by Vicki Cody
Dick and I responded in unison, “Sure, that would be nice.”
We got into the official presidential car and sank into luxurious leather seats embroidered with the presidential seal. The doors closed, and there we were, just the four of us, face-to-face: Dick and I and our new best friends, George and Laura Bush! Dick and President Bush started talking, and Laura put on some lipstick, so I followed suit. Then she brought out a little tin of Altoids breath mints and offered them to us, while I thought, She is so normal!
They were both gracious and sincere, and they looked right at us with their beautiful blue eyes. We rode out with them to the parade field, where fifteen thousand soldiers and thousands of family members were assembled, including Clint and my mom. There were congressmen, senators, and the governors of both Kentucky and Tennessee. There were civilians and VIP guests from our communities. As we approached the field, I saw the look of awe and wonder on the president’s face; I don’t think he had ever seen such a large formation of soldiers. As many times as I had seen formations, that sea of green camouflage and black berets never ceased to amaze and move me as well.
When we exited the vehicle and lined up behind the stage, the chants and cheers from the crowd were deafening. Dick gave the president a 101st Airborne Division flight jacket to wear, and as we walked out onto the stage, I felt as if I were in a dream as I sat next to Laura while Dick gave the introduction and then the president spoke. He turned to Dick and said, “I want to thank Commander Cody for his hospitality and his leadership. I took a good look at him . . . I’m glad he’s on my side!” The crowd erupted in cheers.
Afterward, when we went backstage, Clint and my mom and about ten other people got to meet the president and the First Lady. It was the chance of a lifetime for all of us. Pictures were taken of each of us with the First Lady. It all happened so fast, yet I remember every single moment.
When it was time for them to leave, we rode out to the airfield with them and then exchanged a flurry of good-byes. I hugged Laura and shook the president’s hand, and then they were climbing the steep stairway to Air Force One. Dick and I stood there and watched them taxi and take off. Holding hands, we turned to walk back to our vehicle. I felt like skipping as I turned to Dick and said, “Holy shit, we just spent the day with the president of the United States!”
I also caught a rare glimpse of George W. Bush the man that day. When we were in the car heading to the airfield, Dick was talking to the president, thanking him for his leadership during such a difficult time for our country. President Bush said he had surrounded himself with some really smart people and how important that was, and Dick and I both told him he was doing a great job as president.
He looked out the window, with a wistful look on his face, and said, “I had a really good teacher. . . . [Longpause.] My dad.” There was something in the way he said it, something in his look, that told me I had just witnessed something very private, a very human side of him. I saw him not just as our president but as a man who deeply respected his father, a former president.
When I got home that afternoon, Clint and my mom were at the house, waiting for me. They had CNN on and had been watching replays of the coverage of the president’s visit. It was weird and exciting to see Dick and me on TV. Family and friends called throughout the afternoon and evening. It was my fifteen minutes of fame, but it was so much more than that—it was yet another moment in time that is now forever etched in my mind.
The fame and glory were short-lived, however, because I had so much to do to get ready for Thanksgiving—casseroles and pies to make, and a huge turkey to prep for the next day’s dinner. Just like that, I was back to my real life as mother, daughter, hostess, cook, and CG’s wife.
Right after Thanksgiving, Dick was briefed on upcoming operations in Afghanistan. The 101st deployed a brigade combat team, the first conventional unit to deploy troops to Afghanistan in support of the war on terrorism. At the same time, Clint got his official orders for the 101st. He would be living near us for the first time since he had left home for college, but my excitement was tempered by the reality that the division could deploy. Still, at that point, I told myself just to wait and see, because maybe it would not come to that.
I busied myself with all the usual preparations for the holidays, but nothing felt normal. There was still so much heartache in our country, my dad’s death was fresh in our minds, we had soldiers deploying, and there was a possibility that combat operations would begin in Afghanistan.
We spent Christmas in Vermont. My family was experiencing all the sad “firsts” without my dad, but it felt good to be together, especially in light of all that had happened in the last year.
As uncertain as those times were, we also had much to look forward to. Tyler had just one semester left at Texas A&M and would graduate in May. He and Brooke were talking about getting engaged, so for all the heartache of the previous year, life presented us with blessings, too.
PS: The events of September 11 changed the course of so many lives, not just those who lost loved ones in the World Trade Center or the Pentagon or on the planes that went down, or the firefighters and policemen who died trying to save people. The terrorist attacks changed the life of anyone serving in the military or who had loved ones serving. For all of us, it was the beginning of a war on terrorism that would mean multiple deployments, in different countries, for the next decade. And for me, having a husband and both sons in the Army just got even more dangerous and stressful.
20
A New “Band of Brothers”
The first weeks of the new year were busy ones for all of us in the 101st. First Lieutenant Clint Cody signed in to the division and the 101st Aviation Brigade. My hopes of seeing him and having Sunday dinners together didn’t exactly pan out. I resigned myself to the fact that at least he was close by and we saw more of him than we had in the last six years, but Clint was one busy lieutenant, going through integration into his unit and the division, learning the local flying area, and getting mission qualified. Typically, all of that would have been spread out over four to six weeks, but that January, time was of the essence and Clint got qualified in just two weeks. He also had all the responsibilities of a brand-new platoon leader. He worked hard to blend in and tried to be like any other new lieutenant, pilot, or platoon leader in the division, but that still wasn’t easy, given who his father was.
