Issue Date: December 8, 2002

All my children

It's rare for an entire set of siblings to serve our country in combat. "What is the Lord going to ask of us?" ponders worried but proud mom Mary Staun as her three kids prepare to risk their lives.

By Dennis McCafferty

Together at Georgia's Fort Stewart, siblings Rosemarie (left), Will and Peggy.

They are the only three children of William and Mary Staun: Rosemarie, 24, is the classic eldest child, a leader in high school who would take her teenage friends to a community gym to give it a fresh coat of paint. William IV, 22, is the middle child who wore camouflage, watched every John Wayne war movie he could find and made toy guns out of twigs and Legos. Margaret "Peggy" Staun, 19, is the youngest, the one who managed a grocery store at age 16 to prove she was seasoned beyond her years, always seeking to distinguish herself from her bigger siblings.

In other words, they are a classic American family -- but one with an unusual, if not unique, twist: All of the Staun children serve in the Army, and all are preparing for the very real possibility of being sent into the heart of the conflict against Iraq. William, a gunner on an Abrams tank, already has shipped out to neighboring Kuwait. Rosemarie is a lieutenant in the transportation corps, stationed at Fort Stewart, Ga., and is making plans in case both she and husband Holland, a captain who also serves at Fort Stewart, are sent to the Middle East. Peggy is a military police soldier at Fort Benning, Ga., and recently received word that her unit likely will deploy to the Middle East soon.

Although it's quite common for brothers and sisters to serve in the military, it's highly unusual to see an entire set of siblings poised for battle at the same time.

The scenario recalls another family, albeit fictional, from the powerful 1998 movie "Saving Private Ryan". In the film, the deaths of three Ryan brothers during World War II result in a dangerous mission in which a squad of GIs is assigned to search for the sole surviving brother and bring him to safety. The now-classic movie, with its grisly spurts of violence, explores an ambiguous yet ultimately devoted sense of duty among the soldiers, underscoring the ultimate price that soldiers and their families paid to serve their country. William actually saw the film while stationed with the Army in Korea. It was far from the John Wayne movies he had grown up on, where everything was in black and white, with guns blazing but most blood shed offscreen. "Ryan"'s impact lingers to this day.

"They showed us "Saving Private Ryan" in some old tin-hut barrack," he recalls. "That was the first time you'd see anybody get mowed down by a tracer going through their body. It made me think about what I had gotten myself into. There were guys around me, crying to themselves."

But he remains undeterred, just like his sisters. They share a level of commitment deeply rooted in their upbringing. Parents William, 54, a carpenter, and Mary, 56, a fourth-grade teacher, cultivated a sense of community, being active members of a close-knit neighborhood in Cincinnati where folks kept extra house keys for one another in case anyone got locked out.

Yet each of the three Staun children had very different reasons for pursuing life in the military. For Rosemarie, a strong sense of integrity led her to a life of service. Attending a private school in Cincinnati, she was a freshman when an honor code was introduced. The new standards went far beyond ensuring that no cheating would be tolerated on tests. They taught young people how to treat each other with respect. "It guaranteed you could trust the people who surrounded you, the people you worked with on a day-to-day basis," Rosemarie says. Searching for colleges, she looked no further than West Point, a school that put its code first, even if it meant crippling its storied, national-championship-winning football program a half-century ago after a cheating scandal broke out. "I don't understand people who have difficulty with West Point's honor code," Rosemarie says. "It reflects my principles -- not only academically, but the way I live my life."

William saw the Army as the ultimate adventure, taking him to faraway places. With his parents' support, he joined the Ohio National Guard five years ago, before he even graduated from high school. He was in a military camp by age 17. There, at Fort Knox, Ky., for training, he scaled a concrete wall, then crawled across a football field-size desert-like area, grunting through the barbed and razor wire while guns fired live ammo over his head. "As long as you don't stand up, you don't get shot," William says. "The tracers over your head are as red as the numbers on your digital alarm clock. You have to crawl past these pits that are exploding with hand grenades."

Recently, killing time at Fort Stewart with PlayStation video games before shipping out for Kuwait, William was prepared to face the real thing. In less than 24 hours, he would be headed to Kuwait, some 7,068 miles and eight time zones away. Before leaving, he completed his will and signed off his power of attorney. He and his parents have figured out how, in case he doesn't get home, to pay off his pickup truck and who will get his stereo.

For Peggy, the youngest sibling, her commitment is about opportunity. After high school graduation, she needed to save for college. To do so, she joined the Army and was assigned to the 988th Military Police Company at Fort Benning. Quite taken with Army life, Peggy has discovered new confidence and is now applying to West Point. But war may stall those designs. "I'm nervous, but I'm ready to go," Peggy says. "My unit was in Cuba, watching over the prisoners from Afghanistan, and my job will be similar to that. I'm not worried about what will happen. I have good people in my platoon. We look out for each other. I'll just have to go by my instincts. It will be scary, but it will be exciting, too."

Back in Cincinnati, their parents hope and pray for the best. For a mother, it's not easy. "I get queasy," Mary says. "I can't help but think that every time I see them, it could be the last time. I know they want to do this. But I still can't help but think, 'What is the Lord going to ask of us?' "

Her husband remains upbeat. "We have faith in them as adults," he says. "They were always smart kids. I know they will come home healthy and wise. Will is already talking about the truck he's going to buy with all the money he's saved up."

The Staun children also have considered the worst that can happen. At Fort Benning, Peggy is training more and more in full gear, with a gas mask, in anticipation of any biochemical warfare. Waiting to ship out, William says, he considered how he would handle a battle casualty within his family, even if it meant, as it did for the fictional Ryans, he was the only surviving child.

"I know this may sound coldhearted, but it isn't intended that way: If something happens to one of my sisters, I'm not going to let it affect my responsibilities," he says. "You can't train with these people and then leave them -- abandon them -- in the battlefield. In fact, I really don't even want to hear about anything bad happening to my sisters until after my job is done. I need to bring my soldiers back home with me. One of my sisters might get shot, bombed, gassed or nuked. But I can't let it distract me."

Peggy is similarly focused: "I'm worrying about my job more than [about] my brother and sister. I know that sounds bad. But they're my family, and I just know they're always going to be there. I can't do anything about them, but I can do something about my own people."

For now, their mother is ready to observe a decades-old tradition, one in which parents put a white star in the window for every child serving. When a son or daughter dies in combat, the white star is replaced with a gold one. Being superstitious, Rosemarie urged her mom not to go through with it. "I have a feeling if she puts those white stars up on the window," Rosemarie says, "she's going to have to change one of them."

But Mary already has purchased white felt. From that, she's cut out her little stars and will hang them in the family home's front window. It's a sign of spiritual support, Mary reasons. She hasn't bought any gold fabric.

Photograph by Milton Morris for USA WEEKEND