Into the Storm: On the Ground in Iraq

themselves in other ways… in, for instance, my relationship with Denise and Margie, and in the way I would establish policies and deal with military families in the future.

In the military, it often happens that a professional soldier will deny his (or her) family, give up time with them — holidays, vacations, evenings, weekends — normally for the often-unexpected call of duty. The military is a demanding and sometimes cruel profession that exacts a toll on families, all in the name of duty and service. Too often, the present gets mortgaged for the future. You tell yourself, 'Well, I'll have time for that later in life, after I retire. For the time being, I have to work hard, and maybe the family has to pay the price.' Most of the time, duty leaves you little choice.

Now I came to the realization that the present is the only time you have. You have to focus on the present, on what you have, and not on the past and its gains or losses, or on the future, and what you don't have. You get there successfully only by taking care of the present. You don't ignore the future, but you enjoy the day-to-day more, and you enjoy the people you love now, rather than putting that off. You have to live life now and build on what you have every day. I began to realize I was not powerless in this tension between the demands of duty and family considerations. I could do something about it in our lives, and within my circle of responsibility I could help others cope better by establishing policies that helped.

I looked at soldiers, at leaders and commanders, and at units a bit differently. Ever since that time, when I have had occasion to build a team, I am much more aware of soldiers who in their life experiences and in their military experiences have suffered severe setbacks. Out of my own family experience, and out of Valley Forge, I've learned that those who get knocked down and get back up to fight are the really tough ones. People who sail through life without knowing any adversities are suspect. You never know how they are going to react when something hits them. This is especially true on the battlefield. You don't want people responsible for soldiers' lives who could go to pieces when the trauma of their first setback hits them. You want the ones you know will come back out swinging. The same is true for units. You train and build units so that they can come back hard, confident they can take the ups and downs and still win. You have to allow for all this without sacrificing excellence in performance. It's never easy, but I had a much better insight into how to do that now.

In the spring of 1971, I began to give serious consideration to returning to active duty. It wasn't easy — then or now — for someone with an otherwise disqualifying physical condition to stay in the military, but it was possible, if the medical and physical evaluation board reports were positive enough, if your motivation was strong enough, and if the Army wanted you badly enough. A few senior officers at that time helped — Colonel Jimmie Leach, for instance, was very instrumental in persuading the Army medical department to listen to soldiers who were wounded and wanted to stay on active duty.

I started making phone calls, talking with others. There was a possibility that I would be offered a permanent position teaching at West Point, but I turned that down. I wanted to stay in the mainstream of the Army. I wanted to play on the armor/cavalry team. I wanted no favors, only a chance to compete.

I did consider other possibilities because, like all of us there, I did not know how it would all turn out. I sent a letter to the Ford Foundation with my resume, asking if I could contribute in some way to that public service organization. I investigated the possibility of attending the Wharton Business School at the University of Pennsylvania. But then I came to the realization that all I ever really wanted to do was be a soldier. I had to pursue that for all I was worth. I had this burning passion now and a developing wisdom about myself and the Army that I wanted desperately to give a chance. I wanted to serve again.

Fortunately for me and a few others there at Valley Forge, the Army would give us that chance.

I was discharged from Valley Forge in January 1972, after a stump revision operation in September 1971, two unsuccessful operations on my left ear earlier in the year, and the loss of our son in August. I reported to the Armed Forces Staff College as a student in early February 1972, ready for duty after an almost two-year absence from the line.

Dr. James Herndon had written on my medical board report, 22 July 1971, 'He is highly motivated and desires to remain on active duty in the Army. At the present time he has recently been accepted to attend the Armed Forces Staff College, and when his stump has been revised, he will do so.' In December 1971, Dr. Vernon Tolo made an addendum to that medical board: 'Recommendations remain the same as on the original board dictation.' On 12 January 1972, I sent in my formal application to continue on active duty. On a form dated 4 February 1972, I received the permission I had asked for: 'The request for continuance on active duty is approved.'

As it turned out, our Army as an institution also was seriously wounded in Vietnam. The trust between the Army and the country was fractured. Over the next twenty years, the U.S. Army and I went through many changes; we both got to and fought Desert Storm, and that trust was rebuilt.

I did not look back, except to remember my fellow amputees and to promise to myself to keep the faith with them.

The Army would give me that opportunity.

WASHINGTON, D.C 8 JUNE 1991

'This one was for all of you, too.'

'We know. Today we felt better than we have in a long time.'

After the 4.2 miles down Constitution Avenue and the enormous outpouring of emotion from our fellow Americans, there was one place I wanted to go. Denise and I had been there before. The quiet place. The Vietnam Veterans Memorial. The names of friends, relatives, fellow soldiers; gone, never forgotten, never far away. This one was for you, too. The silence there. The memories of heroes who did what our country asked.

Now there were more names. Not for the Vietnam Memorial, because that now belongs to another time, but new names, families. After the parade, they wanted to talk. 'Did you know my son?' There are always new names and new memories after combat. Combat is for keeps and the memories are forever. But this time it would also be different.

Unit guidons had been placed on the Ellipse as rallying points for combat veterans of those units and family members. Soldiers of VII Corps were quietly talking with families, proud, confident, full of thanks for a nation and a city who would honor them so. They had done their duty and done it with valor and sacrifice just like the generation whose names were on the Wall down the street.

But this time it was different. The American people and their Army were united. It was not like before.

I remembered the words of that 3rd Armored Division soldier in the days before we attacked into Iraq: 'Don't worry, General, we trust you.'

Trust reunited.

I had seen both now. I had seen the painful no-thanks return from Vietnam and the silence and pain at the Wall down the street, now this. It was difficult to absorb it all. I felt somehow guilty, because I had had the chance to experience all this, while many of that generation had not. Yet I also felt a great pride in my fellow soldiers of this generation who had won a great victory. I had kept my promise to them and to my fellow Vietnam veterans. Our Army had come full circle. So had I.

How did all this happen? How did we both get from 1971 to 1991?

CHAPTER FIVE The Rebirth of the Army