Where's My War?
By Page W. H. Brousseau IV
I spent the morning of Tuesday September 11, 2001 catching up on my reading for my Woman's History class. By the time I reached my car and turned on the radio, one tower of the World Trade Center had fallen and by the time I reached the Rec-Center parking lot the second had fallen. I, like so many others, watched the coverage of the attacks in the U-Cen. It was at that time I knew I wanted to serve.
I spent the four years between high school and college in the Marines. Part of me was so infuriated at the loss of 3,000 Americans I was willing to walk away from college that day and re-enlist. However, being married I had a family to care for and the difference between an officer and enlisted man's pay is substantial. Against my better judgment, I stayed in college, though I dropped out of the Education Department to graduate sooner.
The soonest way to commission was in the Army Reserve, though I would be a Reserve officer, the build-up to the Iraq War was underway and few Reserve units missed activation orders. In addition, I would be able to pick which branch I would receive my commission in, the only choice I needed was Infantry. If America was indeed going to make the world safe for Democracy and get some payback, I wanted to be the tip of the spear.
At that point in my journey fate stepped in. A week before I was to leave for Officer Candidate School I injured myself running which delayed my training by six months. Later that year, we were performing Combatives training during drill. During the last match of the weekend, I was flipped, but my foot stayed planted on the mat, resulting in my leg bending like Stretch Armstrong which preceded a 'pop.' Nothing was torn, but I was delayed additional six months.
A full year after I was to be commissioned I was finally awarded the rank of second lieutenant. I still had to complete my Infantry training, but prior to the start of that I went to Rep. Kildee's office and required immediate transfer to any deployable unit or any unit involved in combat operations in Afghanistan, Iraq, Africa, South America or South East Asia. They assured me that they completed the proper paperwork and would follow it through to completion.
I completed my Infantry school in May of 2005, and immediately went back to Kildee's office to follow up on my repeated requests. His staffer showed me a fax from the Pentagon that they received my request and promised to contact me. I told them I received no such contact. In return, they offered to give me a copy of the fax. Gee, that helps me a lot. The bureaucracy is the biggest obstacle to efficient government.
I contacted Sen. Levin and Sen. Stabenow's offices and found out that since Kildee already opened a case for me, they could not do much more. Thereby proving no legitimate purpose for the US Senate.
I reentered the Education Department, and continued to call anyone I thought could help me from the Pentagon to Ft. Benning about going active. I was not greedy I merely wanted to serve. I would go as a Platoon Leader or Executive Officer of a postal company; it did not matter to me.
In the meantime, enlisted members of my battalion only had to see a recruiter to get orders overseas, as many did. The specialist that hurt my knee completed a year in Abu-Gharib prison and returned. (He told me he saw no naked-gay-pyramids but that would be too nice of a treatment for the ones he guarded.) Two non-Infantry officers in my battalion were ordered overseas because the Active Army was short officers in their respective branches, who would have thought being an Infantry officer would be a hindrance in going to war? Yet it was. I even looked into resigning my commission, but the Army kind of frowns on spending money for eight months of training to make an Infantry officer and not getting its money's worth out of him. My division is a training division, so any call to active serve would be to Ft. Benning or Ft. Knox training young men on how to be soldiers. An honorable task, to be sure, but hardly the one I dreamed I would be performing some four and half years ago.
Some men and women have made three or four tours overseas, grand mothers, and a great-grand mother have served overseas. And I, a 28-yr-old Infantry officer, am denied any chance to serve in combat. I do not want to be shot, or even see my name with the words, "He's so brave," in the paper. I see the numbers of those injured or killed, and think I could make a difference. I read the email from my friends there and know although that we may share a common uniform, we hardly share common hazards. I know the people of Iraq and Afghanistan are better off because of our military involvement and want to be a part of that. Instead, I wonder why so many students and faculty members unabashedly cheer for America's failure in the Global War on Terror.
I joined the Army in a time of war to serve in a time of war. Everything else is a disappointment. I would rather be killing terrorist than impress my classmates in my Education classes with my take on the latest teaching fad (trying to be the smartest in the room seems to be the overriding goal of most in the Education Dept). I would rather be protecting school kids from suicidal bombers than listen to one more sermon from a professor on how George W. Bush is, and in the voice of Comic Book Guy from The Simpsons, "the worst president ever." History will judge our 43rd president. Right now history is being made, and I only wish I were part of it. Anything else is a disappointment.
© The Michigan Times 2006
