I landed in NH with no fanfare, media or parades; just Raquel, which was perfect. Since I had deployed alone from NH, there was no mass movement of soldiers to be greeted. In fact after I was home for a week I called the NH Guard and reported that I was back from Afghanistan and inquired as to my next move. Later that week I arrived at headquarters where I was met by a Command Sergeant Major (CSM). He was glad to see me home, in one piece and was apologetic that no one had met me at the airport. He was not happy that they had dropped the ball and felt that every soldier should be met when returning from a combat zone. Although I did notify the appropriate personnel that I was returning, I did not want to throw anyone under the bus. I was just happy to be home.
I met with the officer who had gone to bat for me and he was obviously thrilled to see that I had finished my tour. He wanted me to know that he had kept tabs on my progress and was impressed with the reports that did circulate back to our NG HQ about my service. He also informed me that there had been some restructuring of his unit and that I would need to look for another one within the NH Guard. My initial thought was to transfer back to the Mountain Infantry unit, with which I had started my Army career. However, I was informed that our state was forming a new MP unit and they were looking for experienced NCOs to help build its core leadership. I transferred to the MPs which consisted of a handful of NCOs and less than a dozen soldiers. This decision would lead me to a place that the Lord had prepared for me.
Back in the World
I returned to my home, family and work as if nothing had happened, nothing had changed in me. Being away from my family for over a year had a far greater impact on me and them than I could have anticipated. My two youngest children had grown almost twelve inches each in the fifteen months I had been gone; yet more importantly, I had children when I left and I returned to teenagers.
When soldiers deploy we expect the world freezes in place as if the day we return to our home will be the day after we had left. Reality can be an abrupt wakeup call! I have learned that the healthiest way to approach these reunions is to anticipate change and by maintaining frequent dialog with my wife. During my tour I knew that Raquel had not shared everything with me in regards to the kids and their difficulties. In hindsight, I would have asked her to get me up to speed during the demobilization process so I would have been better prepared for the inevitable tsunami of “being back.”
This sense of the world having frozen in place also applied to the world at large. In our high-tech world it is amazing how much our culture had shifted. Teaching was no exception. I returned to the public school I had been employed at prior to my last deployment. When I returned to work, rather then resume teaching my own class, I was placed in a temporary office position in order to allow the long-term substitute to complete the year. At first I thought this was a good idea until I realized that the administration did not know what to do with the “combat veteran.” This treatment only served to make me feel even more alienated. It was as if I was a ghost walking the halls with no real purpose or destination. I eventually resigned my teaching position and acquired a full-time position with the NHNG. Although this position meant that I spent three to four days per week away from home, I did feel like I belonged, surrounded by familiar sights and faces.
It is said that combat vets are usually haunted by feelings of regret and guilt. Regret for those things that they did not do and guilt for those that they did, and I was no exception. I had regret for not doing more to eliminate the power of our enemy on the field and at home—the lure of extended deployments thinking, “There was always one more enemy to kill.” My guilt was conflicted based upon the death of our enemies, either I felt bad about their death or I did not. At times it was difficult to distinguish between the two and which one was a heavier burden to carry. I believed at that time I would not deploy again and that eventually I would resolve those feelings. Honestly, all I could manage was to bury them deeper along with so many other painful thoughts. So I went home with a smile because being with my wife and kids was all that mattered and that would make all else seem irrelevant.
Near the end of my deployment I began to think of how great it would be to be home again, with my wife, children and family. Yet I found the reality to be anti-climactic and stressful. My wife had to make decisions in my absence that I did not understand, and I had to let go of any disagreement I might have had. I found the biggest stumbling block for me was coming from a position of authority and making things happen. I had come from a world where most of the pressing issues were black and white to one of levels of gray. It is at times like this that many veterans long to return to the combat zone, where we at least mattered and knew the rules.
I had no plans to redeploy, so I was advised to go to the Veterans Administration hospital and file for a disability status based upon injuries I had incurred during my prior tours. During those tours I had been exposed to multiple explosions and a vehicle roll over that had resulted in several concussions and of course some level of PTSD. The result was a combined disability rating of 50% overall (in VA jargon, “50% connected”).
Never Say Never
I had joined the MP unit for a couple of good reasons. To be part of the building of a new unit would have certain challenges that I would welcome. It would also place me in a good position to be promoted as the unit grew to a full strength company. Finally, I believed that belonging to a small start-up unit would ensure that I would not be deployed again. I knew that if I went back to the infantry company I would eventually be deployed. The consensus was that it would be a few years before we would be deployable.
Well, the day did come when the decision was made by those far above my pay grade to deploy our platoon size unit to Iraq. Our platoon was to be attached to a company from another state to build up their numbers. Most of the other NCOs and officers saw this as a bad idea on several levels. The command structure would be a headache at the least, not to mention trying to blend two different state NG units into one for the purpose of deploying to a combat zone. Yet this was the order, so it was our job to make it happen quickly and successfully.
