Army Wife

  And then one day I wake up and it is the day. The deployment is almost over, and my soldier is on his way home. The excitement and joy of seeing him walk down the steps of the big plane melts away all my earlier stress and fear. The homecoming represents that piece of Army life that makes the waiting, the worrying, and the sacrifices worth it. The homecoming is a little slice of heaven.

  21

  Inside the E-Ring

  When we left Fort Campbell in summer 2002, while Clint was still in Afghanistan, I felt as if we were leaving a piece of us behind. I felt that as long as Dick was the division commander and we were stationed at Fort Campbell, Clint would somehow be safer.

  The weeks leading up to Dick’s change of command had been hectic and emotional. When it was over, we were spent and needed to decompress, so we went to Florida. We were still waiting to hear when Clint would be returning, hoping that we could stop on our way back from Florida to welcome him home. But the flights from Afghanistan were delayed, so, after our trip, Dick went up to Washington, DC, to prepare for his new job and I stayed with friends at Fort Campbell to await Clint’s arrival. Dick would fly back down as soon as Clint was inbound.

  I had no sooner unpacked my bags and gotten Barkley and me settled in our friends’ house than Dick called to tell me that General Shinseki wanted to promote him the next day.

  “He wants to promote you tomorrow?”

  “Yeah, Vick. I need you to come up here. Can you get packed up and drive up to DC? I can hold it off for maybe another two days.”

  “Of course I can—I wouldn’t miss your promotion for anything. But what about Clint? What if he comes in the next few days?”

  “The minute we hear his plane has left Afghanistan, we’ll fly back down there. It takes at least twenty-four hours for them to get to the States, so we can make that, easy.”

  For promotion to three- and four-star general, you don’t go before a promotion board; rather, you are nominated by the secretary of defense and the president and then have to be confirmed by the Senate and the House. Dick’s confirmation had gone through quickly, and his new position would be G-3 of the Army.

  I was on the road bright and early the next morning and made it to DC before dark. The next day, I stood beside Dick in a small reception room in the Pentagon and, along with General Shinseki, I pinned on his third star. It was so spur-of-the-moment that there was no way our family could come down from Vermont. Dick’s fellow Army staffers, some generals, and a handful of friends were in attendance. We were excited about his promotion, but it happened so fast, and without our sons and family there, that it felt anticlimactic.

  We would move into quarters at Fort Myer again, and since we still had no confirmation on Clint’s arrival, Dick set up our move for Monday, August 13, which would also be his first day in his new job. We asked ourselves what the odds were that Clint’s flight would come in on that particular day.

  Of course, that’s exactly what happened. We got the call that Clint had left Bagram Airfield and after a couple of stops was due at Fort Campbell on or about August 13. Six months of stress and worrying about our son came tumbling out, and I had the meltdown of the decade, complete with a migraine. At first we didn’t know what to do, how to make it work. It was the weekend, and the movers were on their way; there was no way to stop them. Yet there was no way we were going to miss seeing Clint come in from Afghanistan. We were staying with friends, Mike and Barbara Oates, and Dick and I were going through all the scenarios, trying to figure out what to do. Barbara and their daughters offered to go to our quarters on Monday to accept our shipment so we could fly down to Fort Campbell. What a blessing—for the rest of my life, I will be grateful to them. Dick had to at least report to his new job Monday morning, and then we would catch a flight to Nashville and Fort Campbell.

  Monday morning, Dick reported in as the new G-3 of the Army, and by 10:00 a.m. we were driving to Baltimore to catch our flight. The past twenty-four hours had been such a whirlwind that Dick and I hadn’t even had much time to talk. Once we were on the road and I let go of the fact that the movers were at our house, I began to breathe again and allowed myself to feel the excitement of Clint’s coming home.

  I looked at Dick and asked, “How in the world did you get out of there on your first day as the G-3?”

