thedrifter
10-26-06, 07:05 AM
On Homecoming Day ... `God, It Feels Good'
JESSE HAMILTON
Courant Staff Writer
October 26 2006
CAMP PENDLETON, Calif. -- Long before dawn, the Marines gather in a parking lot beside their tall hill of identical sea bags.
At the start of the last day of deployment on Wednesday, Plainville's Charlie Company waits. Sometimes it seems to them as if a Marine exists to wait, as if waiting is his own special burden, even beyond Iraq's insurgent firefights and midnight raids.
Whether it's waiting seven months in the maelstrom of downtown Fallujah, waiting seven days in the drab nowhere barracks of Camp Pendleton or waiting seven hours to get on a chartered jet toward New England, it's all the same endless wait for these reservist Marines to get back to what they once were.
So they stand in the cool dark of a Southern California night, which feels bitter cold in their desert-baked bones. The remnants of the unit, about 170 Marines, arrived here days ago at the end of their long journey home from Fallujah - home to Charlie Company, 1st Battalion, 25th Marines, for about seven months. California has been a purgatory for those anxious to get home, but it's all according to military design.
Troops returning from war must "de-mobilize" at a U.S. base for days, getting medical screens, turning in weapons and learning about veterans benefits. It's also a buffer of time between war and home front, a moment for each to twist his lens from wide angle back to his own tight focus. Another wait.
The infinite "When I get home ..." game had filled their scant downtime in Iraq, but now that they wait for buses to an airfield, not all know how they'll fit into their old lives, and for some, fitting back in isn't an option.
Divorce. Reconciliation. Infidelity. Careers gone missing-in-action. New starts. Fighting for the custody of children. Or meeting their own babies for the first time. Their worlds have turned while they fought in the war.
Lance Cpl. Lino Torres is coming home to Bridgeport. He's hours away from meeting his first son, Lino Jr., and he knows there will be a lot to get used to. "I really don't know what to think," he says. "I just want to see my son."
Cpl. Parke Stearns from Lebanon, one of the 91 Connecticut residents at the start of the deployment, has his own uncertainty.
"How different am I going to be when I go home?" He thinks the easy violence of Fallujah has changed him, made him realize how narrow a line it is between living and dying. "It just happens," he said. "Like rain." Death isn't a big production. People just cease to exist in an instant. "It's just that simple."
He was there on Oct. 1 when Lance Cpl. Christopher B. Cosgrove III from New Jersey was consumed in the blast of a car bomb. Cosgrove was one of four from Charlie Company killed in Iraq: Capt. Brian S. Letendre, who lived in New Britain, was first on May 3.
Then Lance. Cpl. Kurt E. Dechen from Vermont and Cpl. Jordan C. Pierson from Milford both killed in August. Cosgrove fell at the beginning of this month, in the final days of Charlie Company's time in Fallujah.
"The buses are here!" somebody shouts. Loaded with tired Marines, the convoy of buses drive through the misty dawn fog to the airfield, just in time to wait several hours for their flights. Even the commanders aren't sure why they had to leave so early. It's just the way the Marine Corps works, one says.
As the sun rises over the airport on their homecoming day, spirits rise with it. The Marines in the all-male infantry unit talk about being ready to get away from all the others, finally being alone and responsible only for themselves again. But 1st Sgt. Ben Grainger from Enfield, the chief non-commissioned officer of Charlie Company, has been through all this before. He knows the moments his Marines will have when they get home.
"Your room is empty all of a sudden," he says. "It's quiet. Deafeningly quiet."
The Marines start loading their bags on the wrong airplane and then the head count isn't coming out right, which adds minutes of delay. Each minute is starting to become a test of strength. The boarding of the airplane makes the coming reunion seem more real.
"I'm a civilian again!" one Marine yells as he gets to the plane.
As the charter plane takes off and flies east, flight attendants distribute hot towels to the Marines, and the in-flight movie starts: "The Devil Wears Prada," the tale of a young woman's misadventures in the fashion biz, which most of the Marines sleep through.
The pilot announces the plane will land soon at Westover Air Force Base in Massachusetts.
He says, "The temperature has cooled to about 44 degrees."
Loud groans fill the passenger cabin. But when it lands, the Marines cheer and whistle. One more step taken. Just a last bus ride to go.
"We made it, brother," says Cpl. Devin Anderson from Southington, hugging another Marine. "God, it feels good."
It's on that final ride through a New England night that the Marines' spirits erupt. They've got a state police escort, and a Marine starts playing music through an iPod with speakers. "Mama, I'm Coming Home," by Ozzy Osbourne is first.
The bus caravan runs red lights. Sgt. Jason Hermenau, a Winsted cop, points out a Dunkin' Donuts - the first he's seen in most of a year.
Through Massachusetts and down I-91, there are banners hung on the overpasses, welcoming Charlie Company home. One reads: "Thank You, Grainger's Grunts."
The police escort is joined by American Legion motorcycles and trucks flying flags. "This is how we do it in Connecticut!" a Marine yells.
The young men are talking over each other now, joking and singing. They see the lights of Hartford, where their families and friends are gathered at the state armory.
They pull into the city, past more signs and banners and flashing lights. They are pointing and grinning like children. And there's the armory, besieged by parked cars.
The wait of their lives is over.
The buses line up. The doors open, and the Marines no longer mind the cold.
