The Kosovo Kronichles

It was a little less than twenty yeas ago and I was walking on the post in Bamberg, Germany. I was cold - it was February and March if I recall - and I wasn’t in the best shape emotionally. After all, I had just left basic training and home. I was in a company of men who were all far more experienced than I was. I was bunking with guys who were definitely - how do I put this - of a different social strata than I was used to dealing with.

It was a different world back then. The Army was just emerging from the hell of Post-Vietnam. Many of the NCOs were corrupt, inefficient or just plain stupid. I had already experienced this to my shock and dismay in basic when the drill sergeants routinely took money from the recruits. It was plain extortion.

So here I was, this young lad without a friend in the world. I was lonely and frankly more than a little scared. I had cut loose my bonds with home and hearth to explore this strange and exotic world and try and make my mark. There were many adventures ahead of me. Many chances to excel, and many more to fail. I would experience triumphs and tragedies that have made my life so full of spice. All that was ahead of me, though. But for now as I walked among the barracks I was just a skinny kid in an ill-fitting uniform thinking every few minutes "what the hell have I done to myself?". Why had I left that secure world and gone out on my own?

As I pondered and walked among the way, careful to avoid the patches of ice & snow that were about, I saw my Captain ahead, walking towards me. I knew what was expected of me then. I would salute him and make the greeting of the day with him. So as we closed I did salute, about six paces away as we were taught.

"Mailed Foot," I barked. (We were the 1st Battalion, 54th Infantry Regiment. Our crest had an armored foot on it to denote we were mechanized infantry. Mailed Foot.)

He returned his salute. His stride never broke. He only shot a quick glance at me.

"Good morning, Private Wallis," he said, and went on his way.

I was stunned. He knew my name! A Captain, you must understand, was so far above me we treated them almost like minor deities. In basic training we occasionally saw officers flitting in the background, like strange will-o-wisps that would fade into ether if we approached them. In Germany the Lieutenant was a daily sighting, but even he wouldn’t be around very much. The Captain…he was a strange a terrible figure with powers beyond the comprehension of a mere mortal home-sick private.

This little act was a tonic to that young man’s soul. I was someone. The Army can be a disconcerting place. We all wear uniforms and shave our heads. We march in unison nearly everywhere we go. We bathe together, we eat crammed together. By nature of what we do, by logical necessity, we give up chunks of our individuality to function as one body. It can only be this way.

And yet…we are all Americans and we all crave to be different and individual. We desire to stand out even among those we count as our friends. This Captain, the company commander of Charlie Company 1/54 in 1985 did it in the most subtle way by just calling me by my name. Suddenly I wasn’t just a piece of meat in a uniform. I was SOMEONE. I was Private Wallis.

The years have been unkind to my memory. I can still picture him in my mind. He was older…he retired, I believe, shortly after that. Rumor had it he had been an NCO and in his dress uniform I remember seeing the overseas bars on his sleeve and the combat patch for the Americal Division from Vietnam. He was old and haggard - my God, he must have been my age. He was edging towards being overweight. He’d probably been passed over for promotion because he didn’t look like a recruiting poster for the infantry. But Lordy he could lead us. He had that air of a combat veteran who had seen it all and we trusted him, if the Russians had come, to lead us to victory…or at least take a chunk of them with us.

But I can’t remember his name. Dammit.

He’s retired now, no doubt. Perhaps he’s even moved on because he has to be pushing sixty now. I wonder if he knew what effect he had on me? It doesn’t matter, really. The point I picked up many years later is that when he’d passed me…although he didn’t know it at the time and neither did I…he had passed a baton to me. He’d planted a seed in my mind. He’d passed on a little bit of information that had germinated and in time bore some fruit. I, in turn, have spent a huge amount of time similarly passing knowledge to my juniors. We’re all part of this continuum that goes back as far as the eye can see, the stretches as far as the imagination can reach into the future. Spirit is passed down the line.

I go now to Germany again. From there to Kosovo. This will be the closest thing I’ve ever done to war in my life. I’ll be carrying a pistol everywhere I go, but in this environment the pistol is not my main weapon. My mind is, and all the Colonels and Majors and Sergeants and civilians I’ve worked for and with and over…they have all given me a little knowledge and a little spirit along the way. I am ready now for the ultimate test (so far at least) of my life. For the sake of all those who came before me, I hope I acquit myself well.

So a few days ago I was walking between some barracks with a junior officer by my side. We were engaged in conversation and as I passed soldiers they would salute sharply and sound off with the greeting of the day. "Good morning, Sir!"

And just as snappily I would whip back my salute. "Good morning, Sergeant Gonzalez."

"Good morning, Sir!"

"Good morning, Corporal Smith."

"Good morning, Sir!"

"Good morning, Private Walker."

There was a lull in our conversation and the young officer spoke up.

"How do you do that?" he asked, a little frustrated.

"Do what?"

"How do you memorize all their names?" he said. "I’ve been here two months and I don’t know any of these people."

I allowed myself a small chuckle. "I don’t," I admitted. "Their names are sewn on the front of their shirts. I just glance at them and I can usually make out their names."

The officer fell silent. Perhaps he was a little embarrassed because it was so obvious and easy and he hadn’t seen that I was pulling a little trick. Of course with luck he was thinking that from then on he’d do the same thing. Perhaps I could have eased his pain a little by letting him know that I, too, had fallen for that little trick some twenty years ago on a cold road in Bamberg. It took me months to figure out how that Captain had done it, even though the answer was so obvious. But then, I wanted to be someone important enough to be remembered by him. Its ironic for all of that that I have forgotten his name.

And with that I close my laptop for what should be the last time in America for quite some time. Onward to Germany, and thence to Kosovo. There is pain and suffering ahead for me, there is tragedy of some sort and perhaps much triumph. I can’t say what or in what form it will come. Part of me is still the fearful private in an ill-fitting uniform facing an uncertain 14 months, but mostly I am the seasoned Major now who craves this challenge, though sad for all I leave behind. I shall enjoy my life and come back, I hope, a better man for my travels. Until then, may you all have the blessing of a long-forgotten Captain and be important to someone else.