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Capt. Charles (Chip) Rankin came home from war on a Friday in July.
He dropped his backpack inside the back door of his beige rambler, looked at his wife and young son, and thought how happy he was to be there.
But within a couple of days, he was thinking, Now what?
In Iraq, his Bravo Company -- Company B, 2-136 Infantry, based out of northwestern Minnesota -- had seen more action and more death than any other unit from the state. They'd lost three men; two had died together in the same attack that robbed another man of his legs. And they'd been deployed longer than anyone else, much of the time in dangerous Anbar Province.
But it had been rewarding, too. In Iraq, Rankin, 33, had known what to expect and what was expected of him. Duties, responsibilities and chain of command were set in stone. His men had his back, and he had theirs.
Now he was back in the small prairie town of Litchfield. His old job as a high school teacher and wrestling coach was waiting for him. The fatigues he'd worn on his athletic 6-foot frame for the past two years were stuffed in the duffel bag stashed in his garage. The soldiers he'd watched over and fought with were scattered around the state.
He was a commander with no one to lead, a warrior with no enemy, a soldier who had excelled at a job that no longer needed him.
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Home, but not really
SECOND OF TWO PARTS
The Gophers football game droned on in the background as Chip Rankin and a half-dozen guys from Bravo Company dug into their burgers and fries.
On this sunny Saturday in October, Rankin and the boys had gathered at Champps Restaurant in St. Paul to welcome a comrade to Minnesota.
Max -- or "Mad Max" as the troops called him -- was a 19-year-old Shiite who had served as interpreter for Rankin's National Guard unit near Fallujah. He had gone on most of their missions, translating tough questions for U.S. troops.
But in so doing, Max had put his life at risk. Before leaving Iraq, Rankin had promised himself that he'd work to bring Max to the United States. On this day, he made good on his word.
"The bond you have there is so tight, nobody else understands it," Rankin said. "When you go out every day and think you may die with these guys, you get very close."
The war was three months behind him and the tug of unfinished business was still strong. In many ways, he was still a captain looking out for his men.
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Part 1: 'A piece is always going to be missing’
Hardly a day goes by that Marcia Herrgott, 50, doesn't stop to visit her son, Pfc. Edward James Herrgott. The 20-year-old from Shakopee became the first Minnesotan killed in the Iraq War when he was shot by a sniper in July 2003.
Part 2: 'In the end, we did a lot of good'
From schools to roads, Guard member Ron-Michael Pellant of St. Paul found a tour in Iraq rewarding even though he questioned it at first.
Part 3: 'We have a lot to offer the world'
Convinced that every human being carries a 'little light’ for peace somewhere deep inside, a Duluth activist returns again and again to Iraq, trying to help light the way out of war.
Part 4: Serving 'wasn’t what I expected’
For Dominic Thao, who lives in Mounds View, 16 months with his boots in Iraq taught him preparation, but it wasn’t all that he expected.
Part 5: 'There is justice ... there is God'
Salih Radhi, a technical writer for Northwest Airlines who grew up in Baghdad and now lives in Plymouth, never thought Saddam's rule would end. Now that it has, he sees better days ahead for his homeland.
