Tuesday, October 13, 2015

Chapter 29: The Way We Were

My second summer overseas was shaping up to be just as eventful as my first, with the exception of a major deployment; and my personal life was about to change in the biggest way imaginable. Christina and I finally put forth into motion a plan to get married. The first obstacle was securing a date. I was spending more and more time away on field deployments and was gearing up for a large scale tactical evaluation with NATO evaluators. The only logical time was during the Fourth of July break when we had a long weekend. Next, I learned that getting married as a soldier in Germany was far different than it was back home. I had to file a formal request through the battalion chain of command to say "I do", then we had to file with the registrar clerk in Ansbach, kind of like obtaining a marriage license but a bit more complicated. From there, we could organize a formal church wedding if we chose. When I called home to announce our plans, naturally mom and dad were apprehensive about the idea; and rightfully so, since they have never met their prospective daughter-in-law. Their concerns were legitimate, they felt we were rushing into everything and that I needed to focus more on my military career. So we had a game plan, tentative date, and the final obstacle was another field deployment in June. Bravo Battery convoyed out to Kitzingen once again to set up field operations for a week long deployment.
 The field deployments were beyond routine by summer 1994.  The worst parts were the drive to and from Kitzingen, although I was fortunate to see some German countryside and some old towns along the way.  Driving in a hot HUMVEE in a military convoy is not a luxurious Sunday drive.  The field exercise was uneventful.  Martinez was back with me and we spent most of our time working on our triage sites and working with our combat lifesavers.  I told everyone in Bravo Battery about my plans to get married and invited everyone to come, knowing most probably would pass it up, still a nice gesture.  When I got back from the field, I focused on getting the nuptials in order.  Christina's grandma wanted her to be married in the Burgbernheim church after our 'official' wedding at the registrar's office.  For that, I would have to put in a leave request due to the hectic schedule at Shipton.  We decided on a date in August for the church wedding, depending on what I was authorized for leave.
Life outside of the barracks was different.  I was used to being around all my buddies and the whole fraternity house type lifestyle.  Even though I was generally happy, I felt I had left the guys behind.  The weeks before the registrar wedding, I admit that I had second thoughts; not because of wanting to be with other women, but just missing my Shipton family.  The struggles on the 'economy' as it was called were trying with rent and utilities always being due, plus groceries and other daily essentials.  I was the only one bringing money into the home and that caused some normal stress, naturally.  One time before the marriage, Oma loaned Christina some money to get us by one month.  Trips out to the Goose and Hai Life were halted, but my luxury items were still CD's and model kits.  Things eventually evened out for us, as they always did early on, and I kept optimistic.  One big inconvenience was the fact we only had one vehicle, a little white Golf compact car.  Most days, I could walk up the hill the Bleidorn and ride with Jeremy, but if he was deployed out to the field, Christina would have to take me, because I didn't get my German driver's license as I should have.  I was allowed to operate military vehicles on official business travel, but not a personal vehicle.  Plus, the car was a standard transmission, so much like the SUV's in Saudi, I wasn't that proficient in driving it.
July quickly came around and my paperwork had been approved for the registrar wedding.  We decided on July 4th, Independence Day, to be our official wedding day.  I wasn't authorized any additional leave because I was due to leave for a field exercise a couple of days after the holiday; so much for a honeymoon.  At the same time, we were preparing for our August church wedding, so to say it was a hectic time is saying it lightly.   The Fourth of July arrived and my life would forever change.
