Army Wife

by Vicki Cody

  I had the eleven-hour drive back to DC all by myself to collect my thoughts and get my head straight. I talked to my mom, my sister, and Nancy at various times during the long drive. I cried some, but by the time I pulled into Fort Myer, Virginia, my eyes were dry. I felt empty from head to toe. All three of my men—my whole world—were halfway around the globe, in either Kuwait or Iraq. Dick would be gone about two weeks; he was visiting as many camps and bases as he could.

  When Dick finally got home, I was full of questions about everything. I was so glad that he had gotten to spend some more time with Clint and his unit. And, as it turned out, Dick and Tyler had run into each other, albeit briefly, at an airfield in Kuwait. I was especially thankful that Dick had gotten to lay eyes on Tyler one last time. I knew how lucky we were that, because of Dick’s position, he had the opportunity to see our boys.

  During Tyler’s first call to me, he told me that Clint was there to greet him when he arrived, took him around the airfield, and showed him where everything was. For the first time in months, I actually felt some peace of mind just knowing that the boys were together. I knew that they would look out for each other, and that was all I could ask for.

  Tyler was busy integrating into his unit and doing all those things Clint had done when he got to his first aviation unit. Tyler’s battalion commander was LTC Doug Gabram, a wonderful officer who had been a company commander for Dick during Desert Storm. There were still a couple of warrant officers and crew chiefs that had remained in the unit since Dick had commanded it. Tyler’s copilot was CW3 Tim “Vinnie” Vincent, who had flown the Task Force Normandy mission with Dick in Desert Storm. I was so relieved as I thought, How weird that our boys are flying with pilots who also flew with their dad.

  Eventually, my life settled into a new normal with both boys in Iraq. I’ve always believed that the good times in life offset and balance out the tough times, and it wasn’t all doom and gloom during those months of war and deployments; there were also great moments and happy times for Dick and me.

  We celebrated two other weddings that year. My sister, Chris, whose marriage to Jim had ended in the mid-’80s, had finally found her soul mate. She and Tom were married that summer, and I was overjoyed to see my sister so happy. The highlight of that fall was Wynonna and D.R.’s wedding in Nashville. We met the rest of the Judd family, who all showed us warmth and kindness. We were honored to be included in all the festivities surrounding the big event.

  Brooke adjusted to Army life. While it was difficult in the beginning, she made some good friends, and, like Army wives past and present, they got through the long days and lonely nights of the deployment, learning from and supporting one another during plenty of scary times that fall and winter.

  Tyler called one day and in an excited voice told me that he had just flown his first real combat mission.

  “Mom, you’ll never guess what aircraft I just flew: Dad’s old Apache, tail number 977. Vinnie and I flew Rigor Mortis!”

  “Wow, Tyler! I had forgotten that Rigor Mortis is still in the unit.”

  “When we formed up before the mission, LTC Gabram handed me the key and said, ‘This is your dad’s aircraft that fired the first shots of the Gulf War—don’t crash it!’ Mom, it was so awesome!”

  As he continued talking, memories of Dick and Desert Storm came flooding back to me and my eyes filled with happy tears.

  “Mom, I always knew what Dad had done, but I didn’t feel the significance until I saw his name on the door with the original tail number. When I strapped into my seat, I saw the brass plate on the dashboard that read AT 0238 ON JANUARY 17, 1991, LTC DICK CODY FIRED THE FIRST SHOTS OF THE GULF WAR, and I felt the full impact of what my dad had done. I was honored to be flying his aircraft.”

  Dick had flown tail number 977 from 1989 to 1991, while he commanded 1-101st Aviation Battalion during combat in Iraq and Kuwait. Dick and Brian Stewmon had been shot at in that aircraft and defied all kinds of odds the night they flew 977 through the desert to take out the radar sites and open an air corridor into Baghdad. They wreaked havoc on the enemy with their hellfire missiles and rockets, whereupon tail number 977 had been aptly nicknamed Rigor Mortis and remained in the unit after Dick left.

