Under the Sabers: The Unwritten Code of Army Wives

by Tanya Biank

  Back at Fort Bragg, Andrea Lynne stopped in her tracks. As she turned toward the sound of her son’s voice, the living room window seemed to explode with light, as though she were witnessing a nuclear blast. Everything was in slow motion, and when she came around to face the door, she waited, not moving. The four men in uniform walked in. Colonel Jay Hood, the chief of staff of the 82nd Airborne Division, started toward her. “Andrea.”

  Colonel Leo Brooks, Rennie’s former boss and the brigade commander of the 504th Parachute Infantry Regiment, was behind Hood, accompanied by two men she did not know. They kept coming nearer, and Andrea Lynne backed into the living room.

  “Sit down, Andrea,” Hood said.

  I know what they are going to say, she thought. That Rennie’s been hurt. She braced herself. I do not need to sit down. She perched on the ottoman of the papa chair, the one Rennie was so possessive of. She had even started a cross-stitch pillow that read, “Who’s been sitting in my chair?” as a surprise for him when he returned home.

  Colonel Hood sat down on her quilt-covered sofa, and Colonel Brooks sat next to him. The other two men stood in the background. She could see Colonel Hood was having difficulty. Neither man said anything.

  Death notifications are one of the toughest duties an officer performs in his career, and one he never forgets. Much has changed since days when spouses and parents were notified by telegram. Sometimes a chaplain accompanies the notification officer, other times leaders from the soldier’s unit will break the news-usually within twenty-four hours—along with what is known about the cause of death. I was surprised to learn how many officers’ wives know that the “green-suiters” do death notifications only between 6:00 A.M. and 10:00 P.M. In the middle of the night, no news isn’t necessarily good news.

  “So … what?” she asked, impatient.

  They didn’t respond, except to shake their heads slightly. Whatever it was, they didn’t want to tell her. Andrea Lynne inhaled.

  “What is it?”

  “Andrea, there’s been an accident, a helicopter crash.” Colonel Hood stopped to give her time to absorb his words.

  She looked down at the carpet and then asked, “So … ?”

  They didn’t respond.

  “Is it the worst?”

  “Yes,” Colonel Hood said quickly, almost with relief.

  “No.” She put her face in her left hand, rested her elbow on her thigh, and closed her eyes. Where are you, Rennie? I would know. She sought him in her thoughts. She had always been able to do that. He would let her know.

  “Andrea, are you all right?” Colonel Hood was beside her now. Startled, Andrea Lynne stood up. “I need to go to the restroom.” She’d had to go since she got home. As if escaping intruders, she walked quickly past the men and went upstairs to her bathroom. The light outside was dim now. She used the toilet, and afterward she looked in the mirror. Her hair was a mess, falling out of her loose ponytail. She had practically no makeup on. The house—oh, God, the house! Andrea Lynne was never this unprepared. How could this be happening? It was every Army wife’s worst nightmare: You look horrible—the worst in a while, your house is at its dirtiest, the laundry hasn’t been done. What kind of a housekeeper am I? One of your children is in Texas—and these men walk into your home without permission to tell you that your husband’s dead.

  She brushed her teeth. Her mouth was so dry, strangely dry. Then she gripped the sink, as if she were on a moving boat. She looked hard at herself in the mirror. It was like seeing another person, some innocent girl. She doesn’t know what happened, Andrea Lynne thought. Don’t let go, hold on. Isn’t that what Rennie had told her? She nodded slowly and opened the door. One of the men, a major, was in her bedroom.

  “What are you doing here?”

  “I’m the division surgeon,” he said. “You were in there an awfully long time. You have to understand, we were worried that you might do something rash.”

  Irritated, she went downstairs again. This time she sat on the chair; keeping the ottoman between her and them, but the conversations were a blur. She could hear people gathering in the foyer. Again she was told there had been a crash, that it had been confirmed, but Andrea Lynne wasn’t really listening. She needed to gather her own evidence. Suddenly she stood up. “No …” She seemed to have solved some puzzle. “No … . Rennie would never leave me.” She said it again, loudly. “Rennie would never leave me.”

