Living memorials to fallen troops

They stood together in a soft spring rain: soldiers in uniform, restless boys in neckties, grieving widows, anguished parents, mothers cradling babies and young girls clutching roses.

The chaplain broke the silence. “Nothing is more sacred,” he said, “than a life laid down for others.”

Five more soldiers from Ft. Stewart had died in Iraq in the last two months, and five more Eastern redbud saplings were added Thursday to the long, straight rows of trees honoring the dead. Each new redbud is another soldier’s living memorial, and with each one the rituals of loss and mourning begin anew.

There are now 326 redbuds on the Cottrell Field parade grounds. The families of the latest to die stared silently at them Thursday morning, waiting for small granite markers bearing the soldiers’ names to be unveiled beneath the new trees.

The relatives had come from Alabama and South Carolina and Indiana to witness a ceremony that is unique among American military bases. Started in March 2003 with the Army post’s first Iraq fatalities, the event attempts to provide a lasting tribute to soldiers who left for Iraq and never returned. They range from private to colonel, 320 men and six women.

“Here stand 326 living monuments to fallen heroes,” the garrison commander, Col. Todd Buchs, told loved ones of the five soldiers at Warriors Walk, where the trees will one day grow to form a canopy over a bare concrete walkway.

It was not a funeral, or even a memorial service -- the soldiers’ families already had held private ceremonies across the country. This was a tribute not to a single soldier, but to all soldiers.

“It’s the right thing to do, and the families recognize that,” the chaplain, Lt. Col. Bill Ralston, said after the rain-drenched service. “They’ve just had the funerals, and this kind of brings it all up again, but they want to be a part of this.”

Retired Sgt. Maj. Rich Olson, who serves as a base public affairs officer and has attended almost every monthly tree ceremony, called the event “one of a kind -- no other post does it.”

Buchs spoke of each soldier and what he had meant to his family and to his comrades in arms.

* Spc. Forrest J. Waterbury, 25, killed March 14 near Ramadi: “A highly motivated soldier who took his job very seriously.... Forrest was eager to join the fight, knowing his fellow soldiers were fighting in Iraq.”

* Pfc. Joey T. Sams II, 22, killed March 21 in a vehicle accident in Kuwait: “He was a soldier who knew the meaning of the word ‘duty.’

* Sgt. Adrian J. Lewis, 30, killed March 21 in Ramadi: “A loyal, devoted soldier who made the best of the worst, raising his comrades’ morale with his upbeat attitude.... Adrian could light up a room with his huge smile.... His wife’s fondest memory is of Adrian and his mother-in-law in the hospital, practicing to perform ‘Happy Birthday’ to his youngest daughter when she was born.”

* Staff Sgt. Harrison Brown, 31, killed April 8 in Baghdad: “A devoted soldier who gave his all.... A family man, a proud husband and father who enjoyed quality time with his family.”

* Pfc. David N. Simmons, 20, killed April 8 in Baghdad: “A true example of selfless service. He would always look out for his battle buddies first, putting their needs ahead of his own.”

When the colonel finished, each family was escorted by a soldier in dress uniform to a fresh redbud, where another soldier stood sentinel. Each new plaque was shrouded with a square of fabric from a combat uniform and marked with the soldier’s name, rank and unit patch.

The sentinels lifted the covers and presented the plaques to each family, whispering that they were bestowed in memory of their fallen soldiers.

A female soldier sang the national anthem, the gathering sang “America the Beautiful,” and then it was over.

There were few tears, but many in the gathering were swallowing hard. Some of the soldiers stared down at their boots, and one specialist covered his face and wept. The families stood, heads bowed, in small half-circles around the freshly planted trees.

Lexy Lewis, 10, placed a single yellow rose at the base of her father’s redbud and began to sob. Adults who had gathered around the little tree struggled to hold back their own tears.

The rain continued to fall, but no one complained. There is a drought in southern Georgia, and acrid smoke from forest fires raging along the Georgia-Florida border wafted across the parade grounds, draping the redbuds in gray.

Some family members wandered down the walkway, where many of the trees bore intimate little flourishes left by loved ones: a bottle of Jack Daniels, a faded Baltimore Orioles cap, a plastic model tank, a small guitar, a handmade crucifix, an angel and a tiny memorial that read: “Rest in peace ... I ain’t makin’ no fuss.”

Soon the families returned to their cars and drove away. An honor guard retired the colors. The soldiers returned to their duty stations.

And then there were only the redbuds, their heart-shaped leaves slapped by the raindrops. The newest row ended with the two saplings that now bore the names of Brown and Simmons. Beyond them was a long stretch of open walkway, bare and waiting.

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david.zucchino@latimes.com