tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-86268881273657187622024-03-13T11:01:02.944-07:00Army memoriesA chronicle of my time in the United States Army from 1992-1996Rob Kiskadenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11729507457550464443noreply@blogger.comBlogger31125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8626888127365718762.post-22425571671508562012018-10-07T20:40:00.000-07:002018-10-07T20:40:06.510-07:00Chapter 31: People and PlacesAutumn in Bavaria is truly something to see to get the full appreciation. The colorful leaves on the trees with the mountainous background is just breathtaking, if you choose to look at it. Being in the field so much, I was not really taking in the overall sights as I should have been. Case in point was the beauty of downtown Ansbach, how the palace would have the flags displayed and lit up at night, or the centuries old cathedrals that were just magnificent to see up close. I never really stopped to take pictures or savor the everyday moments in time as I should've. On my time off from the field, Christina and I would sometimes just go out driving or catch the train to Nurnberg or Rothenburg. Rothenburg was a medieval town that was like the type of place you'd expect to see in an old movie with knights and peasants walking around. The old fortress walls and towers were still intact and hadn't been affected too much from World War II. Christina had a friend named Kirsten who lived there with her husband Thomas. Thomas was a former soldier who decided to stay in Germany after his time in service was over. We spent a lot of time there, sometimes just walking around the old town and catching a bite to eat or a drink at a local pub. Even in the sheer awe of this old city, I still only took a few random pictures. There was a local renaissance festival held in Rothenburg each year where people would dress in 15th Century attire and do events in town as they would have during the period. One of the highlights of the festival was the tour of the torture and punishment museum. Every imaginable type of torture device was displayed as the tour guide gave vivid descriptions of their uses in German, English and Japanese. Rothenburg was the only place in Germany I ever went that had everything written in all three languages, as a majority of the tourists there were Japanese or American.<br />
On one of my weekends off, Christina told me to pack some things because we were going on a road trip. I had no idea where we were going, but she had apparently planned things out ahead of time. We headed south toward Munich, or Munchen as it is spelled in Germany, across some awesome country. It reminded me so much of Kentucky; the grass lands, hills, and farms along the way just had that back home feel. Munchen was a huge city once we got into it; much larger than Nurnberg or Frankfurt. This was home to the annual Oktoberfest, an event I vowed I would eventually attend. Below Munchen, the terrain became rolling and mountainous. Far off I could see the towering Bavarian Alps, which dwarfed any mountain range I'd seen, or have seen since. I still wasn't sure where we were going, but the ride to that point was just awesome. The day was kind of overcast with a little mist of rain, but overall, it wasn't a bad trip.<br />
Later in the evening, we were getting tired and decided to stay somewhere for the night. There weren't any major hotel chains in Germany, so no Holiday Inn or Motel 6 to stay in. We found a bed and breakfast in a small town near a place called Oberammergau and decided that we'd stay. The place was merely a home with extra rooms upstairs and downstairs and a friendly older lady who greeted us with a smile. The cost wasn't bad either; only about forty US Dollars for the night. The house had a grandmother feel to it, with little trinkets scattered along the shelves here and there. Most of the trinkets were from passing tourists who had stayed over time; mementos I'm sure the lady treasured. There were other people staying at the house, but we didn't mingle much. The road trip was fun, but had worn us out. Christina and I turned in early that night so we could get a fresh start the next morning. <br />
The smell of breakfast cooking made its way to our room as we roused out of bed. It was nearing 0730 in the morning, so we got packed and headed down to eat. The cost of the room included a home cooked breakfast, nothing like the continental breakfast consisting of a bagel and dry cereal at hotel chains these days. A couple from France joined us at the table, but they could speak some broken English. The older lady who ran the boarding house spoke only in German, so I could understand parts of what she said. The funny thing is I could understand German for the most part, but could only speak it well when I was grossly intoxicated. As we finished eating, the lady handed us a guest book and we signed our names and addresses. Even though we lived in Ansbach, I put my home of record address so it would reflect just how far away a guest could technically be from.<br />
Christina and I started our morning drive into the mountains as a cool fog rose around us. For the first time, I was told where we were going. Christina was taking me to a place called Linderhof, which was King Ludwig II's palace. I had never heard of the place, but her parents had taken her there years ago. The palace was an awe inspiring place nestled in between the mountains and forest. On the grounds were magnificent statues in a garden along with a golden cherub fountain. A large fountain was the centerpiece of the palace's grounds and atop the hill facing the fountain was a large columned structure made of white marble. Inside the structure was a large stone bust of King Ludwig II; behind that was his tomb cut into the side of the hill. <br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>Me at Linderhof Palace, 1994</i></td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><br /></td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>The tomb of King Ludwig II</i></td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>Linderhof Palace</i></td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>King Ludwig II's man-made cavern</i></td></tr>
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One of the most awesome sights at Linderhof was the cavern and
underground lake that was entirely man-made. The tour guide said that
King Ludwig loved the works of the composer Wagner, and recreated one of
his symphonies in a live setting. He used to hold elaborate balls and
plays in the cavern to dignitaries who traveled through Bavaria. We
toured the inside of the palace, which was beyond words. Large mural
paintings that were original adorned the walls; everything was trimmed
in gold. Unfortunately, no cameras were allowed inside the palace and
only a third of it was open due to remodeling. It was a truly awe-inspiring place to see.<br />
After our trip to Linderhof, we went across the mountain pass toward Garmisch-Partenkirchen, a popular ski resort. There was light snow on the mountains as we passed by; a bit of a contrast from the milder weather below. It seemed we drove for about an hour before Christina told me we were going to Neuschwanstein Castle. I had seen pictures of this magnificent castle, but never thought I'd actually get to see it up close. We drove deeper into the mountains that towered over the lush countryside, into a town called Fussen. Above the town was a yellow castle that sat perched on a rocky cliff. Across from it, the Alps rose high above the land, far beyond what I could see out of the car window.<br />
We stopped to eat at a restaurant that had an outdoor patio. The weather wasn't too bad that day, so we opted to sit outside and enjoy the air. As I looked at the mountains, I noticed tiny, brightly colored dots that appeared to be falling from the summit of one mountain. The dots grew larger and moved at a fast pace, when suddenly, the dots expanded into parachutes. People were jumping off the mountains and parachuting down! No matter how awe inspiring this may have been, I was pretty sure I wouldn't partake in that activity.<br />
After we ate, we drove a short distance down a winding country road toward the Alps. Off in the distance, Neuschwanstein Castle sat high on a cliff and was just magnificent. We stopped at the base of the mountain and went into the gift shop/bus stop. The shuttle had just left with a load of tourists and was the last for the afternoon. The walk to the castle was only a half mile, I was used to road marches, so why not?<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>Hohenschwangau Castle</i></td></tr>
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The road up to Neuschwanstein was a steep grade; much steeper than it appeared. The half mile walk reminded me of Drag Ass Hill at Fort Jackson, just without the sand. Once we made it to the castle's gates, the view was something I'll never forget. Neuschwanstein in pictures is one thing; seeing it up close does those pictures no justice at all. It is an immense structure with towers, ramparts and anything else you'd imagine to see at a castle. There was a big marble and granite staircase that led into the courtyard; I could just imagine King Ludwig hosting festivities in the square. Unfortunately, we had arrived too late for an inside tour of Neuschwanstein, but seeing the sights I was seeing was truly amazing regardless. <br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>Neuschwanstein Castle from a distance</i></td></tr>
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It was impossible to get a picture of the entire castle from inside the courtyard, so we followed a sign that pointed in a direction of a good vantage point. We hiked a good distance around the mountain along a path, then came up on a bridge spanning a deep ravine. This was the Marienbruke bridge, or Marie's Bridge. It was a long, arched bridge that connected the mountains above a 400 foot waterfall. I am not one to enjoy heights, so I didn't really look over the edge too much, or down because the path was a metal mesh that peered all the way down. Christina called out to me and distracted my fear, and I saw something simply amazing. Ahead of us was Neuschwanstein Castle in full view. I took out my camera and gazed into the view finder, hoping I could properly capture that moment. Nothing up to that point of my life had ever looked so amazing.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>An awe-inspiring sight to see</i></td></tr>
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We left Neuschwanstein that day, and I had a better appreciation of where I was and the places I had or would see. The people and places I had encountered thus far were pretty awesome.<br />
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<span style="text-align: center;">In December, 1994, I put in a request or a weekend away at Berchesgaten, near the Austrian border; a place where Adolf Hitler once had his southern home and headquarters. The list to go was basically a first come, first serve type, but surprisingly, I was selected to go because I had some seniority over the other soldiers on the list from Headquarters Battery. The trip would be on a tour bus with other folks, something I had became accustomed to by then. Christina and I were eager to go on the trip, if nothing else, to get away from Ansbach and Shipton Kaserne again. </span><br />
<span style="text-align: center;">The bus ride was long, and I tried to sleep a little, but would catch myself looking out the window at the German villages along the way. The weather was much cooler than it was when we went to Neuschwanstein, and as we approached the Alps, we could see the higher peaks covered in snow. We arrived in the town of Berchesgaten and the bus driver started telling us some of the history of the area. The houses and shops were traditional Bavarian styled structures, but were not all original due to Allied bombing during World War II. </span><br />
<span style="text-align: center;">As we wound our way up the mountain, the driver pointed out some indistinct smaller structures along the roadway that he said were once guard stations, which housed SS troops. These were Adolf Hitler's personal guards who fought and died to protect their Furher. There were several of these guard stations, and as we neared the area where Hitler's home, the Berghof, once stood, we could see what looked like the remains of fortified bunkers in the trees. If anyone decided to pay Hitler a surprise visit back in the day, they would have had a rude welcoming party waiting for them.</span><br />
<span style="text-align: center;">We passed houses that belonged to some of the top brass in the Nazi regime; Goering's house, Speer's cottage, the inn where key meetings took place between Hitler and his top people. It seemed surreal that I was seeing all this, and all the same, it was eerie.</span><br />
