Chosen Soldier - Dick Couch [37]
I return to the barracks and take the stairs. On the second floor, another group of X-Rays is working in their squad bay and tending to their personal equipment, much as Sergeant Tess’s squad. I notice one soldier sitting on his bunk, polishing his boots. His locker has some semblance of order, and his rucksack looks packed and ready. He looks a little older than the others.
“How’s it going?” I ask.
“Working our butts off, sir, but we’ll get through it. So you’re the writer?” I nod. The class was briefed that I would be with them for this training. “I’m Antonio Costa,” he says, holding out his hand. “Tell me about this book you’re writing.”
We talk a while, and I steer the conversation to my favorite question for the X-Ray soldiers. “What were you doing before you decided to go into the Army?”
“I was working for Northwest Airlines,” he replies.
“Doing what?”
He grins. “I’m an airline pilot.”
The grin becomes a chuckle; the surprised look on my face is one I’m sure he’s seen before.
“Furloughed?” I ask.
“No, sir. I’m National Guard, and I’m on leave from the airlines for this training.”
“Nineteenth Group?” I ask, guessing at one of the two National Guard groups.
“No, sir, the 20th, out of Jacksonville.”
“I guess you know the Guard groups are deploying almost as much as the active groups.”
“I do. I expect I’ll be going over next fall, that is, if they don’t kick me out of here.”
I do a quick mental calculation. “Next fall? Wouldn’t you be in language school about then?”
“I don’t think they’ll send me. I’m fluent in Spanish and Italian.”
Specialist Antonio Costa is five-nine, solidly built, with dark eyes and hair. He has an open and easy smile, and his manner is serious but with a touch of humor. We talk for a while, and I learn that Costa is thirty-three years old, lived in Europe for most of his childhood, and attended high school in Madrid. He has a bachelor of science in aeronautical science from Emory University. Costa tells me that his biggest challenge in training is keeping himself fit and free of injury during those evolutions designed to wear the students down. When I ask about his family, he whips out a picture of his wife and new baby. He is quick to point out that being a good husband and father is one of his goals. I finally get around to my second-favorite X-Ray question: “Why’re you here?”
“I’ve always wanted to serve my country, but like a lot of guys, I kept putting it off. Then you have a family and family comes first, so it’s easy to say you’re too busy to serve. Then 9/11 happened. I’m a little old to be looking at military aviation. One of the other pilots at Northwest was in Special Forces in the National Guard, and he got me interested. So here I am. I’m lucky. I can do this and return to my job with the airlines. I’m also lucky to have a terrific wife. She’s supported me in this, above and beyond.”
“What’s the difference in the pay of an airline pilot and a specialist in the Army?”
This brings a genuine smile to Specialist Costa. “Well, it’s getting smaller, but it’s still significant. We planned for this, but I’ll admit, it’s caused us to make a few changes. Then again, I’m married to a very understanding woman.”
The following day, after a normal physical-training session, a four-mile run, and morning chow, Class 8-04 crowds onto a file of Army stake trucks—bench seating and canvas cover—for the trip across base to the Special Operations Academic Facility. This academic facility is a large, four-story concrete building the Special Forces students and candidates call the Grey Elephant. Since my time at Fort Bragg, the Special Operations Academic Facility has been renamed in honor of the father of Army Special Forces, Colonel Aaron Bank, who passed away in 2004 at the age of 101. It’s now the Aaron Bank Hall, and home to other phases of training as well as the language laboratories. The class files into the auditorium and