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Published: Wednesday, Nov. 11, 2009 / Updated: Wednesday, Nov. 11, 2009 09:30 AM

Fort Mill-based soldiers leave for eventual deployment to Afghanistan

FORT MILL -- 

The rain fell in sheets. So hard, it seemed to come sideways. Yet the words pierced through rain like bullets: “Load ‘em up!” Just like 2003, heading for Iraq. Just like 2007, heading for Afghanistan. Just like every time the soldiers of the 1222nd Combat Engineers leave to go to war. Rain and tears.

That's what the men – and a couple women – in this National Guard unit do. They get their orders and they kiss their children, hug their spouses and get on buses and leave to where men are dying.

Yet Tuesday was different at the Fort Mill armory, a building so old it was built by Works Progress Administration tradesmen during the 1930s Depression. A building of concrete blocks and old bricks and the toughest, bravest, best soldiers anybody ever saw. It was different because the soldiers leaving Tuesday were heading to Columbia, to fly to Wisconsin for several weeks of training, before leaving for Afghanistan.

Unlike 2003, or even 2007, when the war experience was newer, the separation fresher, like an open wound, just a few families were there Tuesday. This wound is old. It already has scars.

“My two girls are in school, didn't want to take them out today,” said Sgt. Eric Kimbrell. A guy so big and so tough, 20 years in the guard in this unit who went to both Iraq in 2003 and Afghanistan in 2007. “Hate to say it, but we been through this already. Twice. Too hard to do it a third time, have them here to see me leave.”

The tallest, largest, giant of a man in Fort Mill's unit is Sgt. Marion Ramsey. He hugged his daughter one last time before school, met his wife for a quick lunch. He came to the armory alone because his daughter, his wife, had sent him off twice before to wars and there was no way Ramsey could let them stand in that rain and wave goodbye to him one more time.

Among the families who sent off soldiers was Cindy Horne and her two daughters, ages 3 and 1. Spc. Justin Horne was leaving for his third deployment in six years and the little kids wanted to hug daddy one last time.

“The kids are small, and he'll come home again,” said Cindy Horne.

“Damn right,” said Spc. Justin Horne.

Some other wives and kids came Tuesday. Bonnie Hoagland, who has a husband and two sons in the unit leaving, was there carrying the weight of America on the family's third deployment. If wives and mothers got Bronze Stars for patriotism, Hoagland gets more than any general.

But mainly soldiers, 56 of them in all, with the rest to make up 105 in the company waiting in Columbia, where families had driven them for the last kiss or touch or hug goodbye at the airport.

In Fort Mill Tuesday, mainly it was the solo soldiers. The two buses were a couple hours later than scheduled, so soldiers waited. They waited with the men who will serve under them, or they waited with the combat veterans who will bring them home. The rookies smoked cigarettes and laughed and ordered pizza.

There was Private First Class Paul Geiter of Lancaster, 20 and married one month exactly. “My wife is home,” Geiter said. “Bawling. Crying. She's there with my 2-year-old son, Michael. I told him ‘Daddy's gotta go to work for a little while.' ”

A little while is 18 months. In Afghanistan.

Spc. Jason Cook, 23, of Clover. First deployment. No family there. He smoked like a chimney. Spc. Billy Gunn, 21, of Clover, with the guts to say he was a little nervous going off to his first war after the worst months of casualties since the war started. He waited alone. His fiancee was home in tears.

Spc. Bradley Benson, 27, of Lake Wylie. His first deployment. His eyes screamed: “War!”

The combat veterans laughed, but it was a quiet, hard-edged laugh that has no mirth. Spc. Adam Lerentz, 25, Afghanistan veteran. He said nothing. He waited with no one.

Spc. Blake Center of Fort Mill was pulled off the campus at Clemson University for the second time in three years to go to Afghanistan. Center spoke about how he helped people the last deployment. He spoke of how he loves his country.

“I'm proud to go do this for America,” said Center. “And this time, I got men under me. I gotta make sure they get through it.”

A college kid, war veteran, whose sole worry is bringing home men not much more than kids, just like him.

The seasoned veterans stood different than the rookies. To kill the time until the bus, a few shot baskets inside the armory. They ate a quick bite. They carried themselves with a sureness that meant they had seen men die, or killed men in combat. Their eyes said without words that those days are coming again. Those eyes were ice cold, and at the same time, flickering around to see the last sights of home.

Leading a platoon was a man made of iron named Sgt. Will Young. Alone Tuesday, after two previous deployments, on his last day in York County that is his home. His goodbyes were private, and his service to country is now one thing: To bring home these young guys who work for him, some as young as 18.

Then First Sgt. Tracy Payne, who is in charge of everybody, counted off the names one last time. Each called out “Here First Sergeant!” or “Here, Top!” The “Top” is the top sergeant. The only being above the top sergeant in the world of enlisted men, the men who fight, survive and sometime die in wars, is God.

And in the Army, even God has to report to the “Top.”

When they loaded up the buses, two men stood out in the driving rain. One was Young, the iron sergeant and leader. The other, Eddie Stewart, stood there until he was soaked in shorts and flip flops. He hugged every man and woman who got on those buses. Stewart is in the unit, but can't go because of a medical problem.

“If I can't go with ‘em, I can be here when they leave,” said Stewart.

Young stubbed out his cigarette. He looked at York County and the armory that he has fought for twice before in wars, and will fight for again this time. “These young guys, they are gonna get an education,” said Young.

Then he got on the bus.

The buses pulled out. Stewart stood in the rain and held up his thumb to all. The rain fell off his face. Inside a Chevrolet, the wife of a soldier rubbed the glass to clear the fog. She waved and cried in the solitude of her pain as York County soldiers left for war again.