<span style="text-align: center;">The bus stopped at the General Walker Hotel and we unloaded. The hotel had once been the diplomatic quarters called the Platterhof and was used for visiting Nazi party officials and their allies. It was nearly demolished during the bombing campaigns in 1945, but rebuilt soon afterward to accommodate tourists and mainly US soldiers on retreat from their day to day military lives. The interior of the General Walker was very fancily decorated, something far from the hotels I stayed in at Fort Sam Houston on my weekend passes. There was a large dining hall with windows that overlooked the Alpine ranges. I had seen pictures of the mountains before, but with Hitler standing in front of them. <i>My God! I am standing where one of history's most hated men once stood!</i></span><br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>The Alps, looking toward Austria</i></td></tr>
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<span style="text-align: center;">High above the hotel was the Eagle's Nest, a mountain top residence that was built for Hitler's 50th birthday. I had read about the Eagle's Nest in library books, and now was a the summit of the mountain that it rested on. The only problem...the roadway was covered in several feet of snow and the Eagle's Nest was closed. The hotel lobby had information about tours and points of interest in the vicinity, all of which was within walking distance. Christina and I decided that we would tour the underground bunker and tunnels the following day. But, before that, we were famished from the drive and it was late in the day.</span><br />
<span style="text-align: center;">We ate and retreated to our hotel room, which was just as fancy as the rest of the building. For the most part, the General Walker was a plain, white bricked structure with very little flair outside. Out our window, I could see a building that looked as though it had been burned and was just a concrete shell with a partial tin roof. It wasn't too late in the day for some exploration. Christina and I walked down the path toward the building, and we could see large holes in the sides as we neared it. The openings were blocked by a fence, but I could look inside and saw there had been an awesome amount of firepower that hit this building. It surprised me that the building was left in the state it was in, but it definitely told a bigger story as it stood. Along the way, we passed an entrance to the underground bunker system that was closed off by a huge steel door. No one would notice, right?</span><br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>A bombed out barracks behind the General Walker Hotel</i></td></tr>
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</span><span style="text-align: center;">Christina and I went back to our room and turned in for the evening. It had been a long day and was just the beginning of a three day adventure. </span><br />
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<span style="text-align: center;">We got up relatively early the next day and had breakfast. It was then that I found out where we were was not considered Berchesgaten, but known as Obersalzburg. I had heard the name before, but never put it into context as being where we were until then. The bunker tour would start in about an hour,so we got our tickets and waited in the lobby by the dining hall. Looking up at the intricate woodwork above, I remember remarking how skilled the carpenters were. An NCO sitting by me replied by stating the American Army engineer battalion that rebuilt the hotel had used the original plans to make it as close to pre-war as possible. Soon, we were called up to start our tour.</span><br />
<span style="text-align: center;">The tour began at a metal door down a staircase. The guide told us that the bunkers we were about to enter had been used as an underground military base and tunneled for several miles under the mountain. Air vents were placed in strategic locations and fresh air was pumped into the bunkers from above. The underground facility was safe from any bombardment and was largely hidden from the terrain above. As the door was opened, the guide asked if anyone was claustrophobic or had medical problems that prevented stair climbing. The door swung open, revealing a narrow passage that went far, far down a flight of steps. Even with lights on, the bottom was not visible until about half way down. At the foot of the stairs, there was a wall with square slots recessed at irregular intervals. The guide explained that these slots housed machine guns that aimed up the staircase. If anyone made it and was not an invited guest, the guns would open up on the unsuspecting visitor. There were bullet holes and pock marks on the concrete wall where the 101st Airborne soldiers fired on these machine gun nests when they occupied Obersalzburg in 1945.</span><br />
<span style="text-align: center;">Beside the machine gun nest was a guard station where SS troops would check credentials of those who had made it past the staircase. The area was mainly a concrete and steel corridor that branched off into other areas. These rooms were barracks for the soldiers stationed at the entrance and were empty now. The tour continued down a long passage and stopped in a large room which was used as a planning area for commanders. One person asked if Hitler had ever been a part of the planning in this room. Our guide said, "No. Hitler seldom came into these bunkers. Most of his war planning was done in Berlin". </span><br />
<span style="text-align: center;">One particular interesting item we saw in a room up ahead was a large safe that had been toppled over. On the side facing up was a hole about three inches in diameter. The guide said that when the 101st Airborne troops found the safe, they tried to open it without success, thinking it held vital information or large amounts of cash. Frustrated, a soldier decided to take a bazooka and fire a rocket at the safe in hopes it would open. Instead, the rocket penetrated and set everything inside the safe on fire. The hole was a lasting mark of frustration and one pissed off company of soldiers.</span><br />
<span style="text-align: center;">We continued to another door, which led outside onto a concrete pad. </span><br />
<span style="text-align: center;">"We are at the entrance to the Berghof, Adolf Hitler's private residence," our guide said in a short of solemn voice. It was then that I felt an eerie presence come over me that only increased as we continued farther. The path was in a forested area with remnants of a stone wall peeking out of the vegetation. It was level ground, and in some places parts of a concrete slab were present. We stopped at a spot and looked out into the Alps.</span><br />
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<span style="text-align: center;">"The spot we are standing is where Hitler's living room would have been," our guide commented.</span><br />
<span style="text-align: center;">"You are looking at a view that he would have seen as he stood at the large picture window". I had seen a picture of Hitler and Eva Braun looking out that window and the view before me in books. <i>Holy Hell! I am in Hitler's sanctuary!</i></span><br />
<span style="text-align: center;">The path continued down a grade to a brick structure. It was little more than eight feet tall with window holes and trees growing out of it. This was Hitler's personal parking garage, where his limo and other vehicles once were. The guide informed us that the site had recently become a type of shrine for Neo-Nazi groups during Hitler's birthday. It was a bit unnerving to say the least, and that eerie feeling was more present than ever at this spot.<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-xtbfmq7iL5I/W7rA0yqMoTI/AAAAAAAABYE/G-uT3zA2W0EeyHOsAj-uN7JTcpTC6AApwCEwYBhgL/s1600/34624_432960637496_3699900_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="417" data-original-width="600" height="222" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-xtbfmq7iL5I/W7rA0yqMoTI/AAAAAAAABYE/G-uT3zA2W0EeyHOsAj-uN7JTcpTC6AApwCEwYBhgL/s320/34624_432960637496_3699900_n.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>The only standing remains of Hitler's Berghof, December, 1994</i></td></tr>
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<span style="text-align: center;">We made our way back up the path and saw the bunkers I had seen on the way up the previous day. These were indeed gun emplacements that had entrances into the underground bunkers. The guide pointed out other places of interest, but my mind was still processing what we had already seen and I just kind of heard him in passing. We made it back to the General Walker; it was a great tour and an experience I've never had since.</span><br />
<span style="text-align: center;">That night, Christina wasn't feeling well after dinner and opted to lie down. I wasn't ready for bed, so I ventured out with a couple of other guys to the slot machines which were downstairs in the hotel. I am not much of a gambler, I soon realized after losing five dollars in an instant. Not wanting to donate any more of my cash to the Obersalzburg slot machine fund, I wandered around to a gift shop that was still open. In the shop were books about the history of Obersalzburg and the Nazi influence in the area. This surprised me due to the fact that so much of the Nazi regime had been banned it seemed. I purchased two books and retreated back to the room to look through them. Christina was asleep, so I didn't wake her. Eventually, I settled in for the night, with a different view of history from the other side of things.</span><br />
<span style="text-align: center;">Christina awoke and felt better the next day, so we plotted our next adventure. A tour of nearby Salzburg, Austria was available, so we signed up for it. Prior to leaving Shipton, I had the commander sign a border pass, which allowed entry into any NATO country without a passport. Salzburg was the city where The Sound of Music was filmed an had one of the best Christmas markets in the area we were told. A small bus pulled up and a few of us got onto it at the hotel. We stopped again in Bertchesgaden to pick up more people and then started toward Austria. In movies, I had seen a road with a single guard shack and a gate pole across it, signifying the border of another country, and sure enough, that is exactly what we saw at the Austrian border. Two men in uniforms approached the bus and one came aboard, checking papers on each person. It was like back and the barracks when the German people had to present their ID cards to get onto base, and then the man came to me. I presented my border pass and he rolled his eyes and snickered. He handed the paper back to me after muttering something I didn't understand, and exited the bus. We were waved through the checkpoint and continued our journey. I asked Christina what the man had said, and she told me he made a derogatory remark about me being a soldier with a "piece of paper". <i>Wow. </i></span><br />
<span style="text-align: center;">After about an hour we arrived in Salzburg, and the city was much like Berchesgaten. Our bus stopped at a building and we were told that it would be back promptly at 2000 hours and we shouldn't be a minute late or risk being left behind. </span><br />
<span style="text-align: center;">There were shops lining the streets and the smells of fresh baked bread and food filled the air. It was a busy city with people all over the place, but nothing like a big city in the United States where it is a maddened rush. Nearby was a museum of natural history and we decided to go there first. Inside was a vast array of exhibits, including a full sized Iguanodon dinosaur display, an Alpine hunter mannequin that looked like an eskimo, and a reptile room. It was interesting that they had copperhead snakes and other native reptiles I was used to seeing back home in Kentucky, and there was even a map showing where these animals came from. I stared at the map of Kentucky and smiled, knowing that in a few short months, I would be back home. The most unsettling moment is when I looked up and saw an Amazonian Anaconda that was preserved and displayed with its side cut open, revealing a full sized goat. <i>Mental note: no trips to the Amazon. Ever.</i></span><br />
<span style="text-align: center;">It was beginning to be dusk as we exited the museum. Christina and I walked outside and she pointed out the castle overlooking the city. The castle was an integral part of The Sound of Music and looked massive; but not as impressive as Neuschwanstein. The sky darkened and the lights of the city came on, revealing a new view. The Christmas market was in full swing and was just as awesome as people said. We didn't bring a lot of extra money with us, so we weren't able to purchase anything. I snapped pictures of the entire visit to Salzburg, in hopes of preserving what we saw that day. To my dismay, when I sent the roll of film to be developed once we returned to Ansbach, not a single picture came out; the whole roll of film was completely dark and ruined for some strange reason.</span><br />
