by Bryan Wood
It did not take long before I fell into a routine. My days became a blur of going to physical therapy and lacing combat boots. Kevin and I started to become very good friends, and we always found ways to make life seem more enjoyable. Although we ate breakfast and lunch on base, we vowed to leave every night for dinner, and a local restaurant became our haven. We would spend hours there some nights, doing anything to avoid going back to the barrack.
One night at the restaurant, we had two girls sitting next to our table. Kevin struggled to make eye contact with them, but they were not playing along. He eventually conceded to the fact they were just not interested. After the girls finished their meals and left the restaurant, our waitress came over to us.
“Hey guys. You know those two girls that were just sitting there? Well, the one in the white tank top really thought you were cute,” she said while pointing to Kevin. “She’s single and wanted me to give you her number.”
The waitress jotted the number on a pad, tore the piece of paper out, and passed the note to Kevin. “Call her, she’s a great girl” the waitress said. The note simply read, “Samantha” with a phone number.
“Score!” Kevin said excitedly. “That’s how it’s done, my man.”
I said, “What!?! You didn’t even do anything.”
“Yeah, well who got the number?”
I told Kevin, “You got lucky!”
Kevin called Samantha, who invited him to go out that night. Kevin asked me, “Bryan, you want to go out with us?”
I told him that I did not think it was a good idea to bring me on his first date. I said, “Just use my car if you want.”
Kevin explained, “No it’s not that. She said she’s going with some friends, and I really don’t want to go by myself. Just play wingman for me. Besides, it will get us out of there for a while.”
And at that, I was convinced. Later in the evening, we met Samantha at a local bar in a town not far from base. Samantha was with two girlfriends, and they seemed like a fun group to hang around with. As the evening went on, the bar filled, and Kevin and I could not help but notice something unusual.
“Man this place is a sausage fest,” Kevin pointed out.
“I know! It’s all dudes. I’ll be back; I’m going to go get a drink,” I said.
I approached the bar to order a beer, and I was told by the bartender that the bar did not serve beer. The bartender handed me a drink menu which listed drinks such as “The Dirty Sailor,” “The Salty Rim,” and “A Slippery Long One.” As I looked around the room, I saw four guys dancing in the corner with their shirts off.
“Dude, this is a gay bar” I told Kevin
“I know man, but please don’t leave. I honestly think I have a chance with this girl!”
“You owe me big!” I told Kevin.
By one o’clock in the morning, the true awkwardness of the situation had set in. The bar was jam packed with guys. At that point, Kevin and I were practically the only two with our shirts still on, and I had to deal with the onslaught of guy after guy trying to be the one who picked up the straight guy. I wanted to leave so bad, but I knew I couldn’t.
Kevin had been having more and more issues with one of his legs, and I think it was obvious to both of us that he stood a substantial chance of losing it. Kevin always kept a great attitude, and he always seemed happy, almost to the point where I wondered how he did it. How can you remain that upbeat with the constant thought of losing your leg hanging over you? I knew that my night may have been very awkward, but Kevin was having fun. He was with a girl who did not even seem to notice that he was hurt, and I was sure that he was completely forgetting about everything, even if it was only for a little while.
I believe Kevin really tried his best that night, but I hope his ability to fly a helicopter is much better than his dating skill. I do not think his date was nearly as entertained with Kevin as I was, after Kevin’s sixth drink caused him to start spitting while he was talking to people. The night eventually ended, and Kevin never did get the almighty second date.
I would like to say that I started to get used to life in the barracks by this point, but I hadn’t. My life was basically a mixture of bullshit from Woolard at my job in supply during the day and from First Sergeant Redding whenever he had the chance.
One night a small group of us were sitting in front of the barracks after dinner. It was that moment where day is turning into night, and the sky has a very eerie glow. It was the middle of June, and the weather was just perfect. Four or five of us sitting on lawn chairs, in front of barrack 374, became a usual sight after dinner.
Redding drove by in his car, and upon seeing us, he made a u-turn and pulled alongside the grass next to where we were sitting.
“And just what is going on here?” he asked in his usual condescending voice.
“Just minding our business, First Sergeant.” One of the guys responded.
Redding exited his car and stormed towards us. He exploded in a fit of anger, “I know you weren’t referring that to me. I KNOW you weren’t suggesting I mind my business. Because I have news for all of you; YOU ARE MY BUSINESS!”
Redding started to go off on one of his usual rants when Kevin stood up and said, “And on that, I’m going to bed.”
Kevin started walking towards the door to go inside, but he was quickly cut off by Redding. Redding asked, “And just where do you think you’re going?”
Kevin said, “I’m tired, my legs hurt, and I want to go to bed. Now if you don’t mind…”
There was Redding, all alone and standing up to a guy with two broken legs. We all knew Kevin was not alone; he had a small group of angry men behind him, all of which were getting very close to their breaking point. Not one of us said a word, but we were all thinking the exact same thing, “Just give us a reason. Please, give us just one reason.”
