As Post-9/11 Veterans Grow Older, They Look Back on War and What Came After

Helping others in battle and at home

Edward Linsmier

Cedrick Harris, 59, Middleburg, Florida

Retired Army first sergeant

After 9/11, the Army sent me to Korea first, and then I was deployed to Iraq in 2004 with the 2nd Infantry Division. I ended up in Ramadi. Where we were stationed, there was no running water and no electricity. We stayed there for 12 months. As a platoon sergeant, my job was to keep my soldiers disciplined and to keep their morale up. My goal was to take care of the responsibilities that we needed to while keeping all these soldiers safe so they could go home to their loved ones.

It was hard living in a combat zone. I lost one soldier. His name was Michael Arciola, and he was a 20-year-old private first class from Elmsford, New York. He was killed on February 15, 2005, in Ramadi.

Courtesy Cedrick Harris

One of the things I remember most about being in Iraq and Afghanistan was seeing these people living in poverty. They had almost nothing to eat. There were a lot of times when my platoon went out and we would see these families with their hungry kids. We gave them our MREs [meals ready to eat]. Those meals were like gold to these people.

I arrived back in America in the summer of 2005, landing at Fort Carson in Colorado, where there were a thousand people there to greet us returning soldiers. One of them was my wife, Vanessa Harris, who drove 25 hours from Washington, D.C., to be there.

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In 2008, I was promoted to first sergeant and assigned to the 4th Battalion, 3rd U.S. Infantry Regiment, where I served with two specialty platoons: the U.S. Army Drill Team and the Tomb of the Unknown Soldier. My soldiers guarded the Tomb of the Unknown Soldier. 

These days, I am a member of the National Association of Buffalo Soldiers & Troopers Motorcycle Club, the country’s largest African American motorcycle club. We are a nonprofit dedicated to serving our communities and honoring all American veterans. I am the Southeast frontier safety officer, in charge of motorcycle safety for 30 chapters in five states. They call me “Mr. Goldwing” because I ride a Honda Goldwing. After all these years, in a sense, I am still a soldier and still working to keep people disciplined and safe.

A harrowing story of survival

Matt Nager

Kim “KC” Campbell, 51, Denver

Retired Air Force colonel, A-10 pilot and author of Flying in the Face of Fear

I was at Davis-Monthan Air Force Base in Arizona on September 11, 2001, where I was in training to fly the A-10. This is a single-seat aircraft designed mainly to provide air support for troops on the ground. One of my classmates called and said, “Kim, turn on the TV.” I did, just in time to see the second plane hit the World Trade Center. I knew immediately: This was no accident. I finished my training three months later.

Every fighter pilot gets a call sign once you’re deemed ready by your unit to deploy. It’s a rite of passage, and it’s yours for life once you fly with it in combat. I was the only female pilot in my squadron, and when I walked into the naming ceremony, they told me my call sign was KC. I thought, That’s kind of boring, because my name is Kim Campbell. But they said, “No, it stands for Killer Chick.” I took that as a sign of respect, and a few months later, I deployed to Afghanistan to support Operation Enduring Freedom.

Courtesy Kim “KC” Campbell

On April 7, 2003, my squadron was stationed in Kuwait for Operation Iraqi Freedom, and our ground troops were moving fast toward Baghdad. The weather on that day wasn’t great. We got a call that our troops were taking fire and needed immediate assistance. My flight lead and I thought, “Well, we’ll go over the target area, and we’ll try to find a hole in the weather.” When we got over the target, my flight lead dove down to get below the clouds. He said over the radio, “All right, KC, it’s your turn.”

As soon as I got below the clouds, I could see a firefight. I saw tracers going back and forth across the Tigris River. Then I started to see bright flashes and puffs of gray and white smoke around my aircraft. The enemy was shooting up at us. It was a high-threat situation. Our intent was to get in there as quickly as possible and take some pressure off our ground troops, using guns and rockets on the enemy location. We would do a couple passes, climb back up and reassess.

My last pass was a rocket pass, and as I was coming off the target, I felt a huge explosion at the back of my airplane. I had been hit. When I pulled back on the control stick, nothing happened. The aircraft had no response. I fell back on my training and knew my only option was to engage the emergency backup system, which meant I would have to fly the plane mechanically, using manual cranks and cables and pulleys. I told [my flight lead] I was hit and that I was going to try to fly. He went into action to support me. I emergency jettisoned all my ordnance to make the airplane lighter and safer to fly. Flying this A-10 became mentally and physically exhausting, and I had an hour ahead to get to our landing field. Would the aircraft make it back?

I had to make the hardest decision of my life. Would I try to fly to friendly territory and eject? Or try to make it back to the landing field to land this heavily damaged aircraft?

As I was flying, I thought about the power of stories. One of the ways pilots learn is by listening to the stories of other pilots. I was able to use the lessons I learned from them to land safely that day. Ever since, I have been sharing this story, but also other stories about flying, combat and service. So many of the lessons about learning from the experiences and even mistakes of others are relevant to people outside the military, and sharing that message has become my way to continue to serve.

Serving in a combat zone at an older age

Jared Soares

Robert Heinssen, 69, Garrett Park, Maryland

Clinical psychologist and former division director at the National Institute of Mental Health

I was at my desk in Bethesda, Maryland, on September 11, 2001, when I got a call from my sister, who was working in Manhattan. She asked if I could call our parents to tell them what happened. I said, “What are you talking about?” That is how I learned. I had grown up in Queens, and many people I knew from my childhood were directly impacted by 9/11, either as first responders, or they were working in the towers and either narrowly escaped or died. It touched me very personally.

