by Vicki Cody
It was breaking news on every channel. Before I could ask another question, the phone rang. Dick needed to go to the Emergency Operations Center (EOC). I followed him back to the bedroom while he got ready.
“We’ve been following the intelligence reports, and there were indications that something was about to happen in that region. The United States cannot let Iraq take over Kuwait and their oil fields.”
Within minutes, Dick had shaved and showered and was heading out the front door. I followed him to his car and asked, “Do you think you can get home at a reasonable hour tonight?” I hated to be selfish at such a critical time, with a world crisis looming, but it was his fortieth birthday and, unbeknownst to him, I had invited all of his officers over for a surprise birthday party that night.
“I’ll do the best I can, but we might be preparing for war by the end of the day.”
I realized how little I knew about the country of Kuwait and the trouble with Iraq. Dick hadn’t mentioned anything going on in that region of the world, but he had remarked to me just a few weeks before that it was unusual that his unit had been on extended QRF (Quick Reaction Force) past their normal thirty-day cycle. The 101st Airborne Division always had a QRF ready to deploy at a moment’s notice, and Dick’s Apache battalion had been on call much of the summer. Still, his comment about “war” caught me off guard.
“Jeez, you don’t have to be so dramatic!” And then, as he pulled out of the driveway, I called out, “Happy birthday!”
I was surprised that the boys were still asleep, as well as my sister, Chris, and her daughter, Ashley, who were down for their annual summer visit, amid all the activity and phone calls. I went into the house and got everyone up. We had a lot of work to do for the party that night (about eighty people were coming), not to mention the phone calls that were sure to start pouring in. We ate breakfast in front of the TV; then I delegated chores to everyone and we got so busy that we had no more time for watching the news.
By afternoon, the keg had been delivered and the big wooden sign that I had rented was in the front yard, with GUESS WHO’S 40? spelled out in Christmas lights. I was making some appetizers while Chris cleaned the patio and the backyard. It was close to one hundred degrees that day, and Clint, Tyler, and Ashley were out back, videotaping themselves on the Slip’N Slide, with the usual amount of bickering, pushing, and shoving. It seemed like a typical summer afternoon; whatever was going on in the world would have to wait until after Dick’s party.
Dick called at one point to say that his company commanders wanted to take him to the Officers’ Club after work for a birthday beer.
“Fine, but don’t stay too late. I’m making you a nice birthday dinner.”
Some of the bachelors started to show up in the late afternoon. Some insisted on helping me, and some of them were working on gag gifts for Dick. Everyone knew something was up, because Dick had been in meetings all day, and they seemed anxious to be together. By 6:00 p.m., the sign out front was lit up, the bamboo torches in the backyard were blazing, and people had started arriving . . . everyone except Dick. At about seven thirty, with the party in full swing, I called Tom Greco and asked him to go over to the Officers’ Club and bring Dick home. They showed up shortly after that, and Dick was totally surprised, but only because he had been so busy all day that he hadn’t given much thought to a possible surprise party.
Someone handed him a beer, and the party really got going. Dick’s celebration was our first chance to gather as a group since his unit’s return from Fort Hunter-Liggett. Because of everything that had happened—the great job they had done as a battalion, juxtaposed with the accident—everyone seemed very happy to be together. The day’s news events created an undercurrent of drama, as each of us wondered just what Dick had found out and how it would affect the unit. We didn’t know then that it would be the last time we would be together as a group for a very long time.
There was something special about that night—something in the laughter, in the way they gave Dick silly gifts, in the way they looked at him, hanging on his every word, in the way they put their arms around one another—that makes me remember vividly how touching it was, even after all these years. An outsider never would have guessed what was going on behind the scenes and what lay ahead. There was fun and lots of laughter; we were a team, we were a family, and we could all feel the closeness.
When the party was over and most of the guests had left, Chris and I were cleaning up and I noticed Dick and a group of his pilots sitting out back, in lawn chairs, having a last beer and a cigar. They were in quiet conversation. I loved watching him with his guys, how they gathered around him and how he was like a father to them. I couldn’t wait to get Dick alone and find out what had happened over the course of the day, but I knew to let him have that time.
Once everyone was in bed and the house was quiet, I finally had Dick all to myself. He told me a little bit about his day and what he thought was going to happen.
“I’m pretty sure the 18th Airborne Corps will deploy a quick-response force that involves my Apache battalion to Saudi Arabia. The oil fields in Kuwait and Saudi Arabia are too important to risk losing to Iraq. Even if it’s just a show of force, President Bush has made it clear that the United States will not stand by and do nothing. It could even lead to war.”
“War? Really, Dick?”
“Vicki, the United States can’t let a dictator take over a country like Kuwait. It may not stop there, and if Iraq goes into Saudi Arabia, it will upset the balance in the entire Middle East. There’s a lot at stake.”
It had been such a long day, and we were both so tired by then, that I put my thoughts of war on the back burner so I could get some sleep, but in the coming days, I felt melancholy. I was worried about the possibility of war, and I also didn’t want summer to end. It had been a good one, in spite of everything. We had taken the boys to Florida after Dick returned from Fort Hunter-Liggett, and then the boys had gone to 4-H summer camp, giving Dick and me some alone time. My sister’s annual visit was fun as always, but when she and Ashley left, I knew the reality of the deployment would take over my life.