Redding stared at the group of us for a moment, and then he reluctantly stepped aside. He may have been an asshole, but I do not think he was an idiot. As Kevin walked inside, Redding glared at the rest of us and said, “If we were back in the zone, I would crush all of you.”
Redding always used references to being back in combat. He would talk about his brief time in Iraq and prior missions in Afghanistan, and this always confused us. We are all brothers together; we fought the same war for the same reasons. That being the case, why would someone act like this? Why would you treat one of your brothers like this?
The following morning, Kevin and I went to breakfast in the cafeteria, and we were talking about the previous night’s incident involving First Sergeant Redding. It was actually less talking and more pissed-off venting.
“Redding is bullshit. There has to be someone we can go to about this,” I said.
Kevin, in his usual calm tone, said, “There isn’t, man. This isn’t forever, and we just have to deal with it. It is what it is, man.”
“Excuse me. I’m sorry to interrupt, but are you talking about First Sergeant Redding from Company A?” asked a man sitting at the table next to us.
This guy was very unassuming looking, and I would almost describe him as kind of nerdy, for lack of a better term. He had thick curly hair and a pair of glasses that were too large for his face. With this stranger being dressed in civilian clothes, we had no idea who we may be talking to. We both paused without offering a reply.
“I’m sorry. I wasn’t trying to eavesdrop, but I couldn’t help but overhear your conversation.” He slid over to our table and continued, “I’m Bernie, Bernie Sanders.”
Kevin and I shook hands with Bernie, and it seemed as though neither of us were quite sure what to say next. I asked, “Are you friends with the First Sergeant?”
Bernie laughed and said, “No, not quite. I heard you mention something about the First Sergeant telling you he was in combat. Is that right?”
“Yes, sir. First Sergeant references his time in combat to us sometimes, but it’s usually when he’s pissed off about something,” I said.
“That’s funny, because First Sergeant Redding has never been in combat,” Bernie stated.
“Excuse me?” Kevin asked.
“Maybe I should introduce myself a little better. I’m Major Bernie Sanders. I am in charge in the 118 Medical Battalion, which includes Company A. So no, I’m not First Sergeant Redding’s friend; I’m his boss.”
Major Sanders then proceeded to explain that First Sergeant Redding was a member of an Army Reserve unit which was activated for combat duty in Iraq. When Redding’s unit was preparing to deploy, he was deemed unfit for combat duty. Redding’s unit continued on to Iraq, and Redding was assigned to a Stateside position at Fort Drum. First Sergeant Redding’s first assignment was cut short because of his “distinct inability to work well with others,” and he was ultimately assigned to Company A.
“So Redding was never in Iraq or Afghanistan?” I asked, almost not believing what I was hearing.
“Not a day, son,” replied Major Sanders. “In fact, he has never even served on active duty. Prior to his assignments here at Fort Drum, he has never served any active duty time at all.”
I looked at my watch and explained to Major Sanders that Kevin and I were going to be late for our jobs. Major Sanders said, “You two aren’t going anywhere. I want to hear everything that’s going on over there.”
Kevin and I spent the better part of the next hour just talking with Major Sanders. We did not need to fight or argue, and he just listened. Major Sanders only shook his head and occasionally said, “Unbelievable.” He listened as we both explained our backgrounds and what brought each of us to Fort Drum.
“Ok, as of immediately there are some changes for you two. Number one, you do not report to First Sergeant Redding any longer; you report directly to me. Second, as you’re now reporting to me I’m going to have you reassigned to also work for me. I could use a couple of good guys in my office to help me out. And third, I can’t have my two best men living in squalor. I’ll see about getting you new barracks, ASAP.”
Kevin and I just looked at each other. “What? Excuse me, but are you serious?” I asked.
“I’m very serious, son. Today’s Friday, so I will see you Monday morning in my office. I’m in building 1347 on the third floor,” said Major Sanders.
“Eight o’clock, sir?”
“Make it ten-thirty, son. No need to rush,” replied Major Sanders as he cracked a smile.
Within days, Kevin and I were living in a new barrack and reporting to our new assignment with Major Sanders. The new barrack definitely was not the Hilton, but it was a vast improvement from where we were. The barrack was a three story, modern, cinderblock building, with a bare white-wall interior. Inside, it was divided into multiple rooms and reminded me a lot of a college dorm. Each room had its own shower, own bathroom, and only two people per room. Major Sanders could not get Kevin and I into one room together, but we were in the same building. Kevin was staying on the first floor because of his legs, and I was on the second. My new roommate was a quiet guy who minded his own business, and he definitely did not piss his pants.
Working for Major Sanders was a lot different than working in the Supply Distribution Center. He had us come in around, as he called it, “ten-ish” each morning, and then he usually had us leave by two or three in the afternoon. It is actually difficult to call it working, because we did very little work, if any at all. We formed a fun pattern of going to a local pizza shop each day for lunch, and then goofing off until it was quitting time. My cholesterol levels must have been screaming, but we were enjoying it.
