by Vicki Cody
I was so thankful that my mom was there with me. I don’t know what I would have done without her those first days I was home from the hospital. She cooked delicious meals and was a big help with Clint, and it was just nice to have her companionship. Tyler, like Clint, was a good baby—he ate, he slept, and he was very easy to care for—but two kids at that age were a lot of work, no matter how you look at it. I counted the days until Dick returned and we would be a family again.
There were no reunion issues when Dick returned that time. I was learning that separations measured in weeks were a piece of cake compared with those measured in months. I had learned a lesson or two from the short tour, and when Dick returned from Fort Rucker, I immediately got him involved with the baby, giving bottles and sharing diaper duty. And when it was time for tennis, we took turns babysitting so the other one could play.
Dick signed into his new unit, the 2nd Squadron, 9th Cavalry Regiment (2/9 CAV), at Hunter Army Airfield. HAAF housed all the aviation assets for the 24th Infantry Division at Fort Stewart, about forty minutes from Savannah.
As the new service platoon leader, Dick began a new chapter and career path as a maintenance test pilot. His platoon had approximately 125 personnel and was responsible for maintaining the unit’s twenty-seven helicopters. He had an interesting cast of characters in his platoon, including some endearingly crusty old NCO crew chiefs and warrant officer pilots—all Vietnam vets. They weren’t much older than Dick; they just had more Army experience, specifically combat time, so they seemed older. They were like gods to Dick because they had flown missions and maintained Cobras in combat. They were tough, no-nonsense guys who had no tolerance for anyone who got in the way of their maintenance and/or flying. They pushed the limits in everything they did, from their uniforms and haircuts to their approach to maintenance tactics. Often seen wearing their CAV Stetsons, with long hair and sideburns, and a cigarette dangling from their lips, they partied as hard as they worked. Above all, they shared their love of maintenance with a brand-new captain who was right out of test-pilot school. They were the perfect teachers for Dick Cody.
At the time, Dick was the only commissioned officer to be a current test pilot in three different aircraft: the OH-1 Huey, the OH-58 Scout, and the AH-1 Cobra. That in itself earned him the respect of the veteran pilots and maintenance officers around the airfield. He was always in the hangar, turning wrenches and test-flying aircraft. There was nothing he wouldn’t personally fix or fly himself. He showed no fear but at the same time was meticulous and obsessive about the rules and safety. His old nickname, Mr. Transportation, was replaced with Commander Cody—a moniker that would stay with him for the rest of his career.
We immediately felt the special camaraderie that is so unique to aviators and their spouses. We enjoyed every aspect: the social events, both planned and spur of the moment, the hail and farewells, the potlucks, happy hour at the Officers’ Club, and all the traditions of a CAV squadron. My education continued as I gained a better understanding of the Army and Army aviation. I learned about the brave aviators and the extraordinary wives who waited, worried, supported, and loved them. I watched as they balanced the fun and joy with the fear and stress of being married to an aviator.
I was navigating my way through the trials and tribulations of being the mother of two preschoolers, whose husband worked long hours, usually six days a week, and was gone to the field a lot. It was exhausting, grueling, and oftentimes boring, but I loved being a mother and never took for granted the fact that I could stay home with my sons. My mission was to raise good kids. Along with my fellow Army-wife neighbors and my best friend Sarah, we managed to get through the long, sometimes monotonous days of being stay-at-home moms. With our husbands gone so much of the time, we really counted on one another. We spent our days at the playground and the pool and taking long walks through the neighborhood.
Dick became best friends with a fellow pilot named Ned Hubard, a chief warrant officer 2 (CW2), a highly decorated Cobra pilot with two tours in Vietnam. Ned and his wife, Carole, lived in our neighborhood. Dick and Ned were together every day at work and usually played tennis on the weekends. What started out as a typical friendship developed into a deep bond, born of mutual respect, that they carried with them wherever the Army sent them—a connection that would span three decades. It didn’t matter whether they were serving in the same unit or in different parts of the world—Dick and Ned always kept track of each other, always knew what the other one was doing, and enjoyed each other’s successes.