  Then she heard crying in the den. She looked over and saw Colonel Brooks sitting on the couch with his arm draped over little Rennie’s shoulder. Andrea Lynne wanted to rip it off.

  “No, wait, Rennie,” she said sternly. “Wait. You wait! We don’t know anything yet.”

  Little Rennie looked at his mother and nodded slightly. Andrea Lynne was angry now. She turned to Colonel Hood. “I have to go there. I am going to Vietnam.”

  “No, you need to stay here, Andrea.”

  “No, he would come for me; if he’s hurt I need to go there. I need to see him. I’ve been there. I know everybody. I know what to do. I have to go.”

  She heard voices around her: “Think of your health … . The flights are too long … . Let us take care of it … . We will take care of it … . You’re needed here.”

  A group had congregated in the foyer. Andrea Lynne saw Mike and Lucille Ellerbe. Behind them was Melissa Huggins, the wife of Lieutenant Colonel Jim Huggins, with tears streaming down her reddened face. She had sidestepped protocol by coming to the house this early, but she knew Andrea Lynne would need her.

  “Oh, Melissa,” Andrea Lynne said. “Melissa, please.”

  Later, in the kitchen, she leaned close to her friend and said, “Melissa, help me … the house, it’s a mess. Please help me straighten it up.”

  “Andrea—” Melissa tried to console her.

  “Melissa, I told the kids to clean today, and they didn’t. All these people are coming in my house, please!”

  “Okay. I will, I will.” Melissa began loading the dishwasher and clearing the sink and counters. For a moment Andrea Lynne calmed down, but she couldn’t overcome the feeling of chaos. The house and yard had filled with people, and the neighborhood was abuzz. But friends and relatives had to be called. What about her other children? Mike Ellerbe told her she needed to call Natalie, who was a freshman at Baylor University in Waco, Texas.

  “No, I can’t,” Andrea Lynne cried. She still didn’t believe Rennie was dead; she was sure it would be resolved. Melissa handed her the phone. “Andrea, it’s Natalie.”

  “No, no, I can’t talk to her!” Andrea Lynne was now in the living room. She felt a strong grip on her left shoulder. She turned. It was Lieutenant General McNeill.

  “Andrea, you must tell her,” he said.

  She felt limp, helpless. She took the phone. “Hello?”

  “Hi, Mommy!”

  Andrea Lynne pushed the phone away.

  “Andrea, you’ve got to tell her!” General McNeill said again.

  She shrank and walked into the den. Somehow she found her voice. “Natalie, they think your dad has been in a helicopter crash, and they think he has been killed.” Her daughter screamed and screamed again.

  “Oh, Natalie, Natalie.” Each cry cut her open. “They made me tell you. Is someone there?” Andrea Lynne dropped the phone and broke down in tears. Melissa, who had followed her, took the receiver and began to talk soothingly. Andrea Lynne told Mike to get Baylor security, get them there now, and to call the RA (residents assistant) on Natalie’s floor. She was barking out orders like a commander. Mike was looking up numbers when Andrea Lynne screamed, “Why, why did you make me tell her like that? I thought she knew!”

  General McNeill appeared at her side. “She was going to find out. It’s all over the news. Someone was going to tell her. We couldn’t risk that. And she needed to hear it from you, her mother.”

  His words struck a chord, and she gathered strength from his resolve. He’s right, she thought. She had to help her children survive. But th
e news? Why would it be on the news?

  Andrea Lynne went into the kitchen and saw the little bewildered face at the doorway to the den. There, among all the people clearing counters and cleaning up rooms, bringing in food and coffee urns, sweeping and making phone calls, was Madelyn, Andrea Lynne’s smallest, looking up at her.

  “Mom, is something wrong?”

  Andrea Lynne froze. “No, Maddie … .” She’s been out playing, she thought. She doesn’t know. “Could you help clean up? This house is really messy, and all these people are here, and they are trying to help. But they don’t know where anything goes, and I really need you to do it.”

  Madelyn looked at her mother strangely. “Mom, did something happen?”

