Flashback on Division Standdown

The Currahhees served most of the first year living up to their namesake… We Stood Alone. During my last 100 days we were pulled back to the division for a rare brief standdown.

I took a chance of finding my best buddy from the Geronimos (501st Airborne Infantry). Christopher Smith aka DZ was operating with their long range recon patrol unit.

As I approached the unit, I got the typical airborne welcome. The all stared at me thinking, “What the hell are you in my face for? I don’t know you.” That is typical of combat troops.

Your world begins to shrink from the battalion to the company and finally the platoon…for.some their squad. You can’t really love the whole world, but you can love your world. Troopers grow close to the men they: eat with, sleep with, fight with, and hurt with. We didn’t do anything at all more than a stone’s throw away from each other.

But I was no longer a Geronimo. I couldn’t read any of the ashen faces…I didn’t care to. Without pushing into their space I said, “Got to see Doc Christopher Smith. Tell him it’s his stateside friend Thompson.”

They never said a word. Soon DZ appeared out of nowhere. He was damned glad to see me, but he held back because his homies couldn’t quite figure out what this was about.

DZ quickly relaxed and got into his big brother routine. He couldn’t believe that I had looked him up, instead of hanging with my own unit.

Christopher questioned, “How long you been on line?” I replied about six months. He rejoined, “They are pulling me back…I’ve got my full six! It’s nothing but the rear for me now until I rotate.” (I would pull a full eight months on line. Six months were required, with an expectation of a 50% casualty rate.)

He looked at my collar and saw the Sp/5 tags. He shook his head and smiled like a proud brother. We had been busted stateside for ‘failure to repair.’ We had some great times in lieu of our stripes. He would return home a Sp/4. We were really the same rank…brothers. Seemed like the hell raisers were the best combat troops. DZ was the best of both worlds.

DZ gave me a lecture just before I left. He told me to keep my ass in one piece. I told him that I would hang tight in a good platoon. Just before I turned to walk away, I looked him in the eyes to say, “Glad you made it! See you stateside.”

My own world grew strangely small. I cared about: Doc Lovy, the medics, and that platoon I served with. The only exception was a tall lanky Geronimo by the name DZ. I walked away to find my own men. They knew me.

Currahhees…true to my word, I would look up DZ stateside. What I would see then…tore me up deeply.