Christina, her parents, Nicole, Oma and I arrived at the registrar's office in Ansbach early in the day.  I presented my paperwork from battalion authorizing me to be married and Christina produced some vital records documents from the Bad Windsheim community where she was born.  There was no ceremony, no brides maids or grooms men, no one standing up with or beside me.  I remember wishing my family could have at least been part of this.  We signed some legal documents, and when the registrar asked about the last name, I was a bit confused.  I always believed that the woman took the man's name and that was it; however, it was not always the case in European cultures.  If a family, such as Christina's, had only female offspring, the male took the female's surname frequently.  We had already decided that the Kiskaden name would be our family's name and told the registrar clerk.  A groan of disapproval came from Gunter and he nearly got up and walked out.  Heidi eased him and he sat there like a kid who had been wronged by having his favorite item taken away.  I don't really know if Heidi was happy for us, Oma started crying and Nicole was, well, just Nicole.  After a few more minutes, we exchanged rings, which was not ordinary for this type of marriage formality; but we wanted to be able to show everyone we were now a family.  In less than an hour, Christina and I walked out into Ansbach a married couple.  I remember looking down at the ring on my finger, thinking "wow...we really did it".
Gunter was visibly upset that the Markert name was omitted and huffed all the way back to his car.  We decided to meet at a gasthaus and eat together, which was surely to be pleasant.  During the meal, Gunter eased up a little, but still would have an occasional smart ass remark fly out.  I passed the remarks over, by that time I had already figured out he could be difficult.  Oma seemed to be the happiest about our nuptials and must have hugged me a dozen times that day.  Eventually, we parted ways and Christina and I retreated to the apartment.  The German-American Fest was going on in Katterbach, so we decided to go there. 
The fest was as it was the year before; carnival rides, food stands and the beer tents.  I remember seeing a group of guys from Bravo and walking up just holding my left hand up to show off the wedding band.  Everyone of them congratulated us and we didn't have to worry about buying drinks the rest of our time there.  A band was playing in one tent and was pretty good.  That took me back to the time with Gaines and Ludeke; that band could have been us.  One of the guys, Manning, went up to the stage and told the band to dedicate a song to Christina and me, so when the time came, the singer announced that we had just been married and dedicated the Eric Clapton song Wonderful Tonight to us.  That would be our first official dance as a married couple.  Halfway through the song, I noticed we were the only two on the dance floor, everyone else was standing back watching us with smiles.  For the moment, the way we were right then  trumped any problems we had been having.  Things felt right and I felt good about us.  If her family or mine wasn't happy for us, it didn't matter; at least 200 people there that moment were happy for us.
 I didn't get hammered drunk like I usually did at the fest, even considering the fact all the drinks were taken care of by my Bravo guys.  After the fest, Christina and I went to the Goose to continue the celebration.  Again, the guys were buying drinks for us, Christina chose to drink lightly so she could drive us home.  At some point, a usual Goose brawl broke out between the Katterbach and Shipton guys.
"They hit Priester," Rich, one of the Bravo guys yelled out.  It was like a flood of Bravo Battery soldiers pouring out to find the person responsible.  The fight spilled outside and as I got to the door to join, Priester was brought to me, bleeding profusely from the head.  He was hit with something and had a huge gash on the top of his head that needed immediate attention.  I sat him down while Christina ran out to get her first aid kit out of the car.  One of the workers at the Goose ran up with a combat lifesaver bag and we started working on Priester.  The laceration was about 3 or 4 inches long and deep; not to the skull, but deep and had started to raise into a large knot.  I told Priester we needed to take him to the krankenhaus, but he refused.  Apparently a guy just walked up to him and clocked him with something for no reason.  Priester was like me; easy going and non-confrontational without an enemy.  For someone to do this to him was uncalled for.  For someone to do this to a fellow Bravo soldier, retribution would be swift for the poor idiot.