One of the companies from Clint’s battalion had deployed to Afghanistan in December as part of Task Force Rakkasan, and the rest of his battalion was on alert. Not yet ready to face reality, I ignored the fear that was trying to surface.
One night over dinner, Clint and his roommate, Matt, asked Dick when he thought they should “get their motorcycles out of the garage.” We all laughed over the fact that we were still using the same code words that we had been using since the kids were little.
Dick turned serious and said, “Clint, I think you’ll need your motorcycle before me.”
I looked at all of them and felt the old, familiar sinking feeling in my gut. “Dick, what do you mean by that?” I asked.
“So far, the requirements from US Central Command [CENTCOM] have been for specific company and battalion size units, to be attached to the task force already there.” He went on to explain, “They have not yet asked for my division headquarters. This is different from what we were used to when the entire division deployed for Desert Storm.”
On March 1, Operation Anaconda began in Afghanistan, involving Task Force Rakkasan of the 101st Airborne Division. When Dick wasn’t at his office, he was on his special secure phone at the house. Almost immediately after the operation was underway, Dick got calls from the command center in the combat zone that more Apaches were needed.
As soon as it was daylight, Dick went into his office. When he came home that afternoon, he found me in my rubber gloves, washing windows, cleaning—what I always did when I got scared. He walked right to me, and in an instant I knew what was coming.
“I’m sending the rest of 3-101st to Afghanistan. Clint’s battalion is leaving . . .” He paused. “I’m sending Clint to combat.”
“Clint is going? You’re going, too, aren’t you?”
“No, Vick, I’m not. They still haven’t asked for our division headquarters.”
“What do you mean? You have to go with him! He can’t go without you!” I felt as if someone had punched me in the stomach. My mind was racing: This is not part of the plan. I thought Dick and Clint would go together. I wasn’t thinking straight.
I ripped off my rubber gloves, flung them onto the floor, and walked away, muttering, “I never signed up for this!”
Later, when Dick recounted the story, he told people that I said to him, “You go!” But I never said that. I said, “You go with him.” There’s a difference.
I was a mess. You would think that I would have been prepared, but it still blindsided me. It was no longer a possibility that our son was going into combat—it was a reality.
Meanwhile, Dick was standing there with a scared look on his face. I went to him and hugged him and said, “I know it’s not your fault; I’m just so scared.”
“I know, Vick. I am, too.”
“Does Clint know?”
“His unit is being called right now. Give him some time, and then he’ll call us.”
Clint called within the hour and said simply, “Mom, I’m getting my motorcycle out of the garage.”
I was determined not to cry. Clint was already in preparation mode and had so much to do to get himself and his platoon ready. I didn’t want to be a drag on him or add to his already-full plate. Plus, I was in shock. I just kept thinking, There is no way Clint is going to Afghanistan without his dad.
For the next three days, I felt as if I were in no-man’s-land. Clint sounded exhausted whenever he called, but he said he still had much to do. I felt powerless—it wasn’t anything like helping him pack for college. When we met with a JAG officer (an Army lawyer) so Clint could give me power of attorney to handle things that might come up in his absence, the deployment became a reality. I could not stop the tears that day. But after a brief meltdown, I was ready to do what I always did for his dad in those situations: be a sounding board and supportive in any way I could.
Tyler was calling daily from Texas A&M. He was worried about his brother and couldn’t believe Clint was deploying so soon after he’d gotten to the division and when he was just months out of flight school. He and Clint talked frequently.
One night at about midnight, I heard Clint’s car pull into our driveway. Dick was asleep, and I ran downstairs to see my boy. His platoon was packed and ready, and he was heading to his house to gather up the rest of his personal gear. He looked exhausted, physically and mentally. I went to hug him, but he winced and pulled away. He had gotten six shots in his arms that day and could barely lift them. I also noticed his shaved head. He and his guys had gotten haircuts, just like his dad used to do.
We went into the kitchen, and I made him soup and a sandwich; he hadn’t eaten all day. We sat there in the quiet of the night, and I kept looking at my boy, who seemed to have grown up overnight yet also still looked so young and vulnerable. I was working on my game face, and I did pretty well that night. I had to, not just for me, but for Clint. I just kept thinking how lucky we were that we lived there at Fort Campbell and I had those days with him. I will never forget that night, not because of anything special that we said to each other but because I had him all to myself for a brief time, before he left the next day.
When I woke up the next morning, Dick was sitting on the side of the bed, just staring into space. I reached over to him and said, “I can’t say good-bye. I can’t let him go.”
“I know, Vick. It’s killing me, too.” In that moment, Dick wasn’t a division commander; he was a father.
“How are we going to do this?”
“We don’t have a choice. We just have to do it.”
