A joyful homecoming at Fort Lewis

Amid the handmade "Welcome Home!" signs, low-cut jeans and high expectations, there was Jamie Dillard in a white sweater and floral dress, waiting for her husband in a Fort Lewis gymnasium yesterday.

It had been a year since Spc. Charlie Dillard left for Iraq, along with about 3,800 others in the 1st Brigade, 25th Infantry Division. Thirty four weren't coming home, the victims of enemy fire, roadside bombings and other violence.

The Fort Lewis-based Strykers — so named for their eight-wheeled combat vehicle — saw some of the hottest action in Iraq, chasing insurgents while rebuilding schools, hospitals and bridges.

Now they are slowly filtering back.

Yesterday, 291 men, including Dillard's husband, reached the last leg of a journey that began in Mosul, Iraq. The troops were late arriving and the morning ceremony had been delayed, leaving families waiting for hours.

Dillard, 25, held her 2-year-old son, Charles Jr., dressed in khaki pants, a white dress shirt and blue sweater.

Her daughter, Katelyn, 6, trotted around, talking to friends as hundreds of families lined bleachers and sat on fold-out chairs.

Dillard preferred to stand.

She apologized for overusing the word "overwhelmed" to describe her emotions.

For a year, she didn't watch the news. It only brought nightmares. And she dreaded an unexpected visit from a chaplain.

"Everybody who knows me knows not to ring the doorbell," she said. "They can knock or holler at me."

Instead, she got high-speed Internet service and a Web camera, and talked to her husband whenever she could.

Originally from Atlanta, Texas, (population 5,700) near the Louisiana border, Dillard said she always knew she'd be a military wife, even before her husband joined the service.

Still, it hasn't been an easy 12 months, particularly since her husband's unit sustained thousands of attacks and was known for aggressively going after the enemy.

Inside the gym, a brass band played marching music, and the anticipation became almost intolerable.

To the restless crowd, a commander screamed into a handheld microphone: "Are you tired of waiting? Do you want your soldiers?"

They all roared back, including Dillard.

"OK, it's 12:02, you're two minutes late," she announced, chastising the Army for its tardiness.

And then a large door peeled back, and the troops marched in, still dressed in their desert fatigues.

Holding her son, Dillard and her daughter climbed on a steel chair to scan the soldiers for her husband, the little girl nervously gripping her mother's fingers.

There was a speech, a few garbled phrases, and the word Dillard and so many others longed to hear: "Dismissed!"

The soldiers ran to their friends and loved ones. The place broke into a pandemonium of joy and relief. Some kisses seemed to go on forever, like the old advertisements for Big Red chewing gum.

"I can't see him! Charlie!" she yelled. "This is driving me nuts."

She stepped off the chair and made her way through the throng. And there he was, a soldier dressed like all the others.

But this was her soldier, and he was back from the war.

Alex Fryer: 206-464-8124 or afryer@seattletimes.com