I bandaged Priester up the best I could and put ice wrapped in a rag on his head to help reduce swelling and maybe stop the bleeding.  He never passed out, but looked as if he could at any time.  He laid down on the bench seat while I stayed with him.  I was covered in blood, hands, shirt, pants, all over me.  The guys came back inside once the fight broke up and said that a guy from Katterbach saw Priester from behind, assumed he was another person and hit him with a pool stick.  The guy realized the err of his ways when he was pummeled by a group of Bravo Battery's finest.  He, too was left bleeding and very apologetic.  The next day, Priester had guard duty and was working the front gate when I went to check on him.  After his duty, he finally went to the clinic and was treated for the laceration and a concussion.  Luckily there was no brain bleed or cranial swelling.  The morale of this story:  Bravo Battery guys stuck together and we watched each others backs.  If anyone crossed the line, they were dealt with promptly and efficiently.
As soon as the festivities and wedding celebrations ended, I was back in the field again.  This exercise would prove to be the most challenging one since our deployment to Saudi Arabia.  There was an opposition force comprised of NATO troops and some guys from surrounding posts camped somewhere near our position.  Now, instead of imaginary attacks with no other soldiers, we would have simulated warfare.  The first attack came in as we were building our site.  The cracking of gunfire started in a tree line beyond our entry point.  The alarm went off and guys scurried to makeshift defensive positions behind trucks, grassy berms or anything else they could find.  The whole ordeal lasted just a few minutes, but was enough to put us on guard.
After our site was operational, Captain Reynolds and First Sergeant Franklin briefed us about the next two weeks.  We would be under simulated combat conditions at all hours, including air attacks by actual aircraft.  Observers from NATO would be on site watching and, in some instances, participating in the exercises.  We would expect attacks at any time and could expect a simulated mass casualty situation.  Luckily for Martinez and me, our most recent sergeant's time training focused on triage and mass casualties.   We went back to our tents and regulated the fact that we would have no sleep during this field deployment.  One of the lieutenants came to the tent and asked if we had the landing zone set up, of which we hadn't at that point.  I went with him to a location down range and set up bright orange place markers to signify a landing area for helicopters.  I was told that at some point, a VIP would arrive and to be ready.  In the field, a VIP being ferried in by helicopter meant a commanding general or someone higher up the chain of command was stopping by, so we had to be on our toes.  L
ate one afternoon, I was summoned to the command tent and told to go to the landing zone for further instruction.  The medics were always trained in proper hand signals to land helicopters in the event of a medevac situation, and I expected this to be the day a VIP would arrive.  The sergeant waiting for me said that a Chinook (a large, two rotor helicopter) would be 'hot loading' some missile canisters and I needed to guide it down.  The giant craft arrived over the tree line with thunderous force; a Patriot Missile canister was secured by ropes and hanging down under the helicopter's belly.  I made visual contact with the crew chief as the Chinook hovered overhead.  The sound was deafening and the down force of the rotors made it difficult to stand up, but I guided the huge craft down to the ground.  I'll have to admit, it was a bit intimidating to say the least.  When the helicopter took off, the down force of the rotors was like standing in a hurricane.  I quickly bent down and covered my face to shield myself from the debris and grass being whipped around.  The whole operation took maybe ten minutes and was quite awe-inspiring to see.
Our next 'attack' came by air and caught all of us by surprise; especially me.  We had portable latrines in the field and the call of nature hit me one afternoon while  Martinez was at the aid station playing cards with a couple of the other guys.  While I was busy, I heard the distinct sound of a low flying jet coming toward the site and a voice yelling, "air attack! Air attack!"  I started to get my TA-50 back on when all of a sudden, an explosion rocked the portable latrine.  The force was so hard that the walls of the latrine moved with the concussion.  Guys were yelling outside as I scurried to get dressed.  I fully expected to look out and see a crashed jet burning close by.  Suddenly, the sound of another jet filled the air and another explosion of equal intensity rocked the site.  I ran out of the latrine toward the aid tent yelling for Martinez.  There was a gray haze of smoke all around and guys were hurriedly darting from tent to tent.  As I looked around, I didn't see a burning jet or any other destruction I had anticipated, but soon a yell for "doc" rang out.  Martinez and I grabbed our aid bags and ran toward the command area.  There were several soldiers down on the ground with some combat lifesavers already treating them.  My first thought was that the explosions were something that weren't part of the plan and our guys had gotten hurt.  Our fears for the worst were quickly relieved when we got to the 'injured' soldiers and learned they had simulated injuries.  Off in the distance, the swooshing sound of another jet caused us to brace for another explosive report.  The jet simply did a fly by pass and banked off away from our site.
