We received the picture you see here shortly after Christmas from old friends (no, they’re not old, they’re younger than I am, you know what I mean), in Massachusetts. The reason it arrived after Christmas is because they were busy buying, packing, and mailing Christmas packages to their son in Afghanistan and to each member of his platoon, most of whom are shown here, part of the 82nd Airborne Division.
There are a lot of parts to this story, which makes it a little difficult to organize, but it starts with, having flown many troops on their way to both Iraq and Afghanistan (my last flight for ATA started troops from McCord AB on their way to Afghanistan), this was the first soldier that I personally know who has been there. I flew lots of troops, and took great satisfaction in trying to give them the best experience going over possible, and, as with so many things in the military, there is a certain reassuring sameness to it all—the variety of people the Army attracts, the calm and courtesy they always showed, the ritual and traditions of the chain of command—and having grown up and been in the military myself, it was all very familiar, so I felt like I knew them, but I never actually knew any of those troops personally.
But I have known Lt D. (I will tell you later why I call him that) since he was “that high,” and while he didn’t ask my advice nor did he need it when he announced that he was going to apply to OCS and wanted to be an infantry platoon leader, he knew I completely supported that decision. And coming from the bluest of blue states, and from an academic area on top of that, that wasn’t something that he got a lot of then, where “Bush lied and people died” was taken as an undeniable truth. Lt. D not only got accepted into OCS, but got his commission (the two are not automatic—I don’t know what the attrition rate is, but the training is as tough as the Army can make it), and then went on to Ranger and Airborne training, elite training programs and the mark of a committed soldier. Having initially been assigned a staff position in Afghanistan, he pushed to have his own platoon, a much more demanding and, yes, probably also more dangerous assignment, and why did he do that? Because he wants to be a company commander, and you can’t command a company until you can prove that you can lead a platoon. He’s done well, and I am proud of what he has done, and I am also proud because I know there are many more Lt. D’s and many more platoons like this out there, and they represent all that is good about this country.
So why do I call him “Lt. D?” Partly because my guess is that is what he is often called, just as Forrest Gump called his platoon leader “Lt. Dan.” But I don’t know that. What I do know is that security is a big issue for our troops there, and their families here. I could give you his full name, and I could tell you exactly where he grew up in Massachusetts, and enemies could search the web, discover that, and threaten his family now, and him when he returns. A stretch maybe, not very likely, but why risk it? I actually had an awkward moment learning this on my last flight. I had taken my camera along with me because I wanted to take pictures on that last flight, and I took some inside the hangar at McCord where the troops were congregated prior to boarding. I knew you weren’t supposed to take any pictures anywhere on any base at any time, but I thought a couple of very discreet pictures would be okay. I took one of some special forces troops horsing around, and a few minutes later their company commander came over and very nicely asked me not to take any more pictures, “…due to the sensitive nature of our mission.” I was very embarrassed and said, “Sorry, yes of course, no more pictures.”
I just thought this was a great picture of Lt. D and his platoon, and I left it out where I saw it every time I walked by, and then it hit me, why not send a care package yourself? So the other day I called his mother to see what sort of things they wanted and where to send them, and she said they liked having basically any kind of snack or energy food that could be stuffed in pockets for long patrols, and extra socks. (It looks like cigars are a big hit, too.) So I enlisted one of my daughters, who has a Costco card, and we went to Costco and loaded up a basket with big boxes (the only kind they have there) of candy, beef jerky, energy bars, and athletic socks. (They don’t actually sell anything called “Combat Socks,” “Athletic” is as close as they come.) That package is on its way, and I have a tracking number and will let you know its progress. So far all the USPS will tell me is that it has been “Accepted.” I should hope so.
