13

A Final Mission

LUCCA, C’MERE, GIRL! You like roast beef?”

Lucca bolted over from the other side of the kennel office at Camp Pendleton and stood on her three legs, looking up at the slice of meat dangling from the thumb and forefinger of the handler who was on overnight duty. Her tail swept wide and fast, and her dark brows gathered in concentration on the slice of meat he’d pulled out of his Subway sandwich.

“Here ya go!”

He let it drop. Without even a chew, she gulped it down. Then she eyed him to see what else he had to offer.

“That’s enough, Lucca,” he said. “Gotta watch your weight now that you’re a tripod.”

She sat down and stared at the remaining sandwich. Her ears were erect and turned fully forward, and her eyes were calm but conveying a message. It was the same kind of stare that had alerted her handlers to so many IEDs over the years. But now, in semiretirement, she was putting the look to new use.

The handler kept eating. So she pulled out all the stops.

Lucca reached out and gave him her paw. Universal dog language for please, and usually easy to dismiss if you don’t want to give a dog what he or she wants. But when a three-legged gives a paw, it’s another matter altogether. She sat there, one leg outstretched, her paw resting on his knee. The other leg was—well, the other leg was just not there, and it was painfully obvious to the handler. Instead of a leg, there was only a furless indent.

“Oh lord,” the handler said. “OK, war hero. You got me. Just one more piece . . .”

AS LUCCA AWAITED medical retirement, her life at the Pendleton kennels was very different than it had been before her deployment. Already a kennel favorite, when she came limping home from Afghanistan she quickly became the unofficial Pendleton kennel mascot. She never had to stay in her locked, concrete-floor kennel again. Instead she spent her days and nights as a free-range dog in the large office, getting love, pats, and snacks from everyone who passed by. She slept on a mat, or on blankets in a portable kennel whose door was never locked unless a brute of a dog was coming through. Sometimes she hopped up and slept on the folding cot set up for handlers on night duty. No one minded.

Because she was no longer a working dog, she didn’t have an assigned handler. But that didn’t stop Rod from spending time with Lucca every day. While she was still in need of medical attention, he’d take her for her vet visits and tend to her wounds. She healed remarkably quickly. Within a couple of days of returning, she was running around in the same joyful way she used to. Even the veterinarians were surprised at her recovery.

Once she didn’t need regular vet checks, Rod devoted more time to grooming her, taking her for walks, just chilling out. Sometimes he’d volunteer for night duty so he could sleep on the cot next to her mat. It was like old times falling asleep to the lullaby of her snores.

Rod wasn’t sure how much longer he had with Lucca, so he tried to spend as much time as possible with her. Once her paperwork came through, she’d be heading to Helsinki to join Willingham and his family. He had no idea when—or if—he’d see her again.

Willingham, who was now a gunnery sergeant, was in touch regularly about Lucca’s progress and about how Rod was doing. There was a question he felt he needed to ask.

“Hey, you know how we talked about me adopting Lucca after this deployment if she got dispo’d because of age,” Willingham said. “I just want to see, you know, after what you guys have been through together, where your head’s at about that. Are you OK with it? Have you given it any second thoughts?”

Rod didn’t have to give it any thought. As much as he would have loved to keep Lucca, he was a single guy living in a barracks. He had no idea what his future held. He wanted to give Lucca the best home possible.

“I love Lucca. I owe my life to her. But she’s your dog. I kind of took out a loan. It’s time to pay up.”

GUNNERY SERGEANT SHANE Green pulled Rod aside one day.

“Hey, Rod? Do you have a passport?”

“No, I don’t.”

“Everyone in the platoon needs to have their passport,” Green told him. “Why don’t you start the process of getting one ASAP?”

Rod didn’t question this. Rules change over time.

He had no idea what was going on behind the scenes—that Willingham was trying to arrange for Rod to fly to Helsinki with Lucca and spend a week or two there to help with the transition. Willingham knew from personal experience the sting of having to part with Lucca, and he wanted to make it easier for Rod. He also thought it would be good for Lucca not to have such an abrupt change.

