to slowly digest them as they readjusted to their old lives back in the States.
I first learned about Adam Gray in 2006, when I met some soldiers who had served with him. Jonathan Millantz, an Army medic who was assigned to Battalion 1-68, first told me about the life and death of Adam. Millantz sensed that Adam was haunted by what he had seen and done in Iraq. At first, Millantz would only talk cryptically about those events. But he often stressed that he empathized with his former war buddy and shared many of the traumas that plagued him during his own return to civilian life.
Other soldiers who served with Adam puzzled over what happened to him and mentioned that his mother was also struggling to make sense of his experience. And so, in mid-2006 I called Cindy Chavez in Tehachapi. Her husband, Roy, answered the phone. He welcomed my call, but was firm with me.
“I’m going to give the phone to Cindy, my wife,” he said. “But I want you to promise me that you’re going to be very careful with her, because she has already been through a lot.”
I promised, and he passed the phone to Cindy. We talked extensively and traded phone calls for several months. After nearly a year of conversation, Cindy agreed to meet and discuss her story in person. In August 2007, I traveled from San Francisco to see her and Roy at their family home. My colleague Michael Montgomery, a producer with American Radio Works, came along to interview them.
Part of our drive followed the very same westward route that Roy and Adam took from Bakersfield to Tehachapi. As we scaled the Tehachapi Mountains—a chalky, rugged range that links Bakersfield to Mojave—I tried to imagine Adam’s earlier homecoming. During our visit, dense wildfire smoke filled the valley with choking fumes. Soot coated the sunset with a rusty orange haze, turning the evening sky into a dramatic, apocalyptic backdrop. Such striking imagery, like the area’s harsh and arid landscape, truly seemed evocative of Iraq’s scenery. After five hours of driving, Michael and I pulled up to Roy and Cindy’s house, where assorted wind chimes fluttered in the breeze. A Green Bay Packers flag, set beneath an American flag, waved above their driveway—Adam and his mother had originally hailed from Wisconsin. Cindy and Roy greeted us warmly and welcomed us into a cavernous living room with a deep-purple carpet, assorted antiques, and a big-screen TV tucked into the corner.
A pile of photos lay on top of a coffee table, chronicling Adam’s life in Iraq and back home. Cindy had made two-by-four-inch laminated prints of Adam in his sergeant’s uniform, set against the red and white stripes of an American flag background. It captured Adam’s smooth, oval face, his buzz haircut, and his gentle features. The bottom caption read:
In Loving Memory Of
Adam James Gray
“The Bomber”
March 20, 1980–August 29, 2004
Our Hero
She handed us two pictures to take home with us: “Just so you have a face to go with the name.”
Cindy recalled how Adam had wanted to serve in the military ever since he was three years old. Growing up in Wisconsin, he and his family lived around the corner from a Navy recruiting station. Adam would often return home with military souvenirs, such as caps and pens. His mother saw him as a rollicking, spirited child with boundless energy. Friends and family nicknamed him “The Bomber.” The nickname stuck. And Adam’s ambition to join the military continued into his teenage years.
Even though Cindy saw a stream of damaged veterans return from Vietnam during the 1970s, she felt she could never discourage her son from pursuing his dreams. Adam jeopardized that future at eighteen when he and local high school friends got arrested for burglary. Cindy downplayed the incident, and said it was quickly settled, but it did leave a mark on his record. The arrest meant he could not enlist in the Navy.
Adam was devastated. But his mother was determined to help him, and together they pushed on looking for other ways Adam could join the military. In the end, Adam was finally able to join the Army.
Cindy saw her son and his friends from his platoon after they finished basic training. They spoke respectfully to others and wore neatly pressed uniforms. Cindy didn’t even recognize her son after he had finished boot camp.
Who is this kid? she thought.
“Before he went to boot camp, he was a bit of a thug,” said Roy. After his training “He grew … he grew into a man.” Adam was fit, pressed, and polite. “The Bomber” had finally become an enlisted soldier.
Adam was always drawn to tanks and planes, and eagerly pursued further training for an armored cavalry unit. Shortly after basic training he was dispatched to Fort Carson, Colorado, home of the “Iron Brigade.” There he learned how to operate M1 Abrams tanks and joined Battalion 1-68, a tank unit with the 4th Infantry Division, 3rd Brigade Combat Team.
Members of Battalion 1-68 remembered Adam enjoying his time in Fort Carson and making close friends on the base. Most of them noticed that he craved to learn as much as possible about tank warfare and seemed excited about joining a four-person tanking crew with the battalion. Adam had finally achieved what he had longed for since he was a young boy. But he was a warrior without a war.
Adam looked forward to taking some time off after he completed his training at Fort Carson. In September 2001, he went on leave and joined his family at Lake Elizabeth, California, near Los Angeles. He spent his evenings chatting with his mother and friends, soaking in a hot tub, and partying into the night.
At six in the morning on September 11, Roy called upstairs to Cindy.
“I just heard something about the Twin Towers or something,” he said. “Something is going on.”
She ran downstairs and switched on the television. It wasn’t clear what she was watching. Was it a movie? she wondered. Cindy focused her eyes on the screen and concentrated on what the TV announcers were saying. It soon became clear to her that it wasn’t fiction. She ran to fetch her son.
“Adam, get up! Something’s happening.”
By the time he woke up and walked over to the television, the second plane had hit the South Tower. The three of them stared at the screen and absorbed what was unfolding across the country.
“Mom, it’s fucking al Qaeda!” said Adam.
“I don’t know who you’re talking about.”
“It’s bin Laden.”
She still didn’t know what he was referring to, nor did she know what to expect. But Adam knew it meant war. He would now finally be able to apply his skills in a meaningful mission.
“I need to get on a plane. I need to get back there,” he said, referring to Fort Carson. “We’re going to deploy, I know it.”
Gray reported to Fort Carson soon after, and there was a nervous, excitable energy on the base. Were they going to Afghanistan? Would they fight the Taliban? Were they going to help take out bin Laden and the al Qaeda camps? No one had answers, and Adam and his unit played hurry up and wait.
It finally came out that they would not be deployed to Afghanistan. At first, he and his fellow soldiers felt deflated. Everyone was hungry for payback, and it was tough to watch other soldiers march into action. But the call finally came on January 20, 2003: as part of the 4th Infantry Division, Adam and Battalion 1-68 received orders to deploy to the Middle East.1
President
