Jus fell back into the life he almost could not return to, as if he were on a space walk and the airlock would not open, but finally did. Day after day, the new life he was living seemed uninterrupted. The war buildup on the other side of the planet kept tapping on the glass inside of his morning coffee television screen. Threats echoed subliminally at him. The idea of being pulled into the screen and then appearing on Maarja's morning television screen seemed impossible, yet somehow not.
Normality of where they lived, where Jus worked, and everything except that one small part of his life that would explode into his entire life, seemed a perfect fit. The days began to get colder as the leaves had their last surrender to the ground, and impending winter stood at the threshold. The warmth of his morning kitchen could be smashed by just a few steps into the living room to that hopeless little screen that knew too much.
Jus was busy. His side business was not generating income, but he was investing his time and a small amount of money in it. He was running with a group of business friends all over the region during his off time to gain allies. He even drove down to the home of an old friend to present his idea. On the way, they were pulled over by the state police for speeding. The officer asked if the driver was on active duty orders in the Middle East. This thing was permeating everything around. Jus felt like he was being painted into a corner. It was infiltrating his dreams. Something was coming. He knew it.
November 12th was a Monday, a day off work for Jus. It was a day like any other. It was cold that day, and the air was raw. Just before the sun set, it began to snow. Jus and Maarja accepted an invitation to a friend's home next door for coffee. As he was sitting there, a knock came on the door. It was a man who was a customer of Jus's workplace. He slyly looked at Jus. "Have you seen the news? You guys just got activated!"
Learning this news this way could not have been worse unless Jus was walking down the street and a van pulled up, black bag thrown over his head, and tossed him into a van. The messenger clearly enjoyed informing Jus that life as he knew it was over. Did he know how much Jus didn't like him? Maybe, but he seemed more oblivious to things like that. He was the proverbial bull in a china shop with a sadistic twist.
He wanted to believe that there was still a chance this was not happening. That possibility disappeared quickly when he went out to the porch to retrieve something from his house. As he stepped out onto the porch, Jus observed a vehicle approaching. He stopped to admire the snow that was falling. It was pretty early for the first snowfall. The driver exited the car, and he knew the man immediately. It was Robert, the Assistant Platoon Sergeant from his unit.
"I am here to let you know, we have been placed on alert," he said. "What does that mean?" Jus asked. Robert stood there, a red and black hunting hat on his head that came down well over his ears, looked thoughtful, "It means that within the next 24-72 hours, there is a high probability of activation to active duty." Robert was very empathetic. After all, he and Jus were being dealt the same cards here.
There was a serious problem for Jus if this was going to happen. Three months earlier, he had overslept and missed the trip down to the military base for annual certifications. As a result, he was written up for disciplinary action, which made him ineligible for promotion for a whole year. This level of income was not far from what he earned at his job, since he had only started in an entry-level position. He was on the fast track to take on more, but now, everything was uncertain.
Tuesday, Jus went to work like it was a normal day, thinking that this Alert thing came with no rules or steps to follow. Maarja worked with the spouse of a higher-ranking member of the Jus' unit. When she saw Maarja was at work and learned that Jus was too, she pleaded with Maarja to leave work immediately and to get Jus out of work as well. "This is happening," she told Maarja. "You only have hours now."
The surrealness of Maarja coming to Jus' work and telling him that he had to leave is a fixed point in time that can never be erased. Plans were made for Jus to go see his family tomorrow. Newspaper and television stories surfaced everywhere. Uncertainty lurked everywhere. All they knew were the faces they saw on the morning news, all sitting and waiting, dug into the desert sand, ten thousand miles away.
Wednesday was a hard day. Jus had learned that everyone was going to headquarters the next day to prepare and that on Saturday, active duty officially commenced. There was no way off this ride now; it was really going to happen. The most challenging thing is to look one's mother in the eye and tell her where you want to be buried if the worst happens.
Moment by moment, the weirdness of life felt like a very long walk out to the gallows when you have to say such things to your family without any idea what life will actually be like. It was the ultimate uncertainty. The idea that Jus can simply walk out of work and, suddenly, the weekly paycheck, which had just been the most important thing, no longer matters at all.
When the sun rose on Thursday, although not mandated, everyone headed to the unit to begin the lengthy process of preparation. Jus had no idea what it would be like to exist, travel, live, and die with this group of people whom he hardly knew. The idea felt uncomfortable, yet he also knew that he could play along. Earlier this year, he had gotten thrown in with two different groups of people from all over who he did not know for months at a time. This could be done. This time, at least, these people lived in the same area as he did. That had to count for something.
