U.S. Veterans in the Workforce

Chapter 1

GRIT - What America Needs

Grit. Perhaps what America needs is less polish and more grit. Not the riot type grit-real grit. Our high school grads enter the safe environment of our colleges and universities to become book smart, checklist-perfect recruits for today's work place. Some have long-practiced skills to help them nail the interviews. They might even have ample "volunteer service" at the soup kitchen or old folks' home.

But what about grit? What about that character-defining experience, or that sixth sense, or that honed skill and know-how that is so critical to an ever-changing, dynamic economy where one day everything is good to go and the next America is rocked to the core by a stock market drop, terrorist attack, or natural disaster? The type of grit that can only be earned.

Deployments aren't easy. They are tough on families. Some survive; some don't. But through them, grit is developed. Grit is a trait that can't be taught-it can only be earned. Grit is earned through deployment basics like the uncertainty of outcomes, the disconnect from the home front, the need to think and react quickly while being patient and methodical, the change in mission requirements, and the ability to work with people you don't like but need to cooperate with in order to accomplish the mission.

Deployments likewise refine and hone the character and aptitude of each person associated with them. They require the individual to dig deep and discover who they really are and what they are made of. Not everyone survives this intense heat. It's like forging steel. The individual is not perfect-most likely he or she is rough around the edges and has soft skills that need a bit of polishing. But character? Aptitude? Both are rock-solid.

This is grit.

*

Frank was ready. This deployment-his second-was intended to help the Anbar province establish a functional government. No easy task. Courts were closed, Iraqis were being jailed and held without any hope of due process, and his "Rule of Law" team was organized to "fix it."

Frank had plans to "fix" his personal life as well.

As he prepped, he reflected on how much had changed since his first deployment. It was on his first deployment in Iraq that he was notified that he had passed the bar exam. Frank had completed his undergraduate degree and then enrolled in both law school and the National Guard while in his thirties. He hoped these moves would help pull him from the depression brought on by a failed marriage. His wife of five years and mother of his three children walked out on him during the summer before his senior year of ministerial school. Being a lawyer was quite different than being a minister.

This deployment would also be quite different from his first. Frank paused for a moment and recalled how on his first deployment he was strongly in favor of bringing democracy to Iraq and was prepared to defend with his life the mission to bring freedom to an oppressed people.

But after serving as the intel non-commissioned officer (NCO) to a special, independent 30-person company, the 116th RAOC, Frank came to believe his government had lied and that this war was more about protecting American special interests than transplanting freedom.

All that was going to change on this second deployment. The deception of "no boots on the ground" and the haunting cover-ups would all be solved. Even the "wedding" incident, this plausible deniability incident-if, in fact, true-well, that, Frank determined, likewise would be resolved. He recalled:

Intelligence intercepted cell calls about a "wedding," a code word for a gathering of Islamic terrorist cell leaders with someone from higher up in their organization. Frank communicated the arrival of the first "guests" to the location on a scrambled SAT phone. About 20 males were busy with preparations, including a lone male who never seemed to remove his eyes from the road from the south. A few men disappeared into the only house in the area. This location previously had been unknown as a cell location, which strengthened the indication of a high-level meeting. Knowing planes en route carried precision missiles, his job now was to set a laser beam for their guidance systems to follow to this exact location. Fifteen minutes later a few of the men start gesturing. Three vehicles approach-all black Mercedes'. He calls in the hit; "target arriving." On this mission, the target was not anyone in particular. Back in the U.S., the President's low approval numbers meant yet another mission directed from the Pentagon by people who knew little of the local situation. Directives "from the highest level" set up a mission where we would strike first and sort out the bodies later. If we killed a high-level target, so much the better, but that was not as important as a successful air strike announced by the President on international television. This soldier hated politics and was glad to be as far away from D.C. as possible. His final two steps: alert local authorities about the completion of the air strike and successfully disengage before they arrived. He focused his long-range binoculars on a man smiling as he reached for the back door of the third Mercedes. The door opened. A gloved hand reached out, and a white dress emerged. The bride's smile turned to horror as the missile hit precisely on target and on time. Over 30 innocent locals were dead. Intel got it wrong. This was a real wedding.4

Frank landed, and the first thing he noticed was the intense heat. The Anbar province is the largest province in Iraq and shares its borders with Syria, Jordan, and Saudi Arabia. It feels more like it shares a border with the sun. His "Rule of Law" team would be responsible for working with the tribal leaders and the U.S. hand-picked local government to establish some sort of order to a region that was similar to the Wild West.

Frank entered the building and shook his head. State of the art equipment, computers, and files sat in piles covered with layers of sand storm dust. Millions of dollars of U.S. taxpayer money just going to waste. The tribal leaders still worked out accidents between tribes like they had in centuries past; not like it should be in 2009. They'd meet, agree to an equitable resolution, and the guilty parties would agree to the consequence or to the restitution the tribal leaders worked out. In a split second, Frank knew that he was tasked with getting the locals to adopt a system they didn't want.

In 2004 Frank came to realize on his first deployment that if the U.S. had a true volunteer army, people who disagreed with the premise of the mission or war would be allowed to opt-out. After all, in most careers, if you decide you want to leave your job because there is a values-disconnect, you can. You give notice and walk. Not so in the military.

When you sign your name and raise your right hand you are committing your life, in some cases literally, to the service of this country, regardless of the intent and purpose of the mission. It is a selfless act-one that only 7 percent of the population living in America makes. Mission above self. At that very moment, you are suddenly at the whim of the political machine. For many, this is a wake-up call from the free will, everyone's-opinion-has-value, do-what-you-want-when-you-want, relatively safe childhood most of today's American youth experience.

His first deployment was a goat rope in so many ways. But Frank knew his second tour would be a vast improvement. He lost part of his soul on that first deployment and now questioned the motives that were coming from the government. The war had changed everything. The world was less safe and, in his mind, people less trustworthy.

It was also on the first deployment that Frank received an e-mail from his son asking if he was okay. Of course, he was, but his son needed him to find some way-any way-to call him. His son had just received a phone call from someone posing as a military member telling him that his dad had been killed in action. His son was an emotional wreck, was angry with God, and couldn't get a grip until he could actually hear Frank's voice. That experience was seared in Frank's mind.

When Frank had returned from his first deployment, he attempted to put the war behind him and start over. But that was far from easy. His blast injury from an enemy-improvised explosive device had rendered him without the use of his legs for months, hooked on pills and sentenced to months of therapy to learn how to walk again. Despite the injury, he wrote a book and focused on trying to be a good dad to his kids and a good husband to his second wife.

As Frank sifted through the heaps of taxpayer waste, he was convinced this second deployment would be the ultimate game changer.

Several months into his deployment, Frank sat in his military-assigned trailer-his home away from home-with nothing to do but sort through memories. Iraq was a hellhole the first time. and the second time. The Iraqis wanted nothing to do with this "modern" style of governing. Frank sat back and reflected on how his book failed to gain any traction between deployments, how his second marriage was now strained, and his spiritual life-which at one point was the most important part of his life-was in a dark place.

Frank had convinced himself that he had no reason to live.

Grit. Every painful moment, every failed relationship, the disappointments, the unmet expectations. some let these...