As most of you know, I am a fairly private person. I do not use Facebook for much, other than to post key moments for our family, so that our clansmen far away can watch our kiddos grow. Today, however, will be different, and I hope that you will indulge me this very long diatribe on recent events - the negotiation, exchange and return of a military deserter. SGT Bowe Bergdahl, a soldier in the United States Army, deserted his unit, fellow troops and his country in 2009. I wish to share my thoughts, that’s perfectly fine with me. I am compelled to write this article, if you will, after reading a news article this morning regarding the return of SGT Bowe Bergdahl, and stating that he is due a promotion. Keep in mind, SGT Bergdahl has already been promoted twice during his period of captivity. I then saw another post, showing Berghdal in his DA photo, captioned “A SOLDIER’S WELCOME”. Since I do not consider Bergdahl to be deserving of the moniker ‘soldier’, and I do not think he should be ‘welcomed’, I am countering these ‘glad tidings’ with some thoughts of my own, from the perspective of a military spouse. My experience is that of an Army wife, and while I recognize and applaud troops from all branches of service, my particular familiarity is Army and I therefore speak of soldiers. War is hell - it’s been hell since the dawn of civilization. All troops, regardless of which side they fight for, are scared and unsure, and yet courageous and committed beyond measure. They bid their families and loved ones adieu, and head off to face an unknown enemy in unknown lands. Parents, spouses and children watch the backs of their brave soldiers as they board the buses to uncertainty. When the soldiers deploy, they mentally compartmentalize the war, mission and family. Family is moved to a safe spot in their minds - a place which will give them comfort in the dark, lonely nights…but a place that can be shut off when focusing on the mission. Loyalty to the country, and to their comrades is first and foremost in a soldier’s mind. When Bergdahl walked away from his FOB (Forward Operating Base) in 2009 to escape life as a soldier - or go hiking - or save the Afghan people…whatever his reasons, be them due to cowardice or stupidity…he walked away from the brotherhood. He essentially turned on his fellow soldiers, putting their lives in grave danger. You see, when Bergdahl went missing, the war stopped. Completely. Every member of the United States Armed Forces in the Afghan theater was now told to stand-down against the enemy, as the focus became only to locate and rescue Bergdahl. How many man hours were committed to Bergdahl’s disappearance? How many mission hours, which could have been used to fight the war on terror were now turned toward ‘saving’ Bergdahl? How many blade hours were placed on the helicopters (significant to Army aviation)? How many troops died in the search for this ‘soldier’? At least six. Six soldiers lost their lives saving a man who could just simply ‘walk away’. Six families received the dreaded knock on the door. For six families, their lives were shattered. The proud blue star on the service flag displayed in the front window, signifying a deployed family member, was replaced with a gold star, signifying the loss of their soldier. Parent’s hearts were broken. Wives now sleep alone, haunted each an every time someone knocks on their door. And, children will grow up knowing their father as the photo and flag case on the mantle. And yet…he simply walked away. Please indulge me for a moment as I share what it is like being a military family. The picture from this side of the service is not often painted. For all military families, the struggles are the same regardless of whether the soldier is an infantryman, tanker or pilot. I do not presume to speak for others, but simply from my own personal experience. As many of you may or may not know, my husband Chris (a.k.a. “Charlie Mike” or CM for short) is an AH64D attack helicopter pilot. Yes…the Apache. Where there is a fight, there is likely an Apache. Ground troops love to see the Apaches arrive…and the ‘bag guys’, well…not so much. Often, the enemy meets a hellfire missile without ever seeing this fierce war machine. While I am proud of the Apache community - support staff, crew chiefs, and pilots, these words apply to soldiers and families of all specialities. Since 2003, when the U.S. made it’s first push into Iraq, our life has been deployments. Train-ups and preparation, tearful farewells, sleepless nights filled with worry, and the molasses-slow wait for their return. Communication was our life-line. When Chris deployed to Baghdad in 2003, the conflict was so new that we had no phone or email communication. Months would pass without any connection. Our correspondence was done by mail. (For those of you who do not know what this is, you hand write a letter, put it in an envelope, and send it away. By the time it reaches the intended person, the news inside is now ‘old news’.) I sat in Germany with a newborn, a 1-year old and a 6-year old, waiting for any word from Chris, watching CNN cover the worst of the war 24/7, I found comfort in the fact that each and every person dawning a U.S. uniform had his back…and he theirs. All for one, and one for all. Bergdahl took that away from his fellow brothers-in-arms…and in turn, shattered the lives of many families. From August 2005 until mid-October 2007, we spent a total of 6 weeks with Chris - and not a continuous 6 weeks either. From a 9-month helicopter train-up in Texas, to the long 15-month deployment to COB Speicher in Iraq, we had his back at home…and his ‘brothers’ had his back in Iraq. He never once considered that any soldier - cook, crew chief or