On Thursday, it was no longer an alert; it was a real activation. The military orders were cut. On Saturday, November 17, 1990, Jus' unit would go onto Active Duty status for 180 days to start with.
Jus was able to fade in and out of the group on Thursday. The local news was trying to obtain information about what was ahead for them. It was best summed up when the local paper interviewed Jus' Platoon Sergeant for the Thursday edition. When asked where the unit was headed, he answered, "They have not told us at all where we will be going, but on Monday, our trucks are being painted tan."
That evening, the Family Support Group held a meeting at the local Community Center. This was put into place so that during Jus' and his unit's absence, the families could support each other. They would have liaisons to the unit, allegedly, and somehow ease the pain of missing their person.
Jus, Maarja, and the kids rode up to the community center with the very person who had recruited Jus into the Army in the first place. During that recruiting time, Jus had advised the recruiter that he had just quit drinking 2 months prior due to having a clear problem with alcohol. The recruiter told Jus to simply not mention that. So, he did not, despite all of the warnings about going to prison for lying on your enlistment documents.
As they rode home with the recruiter, Jus said to him, "What happens if the conditions trigger something for me and it comes out about my alcoholism? How do I talk about it in a way that does not get either of us in trouble?" The recruiter instantly recoiled and started yelling, "OK! If you want to hide behind that instead of being a man, you go right ahead!" Jus countered that he wasn't hiding from anything and that it was a question more of keeping the recruiter out of hot water. The car grew silent for the rest of the few-minute trip home.
What no one noticed in the silence was the effect that exchange had on Maarja. She had watched this recruiter stand up on stage at business rallies for Jus' and her network marketing side job and declare that he was afraid for himself and his family that he would get deployed and sent to the war. Recruiters never get sent to war; they just order more bodies. His reaction to Jus' question put Maarja into a very familiar mode, in which he was now a target. As he drove them home that evening, he did not know that he now had a price on his head and a score to settle.
Friday was like Thursday, with more members showing up to gather a small contingent of personal items anticipated to be needed. Spouses and children were all interwoven throughout the great armory hall as this all happened. Jus was getting to know his comrades quickly, and that was a comfort. There was an undercurrent ever present: what would they see together?
The laid-backness of these two days had become comfortable, but Saturday was tomorrow, and everything was about to change. Jus preferred the informal atmosphere of these two days because it made it seem less possible for things to suddenly get serious. This, at times, was like being silly and joking around with your school friends in high school.
Jus got up early on Saturday morning. Today was different, as of midnight, he belonged to the US Government. The Armory was official now. No children were running around, nor were spouses conversing on the sidelines. Everyone was in formation, many with shaved heads, wearing full uniforms, and at attention. The General, who only 2 months earlier had stood before them at Detachement 2 and said nothing was going on, now stood before them. "Good morning! Welcome to Active Duty!"
Saturday and Sunday passed quickly, and every single piece of equipment was being taken from the armory and packed into shipping containers. Trailers were double-stacked, chained, and bound down. Duffel bags were filled, emptied, and refilled. Everyone was looking for some way to carry that one more item that made them feel just a little closer to home.
By the time the duty day was over on Sunday, there was nothing left in the Armory. The trucks and trailers were simply ready for all to take their stations, turn the keys, and roll out of town towards a mountain of uncertainty too big to even imagine. Jus went home and rented the final installment of the just-released VHS Back to the Future Part 3. At least, he would know how it ended if he never came home again.
Monday morning came too fast. He had been pretty good with all of this so far. Then, suddenly, the series of decisions and consequences that led up to this moment all came at him like meteors falling from the sky. Jus broke down. How could they ever expect you to make a decision that comes to this? How? You cannot anticipate what is happening. He was freshly sober a year ago, looking for stability in his life. He vowed to do something he did not understand. He figured he would be wearing camouflage clothing, driving old 1977 Dodge Power Wagons on rural US Highways on weekends. Well, not really, but sort of.
But it happened so fast. He made the promise. Panama got invaded. Kuwait fell. What was Kuwait anyway? It was a place in the news that 3 years ago, President Regan was reflagging Kuwaiti oil tankers to keep them from being targets in the Iran-Iraq war that had been raging since 1980. Then everything ignited as if gas had been thrown on it. There was a line drawn in the sand, ten thousand miles away, and Jus now had a written and ordered invitation. He was the property of the US Army; he signed papers consenting to that. He got by the momentary loss of emotional traction and left his home, not knowing when or if he would ever see it again.
