Da-Chief
01-09-2007, 10:07
God speed Army Brothers..
Chief
The Bravest Front of All
For a Guardsman Set for Duty in Iraq, One Last Call To Arms at Home
By Tamara Jones
Washington Post Staff Writer
Tuesday, January 9, 2007; C01
On the day that he left, the alarm clock went off just after 4, in that shadow hour between darkness and dawn. L'Angel Hardgrove slipped out of bed while her husband was showering to brew their favorite coffee, and would remember the cozy aroma of hazelnuts filling up the hotel room. She put on a pink sweater and matching eye shadow, and Mike buttoned his uniform.
They made their way across the parking lot to Shoney's, where the tables were full of men in fatigues. The Fredericksburg National Guard Armory was just down the road, and this past Sunday was the morning the 116th Brigade Special Troops Battalion was leaving. Mike was going to Iraq.
He was wide awake already, full of nervous energy. L'Angel watched Mike pick at some fruit, but she couldn't eat at all. They'd been married for 2 1/2 years, but she would say it was only now that she realized he belonged more to his country than to her.
At the armory, they sat on folding chairs in an auditorium full of families in huddled farewell. She nuzzled his shoulder and he breathed in the shampoo scent of her silky brown hair.
On the day that he left, she promised him that she wouldn't cry.
Mike is 25, a sergeant with intense, dark eyes and a stripe of thick black hair across the top of his shaved head. In civilian life, he was training to become the manager of a GNC vitamin store, but his voice fills with a passion L'Angel can't ignore when he says he always wanted to be a soldier. His uncle was a Marine, and his grandfather was on the USS Missouri during World War II. Mike dabbled in college for a while but joined the Guard and dreamed of becoming an officer. A high school friend introduced him to L'Angel, and they were engaged when Mike got orders for Afghanistan. He deployed a month after the wedding and was gone for a year.
L'Angel is 24, working as a babysitter and tutor in their Fauquier County home and thinking she might go back to college this fall. She thought they were both looking for their way in the world, and didn't fully grasp that he had found his until he announced that he would join the Army full time after this 18-month tour. L'Angel is still surprised to find herself a military wife. They grew up in this area, and she figured they would save their money, buy a house and raise a family here.
They hoped L'Angel would get pregnant before Mike left, but it didn't work out that way. So the spare room in their Strasburg, Va., apartment won't be a nursery, after all, while Mike is away. L'Angel might put a sewing machine in there instead. A hobby like that might be good to fill the hours alone.
On the day that he left, Mike reminded L'Angel to send him SpongeBob fruit gummies. And Swedish fish, but remember, only the red ones.
The commander called the Alpha Company to formation, and Mike lined up with the other men and shouted "Sir, yes, sir!," looking straight ahead now, not at L'Angel. A soldier in the front row had tears streaming down his ruddy face.
A giant vinyl backdrop of white stars against a field of blue decorated the stage where officers and local dignitaries waited importantly to wish the soldiers Godspeed. Vending machines hummed against the wall, and a Christmas tree still twinkled beneath the basketball scoreboard.
One by one, the speakers mentioned sacrifice and courage and pride and patriotism, and no one said the word "war."
Mike has his ex-history-major's explanation for joining Operation Iraqi Freedom, and he has the one he would remember giving his 4-year-old nephew when the little boy called him as he readied for deployment.
Where you at, Uncle Mike?
I'm with the Army guys.
Why?
We have to go fight the bad guys.
Why?
So the bad guys don't come here and hurt you.
Mike and L'Angel spent these last weeks together savoring the everyday rituals, knowing this time around that it was the ordinary moments they would miss most, like tuna fish sandwiches for dinner and watching TV together on the couch.
"Give them hell, Alpha Company!" a speaker shouted, and the men whooped back while their families applauded.
"You are the face of America! God bless you, and God bless America!"
Then the commander ordered his men to move out. The chartered buses were waiting out front.
L'Angel staked out a spot on the damp grass, and a stranger handed her a small souvenir flag. Behind her, two little girls jumped up and down in their ruby-glittered "Wizard of Oz" shoes, shouting "Bye, Daddy! Bye, Daddy!" while their mother stood silently weeping. A bulldog of an old man in an American Legion uniform held a stiff salute, waiting for the last bus to pull away.
Mike lumbered up, loaded down with his duffel, rucksack, laptop and a box lunch for the ride to Fort Dix, N.J., where Alpha Company would train briefly before shipping out to Iraq.
"Are you . . . ?" L'Angel started to ask.
"I'm going to drop my stuff," Mike answered, heading for the first bus in line. "I can't hold you with all this."
He came back and opened his arms.
"All right," he said softly.
They held each other and kissed, swaying gently back and forth, a slow dance to the rumble of bus engines. He kissed her neck, her lips, the top of her head. "Do you want me to cry?" she teased. They had talked about this already. She knew it would just make it harder for him. Joking was the only way she could hold it together now. "I can cry if you want me to."
No, no, please don't cry.
Mike's best friend came up to give L'Angel a friendly nudge to the shoulder. "Peace out," he said, heading toward the bus. "Take care of him!" she called back.
Mike hugged her hard, and she promised to give the cats a kiss from him, and he said he would call tonight after they reached the base, and the big numbers on his soldier's wristwatch read 9:18 when he turned and walked away.
He held a piece of paper to the grimy bus window.
I {heart} you.
She blew him a kiss.
She cried on the drive home.
She stopped at the grocery store and found herself reaching for a package of razors before remembering he wasn't there to need them. She spent the afternoon dusting and vacuuming, because cleaning distracts her. She made herself some chicken noodle soup, and Mike called to say good night and tell her how proud he was of her, how strong she was, on the day that he left.
