Castles in the Sand

Castles In The Sand Castles In The Sand RON BRELAND Copyright © 2006 by Ron Breland. Library of Congress Number: 2005907570 ISBN: Hardcover 1-59926-441-2 Softcover 1-59926-440-4 All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the copyright owner. This book was printed in the United States of America. To order additional copies of this book, contact: Xlibris Corporation 1-888-795-4274 www.Xlibris.com Orders@Xlibris.com 30140 Contents FOREWORD ...................................................................................................................... 7 CHAPTER ONE: GROWING UP IN THE ARMY .................................. 11 CHAPTER TWO: SPREADING MY WINGS ............................................. 25 CHAPTER THREE: KOSOVO ............................................................................. 30 CHAPTER FOUR: ALASKA ................................................................................. 39 CHAPTER FIVE: OPERATION IRAQI FREEDOM ............................... 48 FOREWORD would like to dedicate this book to all of those fine men and women who stand I on the wall of freedom every single day. They stand on that wall in the freezing cold, pouring rain, and desert heat. They serve in desolate lonely postings all over the world, oftentimes never knowing whether or not they will return home, eat a home cooked meal, or hear “I love you, daddy.” one more time. You might call these occupational hazards. In our world, they are a way of life. They stand in cramped guard shacks, lie in over watch positions pestered by sand fleas, and fly in the dark to places unknown delivering everything from ammunition to holiday cheer to those deployed to some of the worst places that you can imagine. Who would choose to live this way? Anyone can volunteer for this; but if it were easy then everyone would be doing it. When you read these pages, know also that with each deployment, near death experience, and heartbreaking absence comes equal turmoil on the home front. It’s been said that the hardest job in the Army is that of an Army Wife. I couldn’t agree more. If you ask most folks, they most likely either know, or are related to someone in the military. If you ask those same people what their nephew, niece, or friend does in the military, many will rarely have a grasp on the profession of their loved one. Even those with little or no knowledge of their friend or family members daily routine will tell you with a gleam in their eye, wistful with pride as they say, ‘He’s in the service.’ Or ‘She’s in the Army.’ For many years I have seen many of these same people tell me about their former military service decades ago. These people are from a bygone era known as ‘The Greatest Generation’. They remind me of the day that I graduated from Airborne School down at Fort Benning, Georgia. I was older than most of my classmates and at the age of twenty- seven I reveled in the youth around me and it literally lifted me through the course. When my wings were pinned on my chest, I tried to stand at attention while looking at the frail older gentleman in front of me. He was wearing a trucker’s hat with a pair 7 8 RON BRELAND of jump wings on it, with about a dozen or so pins tacked to it. He asked me how many jumps it took to graduate from Airborne School, and I told him that the requirement was five. He told me that he only had four during his service in World War II. If I were any younger at the time, I might have thought myself a bit cocky in already having more than this ‘old warhorse’ standing before me. I was indeed honored by this nameless gentleman, a hero of the Greatest Generation as he told me briefly of his four jumps at Sicily, Salerno, Normandy, and Holland. Being stationed at Fort Bragg at the time, I was very familiar with all the drop zones named for these famed operations. I was truly honored, and in awe of this living history. He was more than an old retiree; he was a national treasure. Veterans love to tell stories, some more than others. Some are willing to share their experiences, and some are not. It’s very common that a lot of veterans don’t often talk about their service because many of the incidents are painful to rehash and are probably best left alone. We all have our own ghosts, and many memories left on battlefields all over the world. This may have been true in the past, and I don’t fault anyone for that. I on the other hand, find it somewhat therapeutic and cleansing to share these times with others. I chose this format for this book because most people love a short story, and I am no different. This is just a collection from my many privileged years in the United States Army. No two duty stations have been the same, and I have had a great many blessings both in combat and at home. The United States military is a cross section of society. Soldiers, Sailors, Airmen and Marines come from every corner of this great land. They all have their own idiosyncrasies, accents, and particular ways about them; however, they all have one thing in common. They all love their country. Far away they are the servants of their people, but in their own right should be viewed as kings. Protected by walls of earth and sandbags, they create their castles in the sand. They bet their souls on what they believe, and their very lives on what they know. This book is once again dedicated to the Greatest Generation, and this one, and every one in between who have laid many a sacrifice upon the alter of freedom so that we may live in the best country in all the world. God bless them all, and God bless the United States of America. Freedom is the sure possession of those with the courage to fight for it. CHAPTER ONE GROWING UP IN THE ARMY THE GIFT OF LIFE entered the Army with the hopes of going to war in the Middle East. I came in I on the eve of Desert Shield and Desert Storm and dreamed of doing good things for God and country. In basic training I was trained by men who were sincerely preparing us for war. And then later on in my technical training, at the U.S Air Force’s Fire Academy I was trained extensively on how to protect and save lives. Up to now my career was a dichotomy. I know both how to preserve life and take it, and sincerely hoped that I would make a good soldier even though deep down I hoped the latter would never come to pass. I was now a third generation fireman, and was proud that I could be in the family business, but somehow still do it on my own through the Army. It was mid December 1992 when I found myself in the position of being an expectant father for the first time. I was a young soldier stationed at Fort Campbell, Kentucky. I was proud to serve with the 101st Airborne Division; young, and full of vigor. What I never did expect was for something so small and fragile to absolutely drop me to my knees. And then he arrived. At 1413 hrs. on December 23, 1992 my first child was born. Ronald Gary Breland II entered the world at 8 lbs., 5-½ oz. He was perfect in every way, and he had the reins on me without so much as the slightest effort. Not so unlike most new first time fathers, I was a little young and very confused. Could I raise this child? Would I be a good father? Could I handle the responsibility? While on duty at the fire station I was one of the ‘go to’ guys. In a crisis I was cool and collected, and my crew and I quickly formulated the answers to any variable that would arise in a bad situation. But somehow this little person had the fear of God hovering over me and I was swimming in a sea of doubt. 11 12 RON BRELAND We had chosen to go through the Army’s Midwife Program instead of a traditional doctor. I can’t say enough about this program. The midwife that we were assigned to was a young Nurse Midwife named Captain Graham. She was a straight shooter, and very professional. She eased many of the ‘first timer’ tensions that I had about becoming a father, and the entire pregnancy and childbirth process. I attended every single class that I could and left no stone unturned. I figured that the fewer surprises the better. CPT Graham was a little surprised that I showed up to the breast-feeding class, and as you can imagine I was the only man there. She laughed, and the expectant mothers snickered as I posed questions about particular brands of breast pumps and what my role in this particular task was. Like most first time fathers, I muddled through it. I attended Lamas classes and everything I could sign up for. By the time the big day arrived, I thought I was as ready as I could be. When the big moment came, CPT Graham was very calm but poignant in her guidance. As his tiny head crowned she placed my hands on it, with her hands cupping mine.

Load more