The Armory was a barren shell of what it had been. Teary-eyed families crowded the perimeter as Jus and his friends took formation. They went out to their trucks, buckled in, and headed for Detachment 2 in Hillsboro. There was an actual military ceremony there to send the unit off to their 104th Transportation Army Base, which would be their home as they trained for life in the Middle East.
Jus was paired up with Ben, and it was assumed that these truck assignments would continue regardless of what happened over the next six months. As the convoy of every vehicle and piece of equipment that belonged to their unit rolled out of town, people flashed their headlights at them.
The ceremony in Hillsboro was nothing more than coordinated torture. It prolonged the time they all had to say goodbye. Again, families stood on the sidelines while the General rambled on about the importance of this mission. When it finally ended, there were about 30 minutes to linger before the convoy was set to continue the rest of the way to eastern Massachusetts.
As they walked out of the Armory, a chaplain was handing out small books: the New Testament, along with Psalms and Proverbs. Jus took one of these. He could not help notice when one was offered to Ben, Ben held up his hand, "Oh, no, thank you." There was a mocking tone in the gesture and his refusal. It reminded me of old timers using the term "holy rollers." It was just a quick thing, Jus would months later see how this manifested itself in a pronounced way.
The families all drove down into the middle of town so they could be on the side of the road when the full convoy of 62 trucks, 120 trailers, Maintenance vehicles, blazers, and pickup trucks roared down the road into the unknown. Ben had just married Kay in the last month. He was glassy-eyed as they rolled past her, waving to him as they passed her. A mile down the road, Jus caught sight of Maarja with their neighbors in front of Jus's $50 car. As they passed, Maarja yelled, "I love you!" Jus thought at that moment that there is probably not another woman in the world who could scream that loud. Jus, lump in his throat said to Ben, "You know, we have the best wives ever." It was all he could do to hold back the tears. "We sure do!" Ben said resoundingly.
The ride was a chance for Ben and Jus to get to know each other, especially since it appeared they would be driving partners during the war. Two hours later, they parked the trucks in their new motor pool and then headed over to the famous two-story wooden World War II Army Barracks, their home until they shipped out to Southwest Asia. They dropped their gear and were bussed over to the chow hall. Just like that, Jus was swept away from his life.
He left South Texas in October 1989, saying goodbye to his father and sister, and returned to the Northeast. However, he was then pulled away in January after joining the Army in November. He came home in May, but here it was November, and he was gone again. Life was turning into a series of goodbyes. This was the final thought that night, as Jus lay in his bunk, ZZ Top's Tell It playing in his earbuds. So many goodbyes.
The next morning, onto the Chow Bus, as we called it, over to the mess hall for coffee and food, then back to the barracks to allow everyone to get back from the mess hall. There was always this neat little pocket of time if you got on the first bus back, in which you could stretch out on your bunk and relax for maybe 20 minutes more. At this point, Jus would take all of the rest liberties that he could.
After Robert, the assistant platoon sergeant, conducted a roll call outside the building in formation, they marched down to the motor pool, which was approximately a 5-block walk away. They brought the trucks, but not the trailers, over to a giant maintenance shop and parked them. Inside, they mixed and mingled with civilian workers, sewing tents, painting trucks, pulling supplies, and getting new Active Duty IDs. The trucks were literally being painted desert tan as they were rolling through the shop.
Jus could see that many of these civilian workers were actually Vietnam veterans. It was not hard to spot them. That war had clearly affected them in a way that Jus could not describe. He was not surprised. 2 years ago, Jus was in the old French carpenter's garage drinking beer with him. The man shared stories of driving supply trucks through parts of those jungles that were so treacherous that no sane person could have done it. So, they injected them with a drug that made them not fear anything. Stories like this and many others, too awful to think about, had been told to Jus by the men who were just coming of age when these things happened to them. To say these guys had a social edge was an understatement. Jus attempted a conversation with one of the tent makers, and against his better judgment, asked for any words of wisdom. The man dropped his task and limped over to Jus, putting himself directly in front of him and gruffly belted it out, "Yeah! Don't DIE! JUST DON'T DIE!"
Tuesday and Wednesday were spent issuing things to them. It was interesting because much of the supply they received was actually leftover issues from the Vietnam War. Canvas top jungle boots with a steel shank in the sole. Jungle booney hats, woodland camouflage. Each day, they had a hot breakfast, lunch, and dinner at the mess hall. Down to the motor pool for more training about what was coming their way.