<span style="text-align: center;">Fearing we would be stuck in Salzburg, Christina and I returned to the bus stop a good twenty minutes early. The day had been another awesome experience, but tiring. We returned to Obersalzburg for a final night. The next day, we would return to Ansbach and I would return to being a soldier. Indeed, the people and places I had seen on these, and other smaller trips was awesome. Looking back now, even though things in life took a drastic different turn, I am grateful, regardless of what happened later, that Christina took the time to show and join me in places I will never forget.</span><br />
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Rob Kiskadenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11729507457550464443noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8626888127365718762.post-24312961490657566872016-03-17T09:07:00.001-07:002016-04-12T05:07:47.142-07:00Chapter 30: Look Into the FutureFall, 1994, was to be a busy season for the battalion. We had a major field deployment on the horizon as November arrived, a new commander, and I had a new pay grade. On the first of November, I was promoted to Specialist, E-4. It was a good moment for me because for once, I felt I had started being on the straight and narrow as a soldier finally. I wasn't reporting to duty with a massive hang over like before and I wasn't trying to sham as much; I'd taken my extra duties within the battalion aid station seriously and had matured in some aspects. My promotion ceremony was interesting to say the least; after I was promoted, the platoon sergeant put the other promotees and me in the front leaning rest position. One by one, the other soldiers poured water, flour, and eggs on us saying it was "a piece of cake to get promoted". It was all fun nature and no one had a problem with being 'caked', unlike the politically correct world we live in now.<br />
November 15th, 1994...I was sleeping when the phone rang at the apartment in the wee hours of the morning. I somehow knew what the conversation would be as I gathered myself to answer. Mom's voice was shaking when I answered; my grandmother had died. Granny had become very sick since I last visited and had been completely taken over by Alzheimer's and Parkinson's disease. I just knew when the phone rang that she was gone. I had a deployment coming within the next couple of days, but knew I could contact the Red Cross and come home on emergency leave at a moment's notice. Mom assured me that it wasn't necessary for me to come back home for the funeral and I reluctantly agreed to stay put in Germany. I felt sad, but comforted in knowing her struggle was over. Granny wasn't the same person I knew that last visit. I watched the video tape that mom had sent me while I was in Saudi Arabia up to the point of seeing Granny in her bed looking so hollow and seemingly unaware of her surroundings. I turned off the video and cried, vowing never to watch it again. Even today, some twenty or so years later, I have a hard time watching that portion of the video.<br />
A few days after my grandmother's death, the battalion had a full scale field deployment to a place we'd never been. We were told our mission was an exercise to do a radar relay and to be expected to be gone for two weeks. Each battery would have a set time to head out so the roadway wouldn't be cluttered with military vehicles in convoy, so Bravo Battery had quite a bit of downtime. Specialist Smith, not Jeremy, would be my field partner this deployment; Martinez was finally on his terminal leave and starting his exit out of 6th Battalion, 43rd Air Defense Artillery. In the downtime, we did weapons checks and made sure our gear was loaded properly. The safety briefing was the usual drive safe, stay in formation, and so on, but the expected travel time was a couple of hours. The battalion would be spread out in different locations within the same area; each battery was assigned a 'sector'. Our usual deployment areas were Kitzingen, Oberdachstetten, occasionally Hohenfels or Grafenwohr, but the sector Bravo Battery would occupy was a place called Randeck, just southwest of Regensburg. I'd heard of Regensburg from World War II history, but Randeck was not at all familiar.<br />
The trip was long and not very scenic for the first part as we passed Nurnberg and on down the Autobahn. As we went further south, the scenery picked up somewhat, some older towns along the way looked like they hadn't been touched since the medieval times. The convoy exited the Autobahn and we traveled through some other smaller towns that were equally as intriguing to me; a shame I couldn't get out and explore these places. The Altmuhl River winded along the <br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/--uqgc2iQ8o4/Vp5yKC9X8hI/AAAAAAAAA1Q/moKg3FXvbLE/s1600/altmuhl.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="191" src="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/--uqgc2iQ8o4/Vp5yKC9X8hI/AAAAAAAAA1Q/moKg3FXvbLE/s320/altmuhl.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>Essing, Germany with the Altmuhl River in the background</i></td></tr>
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valley as we drove in convoy through these towns. I wondered if the older residents had visions of the war replaying in their heads. We arrived at a town called Essing, small town along the riverbank that looked like a classical Baroque era hamlet. Sheer cliffs dominated the background and atop one, I noticed a castle ruin. We traveled up the steep roadway leading up the cliff and Randeck was immediately at the top, near the castle ruins. A HUMMVEE was parked along a field near the town and a soldier was standing beside it guiding us to our destination. After the long drive, then real work began setting up the field site once again. <br />
Setting up the site had become an art by now. Within a matter of thirty minutes, Smith and I had the aid tent ready to go and putting up our camo net. The First Sergeant came by for his usual 'medication'; cough medicine, which was consequently laden with alcohol. The day was dreary and a misty rain had fell most of the day. The air was cold, but not frigid, but there was a stiff wind that came up the mountain side. The nearby town was very small; maybe seven or eight houses and a gasthaus was all that was there. Our tactical site was in a large field, but much shorter than our site at Kitzingen. Other soldiers began off loading equipment and constructing an ECP at the base of the field by the roadway. Some curious farmers watched while their herd of sheep were grazing in a field beside us. I could tell by the reaction of the locals, this site wasn't widely used as a training area for the Army. Some of the local kids rode their bikes to the edge of the field and watched as Bravo Battery went into full tactical mode once more.<br />
Day one was uneventful and we spent the day securing our field site and making sure the kitchen trailer was up to speed. The field was muddy, but not as bad as Hohenfels...yet. The next day, it started to drizzle early in the morning. The temperature dropped some and it was brisk out. Around mid-morning, LTC Geraci and CSM Jameson arrived on our site to look things over. This was unusual for us, since normally the Battalion Commander and Command Sergeant Major didn't come out to field exercises. They never addressed the battery as a whole, just milled around checking the main operations center and radar wagon and then left. Had they came to the aid tent, they would have been treated to Smith and I lounging around reading and listening to music, probably not the most ideal tactical setting. A few days later, during an afternoon formation, we were told that our radar system had malfunctioned and basically we were stuck in the field with no mission. We were told to stay busy in any way we could as long as it was of military importance and that the radar would be fixed as soon as possible. Sergeants would be tasked out to do a review of basic soldier skills to pass the time, so the rest of the afternoon, we did MOPP training with our gas masks and protective gear. It wasn't too bad, considering the cold weather. Smith and I were tasked to do a block of instruction with the combat lifesavers and did combat carry and lift training. The overall training was done in a lightened way, meaning it was mainly for show; far from the usual sergeant's time routine. After supper, some of the launcher and commo guys came to the aid tent to hang out. One guy brought a deck of cards and a furious game of Spades ensued. We played Spades until late into the night the first night. The next day, it rained some more, and we played Spades again. This time, more guys came into the tent and we were full speed ahead, when all of a sudden, the door flap opened and in walked First Sergeant Franklin with the Command Sergeant Major aside him. We all immediately jumped up to the position of at ease, knowing we were busted.<br />
"First Sergeant, what is this?" asked CSM Jameson. We all were afraid to move as 1SG Franklin began to speak.<br />
"These are my medics and some of my other soldiers," he began, "they've been training hard and got some down time." Command Sergeant Major Jameson didn't look amused and quipped, "Well First Sergeant, if they can't find another task maybe I can find one for them". First Sergeant Franklin told him it wasn't necessary, that our break was about over, then ushered him out of the tent. As the pair left, 1SG Franklin shot us a look to kill; the game would be placed on hold for the remainder of the day.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-U1YoU9RAyKw/Vp54Jr5e7dI/AAAAAAAAA1k/5SLHli_XVrs/s1600/downtime.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-U1YoU9RAyKw/Vp54Jr5e7dI/AAAAAAAAA1k/5SLHli_XVrs/s320/downtime.jpg" width="218" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>Life inside the tent, 1994</i></td></tr>
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On the field site, representatives from Raytheon were working on the radar system at a feverish pace. One of the senior NCO's was casually talking to a group of us at chow and said that the part needed would have to be shipped from the United States and could take up to another week to get to us. We only had another week left, so it looked like our mission was a bust. The sergeant went onto say that our mission wasn't really an exercise, that the radar relay support was for the ongoing missions in Bosnia; an indirect involvement with the NATO operations. Whether that was true or not, it never was denied nor confirmed officially.<br />
After the heat blew over from our busted Spades game the next day, we commenced where we left off, but in a more discreet manner. Before we knew it, the skies turned dark and we had been playing a nonstop game all day long. When chow came late that afternoon, we rushed over to scoop up the fried chicken hot meal and continued the now epic game of Spades. Eventually, the final two players faced off around midnight; the marathon was about over. One of the launcher platoon guys ended up winning around one a.m., much to the relief of us all. We still had one week to go, and dared anyone with their lives if they brought a deck of cards back within our sight the rest of the mission.<br />
The gasthaus in Randeck was a small family owned place and the smells emulating from it was torture as we ate MRE's or food from the field kitchen. What I wouldn't have given to have had a nice cordon bleu or schnitzel along with a mound of pommes and sweet kristalweissen. One night, some of the guys came to our tent with a special delivery; a couple of bottles of heffeweissen beer. The owner of the gasthaus brought a crate of beer to the ECP after dark and the guards distributed it out to our tent and the launcher tent. It was a welcome sight, but very taboo and tasted even better. Then we found out the gasthaus owner would bring plates of food to the guards, who obviously didn't decide to share with us. Another night, some of us were restless and decided to roam about the perimeter and as we were walking, someone spotted a small fire in the field behind the tents. We went to investigate and could make out a shape of a person sitting in front of the small fire. We continued onward to see what was going on rather than alerting the guards or command staff, and found the person was one of our soldiers named Gilliland, who was sitting shirtless with his eyes closed and chanting something, obviously unaware of our approach. We stopped and looked at him dumbfounded, not knowing what was going on. Gilliland was a guy in his 30's that had completely white hair. He was always a bit on the odd side and talked about astrology and mythology, but overall, he stayed under the radar until this moment. His mumbling stopped and he opened his eyes suddenly, making us jump a bit.<br />