As Martinez and I treated our 'casualties' we were being observed by a couple of British soldiers.  This was part of an evaluation process, but we treated it as if it were real.  With the help of our combat lifesavers, we took our casualties to the aid station and began the triage process.  There were a total of eight or ten if I remember correctly; some with simple wounds and others labeled as expectant, or dead/dying.  We moved our ambulance out of the camouflaged netting and readied it for transport.  Martinez asked an evaluator if he needed to call for Dustoff, or air ambulance support, of which the reply was, "would you if this was real?".  Martinez began the process of calling for medevac on our radio.  We had an assigned frequency to reach the Dustoff helicopters, which were stationed nearby in Wurzburg.  We had a specific way to give information over the radio and kept cards in our field packs that outlined the call procedures.  I gathered up those soldiers who were not as critical and placed them in the ambulance.  I quickly realized that there were going to be more than I could transport, so I sent a combat lifesaver to the command tent to procure another vehicle.  While Martinez and I were focused on this part of the exercise, the rest of Bravo Battery was being evaluated also.  The soldier ran back and told me there were no more vehicles to use,  they had been 'destroyed' during the attack.  Well played.
After Martinez did his radio call for Dustoff, the voice at the other end told us all available craft were unavailable due to real time missions.  The evaluators stopped us at that point and wrote something down on the papers they had, then walked off.  This was the end of our part of an interesting drill.
Several minutes later, a sergeant came to our tent and told us to form up for a briefing.  We reported to formation and Captain Reynolds, along with First Sergeant Franklin and our executive officer, briefed us on what happened.  The explosions we heard were actually remote controlled grenade simulators that were buried in undisclosed areas along the site area.  The evaluators faulted the battery for not recognizing an immediate threat and appearing chaotic.  In my mind, I felt this would have been a totally real scenario like the attack on Pearl Harbor; guys just doing their routine and then all of a sudden, an air attack.  I'm not sure what happened, but according to the evaluation, the radar should have picked up the incoming aircraft and the Patriot launchers should have taken care of the threat; in a real world situation.  Whether it was a failure on the radar, or just simply was supposed to happen, I don't know, but it was a definite awakening.
As the two weeks progressed, more attacks of varying degree plagued us at all hours.  One particular attack was a sabotage type deal where the enemy forces snuck in and placed simulated bombs on vehicles and next to tents.  Another full scale attack resulted in the 'death' of Captain Reynolds, who was removed from the site completely, to evaluate the continuance of command scenario.  We had very little sleep during this field exercise, but all in all, it was very rewarding.  There was only one real injury during the exercise, an ankle sprain, that required us to transport a soldier to the dispensary in Kitzingen.  By the end of the last week, we were all tired, stinking and beyond ready to head back to Ansbach.
The remainder of the summer of 1994 would be busy with more field deployments to ranges, endless inspections at Shipton and another task I was bestowed upon by SFC Taylor at Bravo Battery; eye exams for all personnel in the battery.  Over the course of a week, I had everyone from command down to private do a basic eye exam.  I found out that many of the soldiers hadn't had exams in a long time, so I had to schedule follow-up appointments with the Katterbach Clinic.  The week long task ended up lasting the better part of two weeks.  Christina even said I was spouting off vision ratios in my sleep.