Savannah was the perfect place for all four of us. Clint and Tyler were growing and thriving. We enjoyed the mild climate and long, hot summers. They started preschool, which was good for them and gave me a much-needed break. I found a couple of teenage girls to babysit, and Dick and I started going out for an occasional date night. Even amid Dick’s schedule—the relentless, long work weeks and frequent field exercises—we still made time for fun, romance, and our relationship.
PS: I always knew that Dick’s and my relationship was every bit as important as raising kids. Too many young couples overlook their relationship while they are busy with small children. I think that Dick’s comings and goings actually served as a reminder that we needed to make time for each other, and that kept the old spark alive for us.
7
Life Takes a Sharp Turn
Life is full of surprises, but I don’t think we fully understand and appreciate that until we are pushed out of our comfort zone, backed into a corner, and tested in ways we don’t expect or anticipate. Two key events happened while we were in Savannah that would forever change both of us: a helicopter crash and the death of a friend, and a deployment for Dick. Each took us out of our safe little world and thrust us smack into the reality of Army life. They forced me to confront fears about death and mortality and to grow even more as a mother and as an Army wife. The events would take Dick to a higher level of proficiency as a test pilot and combat aviator, and would shape and develop the leadership style that became his trademark for the rest of his career. But it was a painful time for both of us as we learned some tough life lessons.
In November 1979, on the other side of the world, Iranian militants stormed the US embassy in Tehran and took approximately seventy Americans captive. A small number were released, a few escaped, and then there were fifty-three hostages, who remained in captivity for 444 days. The Iran hostage crisis was the biggest daily news story for a brand-new twenty-four-hour news network called CNN. It was the first time we had watched world events unfold on live TV.
In April 1980, there was a failed joint military operation to rescue the hostages, called Desert 1, that ended in disaster when a Navy Sea Stallion helicopter crashed into a C-130 transport plane in the Iranian desert, killing or injuring everyone onboard. It was a terrible tragedy, and the entire rescue mission had to be aborted. Dick and Ned could talk of nothing else and began making plans and coming up with strategies for how they would have planned and executed the mission.
Dick was working long, hard hours that summer. Not only was he performing his duties as the maintenance platoon commander for 2/9 CAV, but he and his team of attack pilots had also been put in charge of all the modernization and testing of the Cobra. The Cobra had been flown hard in Vietnam and was outdated. Until the Apache came out of production a few years later, the Cobra had to be updated, reconfigured, and modernized. It was a huge undertaking and involved dangerous test flights, above and beyond Dick’s normal, day-to-day test flights in the OH-58 and the UH-1 aircraft for the CAV squadron. Dick was doing some pretty amazing things with his helicopters, and some senior officers at the Pentagon took notice. After the Desert 1 mission failed, the Army Special Operations Command started working on a new plan to get the hostages out of Iran, using Army assets. Because Dick was at the forefront of test-flying attack helicopters, he began getting some unusual requests from the Pentagon concerning modifications on his OH-58 helicopters.
“Hey, Vick, what i
f Ned and I get selected to go do something like a rescue mission? What if they need a test pilot?” His what-ifs and ideas were endless.
“Seriously, Dick, or are you just dreaming?”
“Vicki, I’m serious. Plans are being made, and I’ve gotten some interesting phone calls.”
By early fall, Dick and Ned’s dream of going on a special mission was becoming a reality. During that time of uncertainty, I told myself repeatedly that if Dick did go away, I was in a pretty good place in my life. I had to trust that he knew what he was getting himself into. The hardest part for me and for Ned’s wife, Carole, was not being able to talk to anyone about what our husbands might do.
“We need to plan as if I am going somewhere,” Dick told me. “I think it will be around the end of October, and I might be gone for two to four months.”