"What can I do for you gentlemen," Gilliland asked. We really didn't know what to say, but one of the guys, Amos I believe, broke the ice with, "Gill, what the Hell are you doing?"<br />
"I am praying," Gilliland said with a smile. "I am Wiccan." Now, being a guy from Kentucky where you are either Baptist, Methodist or belonged to a church of God, this was something totally new to me. Gilliland tossed some powder into the fire and it flashed green, again, making us jump a bit. He went on to tell us that his religion was based with nature and how the Earth was the spiritual embodiment. I sat listening, intrigued at his take of things. It made sense as he spoke it, but I wasn't convinced to convert. Gilliland also said he had the gift of clairvoyance and knew a person's thoughts. He looked at me and said, "is this of interest to you?". I was taken aback, because indeed it was interesting, but maybe it was obvious due to my reaction, who knows. We all walked back to the field site a bit more educated with the ways of religion that night. Some would make jokes about it and almost mock Gilliland later on, but that was his belief, and it wasn't my place to judge him.<br />
Life in Randeck became stale after a few more days. By weekend, the radar was still not working and we were running out of ideas for training. Some even did mock promotion boards to pass time, not exactly my idea of a good time at all. Some did land navigation around the site, but the place I wanted to navigate was the old castle ruins. Priester and I talked about going and I figured since there was no mission, what harm would it be to go exploring. Gilliland overheard us and said he wanted to go too, but there was one obstacle; asking the commander for permission. I chose to approach the first sergeant, and explained to him we would be doing 'combat patrol training', of which he saw right through. First Sergeant Franklin gave his blessing and told us to not stay gone all day, so we took off. The ruins were behind the gasthaus a short distance in a thicket of woods, standing on the high cliff edge. The castle wasn't large, but was<br />
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-zZPmnuq_v9o/Vp5xGlAtIVI/AAAAAAAAA1I/R0g1QT-QOG8/s1600/randeck.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="217" src="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-zZPmnuq_v9o/Vp5xGlAtIVI/AAAAAAAAA1I/R0g1QT-QOG8/s320/randeck.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>Burg Randeck</i></td></tr>
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impressive to see. A lone turret and tower stood above the roofless stone structure and a wooden bridge led to the massive wooden doors, which, of course, were locked. We explored the area in fascination, like we were kids in the Goonies movie seeing the ship for the first time. We wanted to get inside the ruin, so we started looking for an alternate entrance. Gilliland said that most castles had secret entrances or escape routes in case an enemy overran it. There was an old cistern found in the woods that could have been used, but it was concreted shut. As we explored the front face of the cliff, Gilliland spotted a cave opening just below the castle. The three of us hurried into the chamber, which was small but had two passages which branched off. The first passage we explored only went a short distance then stopped. The next one wound further back and gradually slimmed down to where we had to crawl. Ahead, there was a glimmer of light shining, so we kept going. The passage opened into a smaller chamber and the light we saw came from a small crack in the rocks above us, and not an entrance to the castle. <br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-YIrAbCxaYeE/Vp5_HpDmkWI/AAAAAAAAA14/fU59VVUHrhc/s1600/cave.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-YIrAbCxaYeE/Vp5_HpDmkWI/AAAAAAAAA14/fU59VVUHrhc/s320/cave.jpg" width="293" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>Cave exploring, Army style</i></td></tr>
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We felt a bit dejected about not being able to get into the castle, but it was a very awesome experience to say the least. We walked back to the field site and a slight mist started to turn into a steady sprinkle of rain. The three of us were muddy and scraped up from the castle and cave adventure, but it was worth it.<br />
The final week of the busted field deployment began typically and uneventfully. We were all ready to go back to Shipton at this point; that said a lot for how mundane it was in Randeck. A steady little rain had set in and the field site turned into a muddy mess. The truck that routinely came and cleaned our portable latrines even got stuck and needed our heavy tow truck to get it out, causing big ruts right in the middle of the site. Foot travel back and forth was a nightmare through the mud and muck, so we stayed in our tents as much as possible. About mid-week, the rain stopped but the skies stayed overcast and it was cool out. Someone had brought a football, so to pass the time, some would pass it back and forth. Eventually, a challenge was made; Launcher Platoon vs the rest of the battery in an epic game of football. Even the first sergeant was interested, and justified it as 'PT in field conditions'. The teams were split into even groups and the game was on. It was a full on, full contact, exhibition so Smith and I readied our medic bags just in case. Sure enough, someone went down with a twisted ankle. We got her taken care of, then the game continued. Another few plays later, a guy took a hard tackle and came up slow and in pain. He was holding his arm and walked over to us; casualty number two.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-fmtneig__JQ/VqEHj7I9tGI/AAAAAAAAA4E/xYUp7kzUavc/s1600/mudbowl.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="190" src="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-fmtneig__JQ/VqEHj7I9tGI/AAAAAAAAA4E/xYUp7kzUavc/s320/mudbowl.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>Mudbowl, 1994</i></td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i><br /></i></td></tr>
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Smith thought the guy had just dislocated his shoulder but further exam showed that wasn't the case. He was shaking it off as best as he could, so we placed his arm in a sling to make it a little better. Only later, after we got back to Shipton, did he go to the clinic and learn that he had a broken collarbone. The game continued and honestly, I don't know who actually won, but it was a load of fun and great stress relief for everyone.<br />
Thursday came and we got word that we would load out and move a day early. A collective shout of appreciation roared across the ranks and we pratically ran back to our areas to dismantle the site. The only catch was that the farmer who owned the field had to inspect it and it be to his liking before we could actually leave. All the ruts and dug in positions had to be fixed, which wouldn't be an easy task considering the deep mud that caked the site. Once our camo netting was down and tents stowed away, we could move our vehicles to a more solid place and concentrate on fixing the ruts. One suggestion was that soldiers could use shovels to fill in the deep gouges in the Earth. That worked somewhat, but was a slow process. The ECP bunker was filled in rather quickly, but the ruts were a losing battle. What we thought was going to be an early day turned into an all morning and most of afternoon work detail. Eventually, the farmer was satisfied with what we had done, but the field was still a mess. The trip back to Shipton started late in the afternoon; we were tired, dirty and smelled but we were going home finally.<br />
We arrived in Ansbach after dark and looked like we had all been deep in the trenches. All our vehicles were caked with mud and grime. We did our weapons turn in and had the last formation around 2100 hours, only to be delighted with the word from above telling us to report to battalion by 0800 and no morning PT. I called home, but Christina wasn't there. She had went to her parents' house in Burgernheim so I caught a ride back into town. I had to walk down the hill from Bleidorn with my duffel bags, but I didn't care; I was going to be sleeping in my own bed for once. I dropped all my gear in the middle of the floor and took a long hot shower, just standing in there letting the hot water wash the field funk off me. Christina came home sometime afterward and I went to bed, exhausted but smelling fresh. The next morning, Christina had to take me into battalion, much to her disliking. She didn't like to get up early and prodded me about not having my license or being able to drive her standard transmission car. Of course, I would sometimes utter something about her not having shit to do at home other than sleep all day, just not loud enough for her to hear.<br />
The first day back was spent cleaning our trucks and equipment. The line of vehicles at the wash rack was backed up all the way to the back gate entrance as each driver jockeyed their places. Smith and I emptied our ambulance and started cleaning the equipment while we waited our turn at the wash rack. This was a monster task all around because of the mud and muck that had adhered to everything. It was a sunny day so we could spread the tent and netting out to dry, which helped somewhat. It was a long and tedious process, but we got it done by late afternoon.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>Thanksgiving with the Brightbills, 1994</i></td></tr>
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Thanksgiving was approaching and I would have some welcomed time off from the field for at least a little while. Harold and Salina invited us, along with Jeremy and his wife and a couple others from battalion to their home for Thanksgiving. It wasn't home family, but it was my Army family, and they were just as close to me. It was a good day full of the usual friendly banter and tons of food. It would be just a matter of months until I would be leaving this family behind and moving to another Army post somewhere. For the moment, I just relished on the camaraderie and enjoyed the company, not worrying about the look into the future.<br />
Anytime I was downtown, I would walk by the music store and look at that orange Les Paul guitar through the window. Once Christina and I married, her family gave us a substantial sum of money, so I decided I wanted that guitar. I went into the store and asked to see it. I played the guitar and it felt nice in my hands. The price wasn't too bad, around six hundred dollars in US currency. Call it impulse or infatuation, but I walked out the shop that day with the guitar I had stared at many times. I should have maybe saved that money for us, but I was captivated and acted upon it. I spent a lot of time at the toy store and another collectibles shop downtown, buying model kits and Star Wars toys. The MusikBox store also knew me pretty well, I was buying CD's on a regular basis. I don't know if it was something to occupy my time off duty or to cope with the stresses of the day, but at some point, the living room became inundated with toys. Christina wouldn't complain too much about it, but the financial strain was taking a toll and I slowed down on my spending. If there was any look into the future, it was us scraping by and just making it and I hoped it would get better.<br />
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<br />Rob Kiskadenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11729507457550464443noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8626888127365718762.post-17638465700716100962015-10-13T06:50:00.000-07:002015-10-13T06:50:51.998-07:00Chapter 29: The Way We WereMy second summer overseas was shaping up to be just as eventful as my first, with the exception of a major deployment; and my personal life was about to change in the biggest way imaginable. Christina and I finally put forth into motion a plan to get married. The first obstacle was securing a date. I was spending more and more time away on field deployments and was gearing up for a large scale tactical evaluation with NATO evaluators. The only logical time was during the Fourth of July break when we had a long weekend. Next, I learned that getting married as a soldier in Germany was far different than it was back home. I had to file a formal request through the battalion chain of command to say "I do", then we had to file with the registrar clerk in Ansbach, kind of like obtaining a marriage license but a bit more complicated. From there, we could organize a formal church wedding if we chose. When I called home to announce our plans, naturally mom and dad were apprehensive about the idea; and rightfully so, since they have never met their prospective daughter-in-law. Their concerns were legitimate, they felt we were rushing into everything and that I needed to focus more on my military career. So we had a game plan, tentative date, and the final obstacle was another field deployment in June.
