Friday, March 4, 2011

Chapter 15: Who Are You?

I was nineteen years old and for the first time in my life, essentially alone to my own devices. And so far, my devices were becoming vices. As the days passed, more newbies came to Shipton Kaserne, each equally as wide eyed as I was at first. The first couple of weeks after we were issued our field gear were dedicated to what was called German Head Start, an orientation of German culture and laws pertaining to military folks. We would also test for our military drivers licenses during this time and take a tour of the area, along with learning some basic German language. Our instructor was a German lady, I think her name was Frau Herrscher, or something like that. We learned German phrases like "who are you, how old are you, where is the train station" or Bahnhof as it was called, and how to order food. We found that our teacher focused more on the food aspects of the class more than anything. Each morning at 0730, we would board the bus back to Barton Barracks for the class, there were several of us now, each one in a brand new world. Back at Shipton, the guys and gals in the medic platoon were taking me and the other newbies under their wing. Two more guys from Fort Sam arrived after a couple weeks, Cowden and Smith. They had been in other platoons at the same time I was at Fort Sam, but we never really knew each other. Cowden was from the Dallas, Texas area, and Smith was from North Carolina. Both had a Southern accent, but Smith's was more akin to people from back home. Outside the platoon, I was meeting more people whom I would become friends with, one being Brightbill from Florida. Brightbill worked in supply but had a room just down from me so we hung out a lot. The barracks was one big family, and a wide mix of many cultures and ethnicity. But my room mate Himel, was still a being of his own. Everyday, more of his 'rules' were preached upon me, one being that I could no longer have visitors in the room without his permission, his premise being that they would 'steal his shit'.
One day in the Headstart Class, we took a trip to the city of Nurnberg. This was an exciting trip for me, because of the history that the city held. We took the train there, this being my first time on a real train, the only other time was the little train at Camden Park in West Virginia that wound around the amusement rides and attractions. It was a surprisingly smooth trip, the countryside between Ansbach and Nurnberg was very much like home, farm land dotted the scenery and occasionally a small village would appear, then disappear just as quickly. There were many small villages and hamlets along the way, most looking like they had been there hundreds of years, and most likely so. We arrived at the Bahnhof in Nurnberg after about an hour's ride, it was a huge complex made of brick with a large half dome of windows above. We exited outside the station, and the city was bustling with people. I looked around and the old architecture captivated me. Across the street from where we were was part of the old city wall that surrounded Nurnberg in the Middle Ages. The large medieval gate was at the end of a bridge that looked a lot like a castle's entrance and I paused to take a picture. This was far beyond the trip to the Alamo I had taken while at Fort Sam. I was caught up in the moment I guess, and hadn't realized that the group I was with was migrating elsewhere. I quickly rejoined them and immediately Frau Herrscher pointed out a deli. She raved on about the fresh smells of the bakery next to it and how the best coffee and cappucino was served in another place nearby. All the while, I looked around at the buildings, all of which appeared to have been centuries earlier. We walked down one street to a bridge overlooking a body of water. Across the way was a Roman type bridge that had to have been there since the Roman times. I noticed a TV news camera and a tall blond woman standing with a microphone. As I looked further, I noticed the woman was Doro Pesch, a noted heavy metal singer from Germany who had some minor success in the US with a band called Warlock. I didn't approach her, as she was in the middle of a live broadcast of some sort, and my group was again leaving me.
We walked down many streets, then got to one area where the old wall bordered the street. A guy in our group from Katterbach told us that this was the famous Wall, or red light district. He told us that prostitution wasn't illegal there and at night, the women would line up against the wall and wait for their courtiers to take them for a brief encounter elsewhere. Well, at least it wasn't a deli or coffee house, which seemed to be the main topic of our guide. We stopped in front of a church that was massive, with two spires rising high above and coated in a pale green at the top. Frau Herrscher told us that in World War II, the Allies bombed Nurnberg, destroying most of the city. The only structure left standing in this area was the church and its tall spires. Closer inspection of the church showed black scorch marks from the fires that devastated the city during these bombing raids. For once, I was put in the other perspective or World War II, how it must have felt to be living there during this time and the fear the people must have felt. We went inside the church and it was stunning. A large chandelier hung low from the tall ceiling, it was adorned in gold, as were the other decorative motifs in the area. The alter was a large decorative piece that had figurines of the story of Christ carved into it. It was one of the most breathtaking sights I have ever seen. After a short time, we left the church and continued our journey through Nurnberg. Ahead of us loomed a large tower that looked over the city like a turret from a castle of long ago. Our guide told us that we were looking at exactly what I thought it was, the remains of the old fortress built in medieval times. We hiked up the sloping incline into the great walled court yard, this was awesome, I thought to myself, to be walking in a castle. Six months ago, I would have never imagined this. We took some time to explore the fortress, along one of the walls there was an open spot with a breathtaking view of the city below. Nurnberg looked like the ancient town it was as I looked down on it.