  “Tyler, I’m so proud of you! Just fly safe and be careful.” I smiled as I hung up the phone. It was just so unbelievable—and yet so meant to be. When Brooke and I talked about it, we both agreed we felt better just knowing that Tyler would be flying Dick’s old aircraft. And when Dick came home from the Pentagon that evening, he was grinning from ear to ear. “Can you believe it, Vick? Tyler is flying Rigor Mortis! I feel like it is a passing of the torch.” There was something strangely comforting in that. Again, I felt the hands of fate holding us close.

  I dreaded the holidays that year. Dick didn’t think he could take leave and be away from the Pentagon at such a critical time, so we didn’t go to Vermont. It was probably the loneliest Christmas we had ever experienced. Luckily, my mom and sister came down to DC for New Year’s, so we managed to get through the season. That was all I wanted at that point, because I knew that if we could do that, we would be on the downhill side of the deployment and I could begin to count the weeks until the boys redeployed.

  Once the end was in sight, it was all I could think about. I knew that Clint and Tyler were doing dangerous things. I knew that every mission they flew, every time they went up in their Apaches, they were defying the odds. I prayed that they would be safe, just a little bit longer.

  Tyler got home first. We flew down just for the day to welcome him. As Brooke and I stood there, waiting for the plane, shivering in the cold rain, holding our sign, I was lost in my thoughts, processing the fact that it was my boys who were returning from war. I couldn’t stop thinking, Where have all the years gone?

  We were on our tiptoes, scanning the faces in that sea of desert camouflage coming toward us, hundreds of soldiers. Luckily, Tyler is very tall, and all of a sudden, Brooke said, “There he is!”

  He was walking right toward us. I stepped back while he and Brooke hugged, waiting for my turn. “Welcome home, Tyler!” I was shaking as I continued, “We are so proud of you!”

  Clint was coming in the following week, and we would head back down to greet him. My mom had never experienced the joys of a “homecoming,” and since she couldn’t be there for both, we decided to have her come for Clint’s so she could see Tyler and Brooke, too.

  We all gathered at Fort Campbell, including my cousin Toby, who drove down from Ohio. I couldn’t wait for them to experience the homecoming. When Tyler met us out at the airfield, we were all running on adrenaline and didn’t mind that it was 4:00 a.m., cold, and dark. Clint was almost home! And, as with so many times before waiting for Dick or for Tyler, I thought the big plane landing and taxiing toward us was the most glorious sight I had ever witnessed. In those moments, nothing else in the world mattered. Dick was up near the plane, shaking the hand of every soldier as he got off. Mom, Toby, Tyler, and I kept waiting and watching for Clint. Those last minutes seemed like an eternity. Then he was walking toward us and the tears came. We all just kept hugging each other as my mom and I sobbed with relief. I was so glad she was with us and got to experience such an indescribable event firsthand.

  As we celebrated for the next few days, I felt like the luckiest person in the world. When I watched Clint and Tyler together, I wanted only to hold on to the moment a little longer. Dick went back to DC, and I followed a few days later. Clint spent a week with us, and then, all of a sudden, life seemed normal again, as if nothing had ever happened. It was baffling how quickly the fear and stress subsided, and also wonderful to finally go to bed at night without having to worry.

  PS: Even in retrospect, I’m still amazed at the irony that Dick was in that rank and position in the E-Ring of the Pentagon at that very point in time—responsible for so much of what went on in the Army and making critical decisions every day. But who better to be making those decisions that affected s
o many hundreds of thousands of soldiers than the father of two of them?

  Thoughts on What Goes Around Comes Around

  I’ve often thought that life’s greatest rewards are the blessings that you don’t even ask for, the ones that come along when you least expect them. Dick and I went about our life trying to do the right thing, leading by example for our sons and the people in our units, hoping that our actions had an impact on those around us. Being in the military gave us plenty of opportunities to give to others and hopefully make a difference. So many times, we got tangible feedback, both verbal and written, that validated our hope that we were making a difference. But sometimes it wasn’t until years later that we realized we had impacted someone’s life or, even better, that what we had done for someone was reciprocated for our family.

  I loved being a mother figure to the spouses in our units. I never forgot what it was like to be newly married, new to the Army, and far from home. All of the senior wives who showed me the way, took me to functions, and taught me how to be an Army wife served as my role models when my turn came to pass on the traditions.