fellow pilot - would walk away. Not one soldier, during a very long, sad, lonely deployment walked away. After all, to ‘walk away’ would mean turning your back on your countrymen…and your country. Homesick and lonely, they continued to put mission first. They had each others backs. Bergdahl turned his back. That deployment to COB Speicher with our beloved Wolfpack (1/82 Attack Reconnaissance Battalion) was life-altering for each and every soldier and family in the 1/82. It changed us forever. The Wolfpack flew countless missions, involved in engagements almost every single day. The helicopters would return to base battered, bruised and peppered with bullet holes. While at first shocking, the regular photos of a smiling “Charlie Mike” standing next to his aircraft, pointing at the assorted bullet holes that they took while flying, became a regular part of the deployment scrapbook. We lost good men - very good men. These men had wives, parents and children. When they should be celebrating birthdays, anniversaries, and graduations with their soldier, instead, they plan regular trips to the cemetery. Their brave soldiers gave their lives for our freedom and protection…and these brave families courageously endure this unimaginable loss and sacrifice out of deep patriotism and respect for our nation. Freedom is the right that we enjoy that our soldiers fight for…and freedom of sorts is why Bergdahl simply ‘walked away’. Each day during the deployment, when our husbands should be done flying their daily missions, here at home we would eagerly await the brief phone call or email letting us know that they were down and safe. If they were late with that message, a sea of panic would begin to build with the waves getting higher and higher as each silent hour passed. Often, we would find ourselves calling to check with other wives - our ‘sisters’ - to verify that they had heard from their husbands. If they had heard from their husbands, then I knew that CM was safe, and perhaps only delayed. BUT, if they had not heard from their husbands, it likely meant the dreaded “black out” of communication, and we would instantly unite in our mutual worry and support of one another. A “black out” was always instituted when a soldier from our unit or one of the supporting units was either killed or seriously injured. During a “black out”, all communicate is cut-off, preventing soldiers from emailing or calling home, until the family(s) of the fallen have been notified. A “black out” is a terrible time. Period. Though in the end of worries proved needless, for six families, that ‘black out’ heralded a darkness that will never brighten…a sadness that will never ease. And yet…Bergdahl walked away. During this particular deployment in 2007, I was the battalion FRG leader for the Wolfpack. Essentially, I was the conduit between the unit downrange, and the families at home. I helped solve problems on the home front, and relay messages passed on from the command in theater to the families. Each company within our battalion also had an FRG leader, and we became sisters lending support…and sadly, preparing for worst-case-scenarios of all sorts. We were tasked with being the rock when family members started to crumble. When a soldier is injured in the line of duty…or killed…we unite with support, and help families find comfort in the fact that their soldier was killed in service to our country - fighting foreign enemies who threaten to rob our land of freedom and bravery. The families who lost soldiers who were engaged in the hunt for Bergdahl, lost their troopers - not because they were supporting the mission of finding foreign enemies and terrorists, but because they had his back. These soldiers refocused the mission so that they could find and rescue their ‘brother’. THEY HAD HIS BACK. Bergdahl did not have theirs. As a result, widows were made, and children forced to grow up knowing ‘dad’ as a photo and a flag box on the mantle. While life goes on here in the United States, and folks are soundly asleep in their beds, for many military families, nights are filled with worry and sleeplessness. For me, one night will stay in my mind forever. As the FRG leader for our battalion, if there was a “black out”, if the injured or killed soldier was from the Wolfpack, I was one of the first people informed so that necessary preparations could be made once families received notification. If there was a “black out”, and I wasn’t informed, it was one of two reasons. Either the fallen soldier was not from our direct unit, or it was bad news for me. One particular night, I knew there was a “black out”. I also knew that Chris was flying a long mission over Tikrit that day. At this particular time, the region in Iraq that the Wolfpack was in, was the most volatile anywhere in theater. Silence on the phones - silence on email. The quiet afternoon became evening - evening became night. The night was my worst enemy, as your mind becomes a monster in the silence of night. Here at Ft. Bragg, notifications to the family that their soldier had been injured or killed usually ceased at 10 p.m., and resumed again at 6 a.m. After a very restless night - checking my email every 20-30 minutes, I was roused from a very light sleep at 5:55 a.m. by a car in front of my house with headlights lighting my bedroom like the Las Vegas strip. I knew. It was almost ‘that time’ of the morning. The five minutes from 5:55 a.m. to 6:00 a.m. were the five longest minutes of my life. I relived a lifetime in those five minutes. My emotions ran the spectrum from fear, to panic, to overwhelming sadness…then anger. I was physically ill. When 6:00 a.m. came and there was no knock on the door, I summoned the courage to peek out through my