd call it quits.

We slept a few hours in Dillon, Colo.  Thankfully we found rooms.

Today, we woke up early. We drove, slowly, carefully and finally, after several hours, we made it into Denver.

Tonight, we'll have a look at some of the challenges facing those here, and we'll meet a family with tickets to the Sunday Steelers-Ravens game.  They're on a mission, and as you'll see, Mother Nature will not stop them. No matter what.

I'm sitting here in Hood River, Ore., a radio scanner picking up occasional conversations, as we wait for news that Brian Hall and Jerry "Nikko" Cooke have been found.

I figured we might get a better idea of who these men were in photos today. They're snapshots of the final days of their lives. The camera, found on Kelly James' body, had a roll of film that has now been developed. Investigators say the photos show the men starting out on their climb, smiling, seemingly upbeat. They also show the gear they had.

From those pictures, the sheriff says he thinks the climbers were supplied for the days they planned to be on the mountain (about six days). It's unlikely that the gear and food they had would sustain them this long (the search began 10 days ago, four days into their climb.)

I'd like to see the photos. I think those who are watching this story unfold want to see the photos.

But the family members of the hikers who have bravely faced this tragedy, often on-camera at news conferences, have said sharing these pictures with the media is too much. They've asked us if someone gives us the photos, not to use them.

They're not going to share them with us. They're going to keep them to themselves, to remember the men they loved, and to look, perhaps in vain, for an explanation in the pictures of why this happened in the first place.

We joined the leaf peepers on the twisting country roads of New England weekend. This is a redux of a trip to gauge the nation's mood when it comes to gas prices. When we traveled this spring, the average price of a gallon was close to $3. [Ed's note: Click to watch video of Kerry's road trip through the Southeast in April 2006.] On our trip this time, we found it for $2.07/gallon in Salem, Mass. Before we set out, we rigged a convertible with four cameras. Another camera was set up in a chase vehicle. Thankfully, for most of the weekend, we had warm temperatures, so we were able to enjoy the fall foliage with the top down. With producer Joo Lee as navigator, we had a few maps, but no real plan other than to talk to people along the way. We stopped at overlooks, antique stores, pumpkin patches and corn mazes.

Camerman Jim Craven (in driver's seat) and sound engineer Pete Rodriguez rig up Kerry's car for the New England road trip. Photo by Kerry Sanders.

Even the gas stations were quaint. In Arlington, Mass., we met gas station attendant Ed Seaton. His station was the backdrop for a Norman Rockwell painting called "The War Hero." Seaton says when prices were high, customers blamed him. But he says he had nothing to do with the high prices then or the low prices now. Our trip took us through four states.

We're now arriving where we plan to go live this evening. Stay tuned to find out where we wound up.

I received an urgent request from a U.S. Army colonel via e-mail this morning. He said that the surveillance photo I included in my blog post yesterday of Taliban members gathered at a funeral in Afghanistan should not have been released, even though I was told by others in the U.S. Army that it had been properly declassified. The colonel asked me to pull it off the Web site.  There was no more explanation than that. As a courtesy, and with an awareness of the danger U.S. forces are in, I had the photo pulled.

We are now returning the picture to this blog after Pentagon spokesman Bryan Whitman told reporters in a briefing today that he is unaware of any official Pentagon or military request to pull the photo off MSNBC.com or not to air the photo. I have also spoken to the military intelligence officers who gave me the photo and they say while there are now some internal debates about the release of the photograph, it's declassified and ours to broadcast and print on the Web.

So here is the photo -- again -- and a link to my original post from yesterday:

Photo courtesy: U.S. Army

Editor's note: This story has evolved since this original posting. Click here for the latest and to see the photo in question.

KABUL, Afghanistan - In this country, just a tad smaller than President Bush's home state of Texas, Taliban influence is on the rise. The U.S. military admits difficulty tracking their fighters in Afghanistan's remote mountains. It's why U.S. intelligence officers are so upset by a recent lost opportunity.

The picture above, declassified at NBC News' request, shows 190 members of the Taliban at a funeral. It's believed by U.S. Army officers that several of those gathered were top Taliban leaders. But the U.S. was unable to take out the men standing in formation.

Why? Under the rules of engagement, the U.S. cannot bomb a cemetery.

One officer involved says, "We were so excited. I came rushing in with the picture." But in the end, that excitement turned to frustration. The unmanned Predator drone, flying undetected overhead, continued to feed back pictures as the Taliban dispersed, heading off in tiny groups, too small to effectively target.

Alberto certainly caught people off guard. Veterans who've been through hurricanes, which accounts for a good portion of the state these days because we've had eight hurricanes in the last two years, know to be ready. But Alberto is a little bit of a surprise. Why? Weathercasters have suggested since the weekend that this ill-formed storm would likely be nothing more than a rainmaker. Now, with hurricane warnings issued along Florida's Northwest coast, residents are flat-footed. There's very little time to put up shutters or plywood to protect homes. I live in Florida, and like so many in this state I took advantage of what they call tax-free hurricane days. It's where we buy hurricane supplies before hurricane season. And to encourage us to go get those items, they're all tax free -- things like batteries, flashlights and small generators. But even with that, it's one thing to be physically prepared, it's another thing to climb back on this emotional roller coaster.

I'm currently on Interstate 75 traveling north from Charlotte Co., where Hurricane Charley hit two years ago, en route to Cedar Key, Fla. If projections are accurate, this tiny community which juts out on the West Coast could take a lashing whether Alberto is a hurricane or just a tropical storm. Cedar Keys has long been a small artists' community, but in recent years has experienced tremendous growth. Driving is slow going because the rain is coming down sideways and it's hard to see. There's plenty of traffic on the road and you're never quite sure whether the other guy knows how to drive in this sort of weather. If everything works out, we'll see you from Cedar Keys tonight on Nightly News.

NAPLES, Fla. - What happens when you're a reporter and the story you've covering is also the one you're living? I reported Monday: "Wilma hit Florida with more punch than most expected."

I also live in Florida, and while I'm yet to make it home (I'm still in Naples), my wife has reported back: her car is trapped under a toppled tree,  the shingles on our roof ripped off, some large palm trees I planted from coconuts are on their sides, ripped from their roots. And like everyone else in "the zone," there's no electricity.

My wife said when the hurricane hit, "it sounded like Santa's evil reindeer on the roof." There were leaks and creaks, as there always are in a hurricane. But this time it was different. An important part of surviving a hurricane is having someone at your side: to share the fears, to discuss what the sounds outside might be, and then to celebrate the triumph of survival.

I've never had to worry about this before (I've covered hurricanes for 21 years and we've been married for 17 years) but this time, my wife was home alone. She's been a correspondent for USA Today since the paper began publishing in 1984, but this last year she took a sabbatical to write a book. Unlike all the other hurricanes we've covered, often in the same town, often sharing a hotel room, she had no story to gather. No editors clamoring for copy.

I told Katie Couric this morning, after eight hurricanes in 15 months in Florida, "we're weary, weary." But it's more than that.

I was able to get a call through to my wife's cell phone when Wilma was hitting Florida's East coast and I heard my wife's fears and anxiety. She was alone and scared. And I heard something else, deep in my gut: it's called guilt.