Dick’s Apache battalion was the first unit to go on alert. It was a scary time for the boys and me. We were missing our support system, as some of our closest friends had recently moved and Gail and her kids were on vacation out West and wouldn’t be home for another two weeks. By then, Dick would be gone.
Dick worked nonstop, going to meetings and getting his unit ready. I was thankful for the distraction of preparing the boys for the start of school; that took my mind off the knot that was forming in my stomach. Dick came home for dinner every evening, and for those brief moments, we could pretend that things were normal.
Dick and I had already made plans for our first family support group meeting. Over the years, we had learned the importance of having good accountability, current information on everyone, and points of contact (POCs) for each of our companies, and connecting as a group. We had built a good, close team, and we were hoping that would carry us through the deployment.
Our post chapel was packed with about two hundred family members; many came with their soldiers. Our brigade chaplain opened up the meeting, and then I addressed the unusually quiet group. I tried my best to sound reassuring: “I’m just as scared as you are, but your soldiers are in good hands, and somehow we will get through this, together. We need to take care of ourselves and each other so that our soldiers can do what they need to do, what they have been training to do.”
By the time Dick stood up in front of the crowd, he had their undivided attention. Because of operational security (OPSEC), he couldn’t talk about actual dates and times, so he said simply, “You need to trust me that I will keep you informed as best I can. You need to trust the leadership and the competence of each and every soldier in this unit. This unit is the best-trained Apache battalion in the Army. You need to prepare for a six- to twelve-month deployment.”
Dick was every
bit the fearless leader that night. He finished, “I will take good care of everyone. I promise I will bring everyone home safe.”
I thought, How can he be so sure? I can’t believe he said that.
As we answered people’s questions, I could see fear in their eyes and the shock as it registered that the soldiers weren’t going on another training mission—they were preparing for a combat deployment. The full weight of responsibility hit me that night in the chapel. Some of the soldiers looked so young; I felt as if Dick and I were the parents of a huge family facing a massive challenge.
Finally, alone in our car, I said, “How in the world are we going to get through this one?”
“We’ll be okay, Vick. I promise we’ll be okay.”
“But how can you be so sure? I’m scared, Dick, not just for us, but for all those families.”
“You did great tonight, Vick. You really connected with the families, and what you said was so heartfelt. I was really proud of you.”
“As scared as we all are, you made us feel safe. You were so reassuring. But how will you keep your promise? Look what we’ve been through already, and it wasn’t even combat!”
“I will not lose anyone. If we go to combat, there are some things I can’t control, but there is also much I can control, and I will do everything in my power to keep them all safe.”
Something told me that Dick would manage to keep his word.
That night when we talked to the boys, the minute Dick said the deployment could last up to twelve months, they said, in unison, “What about Christmas?”
“Boys, we will do everything that we always do; it will just be without your dad.”
They started to cry, which made me cry. Old Stiff-Upper-Lip Dick remained calm and tried to reassure the three of us that it would be okay. After a big group hug, he said, “Let’s go get some ice cream.”
From that moment on, it was all about making the most of our time together and living in the moment. We tried to keep things as regular as possible for the boys—going to the movies, playing tennis, or just watching TV together. Still, as the entire division prepared to deploy, activity, anxiety, excitement, and chaos prevailed.
Each day we prepared to say good-bye, and then there would be another delay. We were on an emotional roller coaster, and it was hard to act as if things were normal, when the situation was far from it. I was tired of the stress, the distractions, and the fear of what was looming just ahead. I was tired of nightly “mercy sex”—having sex just for the sake of having sex because you think that is your last time together. Most of all, I was tired of the Army creeping into our relationship. I needed to feel like I had some control over what little time I had left with Dick. So one afternoon when he came home from work early, I decided it was time for our last “rendezvous with destiny,” as we affectionately called our trysts. I didn’t care how many more days and nights we had before he left; I was declaring it our last rendezvous, and I wanted it to be meaningful. The boys were at the pool, and the house was quiet. We closed ourselves off from the outside world, if only for a little while, and it was just what we needed.
We were all sitting at the dinner table when the call came in. Dick said, “Okay. I got it. Make the calls. I’ll be right in.” The boys and I knew what that meant: the Air Force planes had finally arrived to pick them up.
There were already lots of soldiers and family members milling around the battalion area, piles of kit bags and duffel bags everywhere. We went into Dick’s office and chatted with people, but we knew he had things to do. There wasn’t much more to say; the good-bye had been going on for days. Dick had his game face on, as did most of his soldiers and officers.
We said good-bye with a kiss and hugs all around. It was anticlimactic after the days of waiting and with so many people around us.