Chief
The Bravest Front of All
For a Guardsman Set for Duty in Iraq, One Last Call To Arms at Home
By Tamara Jones
Washington Post Staff Writer
Tuesday, January 9, 2007; C01
On the day that he left, the alarm clock went off just after 4, in that shadow hour between darkness and dawn. L'Angel Hardgrove slipped out of bed while her husband was showering to brew their favorite coffee, and would remember the cozy aroma of hazelnuts filling up the hotel room. She put on a pink sweater and matching eye shadow, and Mike buttoned his uniform.
They made their way across the parking lot to Shoney's, where the tables were full of men in fatigues. The Fredericksburg National Guard Armory was just down the road, and this past Sunday was the morning the 116th Brigade Special Troops Battalion was leaving. Mike was going to Iraq.
He was wide awake already, full of nervous energy. L'Angel watched Mike pick at some fruit, but she couldn't eat at all. They'd been married for 2 1/2 years, but she would say it was only now that she realized he belonged more to his country than to her.
At the armory, they sat on folding chairs in an auditorium full of families in huddled farewell. She nuzzled his shoulder and he breathed in the shampoo scent of her silky brown hair.
On the day that he left, she promised him that she wouldn't cry.
Mike is 25, a sergeant with intense, dark eyes and a stripe of thick black hair across the top of his shaved head. In civilian life, he was training to become the manager of a GNC vitamin store, but his voice fills with a passion L'Angel can't ignore when he says he always wanted to be a soldier. His uncle was a Marine, and his grandfather was on the USS Missouri during World War II. Mike dabbled in college for a while but joined the Guard and dreamed of becoming an officer. A high school friend introduced him to L'Angel, and they were engaged when Mike got orders for Afghanistan. He deployed a month after the wedding and was gone for a year.
L'Angel is 24, working as a babysitter and tutor in their Fauquier County home and thinking she might go back to college this fall. She thought they were both looking for their way in the world, and didn't fully grasp that he had found his until he announced that he would join the Army full time after this 18-month tour. L'Angel is still surprised to find herself a military wife. They grew up in this area, and she figured they would save their money, buy a house and raise a family here.
They hoped L'Angel would get pregnant before Mike left, but it didn't work out that way. So the spare room in their Strasburg, Va., apartment won't be a nursery, after all, while Mike is away. L'Angel might put a sewing machine in there instead. A hobby like that might be good to fill the hours alone.
On the day that he left, Mike reminded L'Angel to send him SpongeBob fruit gummies. And Swedish fish, but remember, only the red ones.
The commander called the Alpha Company to formation, and Mike lined up with the other men and shouted "Sir, yes, sir!," looking straight ahead now, not at L'Angel. A soldier in the front row had tears streaming down his ruddy face.
A giant vinyl backdrop of white stars against a field of blue decorated the stage where officers and local dignitaries waited importantly to wish the soldiers Godspeed. Vending machines hummed against the wall, and a Christmas tree still twinkled beneath the basketball scoreboard.
One by one, the speakers mentioned sacrifice and courage and pride and patriotism, and no one said the word "war."
Mike has his ex-history-major's explanation for joining Operation Iraqi Freedom, and he has the one he would remember giving his 4-year-old nephew when the little boy called him as he readied for deployment.
Where you at, Uncle Mike?
I'm with the Army guys.
Why?
We have to go fight the bad guys.
Why?
So the bad guys don't come here and hurt you.
Mike and L'Angel spent these last weeks together savoring the everyday rituals, knowing this time around that it was the ordinary moments they would miss most, like tuna fish sandwiches for dinner and watching TV together on the couch.
"Give them hell, Alpha Company!" a speaker shouted, and the men whooped back while their families applauded.
"You are the face of America! God bless you, and God bless America!"
Then the commander ordered his men to move out. The chartered buses were waiting out front.
L'Angel staked out a spot on the damp grass, and a stranger handed her a small souvenir flag. Behind her, two little girls jumped up and down in their ruby-glittered "Wizard of Oz" shoes, shouting "Bye, Daddy! Bye, Daddy!" while their mother stood silently weeping. A bulldog of an old man in an American Legion uniform held a stiff salute, waiting for the last bus to pull away.
Mike lumbered up, loaded down with his duffel, rucksack, laptop and a box lunch for the ride to Fort Dix, N.J., where Alpha Company would train briefly before shipping out to Iraq.
"Are you . . . ?" L'Angel started to ask.
"I'm going to drop my stuff," Mike answered, heading for the first bus in line. "I can't hold you with all this."
He came back and opened his arms.
"All right," he said softly.
They held each other and kissed, swaying gently back and forth, a slow dance to the rumble of bus engines. He kissed her neck, her lips, the top of her head. "Do you want me to cry?" she teased. They had talked about this already. She knew it would just make it harder for him. Joking was the only way she could hold it together now. "I can cry if you want me to."
No, no, please don't cry.
Mike's best friend came up to give L'Angel a friendly nudge to the shoulder. "Peace out," he said, heading toward the bus. "Take care of him!" she called back.
Mike hugged her hard, and she promised to give the cats a kiss from him, and he said he would call tonight after they reached the base, and the big numbers on his soldier's wristwatch read 9:18 when he turned and walked away.
He held a piece of paper to the grimy bus window.
I {heart} you.
She blew him a kiss.
She cried on the drive home.
She stopped at the grocery store and found herself reaching for a package of razors before remembering he wasn't there to need them. She spent the afternoon dusting and vacuuming, because cleaning distracts her. She made herself some chicken noodle soup, and Mike called to say good night and tell her how proud he was of her, how strong she was, on the day that he left.