We left the fortress soon afterward and headed back toward the Bahnhof. We passed one house in particular that I found interesting, Albrecht Duhr's home. Duhr was a famed artist whom I had studied in art classes. Mrs. Osborne, my art teacher, would surely have loved this. Eventually, we made it back to the train station and started back to Ansbach. For the brief time I was there, I forgot I was a soldier, I felt like a giddy tourist, gawking at the sights around me. We arrived back in Ansbach late in the afternoon, reporting back to Barton Barracks to finish up the class room activities. Our teacher told us we had a review of driving laws and a test the following day, we would need this to be able to drive in Germany, even with military vehicles. We boarded the bus back to Shipton, arriving after the end of day formation.
It was a Thursday night, if I remember correctly, and the parties had already begun in the barracks. Himel had already left out before I got to the room, which was a relief for me. I don't usually dislike anyone, I always have tried to see the best parts of a person, but Himel was one I couldn't find a single good thing about. Brightbill, or Harold as he asked to be called, came to the room a while later. I really had no plans for the night, so he and I went down to Bonsingoir's room down the hall. Bonsingoir, or Sal as he preferred, was in supply with Harold and had been in country for a while. He had a German girlfriend named Sabine who was at the room with him, along with a few others. We all cracked open beers and downed them to start the night off. Down the hall, the other rooms were open with people milling about the barracks, drinking and cranking music that echoed down the hallways. After a while, Harold, Sal, Sabine and her sister Michaela decided to leave and go into town. It was around 2000 hours, and Sal was going to a club to DJ. I hadn't at this point been around any German people, nor had I been in their cultural environment. The Goose was a German bar, but primarily filled with GI's due to its proximity to the barracks. Sal took us to a place in town that had no real hint of the American GI attitude about it. The club was above another pub called Hai Life, up a long stairwell. We went in and there was no one in there, but it was still early. Sal walked over to the bartender and they exchanged greetings, it was apparent that they knew each other and had for some time. Sal took his place in the DJ booth and started the music. In Germany, there was a different genre of music that I wasn't used to called Techno. Basically, the Techno music there was like hyped up disco, mainly electronic with no real instruments. Needless to say, I was an outcast wearing my black leather jacket and KISS concert shirt under it. After a few minutes, some people started coming in the club, non of which were Americans that I could tell. It was rather boring to me, so Harold and I wandered downstairs to Hai Life. The place was filled with people and looked like a good place to be. There weren't very many Americans there, so the usual rowdiness was at a minimum. Just inside the front door there was a 6 foot long fiberglass shark hanging from the ceiling, I thought that it looked like a worthy trophy for my barracks room. The one thing I remember the best about going there was the song The Tide Is High from Blondie blaring out and the German patrons singing as loud as they could to it. I had some cash on me, so Harold and I decided to stay for a while and have a few drinks.
Hai Life seemed to be the place to be, they had pool tables and arcade games in the back, good music, food, beer and ladies. I instantly liked the place. I had downed several beers in rapid succession, my tolerance was building up and I was no longer getting super drunk so soon. I remember one trip back from the bar, I turned around and almost walked right into a tall girl who was wearing a black body suit that fit tight in all the right places. She had long dark hair and was dark tanned, and obviously not American. She was a few inches taller than me, so I had to sort of look up. I told her excuse me, she replied with "Bitte schon," which I had learned, was a proper way to reply to an excuse me situation. At that time, the beer took over the words that came out of my mouth and I blurted out, "Damn, you German girls are tall!" At that time, the language barrier was broken, and to my surprise she smiled and said, "thank you." I realized I had just embarrassed myself and nodded and went back to the pool tables.
