What’s it really like when the Army arrives to help Western NC post-Helene? We tagged along

The welcoming mountains of Western North Carolina was where Robert Arndt grew up. And after the deadly Hurricane Helene pummeled the area, he knew he had to do something, anything, to help.

“Nanny’s house is completely destroyed,” Arndt said last week. His great-grandmother’s house was in Clyde, halfway between his hometown of Sylva and Asheville. She’s safe and staying with family in Sylva nearly an hour west of Asheville. “A house is replaceable. A life isn’t,” Arndt said.

He’s among 1,300 soldiers with the 20th Engineer Brigade mobilized to the mountains for recovery relief. The brigade includes soldiers from Fort Liberty (formerly Bragg), where Ardnt is based, as well as Fort Meade in Maryland and Fort Campbell in Kentucky.

The job is personal to the 22-year-old, whose family also lives in towns like Canton and Waynesville, all hammered by the storm and within the 27 counties designated as major disaster areas .

“They need more hands, more workers, more engineers to help clear the roads or build them, or help get supplies to people who can’t get out of their houses,” Arndt said.

Helene’s deadly path of destruction tore through 300 miles inland from the coast. ”It hurts me,” Arndt said. “It’s something you can’t really prepare for up in the mountains.”

To get a first-hand look at what the soldiers were doing to assist hurricane victims in the mountains, a Charlotte Observer reporter and visuals journalist spent a 12-hour day embedded with the Army last Wednesday. Here’s what we saw and heard.

‘Thank you for coming!’

It’s just after 8 a.m. Dozens of small camouflage-colored tents line the front of a large pavilion turned logistics center at Camping World RV Sales in Marion, about 100 miles northwest of Charlotte.

It’s muddy and it’s loud, with an army of vehicles revved to go.

After being handed three-pound Kevlar helmets , we climbed up a f our-step metal ladder into the open-air 5-ton Light Medium Tactical Vehicle alongside seven soldiers on metal benches. We were followed by a medic truck.

Our destination: school distribution centers in Spruce Pine.

Along the route, many businesses are closed. Parking lots like Wendy’s and Dollar General are caked in mud, while shopping centers are now staging areas for utility crews. A gem mining sign says “rain or shine,” but it’s closed.

A passing pickup driver gives a thumbs up. A woman rolls down her truck window, shouting, “Thank you for coming!” It’s a sentiment shared throughout the day.

Turning onto NC 226 E., a manned barricade allows only relief crews and local traffic through.

Too many uprooted trees to count mar the landscape. About halfway up the mountain, a portion of the road is gone, as washed-away trees give way to a cliff drop with a view of the majestic mountains.

Army Sgt. Jared Marshall warned us it was coming. Road crews work to rebuild the outside lane as our military vehicle rumbles over the r ock and gravel path.

During the hour-long ride, Marshall shared how Hurricane Helene affected his own family.

His in-laws fled their Fairview home, about 11 miles southeast of Asheville, and are staying at his house in Fayetteville.

“We’re here trying to do everything we can to help out,” Marshall said. “To see them happy that we’re here, it brings happiness to me and all of the soldiers.”

‘The worst I’ve seen’

Arriving at Harris Middle School in Spruce Pine, mountains of bottled water sit stacked on pallets out front. Inside the closed school’s gym are boxes, bags and bins filled with donations.

The soldiers answer a call for help from a line crew over an excavator stuck in mud. Dylan Myers of Oklahoma, working alongside about 200 lineworkers from Ohio, New York and Connecticut, has been on several storm damage recoveries before in Florida and Louisiana.

“This is probably the worst I’ve seen,” the general foreman said. ”I’ve never seen so many in distress.”

‘When they lose everything it’s a disaster’

At 10:44 a.m., at Deyton Elementary School, about a tenth of a mile away from the middle school, pallets of livestock and animal feed, along with firewood, sit outside near more bottled water mounds. Inside, classrooms are filled with donations. Paper signs by the doors read pet food, baby supplies, cleaning supplies, hygiene and home goods.