Bravo Battery convoyed out to Kitzingen once again to set up field operations for a week long deployment.<br />
The field deployments were beyond routine by summer 1994. The worst parts were the drive to and from Kitzingen, although I was fortunate to see some German countryside and some old towns along the way. Driving in a hot HUMVEE in a military convoy is not a luxurious Sunday drive. The field exercise was uneventful. Martinez was back with me and we spent most of our time working on our triage sites and working with our combat lifesavers. I told everyone in Bravo Battery about my plans to get married and invited everyone to come, knowing most probably would pass it up, still a nice gesture. When I got back from the field, I focused on getting the nuptials in order. Christina's grandma wanted her to be married in the Burgbernheim church after our 'official' wedding at the registrar's office. For that, I would have to put in a leave request due to the hectic schedule at Shipton. We decided on a date in August for the church wedding, depending on what I was authorized for leave.<br />
Life outside of the barracks was different. I was used to being around all my buddies and the whole fraternity house type lifestyle. Even though I was generally happy, I felt I had left the guys behind. The weeks before the registrar wedding, I admit that I had second thoughts; not because of wanting to be with other women, but just missing my Shipton family. The struggles on the 'economy' as it was called were trying with rent and utilities always being due, plus groceries and other daily essentials. I was the only one bringing money into the home and that caused some normal stress, naturally. One time before the marriage, Oma loaned Christina some money to get us by one month. Trips out to the Goose and Hai Life were halted, but my luxury items were still CD's and model kits. Things eventually evened out for us, as they always did early on, and I kept optimistic. One big inconvenience was the fact we only had one vehicle, a little white Golf compact car. Most days, I could walk up the hill the Bleidorn and ride with Jeremy, but if he was deployed out to the field, Christina would have to take me, because I didn't get my German driver's license as I should have. I was allowed to operate military vehicles on official business travel, but not a personal vehicle. Plus, the car was a standard transmission, so much like the SUV's in Saudi, I wasn't that proficient in driving it.<br />
July quickly came around and my paperwork had been approved for the registrar wedding. We decided on July 4th, Independence Day, to be our official wedding day. I wasn't authorized any additional leave because I was due to leave for a field exercise a couple of days after the holiday; so much for a honeymoon. At the same time, we were preparing for our August church wedding, so to say it was a hectic time is saying it lightly. The Fourth of July arrived and my life would forever change.<br />
Christina, her parents, Nicole, Oma and I arrived at the registrar's office in Ansbach early in the day. I presented my paperwork from battalion authorizing me to be married and Christina produced some vital records documents from the Bad Windsheim community where she was born. There was no ceremony, no brides maids or grooms men, no one standing up with or beside me. I remember wishing my family could have at least been part of this. We signed some legal documents, and when the registrar asked about the last name, I was a bit confused. I always believed that the woman took the man's name and that was it; however, it was not always the case in European cultures. If a family, such as Christina's, had only female offspring, the male took the female's surname frequently. We had already decided that the Kiskaden name would be our family's name and told the registrar clerk. A groan of disapproval came from Gunter and he nearly got up and walked out. Heidi eased him and he sat there like a kid who had been wronged by having his favorite item taken away. I don't really know if Heidi was happy for us, Oma started crying and Nicole was, well, just Nicole. After a few more minutes, we exchanged rings, which was not ordinary for this type of marriage formality; but we wanted to be able to show everyone we were now a family. In less than an hour, Christina and I walked out into Ansbach a married couple. I remember looking down at the ring on my finger, thinking "<i>wow...we really did it</i>".<br />
Gunter was visibly upset that the Markert name was omitted and huffed all the way back to his car. We decided to meet at a gasthaus and eat together, which was surely to be pleasant. During the meal, Gunter eased up a little, but still would have an occasional smart ass remark fly out. I passed the remarks over, by that time I had already figured out he could be difficult. Oma seemed to be the happiest about our nuptials and must have hugged me a dozen times that day. Eventually, we parted ways and Christina and I retreated to the apartment. The German-American Fest was going on in Katterbach, so we decided to go there. <br />
The fest was as it was the year before; carnival rides, food stands and the beer tents. I remember seeing a group of guys from Bravo and walking up just holding my left hand up to show off the wedding band. Everyone of them congratulated us and we didn't have to worry about buying drinks the rest of our time there. A band was playing in one tent and was pretty good. That took me back to the time with Gaines and Ludeke; that band could have been <i>us</i>. One of the guys, Manning, went up to the stage and told the band to dedicate a song to Christina and me, so when the time came, the singer announced that we had just been married and dedicated the Eric Clapton song <i>Wonderful Tonight</i> to us. That would be our first official dance as a married couple. Halfway through the song, I noticed we were the only two on the dance floor, everyone else was standing back watching us with smiles. For the moment, the way we were right then trumped any problems we had been having. Things felt right and I felt good about us. If her family or mine wasn't happy for us, it didn't matter; at least 200 people there that moment were happy for us.<br />
I didn't get hammered drunk like I usually did at the fest, even considering the fact all the drinks were taken care of by my Bravo guys. After the fest, Christina and I went to the Goose to continue the celebration. Again, the guys were buying drinks for us, Christina chose to drink lightly so she could drive us home. At some point, a usual Goose brawl broke out between the Katterbach and Shipton guys.<br />
"They hit Priester," Rich, one of the Bravo guys yelled out. It was like a flood of Bravo Battery soldiers pouring out to find the person responsible. The fight spilled outside and as I got to the door to join, Priester was brought to me, bleeding profusely from the head. He was hit with something and had a huge gash on the top of his head that needed immediate attention. I sat him down while Christina ran out to get her first aid kit out of the car. One of the workers at the Goose ran up with a combat lifesaver bag and we started working on Priester. The laceration was about 3 or 4 inches long and deep; not to the skull, but deep and had started to raise into a large knot. I told Priester we needed to take him to the krankenhaus, but he refused. Apparently a guy just walked up to him and clocked him with something for no reason. Priester was like me; easy going and non-confrontational without an enemy. For someone to do this to him was uncalled for. For someone to do this to a fellow Bravo soldier, retribution would be swift for the poor idiot.<br />
I bandaged Priester up the best I could and put ice wrapped in a rag on his head to help reduce swelling and maybe stop the bleeding. He never passed out, but looked as if he could at any time. He laid down on the bench seat while I stayed with him. I was covered in blood, hands, shirt, pants, all over me. The guys came back inside once the fight broke up and said that a guy from Katterbach saw Priester from behind, assumed he was another person and hit him with a pool stick. The guy realized the err of his ways when he was pummeled by a group of Bravo Battery's finest. He, too was left bleeding and very apologetic. The next day, Priester had guard duty and was working the front gate when I went to check on him. After his duty, he finally went to the clinic and was treated for the laceration and a concussion. Luckily there was no brain bleed or cranial swelling. The morale of this story: Bravo Battery guys stuck together and we watched each others backs. If anyone crossed the line, they were dealt with promptly and efficiently.<br />
As soon as the festivities and wedding celebrations ended, I was back in the field again. This exercise would prove to be the most challenging one since our deployment to Saudi Arabia. There was an opposition force comprised of NATO troops and some guys from surrounding posts camped somewhere near our position. Now, instead of imaginary attacks with no other soldiers, we would have simulated warfare. The first attack came in as we were building our site. The cracking of gunfire started in a tree line beyond our entry point. The alarm went off and guys scurried to makeshift defensive positions behind trucks, grassy berms or anything else they could find. The whole ordeal lasted just a few minutes, but was enough to put us on guard.<br />
After our site was operational, Captain Reynolds and First Sergeant Franklin briefed us about the next two weeks. We would be under simulated combat conditions at all hours, including air attacks by actual aircraft. Observers from NATO would be on site watching and, in some instances, participating in the exercises. We would expect attacks at any time and could expect a simulated mass casualty situation. Luckily for Martinez and me, our most recent sergeant's time training focused on triage and mass casualties. We went back to our tents and regulated the fact that we would have no sleep during this field deployment. One of the lieutenants came to the tent and asked if we had the landing zone set up, of which we hadn't at that point. I went with him to a location down range and set up bright orange place markers to signify a landing area for helicopters. I was told that at some point, a VIP would arrive and to be ready. In the field, a VIP being ferried in by helicopter meant a commanding general or someone higher up the chain of command was stopping by, so we had to be on our toes. L<br />