“How are you planning to get them here?” Nicholas Kuchova, regional senior commercial officer at the American embassy in Helsinki, asked Willingham one afternoon. Everyone at the embassy had fallen in love with Lucca—with military dogs in general—since Willingham’s arrival five months earlier. Willingham felt it was part of his mission to explain the importance of military working dogs and the difference they make in the way wars were now being fought. The embassy employees were sold, and they began sending care packages to dog teams in Afghanistan. When Lucca was injured, everyone, even the ambassador, suffered and worried right alongside Willingham.

“Once we know Lucca is officially retired and Rod has a passport,” Willingham told him, “me and Jill are going to look for the best fares and buy their tickets.”

“Let me check into something and see if we can get you some help,” Kuchova said. “You shouldn’t have to pay.”

Kuchova made some inquiries and found out about Air Compassion for Veterans, a not-for-profit organization that flies wounded warriors and Gold Star families around the world.

He updated Ambassador Bruce J. Oreck.

“That’s excellent,” Oreck said. “We might want to have a backup plan in case that doesn’t work out. I’ll be more than happy to pay for their tickets out of my own pocket.”

“How about we split it?” Kuchova asked.

“It’s important that we do this. Let’s see how it plays out,” Oreck said.

They never had to make those arrangements. The tickets came through.

“It would be an honor to reunite a wounded warrior dog and handler,” said Jim Palmersheim, managing director of American Airlines Veterans and Military Initiatives programs. American Airlines had a long history of supporting veterans and those serving in the military. The company’s first CEO, Cyrus Rowlett Smith, would go on to serve as the Air Traffic Command’s chief of staff during World War II, eventually achieving the rank of major general in the army. American Airlines supported several key initiatives that benefited military members and their families. To help Lucca over to Helsinki, the company would partner with Air Compassion for Veterans, which helped with thousands of flights for wounded military and family members. Lucca definitely qualified as wounded military, and Rod was certainly a family member. . . .

In late May, once Rod had his passport and Lucca had her retirement papers, Willingham called Rod to let him know the good news.

“I’d love you to escort Lucca to Helsinki. You can spend ten days with Jill and me,” Willingham told him. “It’ll give me a chance to personally thank you for saving Lucca’s life, plus I think it’ll serve as a great transition for Lucca.”

Rod couldn’t speak for a few seconds.

“That would be amazing. I’d love to hand over her leash in person.”

When they hung up, Rod walked right over to the kennels.

“Lucca,” he told her as they walked on their favorite path, on the grassy hillside with the beautiful views, “you won’t believe who I talked to today, and where you and I are going. . . .”

They had a nice chat about the future.

AT 3:45 A.M. on July 5, Rod walked into the kennel office at Pendleton and set his bags on the floor. He wore a neatly pressed uniform—his service “Charlies”—with a colorful array of ribbons just above his left pocket.

“Good morning, Lucca. We’ve got a big day ahead,” he said.

Lucca looked at him and yawned. She had been up late saying good-byes to everyone at the kennels and was in no rush to go anywhere.

“C’mon, girl, time to rise and shine! Let’s go for a walk!” At hearing these magic words, she stood up, grabbed her Kong, and rocking-horsed over to Rod.

“Today’s our last mission together, Mama Lucca,” he told her solemnly. He clicked her harness around her and stroked her head. “It’s an important one. Are you ready?”

He took her for her final walk at Pendleton. The overnight handler was the only person there at that hour. They said good-bye, and Rod and Lucca headed to the airport with a marine public affairs representative, who told him what to expect along the way.

“At your connecting flight in Chicago, the American Airlines veterans program is going to be doing a little ceremony honoring Lucca. You may be asked to do an interview, so thanks for wearing your uniform. There may be reporters there who want to talk with you.”

“I’m very shy when it comes to that sort of thing,” Rod told him earnestly.

“You’ll be fine. Just talk about Lucca. You don’t have to answer anything you’re not comfortable with.”

They arrived at San Diego International Airport at 4:30 A.M. He was surprised to find a couple of camera crews waiting for him. He felt the butterflies taking flight in his stomach, but he told himself that if he could deal with the Taliban in Afghanistan, he could handle the spotlight for a few minutes.

