On the morning of Sept. 12, 2001, the members of Headquarters Company, 102nd Signal Battalion had 6:30 a.m. formation. I hadn't been able to sleep, transfixed on the news coverage on Armed Forces Network TV and radio reporting of the most devastating attack on our nation.
I was a company commander stationed in Hanau, Germany, and although I had no personal connection to any of the victims of that day, like many Americans, I felt dread and numbness, unsure of what the terrorists had planned for us next. On that long night our company hadn't been released from duty until well after 11 p.m., because we were frantically trying to get 100 percent personnel accountability. The battalion had a number of Soldiers and employees on leave back in the U.S. or vacationing around Europe, and it was difficult reaching them all.
At formation, everyone dutifully formed, anxious to resume work and discuss what we all couldn't believe we witnessed the day before. But someone was out of ranks - Spc. Smith. Typical. The perennial screw-up, to put it charitably, was already on thin ice, serving out his punishment from the Article 15 I had just issued a few days ago. And to think that I was lenient on him out of pity, merely sentencing him to two weeks of barracks restriction and extra duty.
He was severely in debt to a lot of creditors and local businesses, so to take pay and rank (which would reduce his salary) would only exacerbate the problem.
It was still dark and rainy outside, so I dispatched his supervisor to go on the hunt. When his noncommisioned officer in charge arrived at the barracks, there was a large gathering in the courtyard outside, military police cars with lights flashing and an ambulance. As he got closer, he was told by a spectator that a body was found motionless lying on the ground. No one was being allowed inside the barracks, so with a sense of foreboding, he slipped away to return to the battalion headquarters. Meanwhile, the battalion executive officer received the call from the MPs to request a unit authority to identify a Soldier. At 7:22 a.m., she called me into her office to tell me that Smith was dead.
The news hit me like a sledgehammer that I literally felt an invisible force push me back against the door, nearly knocking me to the floor.
Sometime in the middle of the night, Smith climbed out of his fourth-story window and did a swan dive onto the cobblestone courtyard below. The medical examiner would later reveal that he died instantly from blunt force trauma to the left side of his skull.
It was my duty to now inform the company. I first brought in the first sergeant and without words, we were instantly of the same mind. The chaplain was called in, and the battalion was brought into a large room. As the sad news was delivered, I looked around and saw his friends trembling. We were briefed that we would all need to be questioned by the team of investigators who were introduced to us. After several hours of being sequestered from the outside world, we were reconvened by the battalion commander to talk about our feelings with the chaplain. The chaplain asked his first question, "When you heard of Specialist Smith's death, what did you think'" As he went around the room person by person, each one who had intimate knowledge of him answered, "suicide."
I would come to learn much more about Smith than I wanted. He was a 20-year-old man who seemed to decline over the last four months. Smith was working in the supply room as a result of losing his security clearance in April. He had been reduced to the rank of private first class after punishment for being absent without leave and failing to obey a lawful order. He was to have gone on temporary duty at a one-week course in Frankfurt, but instead sent himself on a little vacation charging it to the government. But when I met him, he portrayed himself as a positive, ambitious young man. His uniform and boots were impeccably pressed and shined, and based on his appearance, he was a model Soldier. In conversation, I learned that his grandfather, a highly decorated 26-year Army veteran and sergeant major, was his personal hero. He told me about his pursuit of a college degree and his goal to ascend the ranks, making the Army a career. Suffice it to say, I was impressed by him.
Over the course of next two months, Smith made good on his promise by performing his duties well and earning his rank back. The first sergeant took him and another new Soldier under his wing and assigned them to the supply and training offices respectively. The two became fast and best friends, joining a rodeo club, studying for the Soldier of the quarter board, and planning the purchase of their first cars.
By the end of summer, Smith's confidence grew and another side of him came to light. He relished in making derogatory comments about NCOs, and he was no longer getting along with his supervisor. Despite the fact that the first sergeant counseled him on his finances, Smith drove a brand new Chevy Silverado pickup truck to work one day.
The first sergeant worried that he was living outside of his means, but Smith assured him that all was fine. Then, a few weeks later, he wrecked it badly. It was shortly thereafter that I received a notice from the battalion's government travel card coordinator that Smith was over sixty days past due on his payment.
Smith had no reason to be using his card since he was not on official business. So after a review of the charges, I discovered that he was making AAFES purchases and cash withdrawals with it.
I had no choice but to administer disciplinary action.
(Editor's note: This is the first of a two-part story. The Soldier's name was changed to protect their identies.)
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