Home of the Brave 
My Name is Jonathan Moss
A Soldier’s Story—Part 1
(Page 2 of 2)
When a unit leaves, typically the soldiers are given a final opportunity to say good-bye to their loved ones before getting on the buses to the airport. This usually occurs in a gym, and the collective sadness can be rather overwhelming. So when it was time for me to leave, my wife and I decided that we would say our good-byes at home, to make life seem as normal as possible for our daughter. As I was getting ready to walk out the door, I sat down with my little girl and told her that it was time for me to go on the trip that we had talked about. My wife at that point was eight months pregnant with our second daughter, and my three-year-old looked at me and said, “You can’t go now, Daddy. The baby isn’t born yet.” I remember looking at my wife, tears in our eyes, and telling my little girl that she would have to help Mommy while I was away. I left with a terribly heavy feeling in my heart. It was several days later, in Kuwait, that I found out by satellite cell phone that my wife had given birth. I had never been so appreciative of modern technology.
I remember being in Baghdad for the first time. Our convoy was stopped on an out-of-the-way residential street, and as we sat there fixing one of our vehicles, we could hear gunfire in the surrounding neighborhood. It just kept getting closer. The surreal feeling of being in Baghdad and hearing the fighting around us was a true reality check. On another occasion, we had just crossed the Tigris River in Baghdad, and on the northern shore there were several burned-out Russian armored vehicles. As we moved along across the river, we saw more vehicles, intact and surrounded with Iraqi Republican Guard uniforms on the ground. A few hundred yards later, some men had set up drink stands to sell sodas and juices. Seeing those empty uniforms on the ground made me wonder if the guys trying to sell me a Coca-Cola knockoff weren’t the same men who a few days prior had been intent on killing us. Perhaps they’re the same men who joined the insurgency after the main invasion was complete.
Being in a combat zone has its effects on your behavior. When I arrived back at Fort Hood from Iraq, I’d feel antsy at the sound of the small-arms fire and artillery impacts in the training area. To this day, when I hear loud sounds, I get a little feeling inside that reminds me of being over there. When I returned, I also felt like I was surrounded by people who had an unrealistic perspective on life. Problems at work, bad traffic, and political controversies seemed like such petty trifles. When I saw people at a local restaurant angry at their waitress for slow service, I wondered what was going through their minds. Even complaints about the weather seemed silly. The day I left Kuwait for my flight home in July, it was 140 degrees in the sun at midday; we called it the “cosmic hair dryer.” So hearing people grumble about the Texas heat made me laugh. I felt as if I’d been liberated from so many small concerns. Having seen lives hanging in the balance changed my understanding of what was important; there were so many things to be grateful for. All this made coming home that much sweeter.
AT FIRST IT WAS DIFFICULT to accept the fact that I’d be leaving again. It took me most of my first two semesters at graduate school to adjust to academic life after five years in the military, so I was disappointed to be missing out on the internship I had planned for the summer and on the fall classes I was looking forward to. I won’t miss riding the bus to and from school every day or the stress of midterms and finals, but not a day will go by that I won’t miss the afternoon welcome that greets me when I get home. The little feet that come pitter-pattering down the hall and the sweet sound of “Daaaaddddyyyyy!” I’ll miss weekend pancake breakfasts with my daughters at Magnolia Cafe, cool dips at Deep Eddy and Barton Springs, evening strolls around the peaceful grounds of the Capitol.
The biggest concern during a deployment is the families and loved ones. Believe it or not, they’re the ones who bear the greatest burden. As a soldier, you know when you’re in danger, but their worry for your safety is never put to rest. They’re forced to live with constant, nagging fear in the back of their minds. My wife’s least favorite part is the waiting period before I leave, once I have my assignment. “Let’s get on with it and over with it!” could be the military wife’s motto. Fortunately, she and my mother are strong Texas women, and they’ve been through this before. They know the drill.
I know the drill too. I see now why the senior officers were so calm about it before. Already having been to Iraq changes your perspective. Before, I would let my imagination run wild with fear, but now I’ve learned to simply shut that off. It may sound clichéd, but allowing your fears to take the driver’s seat is an enormous waste of time.
This time I’ll be gone for at least twelve months. I feel a sense of gratitude about going on a second tour. One of the reasons I’m looking forward to it is the fact that I’ll be a Civil Affairs officer. Civil Affairs in the Army is the branch of officers and soldiers who help the local population rebuild infrastructure after a war. Its motto is “Secure the Victory.” I’m excited about this work because I feel that it’s more constructive than being in a pure combat unit. My main function will be to work with local sheiks and religious leaders to identify their communities’ needs and help them solve their problems. We’ll help train police officers and build bridges and water-cleaning and waste facilities. Right now the people of Iraq face an incredible opportunity, and with every opportunity, as we all know, comes a challenge and the possibility of failure. If I can go to Iraq and show just one village some hope, if I can keep the young men in that village from despairing and turning to the insurgency for answers, then I will have completed my mission.
I didn’t expect to be mobilized again, and I really don’t have a choice now that the wheels are in motion. However, I feel good about it. My younger brother, who is in the Air Force, recently asked me, “If you could choose to avoid this, what would you do?” The answer to that question is, I would still go. Even if they gave me the option of walking away, of continuing with my life as it was before, I would choose to go.
Captain Moss will chronicle his tour in Iraq for Texas Monthly over the course of the next year. This is his first installment.
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