THE FLIGHT FROM San Diego to the connecting flight at O’Hare International Airport went quickly. They took off and were treated with sincere warmth by the flight attendants, and then they were on the ground in Chicago. Lucca, who had her own seat, dozed most of the way. Once in the airport, Rod and Lucca would change planes for the flight to Helsinki. He knew there might be some kind of acknowledgment of Lucca’s arrival when he got to the airport but figured it would be pretty low-key. This wasn’t even her hometown, after all.

The water cannon salute that welcomed the plane as it was taxiing should have been a clue about what was to come. The two plumes of water from fire trucks on both sides of the taxiway arched over the plane. Rod looked out the window from his business-class seat as the water drenched the plane and came pouring down the windows.

“Look, Lucca!” he told his seatmate, who had woken up for the landing. “I wonder what’s up with that?”

Just then a flight attendant made an announcement that the water salute was in honor of a marine hero returning home. She told Lucca’s story and asked everyone to give Lucca and Rod a hand. He turned around a little and acknowledged the well-wishers with a smile and a nod.

“I wish you could do all the publicity, Lucca,” he said under his breath to her as he slid back into his seat.

Rod shook some hands on the way off the plane, and a flight attendant escorted them up the ramp. He had prepared himself for a small gathering and maybe a quick interview and was relieved when there wasn’t a throng of people. Just a few, and a waiting golf cart.

They hopped on and were whisked to another part of the terminal. The cart stopped and introduced them to the five-person color guard that would be leading the way down to Gate K9. Two women holding large photos of Lucca in front of a marine flag stood behind Lucca and Rod, and the little parade proceeded to the gate. As they got closer, the crowd grew thick on both sides of the walkway. TV cameras followed them, and passengers snapped away with their phones as they pointed and smiled.

Rod could feel his heart pounding faster as they moved closer to the gate. Combat missions were somehow more predictable, as crazy as that might sound. He looked down at the other end of the leash and watched Lucca moving along, grasping her Kong in her mouth, looking completely at ease. Her demeanor worked its way up the leash, and Rod felt calmer.

Pilot Tim Raynor, of American Airlines’ Veterans and Military Initiatives, greeted them. Raynor flew F/A-18 Hornets during his eight and a half years’ active duty in the marines and for a while in the U.S. Marine Corps Reserves. He was also an American Airlines 767 pilot. He told Rod that he’d be helping fly his plane to Helsinki. “I’m excited and honored to be doing this,” he said.

Rod thanked him, feeling blown away that this important guy—a colonel, now in the reserves—who had flown the ultra-badass supersonic combat jet for so many years, would be in the cockpit to help get them to their destination.

As the ceremony unfolded, Rod stood by the podium at Gate K9, arms clasped in front of him, holding Lucca’s leash while she chomped away on her Kong. An American Airlines employee sang “The Star Spangled Banner.” Then Franco Tedeschi, vice president of the airline’s Chicago airport operations, gave a short talk.

“This special event is a wonderful reminder that heroes come in all shapes and sizes,” Tedeschi said. “A seventy-four-pound Belgian Malinois . . . has made numerous families extremely happy because their loved ones came back safe and sound from Iraq and Afghanistan.”

Raynor took the podium, and when he announced it would be a little while until boarding, and invited people to come up and shake Rod’s hand and Lucca’s paw, Rod unconsciously wiped his forehead. He had begun to think he’d have to get up and talk to the crowd.

Rod did a few short interviews, changed into civilian clothes, and went back to the gate. The gate attendant announced that boarding would be starting and asked passengers Lucca and Corporal Rodriguez to please come to the front and board first. More clapping.

On the plane from Chicago to Helsinki, Rod reveled in his roomy, comfortable business-class seat. Lucca settled right into hers. He imagined how proud his mom would be if she saw him in such luxury on this international mission. He got a flight attendant to take a photo of the two of them in their seats together—it was easy getting the attention of a flight attendant at any point in the flight. From Chicago, across the Atlantic, and right up until they landed in Finland, they were always checking on Lucca.

“Would she like something to drink?”

