Journal – USO
Day Minus One
I had
everything pretty much so ready—packing should have been easy.
It’s
never easy and I should know that—the pets always want to help. Well, I have a
huge duffel bag and a couple of huge
pairs of boots and a huge jacket. That first. Then, logistics! Must have one
dress outfit for a dinner—easy. But I’m staying on after the USO portion of the
trip in
England. I’m going to visit “my people” in Richmond (the Harlequin/Mira
offices there) and spend some time at World Fantasy in Brighton. I’m going to
need some other clothing but, hey . . . I’ve been to London several times and
if I forget something, I really should be fine. Yes, easy enough to buy
toothpaste, etc!
Dennis
is leaving ahead of me for business abroad. So, first up—get him out of the
house. After I get the cat out of the duffel bag.
Note to
self—bring a lint remover! (Cat/husky/mutt hair remover!)
Day 1
Car
picks me up right on time for the airport – and then I’m off. I’m on the only
plane without a baggage claim listed but I see Paul Wilson who has come in from
New Jersey along with our driver. We head to our hotel and first thing that
night, we’re out an on our way to a USO center at the base there. We “meet and
greet.” It’s not about our books; it’s about the soldiers who want to talk to
us about anything. Some want to become writers themselves. Some want to know
about the process. Some are just happy to talk.
There’s
a joke in our family that we always get the room furthest down the hall. Mine
is the very last; my co-authors on the tour tease me for being so far away.
It’s okay, of course—it’s what I’m accustomed to!
That
night we head out to our first center. We talk to those stationed in the DC
area—and we listen to them. And the stories are amazing.
And then
the next day . . . .
Day 2
Walter
Reid hospital. I am immediately grateful that I can make the trek to my room.
At Walter Reid, amazing things are done with prosthetics. We fan out—all of us.
It’s a little scary. I’m afraid I’ll sit with a soldier who doesn’t want me to
sit with him. But we’re there to say thank you and once we start (Kathy Antrim
our noble lead!) we are amazed and humbled and grateful all over again. Kathy
and I talk with a couple who have both served themselves. In was regular army;
she signed up for the guard. Immediately after 911 occurred and the wife’s unit
was deployed. They’ve both survived—their two sons and now their daughter have
all joined up. Amazing service from one family.
I meet
a boy who will not walk again – even with all the amazing physicians and
surgeons at Walter Reid can do. He isn’t bitter; he’s just ready to go home.
Another
man looks great—nice strong shoulders, cheerful smile. One leg is metal. We
also learn he lost pieces of most of his organs including his genitals. He is
positive and passionate—and already has amazing programs going that will help
other injured men and women move back into mobile lives.
They
are from the North and the South and all over the country. They are beautiful.
It strikes me that throughout history, we have sent our youth in the prime of
their beauty and ability to go forth and fight and die and sometimes come back
where they may or may not be put back
together.
When we
leave Walter Reid, I know that I am blessed to breathe and just to walk—and
that I have met some of the greatest heroes whose names you might never know.
It would disturb them were I to cry or kiss their feet so I refrain.
I thank
God that I can walk the distance to my room.
I thank Him that I can walk and
breathe and have all my limbs and I want
to knock myself upside the head for anytime I’ve ever complained about a little
pain.heaven, giving me a nice thumbs-up sign.
Day 3
We head
out to the base at Quantico. A traffic jam makes us an hour late but it’s
lovely—people have waited to see us. I’m fascinated by Quantico—and to meet a
real NCIS officer. I am a fan of the show—Navy, you know! We speak to others
there—and I’m able to listen to service members and their families, and I get to hold a beautiful baby for a
long time, and if you know me, babies . . . dogs . . . kittens. But, mostly,
babies! Her dad is between deployments.
Leaving
Quantico, I realize just how many families are touched every day—and wonder
every day if a loved one is alive and well.
I’m
grateful, too, for my companions. No one could travel with better friends than
Kathy Antrim, F. Paul Wilson, Phil Margolin, and Harlan Coben. They are all
amazing.
That night, we leave for Kuwait.
Day 4
Kuwait.
We now
have Jeremy, a seasoned USO guide, to take us where we need to go. A woman in a
burka inspects our documents and checks our visas. When I exit the airport—I
see a McDonald’s. It’s a bit strange to see Micky D with Arabic letters.
When
I’d first been asked on the trip, I’d imagined a tent in the dessert. Our hotel
is Italian and very nice.
We meet
our security detail—men with us, men in a car in front of us, men in a car
behind us. Most Kuwaiti people are just going about their daily lives; they are
friends in a sea of discontent. But the country is a little dot in a vast
dessert where many fanatics hate western philosophy and therefore, everyone
there is eternally vigilant. We travel through areas of vast riches—and then we
travel through miles and miles of desert. These are men and women prepared to
go “down range” or into action at any time. They come through when they have
just finished deployments “down range.”