  The year that my dad was sick with cancer and I made numerous trips to be with my parents, I had so many responsibilities as a division commander’s wife, I wasn’t sure how I could divide my time, do all the things I was so used to doing, and still be there for my family. I had always been the one in charge, the strong one, the one ministering to others. Now, suddenly, I was in a situation out of my control and I had to depend on those around me, not just to help with my responsibilities but also for emotional support. All the times I had done that for others came back to me that year, and I was surrounded by the love and support of my fellow Army wives. And when Clint deployed that first time to Afghanistan, the spouses of the soldiers with whom he was serving were the ones who gave me the strength I needed to get through it.

  When Dick was deployed to Desert Storm, I mailed a monthly newsletter to all the families, including the parents of our single soldiers. I met many of those parents at the homecoming, and they thanked me and told me how much they appreciated my having included them. I never dreamed that one day I would be in their shoes, so grateful for a newsletter from Clint’s or Tyler’s unit.

  In Dick’s travels to the combat zones in Afghanistan or Iraq, he went to as many outposts and camps as he could, to talk to the soldiers and let them know how much he cared about them. He sought out anyone we had a connection to—a friend of Clint’s or Tyler’s, or the son or daughter of someone we knew—and always reported back to their family how that soldier was doing. When Tyler was in Iraq, his company was attached to the 4th Infantry Division for a short time, and he moved to Tikrit. He left the familiarity of his battalion and his brother right around Christmas. I hated that the boys weren’t together; it made the holidays even more difficult for all of us. And then Tyler called us on Christmas Day and said, “You’ll never guess who woke me up this morning to wish me a merry Christmas—General Odierno!” Our good friend Ray Odierno, the commanding general of the 4th Infantry Division, who had served with Dick a couple of times and whose wife and family were close friends of ours, had found our son that Christmas morning. It meant the world to Dick and me. For all the times Dick had done the same for someone’s kid, it had now been done for us.

  On that same Christmas Day in Iraq, Clint had guard duty in Mosul and was away from his unit. He later told us that the Peshmerga soldiers he was working with brought him a home-cooked meal of chicken and rice on Christmas night. I thought about all the holidays I had fed soldiers who were alone or single. It warmed my heart to know that there were people out there looking out for our sons, just as we had done so many times.

  After September 11, when Dick was commanding the 101st Airborne Division, we had soldiers guarding our quarters around the clock. On Thanksgiving, I made breakfast for the soldiers on the morning shift. That evening, I made a full turkey dinner for the soldiers on the evening shift. We set up tables on our carport, complete with tablecloths and candles. I had gotten permission from their company commander for them to take a short break to eat. Clint was home from flight school and helped us serve dinner. A few years later, Clint was in Iraq, standing in line at the mess hall, when a soldier came up to him. After saluting, the soldier said, “Sir, you probably don’t remember me, but I was one of the soldiers who guarded your parents’ house after September 11. I was one of the soldiers who had Thanksgiving dinner there. I remember you.”

  Clint was shocked that the soldier recognized him. He said something like, “Yes, I remember that evening.”

  The soldier went on to say, “I will never forget what your parents did for us. When you talk to your mom, will you tell her how much it meant to me, to all of us?”

  Clint called me that day from Iraq and said, “Mom, you’ll never guess who I ran into today.” When he told me the story, I felt warm inside. I knew it was one of those special blessings that had come back to me. I also knew it was good for Clint to have heard that from a perfect stranger, because he, too, had made a difference.

  While Clint and Tyler were growing up, I never knew how much of our way of life they absorbed. But when each of them became a company commander, I saw that they had the same caring, compassionate leadership style as their dad, but it was not something Dick had consciously taught them; it was something they had observed.

  In 1990, right before Dick deployed to Operation Desert Storm, a team of engineers from the Army’s night-vision labs came to Fort Campbell to brief him on the night-vision system in the Apache helicopter. The head engineer was a Vietnamese woman, and after the briefing, Dick approached her, curious to know how and when she had come to the United States. She told him that she and her family had evacuated to Guam in 1975, before they had immigrated. He smiled and told her that he had been a lieutenant then, working on Guam. She stared at him and his name tag as he continued, “I used to hand out popsicles to the kids. . . .”