“How about a blanket for the hero dog?”

“May I pet her? I miss my dog.”

“Looks like she could use an extra pillow.”

“Can we get her something to eat?”

Lucca spent most of the time on her own seat, except when she felt like stretching out for a snooze on the floor. When Raynor announced it was time to land and told the passengers about Lucca being reunited with her original handler, Rod patted the seat and she jumped back up. He leaned in and put his arm around her—partly to steady her and partly to have a few more minutes next to her before the end of their final mission.

“LADIES AND GENTLEMEN, we would like to announce that Lucca’s flight has landed and will be taxiing to the gate shortly to drop off Corporal Juan Rodriguez and Lucca. The plane will be proceeding to another gate for the other passengers to disembark.”

Announcing that any individual has landed at a major airport is almost unheard of. Announcing that a dog has landed, even more so. But this was a special occasion at the Helsinki Airport. A wing of the terminal had been closed off for the arrival of Rod and Lucca, so that the moment of reunion could be captured by the media without hundreds of people offloading around them. In attendance were the Willinghams, about fifteen Finnish television, newspaper, and web photographers and reporters, and several people from the embassy, including the ambassador and Kuchova.

When Claire Willingham, age four, heard Lucca’s name announced, her mouth opened wide, as did her eyes. Then she smiled brightly and looked at her mom and dad. She was wearing a dress with big red and blue flowers on a white background, and her blonde hair was perfectly combed for the occasion. She held out the sign she and Jill had made for Lucca. It featured a photo of Lucca and her name and identification number.

“Not just yet, Claire. Your arms will get tired,” Jill told her.

The Willinghams had been preparing for weeks. They had gone shopping and bought Lucca a cushy bed, two bowls, and dog food. Willingham had gone online and ordered her a new Alabama collar. “Roll Tide!” he’d said as he clicked on the “purchase” button.

Jill could sense the anticipation in the room and in her husband as the plane pulled up to the gate. He made his way to where Rod and Lucca would be coming off the walkway. Family followed, and photographers and reporters were right behind them to capture the moment the two saw each other again.

Willingham realized he was feeling something like an intensified version of the thrill he’d felt right before meeting her for the first time in Israel. He couldn’t believe it had been more than six years since that day.

He had one concern. He’d brought it up to Jill the night before.

“What if she doesn’t remember me?”

“Of course she’ll remember you!”

“But she’s been through so much since I saw her.”

“That’s my only worry. What if she’s changed?” Jill said. “She could be one of those dogs who’s scared of everything now. That would be so sad.”

Post-traumatic stress disorder in dogs had finally been officially recognized by the Defense Department the previous year. Studies of military dogs revealed that about 5 percent of dogs were coming back from deployments with signs diagnosable as canine PTSD, including withdrawal, fear where there was none before, high anxiety, and depression. Most of the dogs diagnosed with PTSD were sporting breeds, primarily Labrador retrievers, but there had been some Mals and shepherds as well.

They’d talked about this possibility a couple of times. Rodriguez had assured them she was still the same dog, but they had known dogs who had been through so much less but suffered tremendously after deployments. Sometimes it didn’t come out until the dogs encountered stressful events at home. The Willinghams hoped that moving halfway across the world wasn’t one of them.

The crowd stilled when the announcement came that Lucca and Rod were making their way up the walkway. Photographers poised their cameras. Claire and Michael held up their signs. Willingham knelt down low, in front of the small crowd.

He saw them coming down the corridor through a glass wall. Seconds later Rod and Lucca walked through the open doors and into the terminal. Rod immediately spotted Willingham kneeling down.

So did Lucca.

She quickened her pace and gave a couple of wide wags of recognition as she sniffed toward Willingham to make sure it was him. Once she knew, she jumped up, put her front paw on his chest, and joyfully licked his face. She covered his face with licks, from his chin to one cheek, over his nose, to the other cheek. Lucca rarely gave anyone even a cursory lick, and Willingham couldn’t stop laughing. He held her paw in his hand to make it easier for her. The cameras clicked away loudly, but he didn’t even notice they were there.