Contact Jesse Hamilton at jhamilton@courant.com.
Ellie
JESSE HAMILTON
Courant Staff Writer
October 26 2006
CAMP PENDLETON, Calif. -- Long before dawn, the Marines gather in a parking lot beside their tall hill of identical sea bags.
At the start of the last day of deployment on Wednesday, Plainville's Charlie Company waits. Sometimes it seems to them as if a Marine exists to wait, as if waiting is his own special burden, even beyond Iraq's insurgent firefights and midnight raids.
Whether it's waiting seven months in the maelstrom of downtown Fallujah, waiting seven days in the drab nowhere barracks of Camp Pendleton or waiting seven hours to get on a chartered jet toward New England, it's all the same endless wait for these reservist Marines to get back to what they once were.
So they stand in the cool dark of a Southern California night, which feels bitter cold in their desert-baked bones. The remnants of the unit, about 170 Marines, arrived here days ago at the end of their long journey home from Fallujah - home to Charlie Company, 1st Battalion, 25th Marines, for about seven months. California has been a purgatory for those anxious to get home, but it's all according to military design.
Troops returning from war must "de-mobilize" at a U.S. base for days, getting medical screens, turning in weapons and learning about veterans benefits. It's also a buffer of time between war and home front, a moment for each to twist his lens from wide angle back to his own tight focus. Another wait.
The infinite "When I get home ..." game had filled their scant downtime in Iraq, but now that they wait for buses to an airfield, not all know how they'll fit into their old lives, and for some, fitting back in isn't an option.
Divorce. Reconciliation. Infidelity. Careers gone missing-in-action. New starts. Fighting for the custody of children. Or meeting their own babies for the first time. Their worlds have turned while they fought in the war.
Lance Cpl. Lino Torres is coming home to Bridgeport. He's hours away from meeting his first son, Lino Jr., and he knows there will be a lot to get used to. "I really don't know what to think," he says. "I just want to see my son."
Cpl. Parke Stearns from Lebanon, one of the 91 Connecticut residents at the start of the deployment, has his own uncertainty.
"How different am I going to be when I go home?" He thinks the easy violence of Fallujah has changed him, made him realize how narrow a line it is between living and dying. "It just happens," he said. "Like rain." Death isn't a big production. People just cease to exist in an instant. "It's just that simple."
He was there on Oct. 1 when Lance Cpl. Christopher B. Cosgrove III from New Jersey was consumed in the blast of a car bomb. Cosgrove was one of four from Charlie Company killed in Iraq: Capt. Brian S. Letendre, who lived in New Britain, was first on May 3.
Then Lance. Cpl. Kurt E. Dechen from Vermont and Cpl. Jordan C. Pierson from Milford both killed in August. Cosgrove fell at the beginning of this month, in the final days of Charlie Company's time in Fallujah.
"The buses are here!" somebody shouts. Loaded with tired Marines, the convoy of buses drive through the misty dawn fog to the airfield, just in time to wait several hours for their flights. Even the commanders aren't sure why they had to leave so early. It's just the way the Marine Corps works, one says.
As the sun rises over the airport on their homecoming day, spirits rise with it. The Marines in the all-male infantry unit talk about being ready to get away from all the others, finally being alone and responsible only for themselves again. But 1st Sgt. Ben Grainger from Enfield, the chief non-commissioned officer of Charlie Company, has been through all this before. He knows the moments his Marines will have when they get home.
"Your room is empty all of a sudden," he says. "It's quiet. Deafeningly quiet."
The Marines start loading their bags on the wrong airplane and then the head count isn't coming out right, which adds minutes of delay. Each minute is starting to become a test of strength. The boarding of the airplane makes the coming reunion seem more real.
"I'm a civilian again!" one Marine yells as he gets to the plane.
As the charter plane takes off and flies east, flight attendants distribute hot towels to the Marines, and the in-flight movie starts: "The Devil Wears Prada," the tale of a young woman's misadventures in the fashion biz, which most of the Marines sleep through.
The pilot announces the plane will land soon at Westover Air Force Base in Massachusetts.
He says, "The temperature has cooled to about 44 degrees."
Loud groans fill the passenger cabin. But when it lands, the Marines cheer and whistle. One more step taken. Just a last bus ride to go.
"We made it, brother," says Cpl. Devin Anderson from Southington, hugging another Marine. "God, it feels good."
It's on that final ride through a New England night that the Marines' spirits erupt. They've got a state police escort, and a Marine starts playing music through an iPod with speakers. "Mama, I'm Coming Home," by Ozzy Osbourne is first.
The bus caravan runs red lights. Sgt. Jason Hermenau, a Winsted cop, points out a Dunkin' Donuts - the first he's seen in most of a year.
Through Massachusetts and down I-91, there are banners hung on the overpasses, welcoming Charlie Company home. One reads: "Thank You, Grainger's Grunts."
The police escort is joined by American Legion motorcycles and trucks flying flags. "This is how we do it in Connecticut!" a Marine yells.
The young men are talking over each other now, joking and singing. They see the lights of Hartford, where their families and friends are gathered at the state armory.
They pull into the city, past more signs and banners and flashing lights. They are pointing and grinning like children. And there's the armory, besieged by parked cars.
The wait of their lives is over.
The buses line up. The doors open, and the Marines no longer mind the cold.
Contact Jesse Hamilton at jhamilton@courant.com.
Ellie