On the drive home, the boys and I were relatively quiet and calm. I was so thankful that Clint and Tyler had each other. Even though they bickered like typical siblings, I noticed that whenever the going got tough, they banded together better than any two friends ever could. Surprisingly, sleep came easily to all three of us that night. A ringing phone at six o’clock the next morning woke me with a start, and for a second I forgot what was going on. It was the airfield commander telling me that Dick and his battalion had taken off at about 4:00 a.m. I was thankful for the call—it gave me closure—but when I hung up, all the pent-up emotion and angst came pouring out of me in big, choking sobs. I cried into my pillow so the boys wouldn’t hear me; I didn’t want to alarm them. I wanted Dick back.
In those first moments, as reality set in, I wondered how I was going to get through the coming months, and I was scared for Dick and his soldiers, not knowing what they would face when they arrived in Saudi Arabia.
Those first days and weeks after he left, I was exhausted both physically and mentally. I was very weepy and cried easily, especially when someone said or did something kind to me. I was standing in line at the commissary when an acquaintance came up to me, put her hand on my arm, and, with genuine concern, said, “Vicki, is there anything I can do for you?” For some reason, that kind gesture opened up the floodgates and I started crying right there in the express line at the commissary. As much as I hated doing it in public, there were times when I just couldn’t control the tears.
School started, and that was a blessing. It gave the boys a purpose. They were starting sixth and eighth grade, and, for the first time in a long time, they went to the same school. Because they were growing up so fast, and maybe because Dick was gone, I felt the significance of the moment even more. I had a lump in my throat as I watched them get on the school bus together.
I read about Dick and his helicopters in the local newspaper and in USA Today long before I actually heard from him. I felt some relief just knowing that they had arrived safely. It was big news because it was the first “real-world” deployment for the brand-new Apache helicopter, and the world was watching what the United States was going to do in response to Iraq’s invasion of Kuwait. I started keeping a scrapbook for Dick. And then one day he showed up on CNN! He was saying something about how many tanks the Apache could take out, but I couldn’t get past how handsome he looked and how good he sounded. The boys came home from school that day all excited because their teachers and principal had seen their dad on TV. That was the biggest morale boost for me, the boys, our parents, and all the families in our unit, because it meant that Dick and his guys were safe.
Later, when Dick’s letters started arriving, I found out about their abysmal living conditions. They made their home in the parking garage at King Fahd International Airport in Dhahran, Saudi Arabia. It became their base camp for the majority of their time there, along with the rest of the aviation units from the 101st. Dick and his guys had to set up their own camp, and it was two weeks before they got showers and latrines going. In those early days, Dick’s was the only Apache battalion in the country to support a 5th Special Forces Group and a Saudi National Guard unit along the Saudi–Kuwait border. That was all there was to protect the border and stop or deter any aggression from Saddam Hussein’s Republican Guard. From what I read in the newspaper and saw on TV, I knew how dangerous it was those first weeks and I had to force myself not to dwell on bad hypothetical scenarios.
When all you have are letters, it’s amazing how they can lift your spirits. As busy as Dick was, he took the time to write to each of us so the boys got their own letters. Dick always revealed so much more to me in a letter—a softer side to him, no game face, just his heartfelt words.
It took six weeks for the entire division to pack up, load up, and deploy to Saudi Arabia. Once everyone left, it got easier. We wives banded together and found comfort in one another while the boys got busy with school and sports. By late fall, the stress levels and emotions in our family support groups seemed to be settling down and replaced with a sense of acceptance. The boys and I were moving forward, making plans for Thanksgiving and Christmas, and counting down the da
ys and weeks until Dick came home. But for the tens of thousands of soldiers, sailors, airmen, and Marines who had amassed in and around Saudi Arabia, Operation Desert Shield had only just begun.
PS: By this point, I had gotten even better at compartmentalizing my emotions. I had to, because I had so many people counting on me that I couldn’t give in to my fears. But I never lost sight of how grateful I was to have Clint and Tyler and my parents, in-laws, siblings, and great friends from all over the Army, because their love and support were what kept me focused on what was important.
12
Operation Desert Shield/Desert Storm
It took every bit of my energy to take care of Clint, Tyler, and myself, as well as my responsibilities as a commander’s wife. I was fortunate to be surrounded by fellow Army wives who were having a similar experience, but my best friend Gail was the one whom I spent the most time with, and we managed to have fun and make the most of the situation. Our weekends were all about our kids, taking them to a movie or to dinner, even if it was just Burger King. Saturdays were filled with soccer or basketball games, and on Sundays we went to church.
I also had endless meetings to attend—division and brigade-level meetings, battalion family support group meetings, company potlucks—and monthly newsletters to write. What I didn’t realize then was that we Army wives were charting a new course for future Army families, paving the way for what family support and family readiness should and would be in the coming years. By 1990, as female soldiers began to deploy alongside their male counterparts, the profile of the Army family had changed dramatically from what it had been when we were fighting in Vietnam.
Operation Desert Shield/Desert Storm was the first time we had dual military couples, and there were more single-parent households than at any other time, which created a new set of needs for family care plans. The nice little coffee groups of the past, designed for social purposes, no longer provided for and served the soldiers and their families during a large-scale deployment like Operation Desert Shield/Desert Storm. So while we joked about our lot in life and what we referred to as “death by meetings,” those meetings actually served an important purpose, not only by keeping us busy and connected with one another but also by helping us devise a better plan for family support and readiness.