He stood up and embraced Rod, then introduced the newest member of the Willingham family to Claire and Michael.

WHEN READING UP on visiting Finland, you will be counseled not to expect much warmth from Finns.

Ediplomat.com advises:

A Wikitravel article on Finland states that “Finns are a famously taciturn people who have little time for small talk or social niceties.”

Rod could not understand this reputation. For the ten days of his visit with the Willinghams, he met only outgoing, warm, friendly Finns. He, Willingham, and Lucca couldn’t walk ten feet some days without someone recognizing Lucca from one of the TV programs or newspapers that covered her story. People always wanted to pet her, to find out more about her, to tell Willingham and Rodriguez their own dog stories. Often, they thanked her for her service.

Touring Helsinki took longer this way, but that was fine with Willingham and Rod. They were delighted with the attention she was getting. They noticed that the Finns approached the conversation very politely once they discovered the hero in their midst. It usually began with someone smiling broadly, pointing at Lucca, and asking them, “Lucca?!” or “Hero dog?!” After a couple of minutes of often animated conversation, most were hugging and petting Lucca, posing for a photo with her.

The travel website that came close to explaining the change of decorum Lucca inspired was Finland.fi, a site produced by the Ministry for Foreign Affairs of Finland and published by the Finland Promotion Board. In an article entitled “A Guide to Finnish Customs and Manners,” the writer got to the heart of the matter: “Finns rarely enter into conversation with strangers, unless a particularly strong impulse prompts it.”

It seemed to Willingham and Rod that Lucca was prompting strong impulses all over Helsinki.

“We’re escorting a star here,” Willingham told Rod as they took a break at an open-air restaurant.

They both looked down at her. She was asleep, snoring ever so quietly.

“Well, it’s not going to her head, anyway.” Willingham laughed.

From their table, they could see a man at an adjacent table engrossed in reading a newspaper article. The headline read, LIIKUTTAVA KOHTAAMINEN (“Touching Reunion”), and it was studded with large color photos of Lucca and the reunion at the airport.

“Watch this,” Willingham told Rod.

He stood up and walked over to the man—not heeding the “Do not engage a Finn at a restaurant” advice. He realized that with Lucca around, such social counsel was unwarranted.

He got the man’s attention and pointed to Lucca and then at the newspaper.

“Lucca! That’s Lucca!” he said, pointing back and forth, eyebrows raised to help get the point across.

The man looked at her, and at his newspaper, and back at Lucca again.

“Lucca? This Lucca?!” He was overjoyed and asked, in broken English, if he could pet her, which he did.

Lucca was a particularly big hit at the embassy, where she seemed to impress everyone.

“She’s been a member of the embassy family since we first heard about her from Chris,” Kuchova told Rod. “Thank you for taking such good care of her.”

Kuchova was very pleased with how well the reunion travel arrangements had worked out. He had gotten the ball rolling because he wanted to see the best outcome for Lucca and her handlers. But there was something else beyond the happy reunion. His father, a first-generation American from Albania, was a World War II combat veteran who earned a Bronze Star and the Combat Infantry Badge with three battle stars for action in the Battle of the Bulge and the Central Europe Campaign. When Kuchova was helping these marines, he felt he was honoring his father as well.

Lucca touched a chord with others in this way. To many Finns, no strangers to war, she provided a bridge of sorts to past generations who had served bravely.

Every day when craftsman Kalevi Soderlund went to the harborside market to sell the charming wooden bears he carved, he hoped to run into Lucca. She had visited the popular tourist stop on a day when he wasn’t at his booth. Ever since, he had been on the lookout for the dog he had read about in newspapers and now heard about from fellow market vendors.

He had Lucca fever in a big way. He looked up articles about her online, and when he found Willingham’s firsthand account of the reunion at an American military dog website, he left a comment. After stating his great desire to meet her at the market, he wrote:

“Lucca is well known here, and I and so many Finns are happy and proud of having Lucca here in Finland. One of my friends, having been drafted in 60’s as I too was, met Lucca on Sunday and told me that he wouldn’t have believed he would from full heart saluted a dog and feel so touched of it. Now I am going to wait for that moment as a lotto win.”