I went to Dick’s office one day and he had an Army lawyer (JAG officer) there so we could sign a power-of-attorney form. I knew in that moment that he wasn’t just going TDY (temporary duty), he was deploying. That night, after the kids were in bed, we talked about other uncomfortable things.
“Vicki, I want to make sure that you know where everything is, where all the important papers are, in case of an emergency,” he said.
“I can’t believe we’re even talking about this stuff. Most young couples don’t have to confront these issues until later in their marriage. We’ve been married only five years!”
“Look, Vick, I know this is hard. But it’s good to talk about these things and have a game plan. If we never have to use it, then we’re ahead of the game. I just need to know that you’ll know what to do, just in case.”
“Okay, but I can’t even think about something happening to you.”
“Don’t worry, I’m always careful. Nothing is going to happen to me.”
And then, out of the blue, we were blindsided. One evening after dinner, the phone rang, which was not unusual, since Dick’s duty officer called every night to let him know when the last helicopter had landed and everyone was down safe. But that particular night, I knew something was wrong when I heard Dick say, “What’s the tail number? How bad is it?” He hung up and ran to the bedroom. In just seconds he was coming back down the hall, tripping as he struggled to get into his flight suit, on his way to the front door. I had never seen him so frantic.
“What is it, Dick? What happened?”
“A Cobra went down. I think it’s Shaun.”
“Oh my God! What do you mean, a Cobra went down?”
“I’ve got to go. I’ll call you.” And he was out the door.
I stood there staring at the front door. Did he say Shaun? CPT Shaun Murray was one of the pilots in our unit and was a frequent guest at our house. He had just been over for dinner the night before.
I put the kids to bed and tried to fall asleep, but I couldn’t shut my mind off to the fear rising up in me. How could there have been a crash? It was a beautiful fall evening. Maybe they’d just meant it was a hard landing.
The ringing phone startled me awake. It was Dick, but I was having trouble hearing him, his voice was so soft and low. “Vicki, it was Shaun.”
“Is he okay?”
The silence on the other end of the phone gave me that sinking feeling in the pit of my stomach, and suddenly I was very much awake.
“Shaun and his copilot didn’t make it. . . . They’re dead.”
“Dead?”
“Yes.”
I couldn’t believe what he was telling me. I started crying. “I’m so sorry, Dick.”
“I was first to the crash site, but there was a fire. We tried, but we couldn’t get them out. They were already gone.”
“Oh, Dick.”
“I gotta go. I’ll call you later.”
I lay there for hours, trying to process what had happened, so many thoughts swirling in my head. Most of the time I didn’t dwell on the dangers of what Dick did when he went to work each day. I thought I had learned so much and was a seasoned Army wife, but I wasn’t. Had I been living in denial? How could I not have known this could happen? Maybe I had known, maybe it was there, deep in the recesses of my mind, but I had chosen to keep it there so I could live my life. But on that particular night, my fears were front and center.
I woke up the next morning and felt like I’d had a very bad dream. I went through all the motions of our normal daily routine with the boys. Dick called and gave me a few more details. He sounded absolutely miserable. I wanted so much to hug him, but I knew he had a long day ahead of him.
That evening I found Dick sitting in our den, staring into space. His face was ashen, and he just looked lost. He turned to me and said, “It was awful, Vick. I can’t get the images out of my head. I don’t want to eat; I don’t want to do anything.” I had never seen him like that, and it scared me. I just hugged him—I had waited all day to do that.
Dick racked his brain for answers; he questioned everything leading up to the accident and vowed to learn from what had happened to Shaun. For the rest of his flying career, he coached and mentored not only his pilots, but eventually his own sons, about the importance of emergency procedures and discipline in the cockpit, and also about “crew mix.”