Home life was still an adjustment.  Christina and I spent most of our time together going to and from Burgbernheim or occasionally over to Harold and Salina's.  Salina was expecting their first child and I was just as excited as they were.  Not long after I had arrived at Shipton, Harold had received word that Salina had lost a baby she was carrying, so this pregnancy was very special to them.  I had been there to support Harold after the first baby was lost, something he and Salina were always grateful for.   One night while all of us were together, Harold asked if Christina and I would be the Godparents of their child.  There was no hesitation to the question at all; the Brightbill's were already like family to me.  Personally, I was honored and humbled by his request.
Christina and I planned the church wedding for August 13  in Burgbernheim.  We met with the priest several weeks earlier, before out registrar wedding, and he outlined the ceremony to us.  The wedding would be traditional in the fact Christina would wear a full wedding dress, we would have all the pomp and circumstance, but it would be far different than a wedding in the States.
St, Johanniskirche, Burgbernheim, Germany
The church was a Lutheran based fellowship which reminded me in some ways of Catholic faith.  The church was named St. Johanniskirche and the interior was simply awesome; it was built in the 1110's and remained largely unscathed during World War II. 

The walls were adorned with wood carvings highlighted with gold.  The alter was an impressive wooden masterpiece portraying the life of Christ and a balcony with a choir pit wrapped around the room.  If anything, I could always say I was married in a middle-ages era church that was absolutely breathtaking.
Before the wedding date, it was customary that the priest place a notice on the front of the church, to allow anyone who objected to meet with him.  That would be a sight; already legally married and someone protesting the church ceremony.  Christina, her aunt and mother picked out the dress, which I wasn't allowed to see, and Oma paid for it.  I would wear my Class A uniform and had started to ask people to come.  Christina, however, told me that the wedding would be low-key and she wanted specific people to attend.  Jeremy and Misti were invited, along with Anita and Gerald, a couple we were friends with.  Anita was  sergeant in the unit and her husband, Gerald was retired from the Army.  For whatever reason, Harold and Salina were not invited, and I protested to deaf ears.  Harold was one of my closest friends and had just asked us to be Godparents!  As a matter of fact, most of the people I wanted to attend were shunned.
The rehearsal went smooth, but the whole thing was just foreign to me.  We had the rehearsal dinner at a local gasthaus and for the most part, Christina's family spoke in German the whole evening.  I could understand quite a bit of German language, but couldn't speak much more than simple phrases.  Occasionally, Gunter would say something and they would all turn to look at me and start laughing.  Anita and Gerald were the only others from the wedding party to attend the meal, and I could tell they were uncomfortable along with me.  I talked to them mostly and chose to ignore the laughs, even if they were unintended to be at me.
Our wedding day came, and we started off by taking pictures.  Christina arrived in her dress and looked radiant.  Normally, it is tradition that the groom not see the bride before the wedding ceremony, but nothing so far had been very traditional at all.  Our picture location was in a garden setting at a place in Bad Windsheim.  There were flowers everywhere and it was a very nice place.  I was actually more nervous this time than the registrar wedding.  When we got to the church, several of the people Christina and the Markert family knew had arrived...so much for a low-key event.  Jeremy and Misti came, and I wanted Jeremy to stand with me.  Once inside, however, it was much different than any wedding I'd seen, or rehearsed the day before.  I was seated in front of the priest and alter, Jeremy was told to sit to the side with everyone else.  At that point, I felt a sense of being alone in this journey.  I wished my parents could have been there to see this beautiful church.  We had set up a video camera in the church to capture the ceremony, so at least I could send it back home for them to see.
Christina marched down the aisle and sat down next to me.  The priest began talking-all in German-and anointing us.  We sang hymns like a regular church service, again all in German.  I looked around at one point and caught myself drifting in thought.  On the video, you can plainly see this, all the while as I was twiddling my thumbs.  No traditional vows were spoken, we remained seated as we exchanged rings and only stood when we were presented to the congregation.  At the end of the ceremony, I think I was more confused than anything due to the language and cultural barriers.  As we exited, the crowd did the only traditional thing of the day by tossing rice at us.