After the editor of the site, SoldierDogs.com, wrote to thank him for his comment and wished him the best of luck meeting Lucca, he wrote again, revealing a deeper motivation for meeting her.

I am waiting to meet Lucca as for Santa Claus when I was child. I understand the big value of soldier dogs. I was born when bombs came down around here. My father was medic in WW2 for five years and his regiment lost about half of the men all from same area here. So many of them were my father’s friends from childhood. I was a lonely boy but from my very early days I remember that I had a dog. Father was in the war (three times at home when he was recovering from wounds, great days for me because I had father). Well I could embrace my good dog friend. The first I remember well was Toti, a big black shepherd . . .

Finland, like so many other countries in the area, suffered deeply during World War II. It was a painful, tortuous path the Finns had to follow to make it through the war. But despite its losses, it held its own—valiantly and effectively—against insurmountable odds. When the Soviet Union invaded in November 1939, starting what would become known as the Winter War, the Finnish army was vastly outnumbered and outgunned. What should have been a slam dunk for the Soviet Union was anything but. The Finns made up for their lack of manpower and weapons by using clever tactics and sheer tenacity. In one battle more than 17,500 Soviets lost their lives, but only 250 Finns.

The welcome-to-school guide for Finland’s University of Joensuu includes an explanation of something called sisu. It’s a quality that may help explain some of Finland’s past triumphs. It is considered to be a national trait, one the Finns are quietly proud of.

“Sisu is what makes a Finn grit his teeth against all odds; continue fighting against an overwhelming enemy; clear the forest with his bare hands; go on to win a race even after falling over. Sisu is ‘what it takes’: guts, determination.”

When Willingham learned about sisu, he realized that this important Finnish characteristic might have been underlying the seemingly uncharacteristic reaction to Lucca.

WILLINGHAM HAD MISSED Lucca, but he hadn’t realized just how much until she was back at his side. When he looked into her eyes he saw everything they had once seen together reflected back to him. No one else had been there for all that. Over her career, she had protected untold numbers of soldiers and marines on four hundred missions with no injuries other than her own. A war buddy like no other.

He was sure that when Rod looked into her eyes, he saw their own triumphs and tragedies reflected back to him as well. So Willingham hoped that the ten days in Helsinki had helped ease the transition for Rod, as it seemed to be doing for Lucca. She comfortably navigated between spending nights with Rod on the queen bed in the spare room and living among the family by day. Willingham wished Rod lived close, so he could visit all the time. So did Rod.

Willingham and Rod spent the days touring around, mostly with Lucca. Their main subject of conversation was Lucca, and everything they’d each been through with her.

They jokingly referred to themselves as “Lucca’s two dads.” They compared notes and bragged about their eight-year-old girl to each other as they could to no one else. Their bond with her had come to extend deeply toward each other as well.

On his last night with Lucca, Rod tried not to think about how much he was going to miss her. He put his hand on her side, felt the rhythm of her breathing, and eventually fell asleep.

The next morning, he went outside and threw the Kong for her. She raced back and forth, catching it on the bounce and bringing it back. Over and over, panting, tail wagging, full of life. She didn’t lose her speed or gusto when she lost her leg. She just picked up and did the best she could with what she had, and she hadn’t missed a beat.

Rod realized he was going to have to do the same. He felt that when he said good-bye to Lucca he would be closing a huge chapter in his life. It was like losing a part of himself.

He was going to be getting out of the marines in the next year. He’d seen too much tragedy and death, and he didn’t want to be the guy on deployment who put others at risk by not wanting to be there. There would be no wartime bonding with another dog. He couldn’t imagine another dog taking the place of Lucca anyway.

Before he left for his flight, he sat in the yard with Lucca and held her tight. She leaned into him and relaxed in his arms.

“I just want to thank you for being there to watch over me, Lucca,” he told her quietly. “I don’t think I can ever thank you enough for everything you’ve done.

“I don’t know if I’ll ever see you again, but if there’s any chance I can, I will. I’ll never forget you. But you’re going to have a great life in this family. This is the future you deserve. Be good, Lucca Bear.”