Back home, rumors of controversy had already been surfacing about the Family Support Group. In a moment of disorder, the platoon sergeant's wife reminded all in attendance that "our husbands could come home in body bags." That resonated, but not in the constructive way she intended.
The other was that the meeting place was on the second floor with a long open staircaise leading up to it. Maarja happened to be standing at the top when she noticed Jus' recruiter was coming up the stairs. Instantly, he temper flared rememering his ridiculous outburst in answer to Jus' question about lieing about his alcoholism. Just as he reached the top of the stairs, she spun, fist in the air, ready to connect, taking him and his gratuitous lies to the bottom. It was a long way down. If she had connected, he could have broken his neck. One of the leaders of the support group happened to be standing next to her and caught the movement, and grabbed Maarja's arm. Maarja swore a blue streak at the recruiter about how he had been whining about being afraid for his life, that he was going to be sent to war, when he never would be sent. He was unworthy of those who went. They all watched Maarja a little more closely from then on.
Thursday was Thanksgiving, and Jus was happy to hear because it was only 2.5 hours home; they were going to be bussed home for several hours that day to spend some quality family time. This was something Jus did not think would actually happen. He just assumed that once he was activated, you wouldn't go home until the job was done.
The time at home was amazing, and it was just the right amount to allow Jus to feel like he had some control in his life, and he was adapting. Absence makes the heart grow fonder, and in the case of Maarja and Jus, it did that. Since their reunion last year, they had these times apart that seemed like a cadence, at just the right times, to keep their relationship locked in, like a destination.
The Thanksgiving hours went by quickly, and everyone was ordered to be back at the armory at 7:30 that evening. They were all there with our families, and there were no runners. What Jus did not think about was that being allowed to go home for a few hours came with consequences. Another goodbye had to be endured. He still knew nothing about what his future held, except that he was headed back to his bunk in the old World War II barracks.
What came next, none of them were prepared for. All of the available police, fire, and ambulances in town escorted their buses out of town with lights flashing and sirens cutting through the crisp November night. It turned out that the townspeople deeply regretted letting the unit leave town Monday morning with barely a nod. This time was different. It was so overwhelming and emotional. It was a strange mix of elation and had an undercurrent of a death march. It made the process of saying goodbye to families even harder, despite the best of intentions. Not crying was impossible.
Things grew quiet as the buses crossed the town line. They left the emergency vehicles and their lights flashing and fading in the rearview mirror, accompanied by the rumble of the diesel engine beneath. Everyone was silent. Echos of the day played back in their heads as the bus shook them across the nighttime highways, bringing them back to their uncertain lives. It hurt, and they wondered if it would have been better if they had not come back at all.
The days were full of training, and at the beginning of December, they had a mission to the Port of Bayonne, New Jersey, to get the trucks shipped out to Saudi Arabia. Everything that belonged to the unit, including tents, cots, kitchens, and operations equipment, as well as any items not considered personal or personally owned, was shipped with the trucks and trailers.
The bus ride home was on a commercial charter bus, and the driver thought it would be fun to take them right through the Bronx off the highway. Jus felt strong, like he wanted everyone to get off the bus and get into formation, run through the city, and call cadence. It was a strange moment.
Without trucks, the training consisted entirely of ground training, weapons qualification, and Nuclear, Biological, Chemical (NBC) warfare training. Spotting terrorist activity was a big one, and also cultural things like how to not offend the Saudis with our ignorant and oblivious American ways.
As the weeks went by, Jus got to know everyone in his platoon very well. They were an incredible source of support for each other. All of their habits and annoyances came to the surface, allowing everyone to see them. Tempers rose as friends watched others break up with their girlfriends, and wives and children came for visits.
In mid-December, Jus and his friends were allowed to go home for the weekend. When Sunday night came, again, the great emergency vehicle escort out of town happened just as it had on Thanksgiving.
Christmas came, and it was announced that they would be getting a four-day pass. This was very welcome, as they had trained and retrained on everything imaginable, and it seemed like everyone was getting bored and agitated with it. Maarja came down with Nickie, the wife of Dwayne, to pick up their husbands. The ride home in a snowstorm was interesting in Nickie's rear-wheel-drive Pontiac Firebird.
Nickie and Maarja had developed a tight friendship in the absence of Jus and Dwayne. Jus and Maarja had not had a telephone for 3 years. Dwayne and Nickie became a way to pass messages back and forth. It just worked. Phones to them seemed unnecessary.
