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We were boys, and it showed
A World War II Veteran I interviewed a few years back said adamantly the "real heroes" never came back. I have thought about his claim often since and, while I maintain Billy Loop of McCook is among the many heroes that have returned home over the years, I do recognize some of us are lucky enough to simply return home as boys who have served our country.
I was nothing more than a boy when I left for basic training at the age of 17, during the height of Desert Storm, I wasn't much more when I returned from active duty four years later and began a four year stretch with the Army Reserves.
I signed up for the U.S. Army under the delayed entry program my Junior year in high school and left for basic training 30 days after graduation. I turned 18 in basic, which was by far my most tense time as a service member. At the time we were confident we would soon ship to Iraq and ultimately clueless as to what that meant.
As fate would have it, Desert Storm was wrapped up rather quickly and I subsequently spent four peace time years in Germany.
I arrived at McCully Barracks in Wackernheim, Germany, 30 days after the air defense unit I was assigned to returned from Iraq. I spent the next four years training for a combat zone I would luckily never have to experience.
We weren't heroes, we were simply boys serving our country during peace time and probably too often allowing our lack of maturity to surface.
During one particular 30-day training exercise we were joined by several Air Force helicopters which played the role of both hostile aircraft and rescue units during various scenarios.
Watching the impressive military helicopters fly-in during training exercises made us envious of the technology they commanded.
The grass, of course, is always greener on the other side and their time wasn't all fun and games either. They spent much of it bored to tears, waiting at their makeshift airfield for orders to fly.
We spent most of our time in a similar manner and commonly referred to it as "hurry up and wait."
Every 6-8 hours we would receive orders to relocate our position and would quickly load up our gear and camouflage onto our Humvee and scramble to whatever grid coordinates we had received. The panicked rush was followed by the hurried digging of a foxhole, erection of camouflage and the long wait that ensued.
One evening just before sundown we received orders to return to the barracks area for the night. After several days sleeping in the woods my team chief and I were more than a little excited at the thought of a warm shower. We were packed and roaring through the countryside in no time.
About halfway to the barracks we came across a mock airfield and decided it was our turn to show off to the Air Force soldiers. After all, our technology was pretty impressive too, the Humvee to our knowledge was incapable of being stuck and we decided to put on a monster truck show they wouldn't soon forget.
For several minutes we did just that, ramping over mud hill after mud hill, displaying the vehicles ability to maneuver through the thickest of mud with ease. About a half-dozen clearly envious airmen watched from their grounded positions as we rooster tailed muddy water and roared around the area neighboring their airfield.
After a series of figure eights we realized we had lost our bearings and were scanning the sides of the vehicle for our original path when we felt the entire chassis lift off the ground as it took flight. Our hearts skipped a beat as we both shot our visions forward, uncertain what we were ramping into.
Luckily, we landed fairly softly in something akin to a mud pond and, although the Humvee was slowed, it continued to dredge through the muddy countryside.
We both laughed briefly, relieved with the outcome of the landing, and as my youthful cockiness took over I very ignorantly hit the brakes of the vehicle. At the time I thought I was going to put on yet another display of the vehicle's power as I shifted the Humvee into four-low gear, however, it didn't quite work out that way.
As soon as the forward momentum of the vehicle stopped it sunk more than a foot deeper into the muddy pond, leaving the water level a few inches from coming into the vehicle and exhaust bubbling under water.
Shifting the vehicle into four-low made no difference and I had managed to get stuck, that which we believed could not be stuck. I'm sure the airmen loved it.
Our unit's mechanic team found our subsequent request for assistance, just before nightfall on what was also to be there first comfortable nights sleep in several days, less than entertaining. They refused and left us there to fend for ourselves, shivering the night away while complaining about how much colder our proximity to the muddy water made the evening breeze.
We were boys, nothing more, and were very deservedly taught an uncomfortable lesson.
The next morning a tracked ammo hauler, assigned to an M-109 artillery, happened to pass our area and was kind enough to pull our vehicle free. Needless to say, I was a much more conservative driver from that point forward.
I departed Germany just shy of four years after my arrival and, coincidentally, my unit and many friends were deployed on a mission related to Somalia within 30 days after I left. My window of service was bookended by my unit's deployment to combat zones and I was lucky enough to avoid them both.
Like many before and since, I was a boy who served my country, learned a lot in the process and remain grateful for both the experience and the narrow window of peace that occurred.