ate one afternoon, I was summoned to the command tent and told to go to the landing zone for further instruction. The medics were always trained in proper hand signals to land helicopters in the event of a medevac situation, and I expected this to be the day a VIP would arrive. The sergeant waiting for me said that a Chinook (a large, two rotor helicopter) would be 'hot loading' some missile canisters and I needed to guide it down. The giant craft arrived over the tree line with thunderous force; a Patriot Missile canister was secured by ropes and hanging down under the helicopter's belly. I made visual contact with the crew chief as the Chinook hovered overhead. The sound was deafening and the down force of the rotors made it difficult to stand up, but I guided the huge craft down to the ground. I'll have to admit, it was a bit intimidating to say the least. When the helicopter took off, the down force of the rotors was like standing in a hurricane. I quickly bent down and covered my face to shield myself from the debris and grass being whipped around. The whole operation took maybe ten minutes and was quite awe-inspiring to see.<br />
Our next 'attack' came by air and caught all of us by surprise; especially me. We had portable latrines in the field and the call of nature hit me one afternoon while Martinez was at the aid station playing cards with a couple of the other guys. While I was busy, I heard the distinct sound of a low flying jet coming toward the site and a voice yelling, "air attack! Air attack!" I started to get my TA-50 back on when all of a sudden, an explosion rocked the portable latrine. The force was so hard that the walls of the latrine moved with the concussion. Guys were yelling outside as I scurried to get dressed. I fully expected to look out and see a crashed jet burning close by. Suddenly, the sound of another jet filled the air and another explosion of equal intensity rocked the site. I ran out of the latrine toward the aid tent yelling for Martinez. There was a gray haze of smoke all around and guys were hurriedly darting from tent to tent. As I looked around, I didn't see a burning jet or any other destruction I had anticipated, but soon a yell for "doc" rang out. Martinez and I grabbed our aid bags and ran toward the command area. There were several soldiers down on the ground with some combat lifesavers already treating them. My first thought was that the explosions were something that weren't part of the plan and our guys had gotten hurt. Our fears for the worst were quickly relieved when we got to the 'injured' soldiers and learned they had simulated injuries. Off in the distance, the swooshing sound of another jet caused us to brace for another explosive report. The jet simply did a fly by pass and banked off away from our site.<br />
As Martinez and I treated our 'casualties' we were being observed by a couple of British soldiers. This was part of an evaluation process, but we treated it as if it were real. With the help of our combat lifesavers, we took our casualties to the aid station and began the triage process. There were a total of eight or ten if I remember correctly; some with simple wounds and others labeled as expectant, or dead/dying. We moved our ambulance out of the camouflaged netting and readied it for transport. Martinez asked an evaluator if he needed to call for Dustoff, or air ambulance support, of which the reply was, "would you if this was real?". Martinez began the process of calling for medevac on our radio. We had an assigned frequency to reach the Dustoff helicopters, which were stationed nearby in Wurzburg. We had a specific way to give information over the radio and kept cards in our field packs that outlined the call procedures. I gathered up those soldiers who were not as critical and placed them in the ambulance. I quickly realized that there were going to be more than I could transport, so I sent a combat lifesaver to the command tent to procure another vehicle. While Martinez and I were focused on this part of the exercise, the rest of Bravo Battery was being evaluated also. The soldier ran back and told me there were no more vehicles to use, they had been 'destroyed' during the attack. Well played.<br />
After Martinez did his radio call for Dustoff, the voice at the other end told us all available craft were unavailable due to real time missions. The evaluators stopped us at that point and wrote something down on the papers they had, then walked off. This was the end of our part of an interesting drill.<br />
Several minutes later, a sergeant came to our tent and told us to form up for a briefing. We reported to formation and Captain Reynolds, along with First Sergeant Franklin and our executive officer, briefed us on what happened. The explosions we heard were actually remote controlled grenade simulators that were buried in undisclosed areas along the site area. The evaluators faulted the battery for not recognizing an immediate threat and appearing chaotic. In my mind, I felt this would have been a totally real scenario like the attack on Pearl Harbor; guys just doing their routine and then all of a sudden, an air attack. I'm not sure what happened, but according to the evaluation, the radar should have picked up the incoming aircraft and the Patriot launchers should have taken care of the threat; in a real world situation. Whether it was a failure on the radar, or just simply was supposed to happen, I don't know, but it was a definite awakening.<br />
As the two weeks progressed, more attacks of varying degree plagued us at all hours. One particular attack was a sabotage type deal where the enemy forces snuck in and placed simulated bombs on vehicles and next to tents. Another full scale attack resulted in the 'death' of Captain Reynolds, who was removed from the site completely, to evaluate the continuance of command scenario. We had very little sleep during this field exercise, but all in all, it was very rewarding. There was only one real injury during the exercise, an ankle sprain, that required us to transport a soldier to the dispensary in Kitzingen. By the end of the last week, we were all tired, stinking and beyond ready to head back to Ansbach.<br />
The remainder of the summer of 1994 would be busy with more field deployments to ranges, endless inspections at Shipton and another task I was bestowed upon by SFC Taylor at Bravo Battery; eye exams for all personnel in the battery. Over the course of a week, I had everyone from command down to private do a basic eye exam. I found out that many of the soldiers hadn't had exams in a long time, so I had to schedule follow-up appointments with the Katterbach Clinic. The week long task ended up lasting the better part of two weeks. Christina even said I was spouting off vision ratios in my sleep.<br />
Home life was still an adjustment. Christina and I spent most of our
time together going to and from Burgbernheim or occasionally over to
Harold and Salina's. Salina was expecting their first child and I was
just as excited as they were. Not long after I had arrived at Shipton,
Harold had received word that Salina had lost a baby she was carrying,
so this pregnancy was very special to them. I had been there to support
Harold after the first baby was lost, something he and Salina were
always grateful for. One night while all of us were together, Harold
asked if Christina and I would be the Godparents of their child. There
was no hesitation to the question at all; the Brightbill's were already
like family to me. Personally, I was honored and humbled by his
request. <br />
Christina and I planned the church wedding for August 13 in Burgbernheim. We met with the priest several weeks earlier, before out registrar wedding, and he outlined the ceremony to us. The wedding would be traditional in the fact Christina would wear a full wedding dress, we would have all the pomp and circumstance, but it would be far different than a wedding in the States.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>St, Johanniskirche, Burgbernheim, Germany</i></td></tr>
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The church was a Lutheran based fellowship which reminded me in some ways of Catholic faith. The church was named St. Johanniskirche and the interior was simply awesome; it was built in the 1110's and remained largely unscathed during World War II. <br />
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The walls were adorned with wood carvings highlighted with gold. The
alter was an impressive wooden masterpiece portraying the life of Christ and a balcony with a choir pit wrapped around the room. If anything, I could always say I was married in a middle-ages era church that was absolutely breathtaking.<br />
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Before the wedding date, it was customary that the priest place a notice on the front of the church, to allow anyone who objected to meet with him. That would be a sight; already legally married and someone protesting the church ceremony. Christina, her aunt and mother picked out the dress, which I wasn't allowed to see, and Oma paid for it. I would wear my Class A uniform and had started to ask people to come. Christina, however, told me that the wedding would be low-key and she wanted specific people to attend. Jeremy and Misti were invited, along with Anita and Gerald, a couple we were friends with. Anita was sergeant in the unit and her husband, Gerald was retired from the Army. For whatever reason, Harold and Salina were not invited, and I protested to deaf ears. Harold was one of my closest friends and had just asked us to be Godparents! As a matter of fact, most of the people I wanted to attend were shunned.<br />
The rehearsal went smooth, but the whole thing was just foreign to me. We had the rehearsal dinner at a local gasthaus and for the most part, Christina's family spoke in German the whole evening. I could understand quite a bit of German language, but couldn't speak much more than simple phrases. Occasionally, Gunter would say something and they would all turn to look at me and start laughing. Anita and Gerald were the only others from the wedding party to attend the meal, and I could tell they were uncomfortable along with me. I talked to them mostly and chose to ignore the laughs, even if they were unintended to be at me.<br />
Our wedding day came, and we started off by taking pictures. Christina arrived in her dress and looked radiant. Normally, it is tradition that the groom not see the bride before the wedding ceremony, but nothing so far had been very traditional at all. Our picture location was in a garden setting at a place in Bad Windsheim. There were flowers everywhere and it was a very nice place. I was actually more nervous this time than the registrar wedding. When we got to the church, several of the people Christina and the Markert family knew had arrived...so much for a low-key event. Jeremy and Misti came, and I wanted Jeremy to stand with me. Once inside, however, it was much different than any wedding I'd seen, or rehearsed the day before. I was seated in front of the priest and alter, Jeremy was told to sit to the side with everyone else. At that point, I felt a sense of being alone in this journey. I wished my parents could have been there to see this beautiful church. We had set up a video camera in the church to capture the ceremony, so at least I could send it back home for them to see.<br />