And
here, we get to discover just how much the USO is appreciated and we realize
just
how much they do. It’s not just actors, movie stars, authors, artists or
what have you—the center here has gaming for them, books, computers—all kinds
of things to do.
I get
the opportunity to speak with a young man who is with a girl who is just 18.
They are friends—he from Louisiana, she from Ohio. He’s turned 21; he has a
brother serving who is just 23. He told me about signing up; he and his brother
had done so the same day. They hadn’t had the nerve to tell their mom. Then
they were going to tell her and convince her they both had desk jobs. They
didn’t like; they both signed up to be scouts. I asked him what she said when
they finally told her the truth. “She cried,” he told me. I could only imagine.
I know, however, as well, that she is very proud.
One
young soldier came up to me and asked if I’d do him a favor. He had just called
home to his girlfriend; she was a reader of my books. I went with him and was
able to speak with her on the phone. She is writing herself—I’m going to do my
best to help her in any way that I can. I gave her my information and I saw his
face and started shaking. I owe him so much. He was grateful to me. There is nothing I can ever to do to compare
with what these men and women do.
The
base commanders give us a fascinating talk. I have a better understanding—not
of
politics. I’ll never understand politics! But of what is going on and what
our men and women do and what they’re expected to do.
At the
library, I have to admit to being super excited that they had about twenty-five
books in a special audio section of little tiny boxes that are complete—the
earphones, the speakers, the book—all are there in a little box! One of mine
was represented. I was grateful to whatever powers there were that made that
possible.
There
are two bases in Kuwait. When I leave them, I thank God that my parents made me
a first generation American. They loved the USA. I know that I’ll embarrass
myself kissing the ground when I come home.
Day 5
One of
the most gratifying moments for all of us comes then—a soldier has been
waiting, notebook in hand—to talk to us all. He is working on a fantasy novel
and has maps drawn of his world. The story is really excellent and we’re all ready
to help him.
One
soldier was in for a minor operation and he was charming. He was wearing his
USO quilt. I learned again just how much the USO does and I’m grateful to be
allowed to be a part of it for my few days.
One
soldier has a brain injury and is learning to speak again. There’s magic in the
air; not one of us had a problem understanding him.
That
night, we head out to the base library. There are actually thousands of
Americans living here; it is, in fact, the largest conglomeration of Americans
living outside the United States anywhere.
Servicemen and women and their families arrive; there’s a group there of
writers. It’s wonderful to talk to all of them and we hope, each and every one
of us, that we’ve helped and that we’ll have more programs in the future to
help even more.
Day 6 and 7
We
arrive late, check into the base, grab some dinner, and sleep.
Jolly
Old England and Mildenhall
While
the world grows smaller and smaller in many ways, we’re still across a giant
pond and many of our men and women begin a trip out to battle zones through
Ramstadt and the RAF base here. The stories we hear again are amazing.
At the
library, we meet a Colonel who is a huge fan of Harlan; we also hear her story.
Her
husband is there; he was military for many years, too. She’s a flyer—they
met when he was guarding her plane. He served a long time but now he’s
out—she’s still flying. They are charming and so happy together. He jokes that
when it came down to it, she was the one who needed to stay in. She outranked
him; now he teases that she still seems to outrank him at home. They both
appear to be confident and sure of themselves and not in the least concerned
with who outranks who.
At
lunch we scatter and meet more soldiers, those coming and those going, and
those who remain where they are repairing planes, working on computers, and
doing whatever else needs to be done.
Our
last official function ends that night—we head to a local pub for our goodbye
meal with Jeremy, Fred, our amazing photographer, and one another. Harlan had
arranged for a car to take him into London so Paul and I, due at World Fantasy
Con in Brighton next day, hitch a ride with Harlan into London; the next
morning, Kathy, Phil, Fred, and Jeremy head home.
Jeremy
and Fred were wonderful. I miss them already. I hope I’ll see them again.
I know
that Paul, Kathy, Phil, Harlan, and I will always be friends. We’ve formed a
little family that comes from the experiences we shared. Unlike any other.
I know
that I am forever changed. I’ve seen true heroes and one thing remains; when
they’re complimented, they shrug. “I’m just doing my job.”
I take
it personally. That job is being the front line that protects me. While we
squabble at home, the thing is this—we’re allowed to squabble. We’re allowed to
complain. We speak our minds. I have the right to strive to attain goals. I am
an equal citizen.
All
these gifts are mine because of the men and women who fight to protect me and
my rights.
I hope
I did something for someone.
I know
that they did an amazing thing for me—they changed my life. I am eternally
grateful.