  In fact Madelyn had overheard some girls on the playground telling their friends a father had died, but she had no idea whom they were talking about. They only told her it was the house with the gray van parked out front. When Madelyn came home and saw the gray van, she had hidden in the backyard.

  Now Andrea Lynne bent close to her and spoke in her ear. “They are telling me that something happened to Daddy. But I don’t know. I just know that they are here, and I have to figure everything out.”

  There were shrieks in the other room. Caroline had been shopping with the Ellerbes’ daughter, Kristen. She was on the couch, crying. Andrea Lynne came to sit with her. She knew she was supposed to comfort the girl, but she still didn’t believe the news herself. She sat there with her arms half draped around her daughter, staring straight ahead.

  Soon Rennie’s father and stepmother were there. So was Alice Maffey. Jim Huggins had arrived, and he came down the stairs with linens in his hands. He had stripped Maddie’s bed, which was also used for guests. He brought down garbage, too. Andrea Lynne made a joke about him looting. And for a moment the laughter eased the pain.

  Neighbors and friends dropped off containers of prepared food, filling the refrigerator with dishes like the ziti and fettucine that Delores Kalinofski had left, complete with directions for reheating.

  When such a tragedy strikes, it hits close to home on military posts, and there is an immediate outpouring of support and empathy. Death doesn’t discriminate in the Army. These days at Bragg, wives whose husbands are deployed to Iraq have quietly formed “comfort teams” in case of a crisis.

  As night fell the group settled in, like sentries taking up posts. Despite Andrea Lynne’s protests, Alice insisted that she was not leaving. Natalie called back and said she was okay, the girls on the hall were with her, and family friends would arrive tomorrow to help her arrange a flight home. Andrea Lynne’s father was on his way. Kristen Ellerbe was bunked out in the basement along with Caroline, and little Rennie’s best friend was there, too. Maddie slept with Andrea Lynne in her bed.

  Five days later, in the late afternoon, Dr. Polhemus stood near the stairs, took two Valiums from his BDU pocket, and placed them in Andrea Lynne’s hand. She cocked her head and smiled. “You’d make the perfect Elvis employee,” she said, but there was no arguing.

  Andrea Lynne popped the two small pills and drank from the water bottle her cousin Lynne just happened to have handy. Lynne was her mother’s cousin, a wealthy southerner from Savannah. Tall—almost six feet—and a young-looking sixty, with a charming laugh, she had always looked in on Andrea Lynne over the years. For the past few days she had been patrolling the door and monitoring the phone, pressing all visitors, even the green suits, into service.

  Dr. Polhemus had been coming over every day after work to check on Andrea Lynne as well. Now he gave her strict instructions: Go to bed. No bath, no chores, no planning, no talking to anyone, nothing.

  From her bedroom window Andrea Lynne could see Dr. Polhemus on the front lawn talking with Major Bruce Jenkins, her CAO (casualty assistance officer), who was helping with the immediate needs of the family, assisting with decisions regarding remains, benefits, and entitlement applications. The room was dark from lack of sun, or maybe it just felt dark, she thought. She left the lights off. She had no desire to brighten anything. Despite Dr. Polhemus’s orders, Andrea Lynne ran a bath. If there were any chance of sleep it would only be after a long hot soak. She wanted to get in the tub and think a little. With so many people around, this was her first time alone. The significance of Rennie’s death was just beginning to sink in. The third morning after the crash, she had sensed Rennie’s presence while she was in bed. She had felt his love, and she knew then that he really was gone. But she still had to confront what was going to be required of her.

  Military wives are identified with their husbands, and when a soldier dies, his spouse comes to symbolize a living link to him. How she reacts has an impact on others beyond the family. People watch the widow and take their lead from her.

  Now everyone was looking to Andrea Lynne. She couldn’t let Rennie down.

  She heard the phone ring. It had been ringing off the hook for days, but this time there was a soft knock at her door.

  “Andrea Lynne?” She heard a singsong Savannah accent. “It’s Cousin Lynne. I think you need to take this one.”

  Andrea Lynne opened the door.