Harold and I left the pub after about an hour or so, and several beers consumed. The long stairwell seemed much longer as we walked up it this time. We got back into the club where Sal was and there were a lot of people there. Michaela spotted us and called us over to a table. I was feeling no pain but not entirely drunk just yet. Harold and I sat down, and Sabine ordered a round of shots for us all. We all toasted and downed the shots, of what I later found out was some very potent vodka. More beer and shots were downed as the night grew on. The last time I looked at my watch it was approaching midnight. I remembered that I had a test the following day, but ah well, the night was still young. Sabine pointed out some guys standing over to the side of the dance floor and said, "See those guys, they are Turks, stay away from them, they are bad news." I nodded and agreed, but really had no idea why. I remembered what First Sergeant Moshner told us about staying away from the Turks, and still I didn't know why. As long as they didn't get in the way of my good time, I didn't care what they did.
Finally, the night was over, it was time to leave. I don't remember much about the ride to Shipton, except looking at Michaela and telling her that she was the coolest German person I ever knew. She laughed at me, I'm sure I was a total mess trying to complement her in my drunken way. It was after 0300 when I got back to the room, still trying to regain balance. I set my alarm clock to 0500 and fell asleep.
Life in Shipton wasn't all partying. We had to be up and in PT formation at 0530 each day, Monday through Friday. The lack of sleep and alcohol still in my system was brutal the morning after my night out with Sal. We did the usual round of push-ups, sit-ups, and then we did a run out the back gate, past the training area then back around the barracks, a total of about 2 and a half miles. By the time we got out the back gate, I thought my head would explode, but didn't want to let on like I was feeling horrible. When we got back around to the barracks, I literally thought I was dying. After PT, I went inside the company area straight to a bathroom and vomited. I went back to the room, and vomited more. Himel was there already and just looked at me. I looked back and said, "What, you never seen a guy puke?" He shook his head and said, "Well, young pup, you will learn that you can't go out and get shit faced every night." Then he walked out. I showered, got dressed and passed on breakfast, instead I slept until duty formation and roll call. My alarm went off too soon, and I wandered down to the company area. I still could taste the beer from the evening before. This was my last day for Headstart, and it would be horrific, I just knew it.
We boarded the bus to Barton, and I just fell into the seat, ready to pass out for the few miles into town. I woke up when the bus stopped inside the gate at Barton Barracks and felt a bit better, still not 100%. The day wore on, the class review and driving test preparation was cloudy, I wanted to just go back to bed and sleep it off. Finally at the end of the day, it was over, I somehow had survived and passed the program. By the afternoon, however, I was feeling much better, the recovery had been long but worthwhile. We got back to Shipton in time for the famous end of day formation speech by 1SG Moshner. We were dismissed for the weekend, to start it all over again. I took some time and called home to let everyone know I was alive still. Calls home were much easier now for both mom and me, I was settled in now and not homesick at all. I called Kim and talked to her for a while, too. She told me that she wanted to be with me so badly, that she hoped I hadn't found anyone else. I assured her I hadn't, aside from the kiss from Brandy, and I dared not mention that ordeal to her. She told me that she had talked to a recruiter in her area and he said if she went on active duty, he would get her as close to Ansbach as he could. This was a blessing to me, it seemed things would work out great for us. We said our goodbyes and I felt so at ease after talking to Kim, now if only the recruiter did his magic.