I was approached by the command who reiterated that due to my recent return from Afghanistan I was not expected to deploy again. Although my initial gut response was a desire to deploy again, I was still getting back on track with my family. I spent the next few months preparing the platoon size unit for their pending deployment. Yet my effort to help these young soldiers was pulling me toward deploying again.
The decision to volunteer to deploy again did not initiate with me however. My wife attended a unit promotion ceremony and watched me working with those young troops. Before we left the NG Armory parking lot Raquel stated, “You need to go, they need you more than I do.” This took me totally by surprise, since she and I had had several conversations on all of the turmoil that she dealt with while I was deployed.
I told her that I did not want to put her and the younger children on the back burner again, that they needed me home. She agreed that it would be difficult again, more so now that they were coming of age, but she felt that the Holy Spirit had moved her toward that decision. Raquel was not overly religious by any definition, if she said that the Holy Spirit moved her then that was gospel for me.
I met with the unit leadership and expressed my intent to deploy. Their reaction was more positive then I had expected. In fact one response was, “This is huge, and these troops really need you.” That has always stuck with me, not in a conceited way of course, it was just another moment of me realizing “I matter again.”
Chapter Twenty-One
The Beginning of the End: Groundhog Day
“THE MORE THINGS CHANGE, the more they stay the same,” would be an understatement for the beginning of the end of my military career. By the time our platoon was formed we had a very good balance of old and young troops and seasoned leadership. When I learned that we were to spend ninety days at yet another mobilization site I just had to laugh. The Army
will spend money and time to prepare experienced soldiers how to do what they already know. Three months of irrelevant training to which I reminded the troops, “Just check the block and we’ll be in the sandbox before you know it.” To add insult to injury (or just Murphy’s Law) the mobilization location was in NJ in January for our first tour, then we would spend three months training in southern Mississippi through June, July and August. We were either freezing or gasping for air in one-hundred-percent humidity.
Yet being in a leadership position and responsible for so many young soldiers forced me to think way beyond myself. I needed to prepare my soldiers for surviving in a combat zone. As the Platoon SGT (PS), I had two tasks ahead: to take care of the troops and cover the Platoon Leader’s back (PL). I wrote earlier of learning from good as well as bad leadership, and the one thing that stands out to me is that good leaders motivate their men to do what must be done. A bad leader manipulates men to do what they want done for their own benefit.
I will not spend a lot of time discussing the mobilization experience as in the years since my first tour the only thing that had changed was that we had gone from frostbite to heat stroke. I had hoped that those in command would have learned to do mobilization better. Just as it was during my first mobilization where the troops were not allowed to go to sick call for a cold weather injury, now it was true in reverse. The troops were not allowed to go to sick call for a hot weather injury. We were required to attend the same inaccurate, politically correct lectures on the Muslim culture.
One of the worst results of a lack of organization by the PP was my troops having to repeat training. Paperwork would be lost and those in charge of the training would require those on the missing list to repeat the class. That gets especially aggravating when the training is going through the gas chamber for the third time. There were the usual headaches and frustrations yet we had our share of fun as well. The humorous side of our time with this southern NG unit was trying to assimilate Northern New England “Yankees” with Southern “Rebels.” Our new battle buddies referred to us as Canadians, stating that we lived so far north that we were not even from America, to which our troops responded with Civil War jabs, but at the end of the tour we were a tight unit.
“Wheels UP!” SFC Moore & SSG Penney waiting to load plane for Iraq.
A Very Different War
Iraq had changed, or at least how we were fighting the war had changed. During my first tour, which was more like the Wild West, we lived with the bare minimums and were allowed to engage the enemy whenever necessary. Big Army had arrived now; this was a kinder, gentler war, where instead of “driving like you stole it” we crept down the roads of Baghdad.
My squads drove so slowly that Iraqis would literally jump out in front of our trucks hoping to get hit in order to receive payment from the United States for injuries sustained from the military. Payment was often made, though there were never any “real” injuries!
During our first tour whenever the enemy fired rockets at us or used human shields we dealt with them swiftly and severely. This always ended with the same result, they stopped any actions that did not work or might get them killed. Yet this time we were to spend the entire tour being bombarded on a daily basis while hiding in bunkers waiting for the bad men to stop.
A most disheartening day occurred during one such attack when one of my troops told me that he felt like a coward. “Why don’t we shoot back, surely we can target them?” I advised him that we could not fire back at them because these courageous warriors of Islam were launching their rockets and mortars from a school yard. The enemy did this just hoping we would fire back and injure some Iraqi children, what wonderful press coverage that would make. He responded with, “Then let’s send squads out on foot, surely we can run them down! I’ll go and so will the rest of the platoon.” I admired his courage and sincerity and told him so. I also agreed with his tactics, since I knew first hand that his stated response would work.