  “I thought that you might make an exception for the president,” she said as she placed the phone in Andrea Lynne’s hand.

  Andrea Lynne wrinkled her brow. President Bush was calling? He had been inaugurated three months ago. She took the receiver and said hello. Someone on the line said, “Hold for the president.”

  “Mrs. Cory? This is Bill Clinton.”

  She had known immediately who it was. He sounded just like he did on TV.

  “I am so sorry,” Clinton said. “I would have called sooner; I’ve been out of the country. I knew your husband.”

  “Yes, I know, he told me. We talked a lot about your visit.”

  The president told her how shocked he was about Rennie and how impressed he’d been with the work he was doing. Andrea Lynne told him about her own visit to Vietnam right before his. She’d had a hand in the planning. “If you had to sit through a water puppet show, it was all my fault.”

  The president laughed.

  “I appreciate you taking the time to call me,” she said after they had chatted a few more minutes, giving him the cue to say good-bye, but instead Clinton asked if there was anything he could do for her.

  “I don’t know what anyone can do for me,” she said. “I’m still in shock. I didn’t think anything could ever happen to Rennie.”

  The president listened to her talk about her husband. He seemed heartfelt in his sympathy and kept prolonging the conversation.

  “If you need anything, let me know,” he said finally.

  “Thank you, I’ll be fine.” When she hung up, Andrea Lynne noticed that a half hour had passed.

  Eight days after the crash, Rennie’s body arrived back in the States. Major Jenkins picked Andrea Lynne up that night and drove her to Rogers & Breece Funeral Home. It was around ten o’clock, and the roads were dark and deserted.

  She was in a daze. She entered the room where Rennie’s casket stood, covered with the American flag. A shadow box held his medals, and a triangular glass container with a wooden frame held another flag. It looked perfect, surreal. Andrea Lynne walked over to the casket and removed the flag. Then she ran her hands over the wood, inspecting the hardware as if she had never really seen a coffin before. She tried to open it, and a funeral director stepped up and did it for her.

  Inside she saw a uniform, a set of greens with the proper medals and patches laid on top of what appeared to be a body swaddled carefully in a green wool Army blanket carefully fastened with five large safety pins at the neck. She undid the pins, gingerly set them aside, and pulled the blanket open. Underneath there was a plastic bag. The funeral director murmured that Rennie’s body was inside, wrapped in gauze, like a mummy.

  “You won’t be able to see him,” he said.

  “I understand,” she said. She just wanted to feel him. Over the years her worst fear had been of seeing Ren
nie dead. Now she couldn’t even do that. Is he really dead? What if they made a mistake? What if they mixed up the bodies?

  As the men left the room and closed the door, she put her hands under the blanket and ran them along his entire body. It was crushed in places.

  “Rennie? Do you know me?” She asked again and again in a low, ragged tone. His arms were bound, but his right arm crossed his waist. His left foot was twisted, too. How she wanted to straighten it.

  She was weeping now, and she laid her head on his crushed chest. Maybe I should just rip open the gauze, she thought, but she remembered the mortician saying that she wouldn’t recognize him anyway—after the accident, the autopsy, the time lapse. At last she closed the Army blanket as carefully as she imagined some soldier had originally done and placed his uniform on top. She held a solid gold Celtic cross and prayed. Then she kissed the cross and placed it in the left pocket of his uniform, closest to his heart.

  She took out a picture of her in bed in Bangkok. He had taken it when he met her there before she caught the flight to Vietnam. The room had been filled with vases of flowers. And in the morning when she woke, Rennie had been standing over her. He had already been downstairs and brought her something to eat. He picked up their camera, and she pulled the covers up around her.

  “No! I’m naked!”

  “That’s why I want a picture!” he said, but he didn’t take it. Instead he pulled the covers back off, placed flowers on her chest, and kissed her. Then he stepped back and took one of the most sensual pictures she had ever seen. It was Rennie’s favorite, and he told her that he kept it by his bed. Now she looked at the dreamy face in the photo and placed it carefully on his uniform. She felt like climbing into the casket next to him.