Part Two

Sunday, November 2
I was wrong! The orders are still filtering down through the paper chain, but they report to the armory Tuesday, to Fort *** for training on the 15th, to the National Training Center in California for acclimation on February 1st, and to Iraq at the end of February, more or less.

Dan’s sick as a dog—he’s actually calling in sick to work. I think it must be the stress. Though he works in a hospital, he hasn’t been sick since I can’t remember when.

Sunday, November 9
We spent last week shopping. They handed out a three-page list of “recommended comfort items” at drill—like a bigger rucksack (the issue rucksack won’t hold enough), socks (the issue socks rate poorly in the desert), goggles (the issue goggles let sand in), a new CamelBak (the issue CamelBak leaks), a different rifle sling (the issue sling is too short, and hooks to the bottom of the gun, so he has to take his M-16 off and turn it over before he can fire) and so on. Our friends and family really helped us out, but we’ve spent around 1,300 dollars on gear, and didn’t get quite a few things on the list. How do soldiers who make minimum wage, soldiers with kids, pay for it all?

We spent the weekend at a bed-and-breakfast nearby—close enough to be easy to get to, far enough away to be “getting away”—and coming back just in time for Dan to coach his last soccer game. The parents on the team got together and bought him a sweatshirt with a soccer ball and Coach Dan embroidered on the front, which he loves.

And now packing—we’re driving up tomorrow, because Dan has to report first thing Tuesday morning. I was going to drive up with him anyway so I could bring the car back, but since he’ll be at the armory for a bit, I’ll stay until he leaves for Fort ***.

Saturday, November 15
I went to Fort *** yesterday for more of the stuff from the three-page list. When I got off the freeway, the shoulder and sidewalks were packed with demonstrators, standing in the rain waving American flags and signs: Thank You Armed Forces & Families; This is the Land of the Free because YOU are the Brave; Freedom Isn’t Free—Thanks for Paying Our Dues. One couple was holding a big picture of a kid in uniform: Our Hero—You Will NEVER Be Forgotten. I wanted to get out of the car and thank them for standing in the rain on a Saturday morning, for putting some real meaning behind the platitudes.

The lady at the dry-cleaner’s where I ordered BDU nametape said the sign-holders were out in response to rumors of an anti-war protest. Sure enough, as I drove back to the freeway, there they were, holding flags with a blue background and a satellite-photo of the world in the middle, and signs reading, Support Our Troops—Bring Them Home, and No War for Oil. My first reaction was sadness, and my second a blinding, unreasonable anger. I want to say, How would you know what supporting the troops means—do you know what war is like for those who fight it, and for their families? Why are you demonstrating here, exactly—what do you want us to do about it? Do you know what a slap in the face you are to the people whose family members and friends could die, are dying, every day?

Wednesday, November 19
The mobilization ceremony this afternoon was much shorter than I expected—they just gave a speech, rolled up the company flag, put it in its carrying case, and dismissed us. The speech told us, the families, what great sacrifices we are making (just in case we hadn’t noticed), and thanked us on behalf of a grateful nation (which, from what I read in the newspapers and overhear in conversations in public places, doesn’t seem particularly grateful, but rather petulant, and angry that the President hasn’t somehow waved a magic wand and fixed the problem).

On my list of frustrating things: Now that we’ve bought the rucksack and the sleeping bag, both expensive, both non-returnable, the Army is issuing him one of each.

Saturday, November 22
I dropped Dan off at the armory for the last time this morning. I’m grateful for the extra time we’ve had together, for every night he’s still in the country, but sometimes I wish they’d just get it over with. Maybe by the time he actually leaves all the nerves will have died and it won’t be so hard.

Wednesday, November 26
Things are moving forward. They’ve received their desert camouflage gear and a plethora of shots, including the first in the Anthrax series. They’re very kindly waiting until after Christmas to give them the smallpox vaccine, so none of us catch it.

Plans continue to change at least once a day. First they were going to the National Training Center, then they weren’t, now they are again. First they were leaving country at the end of February, then at the end of January, then at the end of December, and now in mid-January. They’re shipping their gear out on December 12, because it goes on a boat, and they go on a plane. They’re supposed to spend two weeks in Kuwait, learning how to fight if their convoy is attacked, and then convoy into Iraq, where rumor has it that they will have a building (no one knows whether it’s supposed to be for sleeping, working, or both—or whether it’s a figment of someone’s overworked brain).

One thing that has changed for the better—Dan gets not one, not two, but three and a half days off for Thanksgiving. I’m driving to Fort *** this afternoon to bring him home.