  Before he finished his sentence, she exclaimed, “You were the popsicle man! I remember you!”

  She had been ten years old at the time, and now, fifteen years later, as a highly educated engineer working for the US Army, she just happened to be briefing Lieutenant Colonel Cody. She followed Dick’s career for the next ten years, and when he was at the Pentagon, their paths crossed occasionally. He had told me all of that, and I already thought it was remarkable, but it wasn’t until she came to his retirement in 2008 that I realized the impact Dick had had on this young woman. She and I cried as we hugged each other.

  She gave Dick a card that day, which was also his birthday, and we were amazed at her eloquence when she wrote, “Commander Cody, you melt my heart and strengthen it too whenever I think of you and see you in action. I’m very glad to be one of the children you helped in Guam and inspired forever. With love and respect, Trang Bui.”

  What goes around comes around, indeed.

  23

  A Fourth Star

  The spring and summer of 2004, while the war was raging in Iraq and Afghanistan, Dick and I had much to be thankful for. Both our sons were home safe and enjoying their lives at Fort Campbell, Kentucky. Dick was nominated for his fourth star and a promotion to vice chief of staff of the Army. After an easy confirmation, Dick was promoted to the rank of general on July 2, 2004, in the Pentagon auditorium. (We had definitely moved up from the basement room where he got his second star.) Although throughout his career, I had been the one to have the privilege and honor of pinning on each of his new ranks, Dick had recently promoted each of the boys to captain and I decided it was time for them to promote their dad. They stood on either side of him and pinned on those beautiful, gleaming four stars.

  I held the Bible as Dick was sworn in as the thirty-first vice chief of staff of the Army, and, standing before the crowd, next to my husband and sons, while listening to the chief of staff talk about Dick, I had another one of those “who would’ve thought?” moments. I mean, consider the odds: Dick Cody, just an ordinar
y kid from small-town Vermont who graduated at the bottom of his West Point class and began his career as a transportation officer, went on to become a respected Army aviator and test pilot and, through hard work and determination, made it to the number-two position in the entire Army—and was the first Army aviator ever to do so. As I looked over the audience, filled with family, friends, and soldiers, I thought, How did we, two kids who fell in love and began a journey not knowing where it would take us, knowing only that we wanted to make it together, raise a family, and watch our sons follow in their dad’s footsteps, ultimately make it to this pinnacle of power?

  That whole weekend was a celebration with our loved ones. The night before the promotion, Clint and Tyler had presented their dad with a very special gift: a framed collage of photos of them as young boys with their dad and again as Apache pilots. Each of their flight wings, including Dick’s original ones, were mounted underneath the photos. The engraved brass plate at the bottom read: WE ARE PROUD TO FOLLOW IN YOUR FOOTSTEPS AS SOLDIERS, AVIATORS, BUT MOST IMPORTANTLY AS YOUR SONS. It was the best compliment and gift they could have given their father.

  As Dick and I began this new chapter in his career, we also reached a personal milestone as we began our thirtieth year of marriage. The next four years would prove to be some of the most exciting and enriching, but also some of the most stressful, that we had ever experienced as an Army couple. Everything that we had learned along the way—all our knowledge and skills, our faith, and, above all, our solid marriage—would come into play during that time.

  Dick’s job as the vice chief of staff of the Army (VCSA) included both overseeing the day-to-day operations of the Army and executing long-term strategic plans: restructuring, rebasing, growing, and deploying. He worked on the budget, equipping the Army, and so on and so on. It was a huge job involving a vast scope of decisions that would affect the Army for years to come. Given all of that responsibility, I knew that Dick needed me, more than ever, to be his sounding board. And I liked that role. The Army was in uncharted territory during those particular years, 2004 to 2008. Nation building, ongoing counterterrorism operations in two different countries requiring humanitarian assistance, and the training of Iraq and Afghan forces meant there was no end in sight for deployments of US soldiers. At the same time, on domestic soil, a string of natural disasters required more National Guard and Reserves units to be called up than ever before. What was being asked of the all-volunteer force and their families was unprecedented.