For now, that steely calm began to morph into the part of me that became "the General." The General would make important decisions, hold things together for the troops, lead the charge, and—most important for our team—ensure we didn't lose a single man on the battlefield. The General was beginning to take over.
"Lee, we have a plane waiting to take you and the kids home to Westchester," David said. "You just have to tell us what time. It's fueled up and ready to go."
I felt I needed to keep him on the line for some reason. I wasn't ready to start making decisions. I didn't want to take my first step into this new world. I wanted to relish my old life for just a minute more. All four of my children were blissfully sound asleep beyond my door. Inside my room their secure little lives were being hacked apart while they dreamed, oblivious to the chaos.
"Okay," I said in a small voice. "Tell me what you know. Please tell me what happened."
"Bob and the crew were traveling on a road in Taji on a routine ride," David said. "Bob was in an Iraqi armored vehicle. We believe he was doing a stand-up at the time, and they were hit by an IED [improvised explosive device] in an orchestrated attack on the convoy. There was gunfire after that, but neither man was hit. Bob and the cameraman, Doug Vogt, have been taken by helicopter to Baghdad and are going into surgery.
"Apparently he asked Vinnie, his producer, if he was alive; he did come to." David spoke coolly and rationally, but he was clearly rattled.
So he spoke, I thought. He spoke. This is going to be okay. The General in my brain dictated that nothing less than recovery would be acceptable. There were no other options. Bob would be okay. He was always okay. He was lucky and bright and hardworking and a good man. Things like this didn't happen to good people. I could feel hope in my heart, on its simplest level, as clear and bright as the streak of a shooting star. Hope is the most basic human emotion. It was the hope that wives have had since the days of the caveman, when they sent their mates out past the campfire to fight marauding tribes. Hope was good. It was a brain-stem reaction. The General in my brain moved hope into the front lines, preparing for the next maneuver.
"Lee," David gently reminded me, "there are security people on the ground to escort you out of there. The plane is standing by; you just need to tell us what you want to do. Let us know what time you want to go. When you get home, we are working on getting you to Germany, where Bob will be transported."
For one moment the silliest thought flashed through my mind. I thought about how much my kids had wanted to ride the Soarin' attraction and see the rest of Epcot. The part of my brain that was still in shock weighed the option of not ruining their perfectly planned morning for about a tenth of a second before I clicked into action.
"David, let me process this," I said. "I have to call Bob's folks and my family, and then I have to wake up the kids and pack. And I need to think. Let me just get outside of this hotel room so I can talk, and then I'll call you back as soon as possible."