After a few weeks of working with Major Sanders, Kevin and I were really starting to like him. The three of us had a lot in common, and we formed a very unique bond that I have never experienced, before or since. Kevin and I really liked Major Sanders, and we knew he was really starting to like us as well. To this day, I think we each understood what the other had been through in a way that no one else ever will.
Major Sanders rushed into his office one morning, closing the door behind him. Major Sanders’ office was fairly large, with a stately, solid wood desk in the middle. Along one wall was a plush leather couch, and the remaining walls were adorned with diplomas, awards, letters, and accolades. A photo on the wall showed Major Sanders with then President Bush, and another depicted the Major shaking hands with Nelson Mandela. It was a very impressive room.
“I have great news for you two! Well, great news for me actually, but I’m going to share it with you guys first,” the Major shouted excitedly. He continued, “I’m being promoted! It hasn’t been announced officially, but I have good word that I’m being promoted to Lieutenant Colonel at the end of the year!”
I told the Major how I thought it was great news, but Kevin just began to chuckle. The major asked, “You don’t think that’s great, Kev?”
Kevin, obviously holding back a laugh replied, “No, it’s awesome! I’m really excited.”
“What? What’s so funny?” Major Sanders asked.
Kevin, now barely able to control his laughter, responded, “Dude, you’re going to be Colonel Sanders! You’re name will be fucking Colonel Sanders! Let’s just promote Bryan to Major so you two can be Major Wood and Colonel Sanders!”
The three of us laughed, with Major Sanders giving Kevin a lighthearted slap upside the head and saying, “Real funny, asshole.”
“Oh shit, I’m going to be late. I have to get over to my physical therapy appointment,” Kevin announced.
I replied, “See you for lunch, dude. Pizza?”
Major Sanders said, “Works for me.”
Kevin added, “Me too.”
I had some errands of my own to take care of, so I gave Kevin a ride to the medical facility and then went about tending to my business. Two hours later, I got back to Major Sanders’ office to meet the guys for lunch. I found the Major’s door was closed, with a note taped to it that read, “Bryan, hang around for a minute. I’ll be right out.”
After waiting for what was actually twenty minutes but felt like hours, I became very curious about what was going on. Kevin was not waiting with me, so I assumed he was in the office with the Major.
The Major’s door opened, and I saw he was alone in his office. Have you ever had that strange, sinking feeling in your stomach, where you somehow know that something is wrong? I was having that feeling right then.
“Bryan, come on in, bud.”
“What’s going on? Is everything ok?” I anxiously asked.
“No, buddy, it’s not.”
There was a long pause before the Major continued, “This morning, after you dropped him off, Kevin was in his physical therapy session, and he re-broke his leg. His leg just broke.”
“Where is he?” I demanded to know. “I want to go see him.”
“Bryan, that’s not something they can take care of here. He was transported to the local hospital, and he’s going to be transported to another medical center tonight for surgery.”
I had no idea where they were about to take my friend, but I wanted to see him before he left. I felt as though I just had to. I asked Major Sanders if I could go to the hospital to see Kevin.
“Bryan, we can’t. They’re prepping him to be flown out right now. I tried to arrange to have you see him at the airfield before he goes, but it’s a no-go.”
The conversation continued on like this for quite a while, pleading with Major Sanders until I finally realized I was not going to see Kevin before he left.
Little did I realize that when I gave Kevin a ride that morning, it was going to be the last time I would ever see my friend. Then, just like that, Kevin was gone.
As the weeks rolled on without Kevin, life went on like it always does. I thanked God every night that we found Major Sanders before Kevin had to leave, because I knew I could not have made it through my old situation alone. Life may kick us in the balls, and really hard at times, but I also believe life will always help you back up to your feet and just when you need it the most. I think Major
Sanders knew that I was taking it all very hard, and he was always there for me. He became one of the truest friends I have ever had.
One morning out of the blue, Major Sanders called me into his office.
“Bryan,” he said, “the only thing that is going to be worse than seeing Kevin leave will be seeing you go, too.”
“Go where, sir?”
“Home, son. Your unit is loading up, back in Afghanistan, as we speak. They’re coming back, and you’re going home.”
I had very recently finished all of my physical therapy, and I was medically cleared. At this point, I was simply waiting for my unit to come back from Afghanistan so I could be released from active duty with them.
“When? When can I leave?” I anxiously asked.
“I received an email from your company commander in Afghanistan, and as of eleven o’clock last night they were in the process of loading their equipment onto transport aircraft.”
“But when? When can I leave?” I repeated.
“Your unit should be wheels up sometime tonight or tomorrow, and they should have their boots on the ground here in a day or two. After that, I’d imagine you’ll be heading home within a week or so.”
I asked Major Sanders if he was joking. I begged him not to joke about this.
Major Sanders said, “I’m not joking, kid. That’s it; it’s all over. You’re really going home.”
I told Major Sanders, “Thank you, Bernie. I don’t think I can ever repay you for what you did for me here.”
“Go home, have fun, and enjoy your life. You’ve been through enough bullshit. Just go enjoy, and make the best out of everything.”
