The Unit Leaves

I want to get this one down while it's still fresh. My unit left tonight. I really had nothing to do today, except to make sure that my partner in the shop was all set to go. Helped him pack, had our paperwork squared away, etc.
Then, I drove him to our hangar. I'd planned to say good-byes and see-you-laters, and then skedaddle. No since hanging around for hours... (by the way, this seemed to be a torturous way to do good-byes... the families just milling around, waiting for the inevitable last hug.)

Almost everyone knew I was staying back, and even some surprising ones who aren't in the chain of command. I ended up asking one (CPT Christenson - sweet lady) just how many reports I was showing up on. The Col. and I had a good 10 minute chat, as he asked about Ellicia, etc. LTC O'Donnell is a good man, and down to earth. Unlike most PFC -> LTC chats, I felt very relaxed around him.

Of course, lo and behold, I got snagged into a task. The orders for our troops had finally arrived (yet again redefining "last minute"). Someone had to issue them, and I finding no suckers, took it. I didn't want to stay, and this meant I couldn't leave either. Orders would be one of the last things they received.

So, the final formation came and went. It felt horrible to be standing on the wrong side of it, watching. These were guys, some of whom I've known now close to two solid years, that I've trained with, worked with, etc. Seeing them there, and me being the only desert uniform in the otherwise sea of greens staying back... felt wrong. I was SO out of place. Our little unit isn't much, but we're ready and they sounded off nice and strong. Lastly, the chaplain came, gave a prayer (no complaints of church and state here!), and then... our unit showed our true colors...
1SG called attention, which is when we're supposed to sound-off, but... the gang was confused by the break in routine with the prayer, and there were only 4-5 scattered shouts. That's 7-159... proud, but screwed up sometimes.

The troops then moved to the other side of the hangar, into the "sterile area". The families were now on the other side of the wall, free to go home, as the troops would not be coming back out.

It was time for final processing, load-up, and move out. I sat at the table with the other Operations people (1 to check that they had ID Cards and ID Tags, 1 to visually verify the weapon being taken.) As the guys came to me, I'd hand them the orders, told them it was now official, and I'd see them in two weeks. For my friends, I stood up, shook their hands, and said good-bye. Then, they moved to chat with our downrange commander, and off to the holding area for the buses.

After processing, I was free to go. Didn't. Couldn't. I wasn't going to leave until they did. Didn't feel right. Least I could do was see them go. And I did. They loaded up onto their buses, and drove off into the night. It was such a reversal of a year earlier when the buses had brought them back.

They're on their way to Ramstein now. And I'll join them soon.

It is amazing how well the Army gets into your head! It strikes me strangely, that as much as I've been given a HUGE blessing in being able to stay behind, meet my son, hold him and say hello... that tonight, I wanted nothing more than to be on that bus. Those of you in the military reading this probably understand... Don't get me wrong, I am ecstatic to be back here. But, I feel so conflicted. It just doesn't feel right. Should've been on the bus.

Of course, there is payback. Last one down... last one back. :)