Christina marched down the aisle and sat down next to me. The priest began talking-all in German-and anointing us. We sang hymns like a regular church service, again all in German. I looked around at one point and caught myself drifting in thought. On the video, you can plainly see this, all the while as I was twiddling my thumbs. No traditional vows were spoken, we remained seated as we exchanged rings and only stood when we were presented to the congregation. At the end of the ceremony, I think I was more confused than anything due to the language and cultural barriers. As we exited, the crowd did the only traditional thing of the day by tossing rice at us.<br />
After the wedding, we retreated back to Christina's parents' house to change into our reception clothing. Our reception would be at the country club gasthaus between Illesheim and Bad Windsheim. As we were on the way there, a nice older model white Dodge Charger zipped past us on the narrow road. It was kind of an odd sight because normally there weren't many American sports cars seen in Germany. The driver sped away and took a curve entirely too fast, skidding off the road, taking out a couple of road makers and slamming sideways into a tree. The impact broke the small tree in half and caved the passenger's side of the Charger inward. We stopped the car and I rushed out to check the driver. Jeremy was behind me with a first aid kit. The driver seemed to be okay, but had a bloody nose and cut on his head and smelled of alcohol. Christina went on to Illesheim, which was a short distance away, and called for help. Soon, the polezi and an ambulance were on scene and the driver of the wrecked car was obviously nervous and agitated. He was a staff sergeant with an aviation unit in Illesheim, and by all accounts, was in a great deal of trouble. What a wonderful way to start a wedding reception.<br />
The gasthaus was nestled between a couple of hills and had a vineyard behind it. It was a nice location; almost picturesque in what you'd expect to see in Bavaria. German custom regarding wedding receptions are far different than the traditional ones in the U.S. No big party or fancy gift exchanges were part of this; it was almost like a feast setting. We sat at a long table with hoards of food and beer in front of us. A German polka band played folk songs, kind of like the ones at the local fests in spring and fall. We did a traditional dance to the oompah beat of the music, and everyone got quite amused at my inability to dance. We sat up a video camera so I could sent a video home to mom and dad, but it still wasn't the same as having them there as part of it. After around three hours, we retreated back to our respective homes; after all, I had to report back to duty and another field exercise the following week.<br />
One day, I came home from post and Tanja was at the apartment. She was pregnant and her father had told her to leave home. Christina had told her she could stay with us for a while until things settled down. Our small one-bedroom apartment would be a bit more crowded, but we could manage. The only real strife we had at this point were money issues. Christina still wasn't working anywhere, so my check was being stretched to the limit every month. I chalked it up as a necessary struggle many newlyweds endured, but there were cracks starting to form on the surface. Trips to the PX and local shops became expensive and it didn't seem there was a regard made to make it better.<br />
I spent some of my off time with Gunter going to his hunting spots and favorite gasthauses along the way. Usually these trips became all day events and lots of beer was consumed between us. It seemed we were getting along rather well and Gunter was finally accepting me. I still felt a little uneasy at times due to his occasional racial or political remarks, but realized that it was his demeanor and I wasn't going to change it in any way. Heidi was always friendly with me, and Oma was one of the kindest people I knew, but still, I felt a little like an outsider. I'm sure they all had seen the same routine; local girls getting involved with Army guys and then when it was time for the guys to leave, the girls would be dumped unceremoniously. Naturally, they had concerns, but for then, the way we were in that moment in time, those concerns could be shrugged off as normal paranoia.<br />
At some point near the end of summer 1994, Jeremy and I were approached by one of the Dustoff guys from Katterbach about becoming flight medics. It was an exciting pitch; we would be sent to Fort Rucker, Alabama and become one of the air evac medics aboard a Blackhawk. We would even have our choice of duty station, which we already agreed would be in Katterbach, once we completed the school. Plus we had the option to attend Air Assault School in Fort Campbell once we completed the training. There would be so much opportunity outside of the Army with this classification, and it could quite possibly be an Army career choice for Jeremy and me. We told Corporal Fowler we would like to start the process and he signed off for us. <br />
Jeremy and I went to Wurzburg to start our flight physicals, which were much like the ones we had at MEPS. During the eye exam, I was told I had a slight astigmatism, but the problem wouldn't disqualify me. A few days after the exams, we got packets stating we had passed our physicals and more paperwork that needed to be sent up the chain to battalion. We needed letters of recommendation, so I chose SFC Taylor and Lieutenant Wiczkowski from Bravo Battery. Both gave very favorable recommendations, plus my most recent PT test went well and I had no negative points against me, surprisingly. A few days later, Corporal Fowler broke the news to Jeremy and me that our battalion commander Lieutenant Colonel Geraci had denied our paperwork, stating that we were a 'valuable asset to the battalion and an upcoming mission'. So our hopes for becoming flight medics had to be put on hold...and what 'mission'?<br />
We started training soon after for the Expert Field Medical Badge Course, or EFMB. It was a prestigious award medics could earn, like the infantry's Expert Field Badge, or Air Assault. The course was a two-week field exercise that tested our medic, land navigation and basic soldier skills. At the end was a grueling twelve mile road march with full combat equipment; a combination of basic training and medic school all in one. We trained on Thursdays by doing either land navigation or road marches, since those were the most difficult and most often failed tasks. Land navigation was interesting in the fact that we relied upon a single compass and grid map of an area to find certain points in a given time frame. In daytime, this was fairly easy because we had visual references we could match to the map. Night land navigation was more tricky because we didn't have those visual clues. During one night event, I was doing fairly well, had found two points in a timely manner. We were on the back side of Oberdachstetten, near one of Gunter's hunting spots. It was very dark and cold that night with no moon. The forest canopy made seeing very difficult, and we could only use the red lenses on our flashlights to read the map and nothing more. I figured my third point and started hiking toward the location. After what I felt should have been ample time to find the point, I stopped and recalculated my coordinates. I started hiking a bit further and came upon the roadway that wound through the forest, obviously quite a bit off course. I looked at the map and tried to get oriented again, when Corporal Fowler came upon my location and said, "bang, you're dead." I had ran out of time and still had four points to find. In fact, only one or two of us found the points at all. Another time, I found all of my points, and cut it very close on time, but found them out of sequence. It was a very difficult task indeed.<br />
When it came time to sign up for the course, only those of us with the best luck during training and best PT scores were allowed to apply. Hayes, Bruce and Brown were chosen as the candidates representing 6th Battalion, 43rd Air Defense Artillery. If any of the three could complete the course, I bet on Hayes since he was the most squared away of any of the medics. The course was in Giebelstadt and when we arrived to see the guys off, there had to have been 250 soldiers enrolled in the course. We had been told that only a fraction of these soldiers would make it through to earn their badges, and as we were watching, we could see why. Sergeants were barking orders at the soldiers, of all rank, like basic training all over again. When we left, Corporal Fowler laughed and said, "three days. I give 'em three days". Sure enough, a few days later, Bruce came home, then Brown. Hayes lasted a little over a week, but also came home. They said it was one of the hardest courses they had ever been part of and that a great many of the soldiers enrolled had either dropped out or failed a task. There apparently were no retakes on task failures; you either got it right the first time or went home.<br />
As the leaves started to turn and air cool into fall, I was in an okay place, with some work to do professionally and personally. I was staying mostly sober and trying to maintain a balanced household as best as I could. It occurred to me that my time in Germany was coming to a close; I only had five or six months until I was to be sent to another duty station, hopefully stateside. Meanwhile, south of Germany, another war was brewing in Bosnia and Herzegovina with far more of a humanitarian crisis than the Persian Gulf. This war didn't appear to have a need for air defense artillery; no SCUD threats, but it was quite possible support units could be pulled from area battalions. The mission LTC Geraci mentioned could very well be in support of the ongoing military operations commanded by NATO forces, and with all the NATO field exercises, it was quite possible. But as the fall season of 1994 arrived, Headquarters and Bravo Batteries trudged onward through the fields of Oberdachstetten, Kitzingen, and any other places along the way; Christina and I managed the best we could...the way we were.Rob Kiskadenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11729507457550464443noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8626888127365718762.post-88743280578773060542014-12-30T13:26:00.001-08:002014-12-30T13:26:52.866-08:00Chapter 28: For The Good TimesAs routine and mundane as the clinic duty may have been, it was still a rewarding experience for me. I learned a lot working there and felt that I had matured as a soldier and a medic. That maturity was becoming more evident when I ventured out with Christina to the Goose on occasion. I didn't drink myself into oblivion as I had before; as a matter of fact, a few of the 'Goose Gang' had slowed it down considerably. I guess we all matured a bit while we were deployed.<br />
