On the Ramp...

I have been asked by many people, "Why do you stay in the Army?" "You dont have the same rights that you defend." "You always move around and never make real friends" ect. ect. ect.
I have never really been able to put into words what it is... that draw that has kept me in my chosen profession for going on 20 years now. It isn't something that you can really describe. Well, I am sure that some people can. I think that for me, it is that we all endure the same events. Whether it is going to the field for a week, or deploying into a combat zone for 15 months. We, in the military share the same experiences. We can with just a look, convey entire thoughts. With a single phrase, a story. One of those phrases is "On the Ramp"
Anyone who has spent time in "Theater" can tell you that this phrase brings a chill down your back. It is the phrase used when we send a fallen soldier, sailor, airman, or Marine home for the final time.
This happened just the other night here.
A soldier paid the ultimate price the other night for freedom. Not his own, for that or at least a part of that he freely gave up, but for strangers. These strangers are the people of Afghanistan. He didn't want to give his life, but none of us do. And yet, he was here, fighting for anothers freedom, and for this he paid the highest price.
I didn't know this man. He wasn't stationed with me. In fact, he was stationed at a remote FOB (Forward Operating Base). But he was brought here for the first leg in what would be his final journey home. This is a glimpse of that story, and one of the reasons I love what I do, and more importantly, who I do that with.

The news traveled rather quickly around here. A "Hero" was on the FOB. Hero is the term that is used for a fallen service member. People bagan to assemble at the base of the control tower. There was no announcement, none was needed. As people crossed the flight line, it was obvious that something was going on. The only word that had to be spoken was "Hero". At the sound of that word you just stop. Where you were going just doesn't seem as important. Because in reality, there is nothing more important than saying goodbye to a brother in arms on his final journey.
As the blackhawk lands two lines form. One on either side of the access road to the flight line. Nobody speaks, we just stand there at parade rest and wait. The ambulance pulls up, and makes the turn. It then slowly backs up toward the awaiting blackhawk. As the rear doors of the ambulance are opened, as if practiced a million times, the entire group comes to the position of attention, and renders a salute. No one moves, not a twitch. A group of men approach the ambulance their heads bowed slightly. These are his true friends. The men came here earlier in the day after watching their "Hero" die. They will make the final journey with him.
As the stretcher is removed from the ambulance a chaplin says a brief prayer, and our Hero is carried to the running Blackhawk. He is placed in the aircraft, and while not usually allowed, nobody tries to stop his friends from boarding it with him. They will make the trip alongside him.
As the Blackhawk departs, the airfield is once again silent. It is only then that the 300 or so people assembled slowly, and silently go about their business. Of these 300 people 10 actually knew our "Hero". That didn't matter though. For we all know "Heros". We have all had the misfortune of having to say that final goodbye. To salute our friends, and to honor them with this small, yet powerful tribute.

This is but one reason I love what I do.