  “I gathered my staff in my office—all the colonels, the one- and two-star generals, and my aides—and, after quick introductions, I told them that I was leaving in about thirty minutes to catch a flight to Fort Campbell, Kentucky, because my son is coming in from Afghanistan. Vicki, it was pretty crazy, with everyone talking at once, reminding me who I had a meeting with, where I needed to be, who was waiting to see me, and on and on.”

  “What did you do? What did you say?”

  “I went around the room and delegated tasks to each general and then told them, ‘There is not one thing going on in this Pentagon today that is more important than me welcoming my son home from combat. What are your questions?’”

  “Wow, Dick, I can’t believe you pulled that off. I am so proud of you!”

  We couldn’t get to BWI Airport fast enough. The entire forty-five-minute drive, I just kept thinking, We’re on our way to welcome Clint. He’s finally coming home.

  There was no welcome-home ceremony, no fanfare, no band playing—just us and some other families waiting for our soldiers. Those last minutes before the plane arrived were agonizing. I couldn’t sit still, and Dick went outside to pace. Finally, he came back in to tell us the plane had landed and the buses were on their way. The next thing I knew, Clint was walking toward us and I was running and hugging him and crying all at the same time. It was one of the greatest moments of my life. I had never felt such relief.

  While we waited for him to turn in his weapon, I just kept staring at him. He was still the same handsome boy, a bit thinner but more grown-up. I can’t believe we made it through our son’s first deployment, I thought.

  Dick needed to go back to the Pentagon, but I stayed another day. Then Clint started his reintegration classes, so I headed back to DC, knowing that he would come home on leave the following week.

  I flew back to DC feeling at peace, but the minute I landed, I had to face the reality of unpacking fifteen thousand pounds of household goods from wall-to-wall boxes. By the time Clint came home on leave, the house was livable and I forced myself to stop obsessing about the remaining boxes and just to enjoy the time with him.

  One day while we were in the car, he said, “Mom, I know this sounds weird, but . . . I miss it.”

  “What do you miss?”

  “I miss being with my guys and what we went through. As awful as it was over there, it became home to all of us; there were no outside distractions, just all of us together, flying and doing missions. Since we’ve gotten back, everybody’s gone their separate ways and I miss what we had.”

  “You know, Clint, I don’t think it’s that weird. I remember your dad saying the same thing after Desert Storm. I think I get it. You bond and become so close in those situations; then the dynamics change when you get home.” Clint didn’t have a wife or girlfriend waiting for him when he returned, and I realized it was lonely for him.

  “Has Dad mentioned anything to you about another deployment? There’s talk of a deployment to Iraq—like, maybe a war. Our unit is already making plans to get all the equipment and aircraft ready when we come back from leave.”

  “Clint, you just got back from Afghanistan. . . . I’m trying to live in the moment!” I paused. “But, to answer your question, Dad has talked about the plans for the next phase of the war on terrorism, and of course I hear about it on the news.”

  Dick had in fact talked to me about it. He had already been briefed and was preparing the Army for a massive deployment to Iraq. I didn’t know the particulars, but that day with Clint, I didn’t want to think ahead; I just wanted to enjoy having him home safe.

  After Clint returned to Fort Campbell, I got the rest of the boxes
unpacked and Quarters 2 at Fort Myer began to feel like home. Just down the street from where we had lived previously, it was again a big, historic house with large rooms, and perfect for entertaining. We had the same beautiful view of Washington, DC, and we were just up the hill from the Iwo Jima memorial. I was happy to be back in a place where I still had friends—including Nancy, who was at Fort Meade, Maryland, just a short distance away—and I loved our neighborhood.

  Clint readjusted well to his old routine at Fort Campbell. When we talked on the phone, it seemed as if he had never been gone. Tyler was doing really well in flight school and whenever possible, drove up to Fort Campbell to spend time with Clint.