In the library, soldiers unpack and stock bookshelves with food.

By the next week, people will be able to come in and choose what they need, said Melissa Martin, a special education teacher at Mitchell High who was sorting boxes of canned food in a classroom.

“My students have hardly anything to begin with,” Martin said, her voice cracking. “and when they lose everything it’s a disaster.”

Residents still struggle without power, water service and cell service.

“Some still can’t get out,” Martin said. She and Sarah Margaret Smith of Watauga Opportunities logged 55 miles checking on students the day before. Most of the students have been accounted for, but they’re still looking for some, she said. “We know they’re safe but where did they go?”

Wearing a purple T-shirt with block white letters reading “We are still one,” Lori Jones is coordinator at the Deyton site. The soldiers help by unloading trailers, breaking down boxes, sweeping rooms, whatever they’re asked to do, the seventh-grade social studies teacher said.

Seeing the soldiers brings her a feeling of safety and security.

“It gets better every day,” she said. It’s a statement echoed throughout the day by other volunteers and residents.

‘We couldn’t make it without all the help’

At 1:23 p.m., we headed about five miles away to the new Mitchell Elementary/Middle School in Bakersville.

The stream of cars coming through the drive-thru distribution site is sometimes 10 or more deep. Wanda Duncan came for electrolytes. Soldiers and volunteers race to cars with arms full of water cases, Band-aids and wipes. Some people arrive not knowing what they need, while others have lists.

“It’s a blessing to all of us here because the simple things we take for granted have been taken away,” teary-eyed Duncan said. “We couldn’t make it without all the help.”

A sweet, familiar scent wafts through the area. Auntie Ruth’s family-owned doughnut and pretzel business from East Tennessee gives out freshly made glazed doughnuts and coffee from a borrowed food truck. “We’re happy to do something,” said Jolene Kauffman, the owner’s daughter. “It’s something to brighten their days.”

Lyle Hendrix of Hendersonville arrives in a pickup truck with donations collected by DSSOLVR brewery in downtown Asheville. His right wrist is covered in poison ivy blisters from cutting downed trees in his neighborhood to get himself and others out. But he’s fine.

“This has showed me that people really are good,” he said. “Everyone is a hero.”

Dale Blevins, 66, has been overseeing supplies and donations since the distribution center opened Oct. 1. “You could see the distress on their faces,” he said.

But people are beginning to smile and joke more.

Small groups of volunteers have popped in from the Charlotte area too. Then the Army showed up Oct. 4. “It was a breath of fresh air. Hands is what we need,” Blevins said.

‘Help and hope’

By 2:26 p.m., the last of a thousand doughnuts were handed out, including to Rachael Hollifield and her 15-year-old daughter, Taylar.

Once power was restored Tuesday, they learned of the distribution site. They came to get bottled water, food and paper towels. Like others, they don’t have running water. Like so many others, their basement is flooded, too.

With prompting from a volunteer, Hollifield agrees to take a large can of potatoes and three jugs of water. “I don’t want to take too much from other people who may need it,” she said.

The Hollifields moved into their Spruce Pine home just two days before the storm hit. “We were totally unprepared,” Hollifield said. “We didn’t have power. We didn’t have water. We didn’t have cell service. We were stuck.”

Wearing a shirt that says “God has perfect timing,” Hollifield looks around and says, “Help and hope is what I see here.”

Day’s end

At 4:53 p.m., we head back to Harris Middle School where soldiers offloaded stacks of bottled water they moved from the distribution site.

By 6 p.m. our convoy made its way back down the mountain, as passersby wave to the soldiers and they wave back in unison.

The destruction hasn’t deterred Sgt. Marshall’s plans to move to the mountains near his wife’s family after he’s discharged next year.

“We want to move up here regardless of the storm,” the 26-year-old said. “It’s such a pretty area.”

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