The weekends were nonstop parties, the treks to the Goose were becoming epic. I never envisioned the Army to be like this at all, but wasn't complaining. People told me I would become a changed person in the Army, and so far it rang true. I also asked myself several times, "who are you, anyway?" I had went from being a simple naive kid from Kentucky to something almost out of control, far beyond what I was just six months earlier. Aside from the parties, the real duty days began very routinely during the week; PT, formation, chow, formation, then released to our respective work areas. My first days at the Aid Station located in the Headquarters Building were orientation mostly. We had some medical supplies, just bandages and aspirin mainly out in the open. I was issued a combat medic bag, a large back pack looking thing that had several compartments for supplies in it. I had seen the medical bag on the rescue truck at the fire department before I left home, this was similar, just more compact. I met SSG Bechtel who had came back from leave, she was a tall lady who had been in the Army for a while and seemed okay. The other medics gave us the run down of what our mission was for the unit. Two medics would be assigned to a field battery and go wherever they went. Although we were under the command and control of Headquarters Battery, we were attached to the other battery commanders and fell under their command. Each medic team had their own ambulance, a HUMVEE vehicle that had a big box on the back and a red cross that folded out. I had seen these at Fort Sam and trained loading casualties on them but nothing more. We were in charge of maintaining these vehicles, and each morning after the second formation, we went to the motor pool and did what was called PMCS. PMCS stood for preventative maintenance checks and services, we had check lists we had to complete each morning. We checked everything under the hoods on these ambulances, and everything inside the patient compartment. There was a minimum amount of medical supplies required to keep on board each vehicle, including IV solutions. At this time in Germany, there was no real threat of the IV's overheating, but we had to make sure they hadn't froze overnight. The PMCS process lasted all morning according to schedule, but the actual checks only took a short time. I learned at this time the 'art of shamming.'
The motor pool mechanics dubbed the medics as 'the sham platoon', a term I hadn't heard before. What this meant is after we did our PMCS, we would mill about aimlessly, appearing to be very busy doing some task. We weren't allowed to just do our PMCS and go back to the room or anywhere, so we found ways to perpetuate being busy. Anderson had the best idea; walk around with a folder or clip board that had papers on it, periodically making an appearance outside writing on this 'official' paperwork. The medic platoon had a storage room at the motor pool that housed out field supplies, like tents and field boxes. We would duck in there and basically do nothing until it was time to go back to the aid station. If anyone in authority came in, Anderson would quickly get out his folder and have something in there relating to training materials, telling the VIP that we were doing a class on such and such. It always worked out, every single time. Army life so far was making me lazy and a common drunk.
After a week or two, we had to go qualify on our weapons. The last time I qualified any weapon was at Fort Jackson, and that process took forever. I envisioned the medic as carrying a side arm pistol rather than an M-16 rifle, but ended up with the rifle anyway. We would be going to a range on a training area called Wildflecken and would be staying a couple days. I had no inkling of what this would entail, but was excited that I was actually going somewhere outside of the post. We boarded buses that would transport us there rather than driving the Army vehicles. The buses were the luxury tour type and had plush seats with cozy headrests. We loaded onto them with our M-16's, our duffel bags and ruck sacks were stashed in the compartments under the passenger area, but still wore our Kevlar helmets and TA-50 gear. The trip was far off and seemed like it took forever to get there, in reality only about 100 miles or so. I saw much of the Bavarian landscape on the drive there, the snow had all melted off and some hints of greenery poked through the fields as we passed. I dosed off for a while, then awoke when we arrived in the area. The bus stopped in a town surrounded by tall mountains, like something from an old English tale. The houses and buildings looked very old and there was a church with a large tower that dominated the town. After a few minutes, we arrived at the training area gate, then went up a winding mountain road. The area was misty and dreary, like we were going up to Count Dracula's Castle in the books and movies. We arrived on top of a mountain where there were military vehicles parked and some buildings dotting the area, this would be our place of residence for the next couple of days. It was early afternoon when we arrived, but it was damp and gray, and quite a bit colder than Ansbach. We exited the buses and were led into a building that looked like the barracks off Hogan's Heroes. There weren't any bunk beds, no kitchen facility or bathrooms in there, basically just an open room.