After the wedding, we retreated back to Christina's parents' house to change into our reception clothing.  Our reception would be at the country club gasthaus between Illesheim and Bad Windsheim.  As we were on the way there, a nice older model white Dodge Charger zipped past us on the narrow road.  It was kind of an odd sight because normally there weren't many American sports cars seen in Germany.  The driver sped away and took a curve entirely too fast, skidding off the road, taking out a couple of road makers and slamming sideways into a tree.  The impact broke the small tree in half and caved the passenger's side of the Charger inward.  We stopped the car and I rushed out to check the driver.  Jeremy was behind me with a first aid kit.  The driver seemed to be okay, but had a bloody nose and cut on his head and smelled of alcohol.  Christina went on to Illesheim, which was a short distance away, and called for help.  Soon, the polezi and an ambulance were on scene and the driver of the wrecked car was obviously nervous and agitated.  He was a staff sergeant with an aviation unit in Illesheim, and by all accounts, was in a great deal of trouble.  What a wonderful way to start a wedding reception.
The gasthaus was nestled between a couple of hills and had a vineyard behind it.  It was a nice location; almost picturesque in what you'd expect to see in Bavaria.  German custom regarding wedding receptions are far different than the traditional ones in the U.S.  No big party or fancy gift exchanges were part of this; it was almost like a feast setting.  We sat at a long table with hoards of food and beer in front of us.  A German polka band played folk songs, kind of like the ones at the local fests in spring and fall.  We did a traditional dance to the oompah beat of the music, and everyone got quite amused at my inability to dance.  We sat up a video camera so I could sent a video home to mom and dad, but it still wasn't the same as having them there as part of it.  After around three hours, we retreated back to our respective homes; after all, I had to report back to duty and another field exercise the following week.
One day, I came home from post and Tanja was at the apartment.  She was  pregnant and her father had told her to leave home.  Christina had told her she could stay with us for a while until things settled down.  Our small one-bedroom apartment would be a bit more crowded, but we could manage.  The only real strife we had at this point were money issues.  Christina still wasn't working anywhere, so my check was being stretched to the limit every month.  I chalked it up as a necessary struggle many newlyweds endured, but there were cracks starting to form on the surface.  Trips to the PX and local shops became expensive and it didn't seem there was a regard made to make it better.
 I spent some of my off time with Gunter going to his hunting spots and favorite gasthauses along the way.  Usually these trips became all day events and lots of beer was consumed between us.  It seemed we were getting along rather well and Gunter was finally accepting me.  I still felt a little uneasy at times due to his occasional racial or political remarks, but realized that it was his demeanor and I wasn't going to change it in any way.  Heidi was always friendly with me, and Oma was one of the kindest people I knew, but still, I felt a little like an outsider.  I'm sure they all had seen the same routine; local girls getting involved with Army guys and then when it was time for the guys to leave, the girls would be dumped unceremoniously.  Naturally, they had concerns, but for then, the way we were in that moment in time, those concerns could be shrugged off as normal paranoia.
At some point near the end of summer 1994, Jeremy and I were approached by one of the Dustoff guys from Katterbach about becoming flight medics.  It was an exciting pitch; we would be sent to Fort Rucker, Alabama and become one of the air evac medics aboard a Blackhawk.  We would even have our choice of duty station, which we already agreed would be in Katterbach, once we completed the school.  Plus we had the option to attend Air Assault School in Fort Campbell once we completed the training.  There would be so much opportunity outside of the Army with this classification, and it could quite possibly be an Army career choice for Jeremy and me.  We told Corporal Fowler we would like to start the process and he signed off for us.
