Looking back on a life of service

(Editor’s note: This is the second in a two-part column by Dan Grota about his experience serving in the U.S. Army. Click here to read part 1.)

Those early days in my first enlistment (1980 to 83) were something of a love affair. Meaning I loved to hate it.

It would take a few more stints and two more job titles (called MOS’s) for me to grow to love it. I hold three MOS’s officially. They are 67N Huey mech./crew chief, 13F Field Artillery forward observer and 63Y track mechanic. Unofficially I hold 67Y Cobra mech. and 63B light wheel mech. from on the job training.

My active duty days lasted from ’80 to ’88. I would transfer over to the Army reserves in that last year for a flight slot with the 341st ASA Co with the 124th ARCOM out of Paine Field Everett, Washington. From ’88 to ’93 I was in Huey heaven because all we did was fly them. I was a crew chief at last. Those were the days, nothing but good times flying in the Cascades, buzzing through the Olympic mountains, running landings on mountain peaks and watching the earth while flying over river beds and shorelines. Now that was flying! Every flight was an adventure. My bird, an H model Huey, was the means that provided the adventures. I still remember her serial number painted on her tail fin: 16-66298. She was old with a faded olive drab but she never failed to deliver us safely from take off to landing. I took loving care of her.

The 90s were not kind to me. I was rifted out of the reserves following the Gulf War, my unit disbanded and our birds shipped out of the state. I was more than angry for a number of years until 1999, when I enlisted in the National Guard with HHC 898 Eng.Bn of the 81st Brigade in Everett. Since I never made NCO rank in the years prior due to promotion freezes and the like, I came back in a buck private. These were the guys I would go to war with, and not a better bunch of crazies was I privileged to serve beside. They were the best. I would finally earn my NCO stripes the hard way in Iraq during OIF 2 in ’04-’05. After my time spent with them and later with the 297th SPT here in Alaska I would retire in ’06. A grand total of 21 years, six months with Uncle Sam. Now during all those years I would marry, get divorced, raise kids, make mistakes and reap regrets, survive a war. Far from perfect admittedly but I really wouldn’t change the way things turned out.

Most of my units and even two divisions, the 3rd Ad and the 2nd AD are history. The bases in Germany are gone or turned over to the German army. The border fences and walls that split Germany are long gone along with the rest of the cold war relics. My beloved Huey was retired from the Army in ’05 replaced by the Blackhawk. The Cobra was replaced by the Apache. And Iraq is still a nightmare and will be for sometime to come. All live on in my memories.

I started out a 19-year-old hippy convert in OD green fatigues going through every uniform change to end up in desert camo DCU’s as a 45-year-old NCO with a case of PTSD. I shot at expert level with my M-16. I cranked wrenches on everything from Hueys to HUMV’s. The only rigs I didn’t touch were the M-1 Tank and the M-2 Bradley. Basically if it had tracks, wheels or rotors I was there with a wrench in my hands. Those days, those memories and the adventures I had with some of the best people in uniform. There would be losses, 15 fine soldiers in 21 years. They live on in my heart.

I loved my time with U.S. Army and the branches I served under to become a “soldier’s soldier” according to the last award I received upon my retirement in July of 2006 at JBER. The best thing I ever did was raise my hand and said these words: “I Daniel D. Grota, do solemnly swear I will support and defend the Constitution of the United States…”

I may not have been one of high rank nor one with a chestful of ribbons and medals. I will tell you what I have earned: every stripe, every stitch and every medal. But my all-time most prized award are my silver wings. I wore them with great pride on my chest. They were the first award I ever earned way back in 1981 at Fort Rucker upon graduating from Huey school as a 67N UH-1 Huey mechanic/crew chief. I was seventh in a class of 50. That day was the proudest in my life.

You know, I can still hear those rotor blades beating the air into submission. There is another echo going through my head right now by my Platoon SGT sung in cadence as we marched to our classes in those days: “Hail, hail rock and roll, the beat of the rotors are loud and cold.” That line continues to haunt me 35 years after it last rung out at Fort Rucker.

Would you believe after all this time I still wear my dog tags? Really, it’s true. I do so as a reminder of where I came from as a soldier. An old beat up veteran — yet a soldier nonetheless.

I’m pushing 55 now and I’m far from being athletic thanks to my bad ticker and other health issues. The Cold War years and those that followed were the times of adventure. As for Iraq, it was a descent into hell. Yes I have been through the good times, the hard times and the really frightening ones and I have survived them all. That brings a smile to a weathered face in fond remembrance of days gone by.

Daniel D. Grota is a retired U.S. Army veteran with over 21 years in service. He is also a Tuesday morning co-host on KVRF 89.5 FM, Radio Free Palmer. Write to him at news@frontiersman.com.