From war to Wal-Mart
They came to see the babies. The children, too, like the red-haired boys clamoring for pitches in a Kentucky backyard, or the toddler in flowered overalls who clung to her father's knees. But the babies were special. Their babies. The ones they'd never held before.
The tiny beings seemed galaxies apart from the dust, heat, and danger of Iraq. So far away, that when the soldiers first heard they were getting furlough, they dismissed it as a bad joke.
"I was in a broken-down gun truck in downtown Mosul, trying to fix it," recalls Sgt. Matt Loringer of the 101st Airborne Division. "They radioed and asked me, 'You want to go on R & R?' I said, 'Yeah, right.' "
Sergeant Loringer left the next morning. He still couldn't believe it when he arrived in Baltimore Sept. 26 with a planeload of 200 US soldiers, many of them young fathers. It was the first flight of the Army's new two-week leave program, the largest since Vietnam, aimed at breaking up a year in the war zone.
Little things made the GIs anxious, like a welcome banner announcing: "This Van is Carrying Soldiers Coming Home from Iraq." Later, a clap of thunder sent Loringer's comrades ducking for cover. "It sounded just like an incoming 60-mm mortar," says his buddy, Sgt. Richard Carpenter.
Who could blame them? Overnight, they were going from war to Wal-Mart, from fighting guerrillas to family reunions, from bachelor soldiering to married life, from low-intensity conflict to high- intensity diaper changing.
For all this, they had just over a fortnight. Fifteen days with loved ones. Fifteen days to be fathers before heading back, across the universe.
According to military psychologists, "Rest and Relaxation" is supposed to be just that. "It's a big mistake to try to use this time to take care of a lot of family business," says Shelley MacDermid, co-director of the Military Family Research Institute at Purdue University. "This is a vacation from war. It's spring break from war."
Try telling that to Sgt. Rusty Bray. The freckled infantryman from Chicago has three redheaded sons - ages 4, 2, and 1 - and a newborn daughter. "We tried one more time for a girl," he says with a smile.
When Sergeant Bray got home, the first thing his wife had him do was buy a new sofa. "She doesn't sleep on the bed, it's too lonely," he says. "So I bought this king-sized couch. It cost $1,300. It's camel color."
"Your wife had you buy a sand-colored couch?!" said his friend, Sergeant Carpenter, feigning shock.
But Carpenter admits that his wife's "to-do" list back in Cincinnati, Ohio, was even longer. They shopped for cars, furniture, houses, and, he says, "new jobs." Carpenter wanted food. "Steaks. Pizza. I went to McDonald's ten times. I wanted anything that wasn't military and everything we usually take for granted."
With a toddler and a 5-month-old girl, Carpenter's real rest came only at night. But for him, that was enough. "It's the best sleep in the world, in your own bed with your kids asleep in the next room."
Pfc. Chris Oldham of the 3rd Armored Cavalry Regiment knows all the Texas stereotypes: sprawling houses, thick BBQ ribs, and all-out celebrations. But even the tall Houston native was surprised by the extent of the holiday awaiting him back home.
"Both of our families did Thanksgiving and Christmas, with big turkey dinners back-to-back," he says. His family put up stockings, pine boughs, and a Christmas tree trimmed with snowmen in Uncle Sam suits.
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