Jeremy and I went to Wurzburg to start our flight physicals, which were much like the ones we had at MEPS.  During the eye exam, I was told I had a slight astigmatism, but the problem wouldn't disqualify me.  A few days after the exams, we got packets stating we had passed our physicals and more paperwork that needed to be sent up the chain to battalion.  We needed letters of recommendation, so I chose SFC Taylor and Lieutenant Wiczkowski from Bravo Battery.  Both gave very favorable recommendations, plus my most recent PT test went well and I had no negative points against me, surprisingly.  A few days later, Corporal Fowler broke the news to Jeremy and me that our battalion commander Lieutenant Colonel Geraci had denied our paperwork, stating that we were a 'valuable asset to the battalion and an upcoming mission'.  So our hopes for becoming flight medics had to be put on hold...and what 'mission'?
We started training soon after for the Expert Field Medical Badge Course, or EFMB.  It was a prestigious award medics could earn, like the infantry's Expert Field Badge, or Air Assault.  The course was a two-week field exercise that tested our medic, land navigation and basic soldier skills.  At the end was a grueling twelve mile road march with full combat equipment; a combination of basic training and medic school all in one.  We trained on Thursdays by doing either land navigation or road marches, since those were the most difficult and most often failed tasks.  Land navigation was interesting in the fact that we relied upon a single compass and grid map of an area to find certain points in a given time frame.  In daytime, this was fairly easy because we had visual references we could match to the map.  Night land navigation was more tricky because we didn't have those visual clues.  During one night event, I was doing fairly well, had found two points in a timely manner.  We were on the back side of Oberdachstetten, near one of Gunter's hunting spots.  It was very dark and cold that night with no moon.  The forest canopy made seeing very difficult, and we could only use the red lenses on our flashlights to read the map and nothing more.  I figured my third point and started hiking toward the location.  After what I felt should have been ample time to find the point, I stopped and recalculated my coordinates.  I started hiking a bit further and came upon the roadway that wound through the forest, obviously quite a bit off course.  I looked at the map and tried to get oriented again, when Corporal Fowler came upon my location and said, "bang, you're dead."  I had ran out of time and still had four points to find.  In fact, only one or two of us found the points at all.  Another time, I found all of my points, and cut it very close on time, but found them out of sequence.  It was a very difficult task indeed.
When it came time to sign up for the course, only those of us with the best luck during training and best PT scores were allowed to apply.  Hayes, Bruce and Brown were chosen as the candidates representing 6th Battalion, 43rd Air Defense Artillery.  If any of the three could complete the course, I bet on Hayes since he was the most squared away of any of the medics.  The course was in Giebelstadt and when we arrived to see the guys off, there had to have been 250 soldiers enrolled in the course.  We had been told that only a fraction of these soldiers would make it through to earn their badges, and as we were watching, we could see why.  Sergeants were barking orders at the soldiers, of all rank, like basic training all over again.  When we left, Corporal Fowler laughed and said, "three days.  I give 'em three days".  Sure enough, a few days later, Bruce came home, then Brown.  Hayes lasted a little over a week, but also came home.  They said it was one of the hardest courses they had ever been part of and that a great many of the soldiers enrolled had either dropped out or failed a task.  There apparently were no retakes on task failures; you either got it right the first time or went home.
As the leaves started to turn and air cool into fall, I was in an okay place, with some work to do professionally and personally.  I was staying mostly sober and trying to maintain a balanced household as best as I could.  It occurred to me that my time in Germany was coming to a close;  I only had five or six months until I was to be sent to another duty station, hopefully stateside.  Meanwhile, south of Germany, another war was brewing in Bosnia and Herzegovina with far more of a humanitarian crisis than the Persian Gulf.  This war didn't appear to have a need for air defense artillery; no SCUD threats, but it was quite possible support units could be pulled from area battalions.  The mission LTC Geraci mentioned could very well be in support of the ongoing military operations commanded by NATO forces, and with all the NATO field exercises, it was quite possible.  But as the fall season of 1994 arrived, Headquarters and Bravo Batteries trudged onward through the fields of Oberdachstetten, Kitzingen, and any other places along the way; Christina and I managed the best we could...the way we were.

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