A few minutes later, after Dick had shaved, he said to me, “Think about all the people, all the kids out there, who go through life and never get to do something they want to, never test themselves, never get to see what they’re capable of. . . . Clint is doing what he always dreamed of doing.”
“I know you’re absolutely right, but it doesn’t make it any easier.”
That morning was our scheduled monthly information meeting with all the commanders’ spouses. Dick wanted to brief them, so he accompanied me and talked to the group of about seventy-five spouses. Before turning it over to me, he told them, “Vicki and I are on our way out to the airfield to say good-bye to our son. He is leaving on the next flight to Afghanistan.”
At that, the room let out a huge, collective gasp. Things had happened so fast in the short time that Clint had been in the 101st, many of them did not realize that our son was even in the division, much less deploying.
I would like to tell you that I was totally in control of my emotions, but the minute I stood before the roomful of my fellow Army spouses, I caved. My game face totally failed me. But as Dick stood there, I curtailed my crying and kept my comments brief, knowing that if I let go I would not be able to stop.
I looked at their concerned faces. I knew them all so well, and most of their husbands, too. “I’m pretty scared,” I told them. “But if our son has to go to combat, I’m glad he is with your husbands. I can’t think of better commanders and leaders for him. We’ll get through this together.” I meant what I said. I knew that I would get my strength from them in the coming months and that, in turn, Dick and I would support them.
On the way out to the airfield, we were both pretty quiet. I had no questions to ask—or, rather, none for which I wanted to an answer. Back then, there was no fanfare, no sending-off ceremony. The units had been deploying in bits and pieces, as needed. I was allowed to go because I was the CG’s wife; otherwise, no other family members were there. I was so glad to finally meet Clint’s copilot, Mike, whom I’d heard much about. Mike was in his mid-thirties and had flown in Operation Desert Storm, so his experience gave me reassurance. He was soft-spoken and polite, and he told me that Clint was already a great pilot and gunner.
“I’ll look after him,” he assured me. “Try not to worry about him—he’ll be okay.”
I was grateful for his kind words and reassurances, and I told him so. After that, we just sat on some hard wooden benches and didn’t have much more to say. Clint’s crew chiefs were there, too, and I thought about how young every one of them looked, just as I had thought about Clint the night before. Now, my son had his own game face on as he handed me his Aggie ring, his cell phone, and his wallet. We took a few pictures, and I was struck by the fact that we were posing and smiling as if it were any family occasion. Old Abe was in the background, as always.
I hugged Clint as long and hard as I could. I wanted to hang onto him forever, but I also knew it was time to let go. I didn’t really cry, just a little sob, but no big tears, which was good. I didn’t want to embarrass him.
We left the airfield, and I dropped Dick at his headquarters. He had a full day of work, and I had things to do. I drove the short distance to our house and was relieved when I pulled into the driveway and saw that our enlisted aide wasn’t there. I was planning on having a nice little “pity party,” and I didn’t want anyone around. If I felt like crying, I was going to let loose, once and for all. I was tired of being strong and holding it in. I lay on my bed and thought about getting under the covers and just staying there indefinitely. I felt like quitting my life as an Army wife and mom, if only for a while. It was just getting too hard.
Then the phone rang and I forced myself to get up. It was Lisa Preysler, whose husband was one of the infantry battalion commanders in Afghanistan.
“Vicki, I’ve been thinking about you. Are you okay?”
“I’m okay. It’s just scary. It’s so different than sending Dick off.” It was such a new feeling for me that I had trouble finding the words to describe it as I co
ntinued. “Lisa, it was like sending a part of me away. I don’t worry about Dick the same way I worry about my sons. Clint just seems so young—I don’t know how else to say it.”
We chatted for a few more minutes, and she tried to reassure me that Clint would be all right. “We’ll get through this together, Vicki.”
When I hung up the phone, I thought of all our spouses who had someone deployed, and I knew they were worried like I was. And that evening, when I called Mike Wells’ wife, Sarah, I felt an instant connection with her. By the time we hung up, I felt better than I had in days, and maybe I helped her, too. In the coming days and weeks, I got phone calls, notes, and messages from spouses telling me that they were thinking of me and praying for our son, and each one meant the world to me.
The hardest part of Clint’s deployment was our lack of communication and not knowing what he would be facing when he got to Afghanistan. When he called about a week later, I was so relieved to hear his voice and to know that he was safe. I was then able to start moving forward, one day at a time, but I woke up every morning thinking about Clint and praying that he was safe, and I went to bed every night doing the same.
When Clint deployed, the roles that Dick and I had been playing, as the commanding general and his wife, became intertwined with our identities as the parents of a deployed soldier. It happened the first time we attended a family readiness group (FRG) meeting with the families of the aviation task force. That first time, it felt strange, but after a few more meetings we were comfortable in our dual roles. I also had the same feeling I’d had in the past, of knowing there was a reason and a purpose for our being there at that point in time. If we had been living somewhere else, we would have had no connection to the people our son was deployed with. By the same token, because Dick and I were living what they were living, we were able to truly support them during a difficult time. Once I looked at it that way, I felt better.