Christmas was weird at home; a big black cloud of what was about to happen hung over them every moment. Four days at home only made going back even harder. Again, the blaring convoy of emergency vehicles, escorting them out of town like they were marching away into death itself, and then kept getting pulled back. This time, this escort thing was just too much for them. They each begged in their minds to just get shipped out. This going home and saying the last goodbye time after time was getting unbearable. They just needed to go do what they were called to do. No more tearing hearts out over and over, crying wives and babies. Enough was enough.
January of 1991 came. The 15th was approaching fast. The United Nations Security Council Resolution 678, adopted on November 29, 1990, set the deadline of January 15, 1991, for Iraq to withdraw from Kuwait. It was understood that if he did not retreat, the entire multi-national coalition would force him out by whatever means necessary. Jus knew that time was growing short.
Training was futile now, even leadership had given up on it. Jus and his friends watched war documentaries, played at the gym, and hung out at the rec center. They needed something to do, but they had done everything they possibly could; there was nothing else.
On Sunday the 13th a small advanced party departed to set up our company in Saudi Arabia. We had received reports that several of our trucks were totalled because for 3 weeks they got slammed into by our trailers that rolled back and forth into them from the rough seas.
Monday came, and the air was thick with anticipation; we were on official lockdown. No one was to go anywhere. They learned that a few of the wives were going to come down to see their husbands. Maarja was able to get in on that with some friends. Nickie did not come down as Dwayne had already left with the advanced party.
At midnight, Jus was in the latrine, getting out of the shower. A couple of other friends were standing in front of the sinks, shaving. "Well," one of them looked at his watch, "January 15th, times up." They knew it was imminent that they would go, after all, the advanced party left 2 days ago.
That mission was bumpy. They had received reports that the cargo jet they were on had experienced trouble and had to land in the Azores for a time before continuing on to Spain and then, finally, Saudi Arabia.
Tuesday passed with nothing happening, although they were still on lockdown. Two duffel bags, one rucksack, helmet bag, LBE, M16, Kevlar, and MOPP Gear all sat at the ready to leave on a moment's notice. Then the unthinkable happened: a few of the wives decided to carpool, as they had discussed it over the weekend. They arrived on Wednesday afternoon. The husbands whose wives had come down were permitted to go into Leominster and stay at a hotel that night.
Jus and Maarja went to the Susse Chalet and went to a Chinese Restaurant next door. Incertainty hung like a canvas blanket over them so that it seemed that this moment in their lives was really the only one that ever existed. Jus broke open the fortune cookie at the end of his meal. It simply read: "Your future is secure."
When they returned to the hotel room and turned on the television, suddenly the entire world exploded with the news: the liberation of Kuwait had begun. There was a sound outside. Just as Jus opened the door, multiple church bells rang in the city of Leominster. It was chilling. It made Jus want to cry because he knew he had finally stepped across the line in the sand that had been drawn last August, just like he knew he would.
Jus and Maarja knew that night, this was their last time together for a long time, and maybe even forever. They felt small. They felt the vastness of the planet they lay upon that night and the universe it resided in. The world spun, and it was clear they were not in control at all. Maybe, they never were.
Morning came, and they went back to the barracks. It was like a parallel universe. It was the same building with the same people, but everything was different. Time did not exist. As if everything happened at the same time, Jus could not tell if it was 1991 or 1941. The sounds, the vibe, and even the light bulbs seemed fifty years old. This was not the same place Jus had lived for the last two months. The wives had to leave, and everyone said their goodbyes...again.
When it was their turn to fly out, they bussed the hour drive over to Westover Air Force Base. The wait took hours. Newspaper and television crews swarmed them. Jus was less than an hour from his mother's home. He called her on the payphone an hour before he got on the plane. She cried so hard as she said goodbye. She never could have imagined this happening. Jus still hears her voice decades later at the end of that call.
At 7 at night, the unit loaded up into the luxurious seating accommodations of a C-141 Cargo Plane, by which I mean, benches that dropped down off the walls with the same webbing of 1970s lawnchairs. It would take a full day and a half to reach their destination. As the plane took off and climbed through the clouds, each member of Jus' unit just sat there looking across the aisle at their friends. They had no idea where they would sleep next, and in a twisted way, they were relieved. The very long, never-ending, torturous goodbye that took two months and actually four if you count that "almost" in September was over. Goodbyes should never be dragged along the way that was, but given the chance for one more time with the people you care about, everyone makes the same decision. One more goodbye will happen.