  Dick was extremely busy, even more so than he had been at his previous job in the Pentagon. The G-3 role had a huge scope: running day-to-day operations, which included the overall readiness of the Army, leader development, force structure (the makeup of the units), warplan strategy, and all of the Army requirements worldwide. His office had to man, equip, train, mobilize, and deploy the National Guard and Reserves, too. I think Dick would have worked himself to death if I hadn’t been there for him, with a home-cooked meal and a shoulder to lean on when he came home at night. We attended a lot of official-type functions that went with Dick’s position and title, but I made sure we had date nights on Saturdays whenever possible.

  Working inside the E-Ring was like a whole different world. We wives joked that the guys had what we called “Pentagon pallor”: their hair became grayer, and they looked pale because they never saw the light of day; they went in before the sun was up and left long after dark most days.

  Dick spent much of that fall and early winter preparing to move half of the Army around the world, something that had not been done since World War II. He made a lot of trips to Central Command (CENTCOM) in Tampa, Florida, for briefings. Based on the requirements for the war, he had to prepare the Army for the actual deployments and still maintain the requirements for the rest of the forces in the US and abroad. At the same time, he and his staff had to anticipate the second and third orders of effects of a war in the Middle East and the impact on the entire Army. By November and December, tens of thousands of soldiers, Marines, and Airmen began amassing in Kuwait.

  During one of our many discussions on the subject, Dick told me, “The entire 101st Airborne Division will deploy—not just part of it, but all of it. Based on the timeline, I think Clint’s battalion will leave in February.”

  “I can’t go through it again. And what about Clint? He’s been back only six months!”

  “We don’t have a choice, Vick. This is just the beginning of a prolonged period of deployments for our military.”

  When the boys came home for Christmas, it was pretty much a given that the United States was headed for war in Iraq. It was hard to ignore, but I wanted to enjoy having my family together for the holidays, so I compartmentalized—something I was still quite good at.

  When the boys left to go back to their respective places, the familiar feelings of fear crept back into my consciousness. I had taken a break from it for a couple of months, but to me, the new year meant uncertainty and letting go of my son again. It was just a matter of time before we would head to Fort Campbell to say good-bye.

  That January, Dick and I went out to Keystone, Colorado. We had not been skiing since 1999; we hadn’t even had time to stay in the condo that we had bought. I knew that life would get even busier when the war started, so I felt that we needed to get away from the Pentagon and DC for a bit. Dick always listened to me. It was a short trip, since we knew Clint would be deploying soon, but three days of skiing was better than nothing. We loved staying in our own condo, and, as always, the trip served as a healthy distraction in the midst of the chaos that was on the horizon.

  When we returned, Tyler drove up to Fort Campbell in early February to say good-bye to his brother, and that was when the reality hit me. We were one step closer to Clint’s leaving. Up until that point, I had kept hoping something would change the course of events.

  Dick had flown out to Fort Leavenworth, Kansas, to speak at the Command and General Staff College, and, wouldn’t you know it, Clint called that day and said the Air Force planes were on their way to pick them up. He would be gone within twenty-four hours.

  “Clint, we’ll be there. I promise.”

  My heart was pounding as I called Dick’s office to see when he would be home. I was prepared to leave without him if I had to. I asked his XO (executive officer) to get a message to him the minute he landed. By the time Dick landed at Andrews Air Force Base, I had booked us on the last flight out of Baltimore and had our bags packed. I called Clint and told him we’d be there later that night.

  We went right to Clint’s house, and I’ll never forget the first thing he said to us: “Thank you for coming.”

  “Of course we would come! Did you for one minute think we wouldn’t?”

  His appreciation melted my heart. He looked exhausted, so we left him and checked into our room at the guesthouse, hoping to get some sleep ourselves. I was mentally fatigued but also keyed up with that familiar, scary adrenaline rush that always came before a deployment.

