One of my heroes

So as many of you may know, I came from a military family.  My mother and father were Engineer Colonel's in the US Army for twenty three years.  They both attended USMA and graduated in the class of 1980.  However, as a child I can barely remember any instances where they spoke about the military in front of the kids.  Maybe this was because we were all hell raisers, all playing different sports, at different locations, and at different times.  But, one day when I was young, I remember going through my Dad's stuff in his office and I came across a medal.  This medal was tucked deep down in a drawer, under a bunch of papers.   I opened it up and inspected the ribbon with a heart at the end of it and some funny old man in the middle of the heart (George Washington, but I was no history buff then or now).  I brought it to my Dad and said, "What is this for?"  He said, "Ohh, when Dad was fighting bad people in a bad place, something bad happened, but i'm safe now."  I smiled and ran off to go beat up Sean or make Megan cry.

The doldrums of I-84.  Some of you may know what i'm speaking about.  Its the road that we always take from West Point back up to Massachusetts. And its notorious for its traffic and bad accidents.  This day it didn't bother me.  I had just gotten back from Afghanistan, foot in a massive cast, and my Dad and I were driving home for a few days prior to my reconstructive surgery.  My whole life I had, as common knowledge, known that my Dad was wounded while serving in Grenada. Somewhere along the way I had pieced together that it had something to do with shrapnel, his rear end, and some form of friendly fire.   As we drove, I thought to myself and with a puzzled befuddlement in my head realized, "I have never asked my Dad what happened that day."  Given what had just happened to me, I figured today may be a good day to ask.  I said, "Dad, I didn't want to join your purple heart club, but now that I did, you think you could tell me how you got hurt?"  He smiled, laughed a little bit and said sure.

Grenada was a small country located just north of South America.  In 1983 the US launched Operation Urgent Fury as part of its Cold War strategy to keep the Russian influence away from America.  Units from the 82nd airborne division, Rangers, and this new group called "Delta"  were deployed and charged with securing the island.  After engaging in a complete cluster mess upon landing on the airstrip secured by the Rangers, my Dads company moved down a ridge line to set in security.  Upon daybreak, they were tasked with clearing a compound about 300 meters to their front.  In preparation for clearing they continuously took sniper fire from a nearby building.  With reporters scheduled to come in and observe the raid, my Dad's company commander turned to him and said, "Hey Snook, get your ass to the top of the hill and have them drop some mortars on that building."  My Dad said, "Roger, Sir."  And took off up the hill.

At the top of the hill was Corps headquarters and artillery assets for the ground troops.  My Dad met up with the battalion fires officer and prepared to give him the coordinates.  As he did so, he heard the roar of an A-7 gunship come flying overhead, he thought,"Hmm weird."  He watched as the US Navy plane did a circle and re-attacked.  He cant recall if he told people to get down but he himself dove to the ground as the A-7 began to fire its machine guns into the corps headquarters and surrounding area.  Bullets the size of a first came raining down on the unsuspecting US troops on the ground.  A soldier to his left had a round strike him and sent him flying through the air, his legs were gone.  Several others lay on the ground screaming in pain from rounds that had hit or shrapnel thrown up.  My Dad lay on the ground and watched in horror as the A-7 circled around again for a second gun run.  People scrambled to get as low as possible, hide behind any piece of gods earth as the second run came screaming through.  More people hit and my Dad felt it as his right side began to burn. Shrapnel had caught him but he still felt ok.  People waving and screaming as the A-7 made another turn, except this time, no gun run, just a 500lbs bomb dropped from its payload.  Everyone hit the deck again, hoping for the best, but merely expecting the worse.  5 seconds went by, boooom, the bomb had missed and the A-7 pealed off.  Realizing the relative vulnerability of the unit, a small enemy force had gathered in the wood line and began to open fire on the now dazed troops.  My Dad stood up to counter and was struck by an Ak-47 round that sent him to the ground.  He lay there wondering, "What the fuck just happened."  People screaming all around, the soldier with no legs hanging on to life, another next to him trying to figure out why his boot was now full of blood.  The attack had been repelled, and my Dad looked up to see his highest ranking Non commissioned officer standing over him.  "Give me your hand Snook."  And he threw him over his shoulder and ran Forest Gump style back to the airfield where medical treatment awaited.

The soldier who lost his legs would not make it through surgery.  The numbers are sketchy depending on what source you go to, but several dead and 16-20 wounded in one of the worst friendly fire attacks in our nations history.  A story that rarely gets told.  In fact, you ask the average 15-25 year old now adays, "Tell me about Grenada?"  They would look at you as though you were on drugs or trying to offer them free candy from a white van with no windows.  But, people, with families were forever scared in this short war.  The story is not what makes my Dad my hero.  His ability to be the man he is after encountering this is what makes him my hero.  My Dad never bragged, boasted about his Purple Heart.  Heck the man lost it and refound it in a couple moves that we made  See the cream is in this, we can not control what happens to us in this world, but we certainly can control how we handle it afterwards.   Thank you Dad for your guidance, bravery and humble nature.