That accident changed each of us. It was subtle, but Dick and I felt it. It was there in our conversations, it was with Dick on every test flight, and it was with me every night Dick was out flying. We had crossed a threshold of innocence, and there was no turning back or denying the fact that it was a tough and unforgiving business that Dick was in. And all I could think about was what if something happened to him and I was left alone to raise Clint and Tyler.
Our unit became even closer after the accident. We all met at the Officers’ Club the following week for “happy hour.” To some, that may sound weird, but the club was our gathering place—a place where we all felt comfortable, where we shared laughter and good times. I think we all needed some normalcy, and the pilots needed a chance to grieve in their own way. Those strong, macho, virile aviators—combat veterans, brand-new pilots, men who lived on the edge, who lived for the rush of adrenaline that flying a helicopter gave them—embraced their fears every day and yet did not know how to express their feelings when something upset their sense of order. So, in the end, they simply offered up a toast to their fallen comrades, wrapped their arms around one another, and vowed never to make the same mistake.
We had barely finished grieving for Shaun when Dick got the call he had been waiting for. He and Ned were to report to Fort Rucker the following Monday. They were on “the deal” (as they called it), and they could barely contain their excitement.
The night before he left, with the boys in bed, we closed our bedroom door to the outside world and made love one last time; then, in the quiet darkness, we talked about some last-minute details.
“Dick, be honest with me, as much as you can. I just need to know some things; otherwise I’ll go crazy. I promise I won’t tell a soul!”
In a paranoid whisper, he told me, “I’m going to rebuild some Vietnam-era helicopters and turn them into gunship-type attack helicopters. This is so classified, you cannot breathe a word of it to anyone, not even our parents. And we can never talk about it on the phone, so when I call, don’t ask me anything. Just say that I’m rebuilding helicopters at Fort Rucker. That’s all you need to tell anyone who asks.”
“Okay, I promise.”
He told me he would call as often as possible. We decided we had better come up with a code in case he needed to tell me something on the phone. We wanted to keep it simple so I wouldn’t get confused or forget what it was. We tossed around a lot of ideas, some of which were just plain silly. We ended up laughing so hard that for a brief moment, we forgot the seriousness of the situation. Dick and I always had the ability to laugh at life and ourselves, even in the scariest of times.
We decided to use Dick’s motorcycle as the code. If he was going to do an actual mission, he would say, “Get my motorcycle out of the garage.” Why we picked
that, I still don’t know, but we thought we were so clever and figured no one would ever know what we were talking about. In fact, those same code words have been with us all these years, and we continued to use them repeatedly throughout Dick’s career.
Saying good-bye was more difficult because of what we had just been through with Shaun’s accident. All that was on my mind as Dick was leaving, but I never wanted him to see me crying as he walked out the door—that wouldn’t have been fair to him—so I pretended that he was just going off to work. I hugged and kissed him and said, “Please be careful, Dick. Do what you need to do and come home safe.”
“Vick, you know me. I’m always careful. I’ll call you as soon as I get to Rucker.”
The house was so quiet when he first left. Dick is like a force of nature and fills a room with his energy, so I just felt empty. But I didn’t have the luxury of sitting around crying that day; it was Halloween, and the boys and I had things to do.
Clint was three and a half, and Tyler was eighteen months, so they weren’t really old enough to comprehend that Daddy was gone. Dick worked such long hours that on the weekdays, they didn’t really notice his absence. I knew that the most important thing was to keep all three of us on our same schedule and routine; mealtime, naptime, bedtime, preschool, and church were essential to our well-being. I tried not to think too far ahead, or I would get overwhelmed; I just told myself, One day at a time. I was so thankful for Sarah next door and my new friendship with Ned’s wife, Carole.
I called our parents and told them that Dick had left. We had prepared them as much as we could but had to be careful how much we said on the phone. I knew they still had a lot of questions that I couldn’t answer, and I knew they were worried about Dick, so I tried to reassure them. I told them they would just have to trust us and that we would explain things when the time was right.