  We had most of the next day with Clint. He and his roommate, Matt, were all packed up. Their small house was full of kit bags, flight bags, and gear. Dick spent the afternoon talking to Clint and Matt about flying in the desert, what to expect in Iraq, and anything else he could think of that might keep them safe. In each of their green Army logbooks, he wrote his Commander Cody’s “Ten Commandments,” his thoughts on leadership and safety. As I watched Dick with Clint and Matt, noting his thoughtfulness as a leader and as a father, I knew that he wanted to go with them; I knew how hard it was for him to say good-bye to his son again.

  We headed out to the airfield that night. It was freezing cold, and there was snow on the ground, but it was aflutter with activity, reminiscent of those times when Dick was leaving with his battalion. Dick helped Clint carry his bags to the loading bay; then we gathered in the battalion headquarters with all the other soldiers and family members. Clint still had the same commander, LTC Jim Richardson, and we were so thankful for his good, caring leadership. Jim was the best commander we could have asked for for our son. That, plus the fact that Clint would be flying with Mike Wells again, gave me some comfort. Clint was in a great unit, and I just had to keep telling myself that the rest of it was in God’s hands; there was nothing more that Dick and I could do.

  There were some tearful scenes, but most of the families were smiling and posing for pictures with their soldiers. I got to talk to some of the parents, who, like we had, had dropped everything to be there. They had come from all over; some had driven all night, others had flown in, as we had, and some had been there for days, waiting in hotel rooms, all for the sole purpose of saying good-bye to their soldiers. It didn’t matter whether it was a son or a daughter, enlisted or an officer; how long they had served; where they had come from—we were spouses and parents who shared the same fears about, pride in, and love for our soldiers. When Clint had left for Afghanistan twelve months earlier, I’d had no one to share it with, just Dick. But that night I felt comforted just being with other Army families.

  I hugged Clint as long as I could and told him, “I love you so much and am so proud of you.” I forced myself to let go, but all the while I was thinking, I’m almost out of courage.

  PS: There were times that fall when I felt unsettled. I was used to being a commander’s wife, which was a clearly defined role, a role that I knew how to play, but as the G-3’s wife, I didn’t really have a role or any responsibilities, and I missed that sense of purpose. As it had so many times before, I knew that something would present itself to me. But I wasn’t just looking for something to amuse me and to take up my time; with war on the horizon and my son deploying again, I needed something to occupy my mind and at the same time help others in the same situation.

  22

  Operation Iraqi Freedom

&nb
sp; When Dick got back to work after Clint left for Iraq, the Pentagon was in full preparation mode for the upcoming war there. When the air attacks on Baghdad began on March 21, 2003, it was déjà vu for me, watching a war unfold on live TV, but the big difference between Operation Desert Storm and Operation Iraqi Freedom was that Dick was watching it with me, and it was our son we were worried about.

  There had been a lot of political controversy in the weeks leading up to the war. General Shinseki, who testified before the Senate Armed Services Committee that it would take “several hundred thousand” troops to effectively do what needed to be done, including the postwar occupation, was heavily criticized for saying as much (though, in the end, it proved to be true). The war started with units still arriving in Kuwait and equipment still on ships out in the Mediterranean Sea. So that night, when General Tommy Franks’ “shock and awe” campaign began, Dick was as surprised as I was. He was under the assumption that the war would not begin until April and was concerned about the premature start. He was making phone calls, trying to get information, when Clint called from Kuwait. It was only the second time we had heard from him, and I waited anxiously while Dick talked.

  “Dad, what’s going on? We heard that the Air Force has begun bombing. We don’t have any way to get the news, so tell me what is going on.”

  “Clint, I’m watching it on TV. This is not what I expected.”

  It was weird to think that Clint was calling us from Kuwait, asking for information. He told us they were packed up and ready to move north into Iraq but didn’t have any orders yet. Now that the Air Force was paving the way, Dick told him they would probably be moving out soon.

  I talked to Clint briefly, but the connection was bad and he assured me he would call again before he moved anywhere. Dick and I were nervous all night because these events signaled the beginning of combat operations in Iraq—combat that would involve our son.