Yet I reminded him that we were constrained by those in command and had to work within that reality. The reality that some commanders are either too far removed from the situation to appreciate what is happening or they are just too afraid to make a decision that might go wrong. This is sometimes called the “paralysis-of-analysis” or “command freeze.” I also need to recognize the pressure these commanders were under from their own CoC. This would not be the first American war lost by politicians in Washington, D.C., who were worried more about short term election results than a long term peace through a hard fought victory.
It was at these times that I longed for the freedom of Afghanistan or the open road of Iraq being far enough away from the Flag Pole to deal with the enemy immediately and severely. Being boxed in on base was not how I was built and was another aggravation that I had to deal with while maintaining the morale of the troops.
The bright side of the tour was the living conditions compared to my first, where fourteen men lived in one room or slept on top of their trucks. No internet or cell phones, one cold shower for thirty-five men. This tour, each soldier had a room with heat, AC and Internet service with one other soldier. There was a trailer of hot showers and a chow hall that defied description. This is not to downplay the sacrifice and danger our company had to endure every day as they left the base. Working outside the wire is never a good time and is potentially deadly. It is just an observation of how much the war in Iraq had changed.
Swamp Life
Soldiers can always find the lighter side of hardship. The fact that we were being mortared on a regular basis just became our reality. There were occasions when the enemy would park a truck on the road outside our base with rockets preloaded on the bed. After parking the truck and aiming by line of sight they would hide in a nearby building. When ready they would launch the rockets electronically. This enabled them to evade detection and film the attack without becoming targets themselves.
It was not uncommon for these preset rockets to malfunction either self-detonating or not firing at all. The base Explosive Ordnance Disposal (EOD) team would respond and their mission was to disarm and dispose of the explosives from a safe location. At times this was not possible due to the unstable condition of the explosives found. The next best option was to blow the rocket in place with the intent of it self-destructing.
This is not an exact science; therefore the explosion might shower our base with shrapnel. Not enough to injure anyone but enough for us to joke about “EOD is shooting at us again.” This joke was no longer funny when the EOD managed explosion caused some of the rockets to actually launch and impact inside our base. Thankfully no one was injured, but one rocket did impact the motor pool (where our vehicles are parked and maintained).
The explosion ruptured an underground eighteen-inch water main pipeline. The result was an enormous amount of water being pumped into the motor pool and spreading quickly. It was obvious to those of us who lived in that area of the base that this would be out of control soon if that pipe was not repaired. Reports were sent up to the base command but response was slow at best. Unfortunately we were situated on the low end of the base which caused the water to flood our living area.
The adage “out of sight out of mind” fits this situation perfectly. The base command did not see what we were actually living with therefore did not have a sense of urgency to fix it. The entire area became a swamp of the worst kind. The water around our rooms was eighteen-inches deep, inches away from the door. The water carried everything you would expect from that part of the world and worse. The dark water was literally a flowing sewer that we were forced to walk through for days-on-end.
The unfortunate reality of the military is that some in command will not address an issue unless it impacts them directly. Whether that stems from a misplaced theory that living in miserable conditions toughens the troops or just from a different set of priorities. It became clear to some of us that nothing would change until it directly impacted those who could make it happen.
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nbsp; It was obvious that the only thing keeping the water contained in our area was the crest of the road. Late one night it is rumored that a few NCOs went out with shovels and dug a trench across the road. This opened the way for the nasty water to flow freely into other areas of the base. Before the day was over men and equipment were put to the task of closing the pipe and pumping the sewer water off the base.
“Just Another Day in Paradise”
Most of the soldiers in the company knew of my background as a Christian, a fact that either led either to opportunities for evangelizing or hateful comments directed at me. I referenced paradise when engaging in small talk with other soldiers; it was a good way to open a door for evangelism. I could discuss the historical significance of our supposed proximity to the Garden of Eden, which on occasion led to an open discussion of spiritual significance.
Yet being back in a combat zone in a Muslim country with all of the familiar sights sounds and of course smells was a challenge. Since my time serving with the Afghan soldiers had taught me so much about their faith and culture I was becoming torn again with the memories of my first tour to Iraq. The horrendous things I saw there were being repeated again. Using school children as human shields only served to stir my disdain for our enemy, yet I believed that I had overcome my hatred for those Muslims who would do such things.
My memory of where I had been spiritually was still very clear, and I did not want to go back there again. I spent my mornings and evenings in prayer and devotions, I can say that the struggle I fought to maintain my relationship with Jesus was definitely a spiritual one. I believe that Satan threw as much at me spiritually as well as physically and emotionally to cause me to ruin my testimony. I am not claiming to be some modern saint or holy man but in a stressful situation like a combat zone, especially when men and women are serving far away from home, temptations are ever present. Yet I have always been aware that if younger soldiers were looking to me for leadership both professionally and spiritually, I would be under attack by the Evil One. There would be no greater victory for Satan than to cause me to fall in front of so many who were still searching for spiritual truth, and I did not want to be the cause for them turning from that path.
Purple Hearts & Wounded Spirits Page 12