Let’s remember them during the holidays

It was dark and cold. The snow came up to his calves. The lights of the barracks at the other end of the runway seemed a million miles away. He looked up into a sky full of a billion stars to the west and the thick clouds to the north that competed in the heavens as he walked his post alone in the night, feeling like the last person on the earth.

Guard duty wasn’t bad most times. But on a cold winter’s night it could be. The cold seemed to find new ways of slowly seeping in, sending a burning numbness to his hands and feet, making them feel like cold leaden bricks. His gloves, boots and thick socks felt as effective as tissue paper. He sighed, and adjusted his pile cap and helmet a bit, shrugged his shoulder strap of his M-16 to readjust it a little and trudged on, walking the perimeter of the fuel farm. At the end was a tiny guard shack with tiny electric heater within. There he would warm up for a spell before setting off again to make sure no one would mess with over 9,000 gallons of JP-4 in huge bloated bladders for the helicopters up on the flight line, which were just dark helicopter shaped silhouettes between him and the warmth of the barracks a half-mile away. One good spark or fire would send the entire refueling area to the moon in a massive jet fueled explosion.

So he trudged through new fallen snow, cutting a path for others to follow around the fence to the guard shack at the gate just a little ways off from the site. Once there, the soldier pulled open the door quickly and stepped inside in order to keep what little heat built up from escaping. Plopping down on a beat up wooden chair in a space no bigger than a outhouse, he pulled off his gloves from his cold hands and stuck them close to the heater with a fan that rattled. He rubbed them together in the dim glow of the heater coils, blowing on them to restore them to normalcy. He was on his first overseas tour of duty with the United States Army. It was his first time away from home, far away from home in a foreign land. And to top it all off, it was Christmas Eve.

That made it all the more lonelier and colder than ever. His hands recovered, he unbuckled the pistol belt around his waist, shucking off the web gear attached to it onto the wooden floor. It was followed by the pile cap and helmet that made a loud thunk on the wood floor. The flashlight hanging on one of the shoulder straps of his web gear beckoned. With one hand the soldier slipped it off the strap, flicking the switch on its side with a cold thumb. The tiny hut was bathed in soft red light.

He then reached into the left breast pocket of his field jacket and pulled out a slightly battered colored envelope. In the red light it was impossible to tell what the color was.

It didn’t matter.

What did was inside it. With fingers still a little numb he pulled out the Christmas card and opened it.

He knew every line and word since it came in the mail three days ago. But those words warmed his heart. Postmarked from Seattle, the words from his mother made him smile and forget the bitter cold just outside. The radio that was stuffed into a corner crackled to life just then. “ All posts, all posts. This is guard shack, como check over.”

It was Sgt. Belamy calling for all guard posts to check in. One at a time all three posts came up on the net.

“This is hanger gate, loud and clear over.” Followed by; “This is flightline tower, loud and clear. All secure, over.”

The soldier keyed his mic; “ This is FARRP shack; You are loud and clear. All secure and very quiet. Over.”

(FARRP stands for Forward Area Refueling Rearming Point.)

“This is guard shack. Roger that. Stay warm and Merry Christmas fellas. Guard shack out.”

The radio slipped back into silence. With a sigh and a heave, the young soldier stood up. He slowly put himself back together savoring each moment of heat. Next to last was his pile cap with those goofy looking flaps of fabric and velcro. But when slid on his head and with the straps fitted together, those flaps covered his ears and his head from the cold. Then it was time for his helmet, gloves and weapon. Reluctantly, he opened the door and ventured into the dark winter’s night.

It was just past midnight, early Christmas morning. Snow had begun to fall with big fat wet flakes drifting down in lazy swirls. A white Christmas snow was blanketing the base. He smiled as he walked in the stuff falling from the sky and filling in his tracks behind him. His favorite carol sprang up from his fond memories of holidays past. He began to sing away the solitude and for a short spell it warmed him from the cold. It was “Silent Night.” The sounds of the song and the soldier faded from sight as the snow fell into the cold night.

This scene and others similar to it are happening now to those who are serving this nation. In the Middle East, at sea and under the waves; in the air and on the ground; on bases all over the country and abroad. Our soldiers, airmen, sailors, coast guardsmen and marines are serving you and this country this season and every day of the year, keeping it free from harm.

Serving you.

Please take the time to remember them and their sacrifices far from family and home.

Hope For Heroes is a local group of dedicated people in the Valley that send cards and gift packages to our soldiers in far away places like Afghanistan. It is not too late. They send stuff to them practically year-ound. Contact them via Facebook at Hope for Heroes Inc or their website at hflalaska.vpweb.com, or call (907) 414-6849. It would mean a lot to those who serve to get a card or package from you.

The story is true by the way. That soldier was myself as young private in the Third Infantry Division during my first tour of duty at Conn Barracks in Schweinfurt, West Germany, during the last years of the Cold War; December 1981. I was a helicopter mechanic assigned to an attack helicopter unit of Cobra and Huey helicopters. I can tell you from that experience it is very lonely during the holiday season for anyone serving, no matter where one is stationed. That wouldn’t be the last time I would go through the holidays far from home and family. But that first time remains very real and fresh in my mind to this day decades later.

I was only 20 years old.

Merry Christmas to all who serve and to their families who support them. Happy holidays to all of you in the Valley and beyond.

Wasilla resident Daniel D. Grota retired from the U.S. Army after more than 21 years of service.