blinds. Panic turned to stunned surprise, which quickly turned to elation, when I realized that the car was simply the newspaper deliver person, reorganizing her papers - with very bad timing. In the space of those five minutes - even though my fears were proven unfounded, as I talked to Chris shortly thereafter - my life changed. I can still conjure that fear when I think of what could have been…when I think of each family enduring a 6 a.m. knock on the door. For six families in 2009, their brave soldiers would never be coming home, and each and every knock on the door would serve as a painful reminder. Bergdahl is a living reminder to them of the ‘knock on the door’. And yet, he just walked away… The years continued to pass, and with those passing years came two more deployments. Another deployment to Basra, Iraq from Germany, and “Charlie Mike’s” final deployment to Bagram, Afghanistan with our beloved 82 CAB. Our children have grown up as children of the war generation. Dad was simply a visitor…a fun guy while he’s here, but knowing that he would be only home for a finite time. The household responsibilities which were mine to manage while Chris was deployed were never shared upon his return, because continuity and routine in our household were too established. I knew that someday…when the Army life was behind us, we could begin to share the running of the household…and that thought gave me both comfort, and propelled me forward with my sometimes monumental household taskings. There was a light at the end of the tunnel…we had our future ahead of us after four long deployments and multiple absences due to training exercises, military schools, and all of the preparations necessary to flying in the terrain of the Middle East. Once again…for the “Bergdahl six’, as I now think of those families whose sons and husbands will never return…the future is nothing more than a memory. Hopes and dreams ripped from their grasp in a moment…a moment in time brought about by the soldier who simply ‘walked away’. While the scars of war are sadly apparent in our families…robbing a bit of our soldier from us, nevertheless, the fact remains that they did come home. There is a fair chance that each one of those six soldiers would have come home to their families, had they not had to venture out in search of Bergdahl. Coming home - especially after four long deployments - is challenging for the soldier. Used to a lifestyle that does not involve soccer practices, homework, ‘honey-do’ lists, and bickering children, readjustment is work - sometimes more difficult than adjusting to life in the combat theater. But, it’s worth every minute…every farewell - every homecoming - every tear, and every ‘I love you’ from afar. Yes, there is a part of “Charlie Mike” which will only belong to his fellow soldiers in a bond of brotherhood that they cannot share with us. And yes, learning to live together again takes time, patience and love, but each and every soldier serving in combat is a hero, and we are honored to have our hero back in our midst. True, he is not the same person as he was pre-911, but neither are we - his family. We are strong, determined, committed and proud. And…out of the thousands of troops who have deployed time and time again, only one chose to ‘walk away’. And now, it seems that the Land of the Free, and the Home of the Brave is also a nation that negotiates with terrorists. And not even a one-for-one swap…we gave back five, count them…FIVE…high-level terrorists, so that we could bring home one deserter. What’s the penalty for desertion during a time of war? At one time, it was death. But now, in this kinder and gentler Army, he will likely be welcomed, forgiven, promoted and perhaps even pitied. One esteemed United States Senator today made the comment that Bergdahl has suffered enough. His health was in jeopardy, so the President felt it necessary to negotiate without Congressional approval to bring him home expeditiously. He was a POW, suffering, mistreated and ill…but he made that choice - a choice which cost at least six American lives. Let’s ask Senator McCain what it’s like to be a POW - mistreated and abused for many years. I somehow doubt that Senator McCain - who was one of the most honorable POW’s ever to endure the horrors of captivity - would have wanted these terms negotiated for his return many years ago. Five terrorists will be returning to the fight. We’ve now sent the message that not only do we negotiate with terrorists, but we also will give you big rewards for our own very small gain. For six families, because of Bergdahl, their soldiers will never come home. Bergdahl should be stripped of all rank, and sent for life to Leavenworth. For eleven years, our soldiers have done all that has been asked of them. Young boys have grown to men on the battlefield, watching buddies lose life and limb to IEDs. And now…during a time of draw-down, we are done with them, casting them aside. The VA is dropping the ball on our retired and disabled soldiers - of that I can speak from first-hand experience. We are cutting pay and benefits to troops - who have sacrificed much for this nation, and yet we spend countless millions to change the camouflage pattern - yet again - on our Army uniforms (the 5th camouflage change for the Army in 11 years). Where are our priorities? Not on assuring our nation of a strong force for defense. Not on the education of our youth. Not on cutting wasteful spending so that we can save our country from a spiraling national debt. But…we place priority on bringing home a deserter, and telling the terrorists that they have essentially won. Larisa Miller Wife of CW4 (RET) Chris “Charlie Mike” Miller
Posted on: Tue, 03 Jun 2014 18:01:10 +0000