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January 21, 2003 edition

Heckman’s son was one of 400 soldiers ordered to deploy from FortHood last week, most of them engineers, drivers and medics in the 13th Corps Support Command.
With every order signed at the Pentagon, individual lives cleave and cling in new ways. The Army advises soldiers to execute their wills and transfer powers of attorney. There is an overwhelming sense of housekeeping, both practical and emotional, which is what brought Heckman to Texas last week.
“We just haven’t had the time to say the things to each other that we need to say,” he said.
No one would say they were preparing for war. But this month, the 1st Cav began an intensive evaluation of its troops, testing their knowledge in areas such as mine awareness and nuclear, biological and chemical warfare.
Heckman’s son didn’t love the Army. He joined when he couldn’t find work as an electrician in Indiana. Now, as a medicwith the 566th in the 13th Corps Support Command, Windhorst knew how to stabilize the wounded and lead evacuations.
“Everything my son tells me about the military just shoots right over my head,” Heckman said. Heckman had just started his new job at the car dealership when his son called with news of the deployment. Heckman told his boss he needed a week off and would quit if necessary.
“There’s just no time to make it right,” Heckman said.
Windhorst had his own family now: a wife, Brenda, and a 3-year-old daughter, Cicily. “Grandpa,” the little girl said as she held Heckman’s hand. He blew $20 trying to win a teddy bear for her in a carnival game.
When Windhorst showed his wife the Army’s instructions about what she should do if he became missing in action, she left the papers on the dresser without looking at them. She was 2 months pregnant. As Windhorst got his things ready to leave, she imagined him in a battlefield, treating the wounded. All she could think to say was, “Don’t wander off.”
Deployment day. The cold, wet wind that had been blowing off the plains finally stopped, and the sun broke through as the 400 soldiers marched from the barracks. They carried rucksacks, duffel bags, sneakers, M-16s, canteens, masks, Hershey bars, Bibles and Chips Ahoy.
At the staging area, each soldier was weighed with gear, then a manifest was created for the chartered DC-10 that would fly the troops to somewhere in Southwest Asia.
Buses took the soldiers to an airfield on Fort Hood. One soldier hung from the window and waved to her husband and son on the sidewalk. The husband lifted the boy up to the window so he could put his cheek against his mother’s.
Processing 400 soldiers took six hours. Heckman sat in the bleachers with his daughter-in-law and granddaughter.
Finally, Windhorst climbed on the scale with his gear: 219 pounds. He rejoined his unit on the bleachers. Then it was time. A chief cupped his hands and yelled to the soldiers, “Kisses and hugs, right now.” The buses were here.
But Heckman was already gone. Brenda couldn’t bear to watch the bus pull away, so they’d left a few minutes earlier. Before they did, Heckman and Windhorst stepped away from the crowd. Windhorst opened his field jacket so his father could see: There, on the dog tags, was the St. Christopher medal.