Schuyler Williamson

Lieutenant Schuyler Williamson gazed out the bus window at the passing lights of Fort Hood. It was hard to believe that he was finally back in America. Everything looked so strangely peaceful and routine. He felt a slight tremor inside and wondered whether it was caused by exhaustion or excitement.

The convoy of busses came to a stop at the Division parade field. To his left, under the lights across the field, Schuyler could see the crowd of family members and friends who awaited his battalion. He knew that his wife was somewhere in that crowd, and his parents, too.

He filed off the bud with his Soldiers. He and the rest of the battalion from the other busses formed up into a formation in the street, where the line of busses blocked them from view of their families. The night air as cool and smelled like home.

A chant from across the field started softly and grew progressively louder and louder.

"Move that bus! Move that bus! Move that bus!"

It reminded Williamson of the television series Extreme Home Makeover.

As soon as the unit was formed, the busses drove away, and to the wild cheers of the crown Williamson marched forward among the Soldiers of the platoon, the company, and the battalion, that he had experienced a year of war with. The formation halted in the middle of the parade field. A senior officer from the Division spoke some words welcoming them home. Williamson's eyes scanned the crowd for his family, to no avail.

The senior officer's brief comments ended with, "Families and loved ones, go get your Soldier!"

With a roar, the crowd of loved ones surged forward, merging into the formation of Soldiers. It was chaos-hugs, smiles, tears, people everywhere. Williamson kept looking through the crowd, but he could not find his family.

"Schuyler!" It was his father's familiar voice.

Williamson turned to see his dad moving toward him. Then her saw her. Rushing past his dad, moving as quickly as she could through the crowd towards Williamson, was Kristen, his wife. She collapsed into his arms, a year's worth of worry and loneliness flowing our in her tears. After a long embrace, Williamson reunited with his parents. They looked as happy as he had ever seen them.

Then he felt a tap on his shoulder from behind. It was one of his Soldiers.

"Sir," said his Soldier. "I really want you to meet my dad. He doesn't speak English. But I really want you to meet him."

Williamson stretched out his hand to the man. The Soldier's dad squeezed the lieutenant's arm with a firm two-handed handshake. He looked directly into the eyes of his son's platoon leader, offering a wordless expression of gratitude for bringing his son home alive, breaking into tears as his son spoke.

"Sir," said the Soldier to his platoon leader, "I just want you to know, I will fight with you anytime, anywhere."

Watching all this, Kristen finally understood why her husband was so committed to serving his Soldiers. He was their platoon leader.
-------------------------------------------------------------------------
Call me a sap but this here story nearly made me cry. That Soldier regarded his platoon leader with the utmost respect, a respect that was likely well earned. For me, there would be no greater honor, no greater reward or achievement than to hear these words from one of my Soldiers. This platoon leader did something right, something to build in his platoon a trust of and respect for his leadership. He probably sacrificed a lot of what he held dear. He probably gave up calling his wife once or twice so his Soldiers had more time to talk to their wives. He probably stuck his neck out once or twice to keep his platoon healthy and at peace. He might have had to see a few Soldiers die as a result of his bad decisions. He bore the weight and the responsibility of not just accomplishing the mission but getting his Soldiers home in one piece. As the Army paradoxically says, "Mission first. People always." It is my one prayer in life that whatever this lieutenant did right to receive the respect of his Soldier I one day do as well.