We sat down and were given MRE's to eat, all of us decked out in our field gear huddled in groups. SSG Bechtel did a roll call and had a list of people designated for guard duty, my shift was slated from 2am until 4am, not exactly what I had hoped for at all. After we got our gear settled in, we had formation and weapons checks. We would start zeroing our weapons soon after, after my attempts in basic training, I hoped they had enough ammunition. The firing ranges were totally different than at Fort Jackson. There were pop-up targets spaced like the ranges before, but we were up on top of this mountain where the wind was a huge factor and the lanes didn't seem as spread out as before. We would zero our weapons on paper targets like we had in basic training and then fire on the pop-ups the following day. I got prepared for my turn to fire, anxiously watching the others, when suddenly a loud bang and flash of light lit up the area. An immediate cease fire was called, and a plastic target was on fire. After a few tense moments, the fire was put out and the range sergeant went to inspect what happened. An old grenade simulator was partially buried near a target and a stray round set it off. The flash somehow ignited the plastic target, a rather impressive display overall. After about an hour, we resumed firing. My turn came and I took a deep breath, hoping I didn't take all night to zero my M-16. When I got the call to start firing my shot groups, it was like second nature. My first shots were low and to the left, so I adjusted as told. The second group of shots were up where they should be but still a bit off. The third group of shots finally hit within the limit on the paper target, far less time than it had taken in basic training. There wasn't a large group of people who were qualifying, so it really didn't take long at all. The afternoon passed quickly, and soon it was time to clean weapons and eat supper, another MRE.
We had all our field gear lying in our own little areas, our ruck sacks and duffel bags making make shift dividers. The weather had become much much colder and the wind had began whipping across the mountain top. I finished my weapon cleaning and ate, very tired from the whole day. It was going on 1900 hours, or 7pm, if I was going to be up on guard duty at 2am, I needed to turn in. The room was cold, but heated by a small pot-bellied stove that kept the real chill off. I unrolled my sleeping bag and got ready to settle in, when someone came in talking about the temperature drop. I reached into my duffel bag and got out the cold weather jacket with the fur lining just in case.
At 0145, I got a tap on my side from the person on guard duty. I rolled over, still very sleepy and grumbled. I gathered my senses and raised up out of the sleeping bag to a much colder room. The heater was still going, but the cold had infringed the room. I asked the off going guard how it was, he replied, "cold and spooky out there." I put on the cold weather jacket, tightened up my TA-50 gear, grabbed my M-16 and headed out as quietly as I could. For this guard duty, I was in charge of guarding the ammunition shack, vehicles and was the fire guard for the barracks. I stepped outside to a brisk cold wind that stung my face. The area was dark, except for a small security light outside the ammunition shack. I looked out around me and down in the valley below, I could see the tower at the church and some of the lights in the town. There must have been a bell in the church tower, because there was an occasional muffled ring that could be heard. Then there was the mournful moan I heard as the wind funneled through the mountain passes beside me. It was a sound I had never, and haven't since, heard before. I compare the sound to a ghostly cry of a woman who had lost her most beloved, not a shriek, but a monotonous drone. I have never been one to fear the dark, but this was very creepy. I made the most of my time walking around the area trying to fend off the cold and not let my imagination run wild with the sounds I was hearing. Finally it was time to end my watch, I woke up another person, then settled back in for the other hour and a half I had left of sleep. In my sleep, I still heard that sound.
Wake up came way too early. I was worn out from the guard shift I had done. The morning was bitterly cold, the wind still stung my face as I walked out to the latrine. We didn't do PT, but actually had a hot breakfast brought in to us. This would be a welcome change from the MRE's we had the day before. After breakfast, we got right into the practice round before qualifications. I shot very well for practice, the targets seemed easier than at Fort Jackson, but still the wind on the range was quite remarkable. In between the firing groups, we all just kind of mingled around, taking time to go into the building and get warmed up. All the sitting around and waiting made my sleepiness even worse, but I couldn't just dose off, the powers that be frowned on that. Eventually, it came time for me to qualify. I relaxed the best I could and fired away at the targets, qualifying as a Marksman, one point shy of Sharpshooter. We had several who had to do it all over, so in the downtime, I cleaned my M-16 and made sure all my gear was packed and ready to go, I wanted off this mountain as soon as possible. Finally, the time came to leave. We boarded the buses again and headed to Shipton. After my night in Wildflecken, Shipton didn't seem so bad.
The days passed by, things became routine and we found new ways to 'sham'. I still felt very new to everything, but was making some good friends. Still, that constant chase for a good time continued, prompting me more and more to look in the mirror and ask "who are you." I had become a soldier, life was good, I was finally making something of myself, but at a price. During my nights of drinking, I would sometimes find myself wandering off on my own, a thousand thoughts running through my head, but I would drown the thoughts after a few minutes. As a soldier, I did my share of the duties I was given, but personally, I was a train wreck waiting to happen...and the brakes on the train were wearing thin.