In the Army, soldiers are celebrated for being brave and tough and willing to endure hardship without complaint — for being “hardcore.” Although all military jobs are important and all who serve deserve our profound respect, many would consider an infantry soldier in combat to be more hardcore than, say, a legal clerk in the Judge Advocate General’s Corps. But sometimes I’d find the true hardcore spirit where I least expected it. One of the bravest, toughest soldiers I ever knew wasn’t infantry or special forces, but a chaplain assistant.
When I served, women were not allowed in combat jobs. This was a problem at our remote compound in Afghanistan when our commanders wanted to invite both Afghan men and women to our base for a grand opening celebration. All Afghans entering our compound needed to be thoroughly searched for weapons or explosives. No matter how much the locals appreciated our help, they would never tolerate men patting down the women. The Army’s temporary solution was to loan us two female soldiers.
We had to drive six hours north through the desert to the Herat city airport to pick them up. With only two armored Humvees, we did not want to take too long and still be out in the desert after dark. One of the women, Pfc. Saunders, rode with my squad’s other fire team. The chaplain assistant, Spc. Rice, rode with my team. We set out on the long, hot drive back to base and soon faced a serious obstacle.
“OK! We need to stop so I can pee!” Saunders shouted over the radio. “Nobody look at me when I go!”
It was probably the 10th time she’d stopped the convoy.
“What’s her problem?” asked my team’s driver, Pft. Wayton. “Why’s she gotta make a huge production every time?”
“Is she getting enough attention yet?” Spc. Hinton asked from the gun turret.
Nobody wanted to deny her the chance to go, but we had a lot of ground to cover, and she kept making a big fuss with every stop. In our Humvee, we complained about her theatrics.
Chaplain assistant Rice was just the opposite. Her job was to help chaplains administer worship services. She wore that worried expression that most soldiers had on their first time outside the wire.
“I gotta go,” she said quietly to me on one of the stops.
“I’ll stand with my back to you to give you privacy,” I said.
Saunders slowed our convoy way down. Rice rode out the ordeal in nervous quiet.
“Hey, you’re all right,” I said to Rice when we finally reached our base. “Come hang out with us.”
Rice nodded and almost smiled. “Y’all got a shower?”
“Yeah, the real showers are still under construction, but we have these wooden booths at the far end of the compound. No temperature control,” I explained.
We parked the vehicles and unloaded gear. It was time to unwind from the long journey with water, coffee, or even cigars.
“Where’s Spc. Rice?” I asked, leaning across her Humvee seat for an ammunition can. My hand pressed into her seat cushion. Soaking wet.
That’s why she’d wanted a shower. She’d heard us complaining about the frequent restroom stops, and like a true hardcore soldier, she had simply urinated right in her seat. Absolutely, we’d have stopped for her, but she didn’t want to be a burden.
I never saw her again. My squad went on patrols, and she had her own duties. But I admired her courage in coming to our remote outpost, and I appreciated her willingness to put our mission ahead of everything else. Rice was a chaplain assistant far outside the normal scope of her duties, but she faced her fears in the finest nature of the service. She was hardcore. I’ll never forget her.
*Some names and call signs in this story may have been changed due to operational security or privacy concerns.
Trent Reedy served as a combat engineer in the Iowa National Guard from 1999 to 2005, including a tour of duty in Afghanistan.