I was 44. I thought, What could I do? I was too old to join the Army. Or so I thought. I come from a family of people who served our country, in World War I, World War II, Korea and Vietnam. When I turned 18, the Vietnam War was winding down. It was always in the back of my mind, how these family members (grandfathers, uncles, cousins, my own father) had served and I had not.

For two years after 9/11, I worked with the Red Cross as a disaster mental health volunteer. Around 2003, I learned that the Army was waiving certain age limitations on people joining the military. I joined the Maryland Army National Guard in 2004 and worked in a medical company, leading a behavioral health section. I helped prepare soldiers who were being deployed to Iraq and Afghanistan, and I helped them when they returned to reintegrate into the civilian world while processing their experiences of combat overseas.

Courtesy Robert Heinssen

In 2010, when I was 53, I was deployed with a special medical mission to Afghanistan. The decision to go was a joint decision between me, my wife and my children. I was not in Afghanistan for very long—three months. But I saw a lot in three months. Our job was to assess the behavioral health resources in our combat zones and to make recommendations on how we could best meet the needs of our troops.

I felt strongly about being there because if previous generations of combat veterans had more access to mental health professionals—before, during and after deployments—think about how that might have changed the trajectories of hundreds of thousands of Americans.

The most positive thing I experienced was to see the dedication and heroism of our service members. How they supported each other in unbelievably difficult circumstances. I was there during “the Obama surge”; we were going after the Taliban, and there were a lot of casualties.

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1. Experience 1
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One story stands out. One of my jobs was to interview groups of soldiers and Marines to get a sense of how they operated as teams and how this could help protect their mental health and aid their recoveries. I interviewed this one group of Marines who had just returned from a 50-day recon mission. These guys were the tip of the spear. They had taken casualties and were pretty busted up. One said to me, “You know, I wonder sometimes if this is worth anything. Is what we’re doing going to make a difference? Do people back in the U.S. understand? Do they care?” What he was saying resonated with the others.

I was so moved, and I told these Marines, “You have given your country a great gift. Your country respects and values what you’re doing. It’s meaningful, and there will come a time when you are able to more clearly see that.”

Sometimes I wonder what happened to those young men. Are they out there? Did the things I said have any bearing? I hope they are finding the help, support and respect they need and deserve.

Several years ago, I joined Iraq and Afghanistan Veterans of America, which has given me new opportunities to help veterans of the War on Terror, as many are now reaching 50 and over. My hope is that they bring the leadership and experiences they learned over there back home, and that they are honored for it. That’s my hope for the future.

Seeing the complexities of war

Jared Soares

Thearon Williams, 63, Manassas, Virginia

Retired Army colonel, senior manager with the consulting firm Ward Circle Strategies and deputy program manager with the Defense Health Agency

When I was growing up in Ferndale, Michigan, outside of Detroit, I was fascinated with military uniforms, even though I didn’t come from a military family. One guy in my neighborhood who was two years older than me went to West Point, and when he came home at Christmastime during his freshman year, he had that uniform on. It got every girl’s attention. I told my guidance counselor, “I want to go where he goes!” I was a good student, and I ended up graduating from the West Point class of 1986. In my 28-year active-duty career, I served in two wars—Operation Desert Shield/Desert Storm and Operation Iraqi Freedom . When I deployed to Iraq I led a team that was assigned the mission of advising and training the Iraqi National Police. People are often surprised by that. We were trying to help the country operate on its own and become an accepted member in the greater community of nations.

Courtesy Thearon Williams

They call the generation that served in World War II the Greatest Generation. But I think of my generation as a great generation also. This is not to take anything away from those who served in Vietnam or Korea. I was 38 when 9/11 happened, and I don’t need to express how horrible that event was. Our country was so unprepared. On the positive aside, I watched the way our military responded. Our country learned a lot. We became a much stronger country in the way our joint forces integrated, the way our services and our government agencies learned to work together. I believe that holds true to this day.

At the same time, I think of what it was like to come home from seeing combat. When I was at West Point, I had an instructor who told the story of how he came back from Vietnam. He walked off the plane, went into an airport bathroom and changed out of his uniform. He put on civilian clothes because so many people were protesting the war and vilifying the soldiers who fought. This was a terrible way to treat people coming back from the most traumatic experiences of their lives. Don’t get me wrong; I’m not against protesting for peace. You want to talk to somebody who’s against war? Talk to a combat veteran.

My experience was totally different. I served in Iraq with the Army’s First Infantry Division, and I came home to a country where I felt my service was respected and honored. I also benefited from the Post-9/11 GI Bill and from all the educational opportunities available to me through the Army. I was the first person in my family to go to a four-year university. I went to Ranger School and Airborne School. I have two master’s degrees.

I have three grown daughters. Because of my service, they got to do a lot of things that I didn’t get to do. The military afforded me the ability to give my family those opportunities. Growing up, after my father passed away when I was 16, we had no nest egg; we lived just above the poverty line. My family has had a different experience, and it’s all because of my service.

The downside? There’s only about 10 percent of the American population that does serve in the military, and the folks that join usually come from military families. It’s like we’re recycling the same families, which means the burden and sacrifice remain with those families. It also means that not enough of our elected officials come from military families, so they don’t know firsthand what that burden and sacrifice feels like.

These days I work at Defense Health Agency headquarters, doing communications for a large organization that delivers health benefits to all active duty and veterans and their families. DHA is responsible for all military hospitals and clinics worldwide. So in a way, I’m still serving my country.