Around the end of my clinic duty in early 1994, I noticed intermittent spots appearing on my hands. They were small red bumps that would itch like crazy and spread across the knuckles of my right hand and onto the back of my left hand. It got to a point that it was becoming unbearable, so I decided to seek treatment. Doctor Mitchell suggested the rash was perhaps a latex allergy to the gloves I wore, so I changed to non-latex. That change didn't help and one of the places in my left hand grew bigger and became scaled over. After Captain Salzman looked at it, he told me it was a planter's wart and froze it with liquid nitrogen. That took care of the place on my left hand, but left a scar from the nitrogen burn. It wasn't uncommon for those of us that came back from the desert to have to get testing done routinely, as tuberculosis was a threat to us. Several came back and tested positive for the disease on the skin test, but not symptomatic. I chalked my skin issues up as just 'one of those things' and dealt with it, mainly because no one gave me a definite answer as to why I had a rash to begin with. Little did I know that the issue would become a life-long problem.<br />
I knew my clinic duty was nearing a close and I would be back in the field before long with 6th Battalion, 43rd Air Defense Artillery; so I hoped to get something going musically with Gaines and Ludeke. We practiced as often as we could and finally landed a potential gig at the Officer's Club in Katterbach. The date was set and Captain Salzman and Captain Mitchell said they would come support us, along with others we had invited. The gig would be on a Saturday evening at 1830 hours and had the potential to be a great debut for our band. The only problem was, the Officer's Club was locked tight when we went to set our equipment up. Captain Salzman arrived and was as puzzled as we were, so he went to find someone to resolve the situation. A few moments later, he came back shaking his head. Apparently, the club's curator had decided that the club wouldn't be opened due to one of the aviation units being on alert for a deployment. No one had contacted Gaines and let him, or anyone else associated with our debut gig, know the change of plans. This was before the widespread use of cell phones and social media was not even an embryo at that point, so we had no way to contact those who planned to attend the show. Dejected, we left a note on a piece of paper on the doors stating the gig was canceled and left. We had worked up a lot of songs and were eager to let people other than our spouses or significant others hear us, but it wouldn't come to light. Not long after our failed debut, Ludeke got word he was also being deployed to Bosnia to support NATO troops. Our band dreams had been dashed.<br />
The final weeks of my clinic duty were routine, yet eventful in some aspects. The first event happened late one night just off Katterbach's far gate. It was routine for the aviation units to conduct training at off post sites like Oberdachstetten or the one behind Katterbach located near Sachsen. A helicopter was conducting some type of training and lost power mid-flight. The crew tried to recover the flight, but ended up setting down hard; crash landing in a field. Medics rushed to the scene and the helicopter's crew was transported to the 526th Clinic for stabilization, then sent onward to Wurzburg Army Hospital. The clinic was activated after hours as an emergency medical facility, so only a few selected staff members were on hand for the incident. When we arrived at 0700 for duty, the last injured soldier had only been gone approximately an hour and a half. Ludeke, being the only radiology technician, described the situation; most of the soldiers hurt were complaining of back injuries, but one had some significant injuries from the crash. This was some of that long awaited excitement I had waited for, and it happened before I was even awake.<br />
Another eventful incident was due to my own clumsy nature. I was working with Captain Mitchell and had a patient with a place on his hand that appeared to be a large wart. I was told to prepare a vat of liquid nitrogen so we could freeze the place off the soldier's hand, and as I was pouring the mixture into the vat, I bumped the table and spilled some onto my left hand, causing a large blister to form. I continued my task and acted as if nothing had happened in front of the patient, but the captain saw there was something obviously wrong. After the patient left, Captain Mitchell looked at my hand and told me it was serious, but not as bad as it could have been. He put some silvadene cream on the burn and bandaged my hand so I looked like a one-handed boxer. It wasn't long afterward that the pain set in; a pain far worse than the sunburn I got in Saudi Arabia. I was prescribed the medication of choice, ibuprofin, to ease the pain and any swelling. Just my luck, injured in the line of duty because I was clumsy.<br />
By mid-May, I was back at Shipton for good and the battalion was gearing up for field exercises. My first field trip back from clinic duty was at a firing range in Oberdachstetten. It was a small arms range, mainly officers qualifying with pistols. It wasn't uncommon for the medics to fire off some rounds after the 'official' qualifying was over. In fact, on some ranges with heavy arms, medics who normally wouldn't fire weapons such as the 50 caliber machine gun and 203 grenade launcher participated; although they couldn't use the session as a true qualification due to being non-combatant. At the small arms range, I was allowed to qualify for my pistol badge and qualified as an expert. I could wear the badge because medics frequently carried a pistol as a sidearm, so it was a proud moment for me. Back in the aid station, a lot of new faces were among us. Since I was at Katterbach, SFC Bechtel had left 6th Battalion and moved on to another post. Our new platoon leader was Corporal Fowler, who had went to Saudi with us and was stationed at Riyadh. Among the new faces was a guy named Combs, who reminded everyone of the character Bull off the television show <i>Night Court</i>. He was hilarious with his off the wall quips and take on everyday things, and could always lighten the mood. Another new face was Hayes, a tall, skinny kid who always struck me as prissy and thought he was a bit above everyone else at first meeting. There were a couple other newbies that had, by now, been in the unit for a while, but were new to Donnelly, Rucker and me. Martinez was still technically my field partner, but he was soon getting married and going on leave. Our battalion schedule looked very busy for the next several months with several field deployments and range duties, and a tactical evaluation more intensive than the ones we did before our Saudi deployment. <br />
The changes within the battalion were not only at the platoon level; Captain Taylor was gone soon after our return from Katterbach and replaced by Captain Stocker. Captain Stocker had previously been a commander for a Patriot battery and seemed to be very personable and in touch with the soldiers he commanded. First Sergeant Banks had been replaced by First Sergeant Jones, who was not the upbeat and friendly person 1SG Banks was. In fact, it seemed the new first sergeant really didn't want to be in the position. <br />
My first full field deployment since clinic duty was a two week assignment near Kitzingen with Headquarters Battery. Field duty with HHB was different than with Bravo Battery, mainly due to HHB's role as the command and support base during combat operations. We sat up a large tent that we used as the battalion's aid station and for the entire deployment, provided guard, KP and other non-medical duties as the commander and platoon sergeant saw fit. A couple of times, we had field classes on first aid that involved members of the battery who were not medics. Each battery in the battalion had what was called Combat Lifesavers who were trained to do basic combat medical skills. It was up to us to make sure they maintained their skills and trained new lifesavers on a battery level. The deployment was rather mundane and uneventful, and the weather, aside from being a bit cold, cooperated.<br />
Life off duty was moving along at a steady pace. I finally felt comfortable with how Christina and I were getting along. Contrary to what I may say these days, there were good times between us. To pass the time prior to going into the Army and before I bought my first guitar, I built model airplanes and Star Wars kits. I wanted to get back into doing that again, so I ventured out to the toy store in downtown Ansbach one afternoon. I bought a model World War II era military vehicle and the modelling fever was back. Our apartment had a big, built in shelf curio with glass doors and interior lighting, perfect for displaying items, so I took advantage of it. At first, Christina wasn't too happy about it but I convinced her it would be neat. Soon, more model planes and military vehicles started filling in the empty shelves. At the Katterbach PX, I found some Micro Machine toys that were the Desert Storm series and bought the whole lot of them. There were tiny soldiers, tanks, HUMVEES and Patriot Missile launchers. I put them on the shelves, much to Christina's dislike. Later in the relationship and marriage to come, I would have done it for pure spite and to get under her skin, but for the good times, I was like a kid again and excited to have a place to showcase these toys.<br />
Christina and I would go up the hill into Bleidorn and see Jeremy and Misty or Harold and Salina quite often. One evening, we gathered at Jeremy's for a birthday party for Misty. Gaines came over with his guitar and we sat on the balcony drinking and singing songs from Blind Melon and other artists of the day. Times like those always stand out as fond memories to me. There was one person that Christina had friction with, Cowden's wife Tonya. Tonya was a very outspoken woman who didn't mix words. That was evident when Christina asked Tonya to cut her hair and then asked for a refund because she didn't like the style. The two got into a shouting match prompting me to intervene and make Christina leave Tonya's apartment. The last thing Tonya yelled at us was, "boy, you got a long road ahead if you are gonna be with her".<br />
What little off time I had from the battalion was spent going back and forth to Burgbernheim. Gunter took me places he frequented, like his hunting spots near Illesheim and a gasthaus nearby that had some great food. One day he took me over to Oma's house and showed me a room upstairs he kept hidden out of sight. In there was all sorts of Nazi memorabilia; uniforms, weapons, medals and a large Nazi flag were just some of the items. These things should have been in a museum, but under German law, they couldn't be displayed publicly, and had the government known about this, they would have undoubtedly raided the house and arrested him. Gunter made some comments here and there about his thoughts on the Nazi Party, and he said he agreed with much of the party's agenda. His point being was that Adolf Hitler brought a war torn and financially broke country into a thriving and proud industrial might, to which, I agreed. Then he said that he supported the idea to take things by force and any other means if that is what made someone or some country great. He felt that the Nazi's were justified in reclaiming Europe after the Great War. I really didn't see eye to eye with him, but it was also very interesting and thought provoking hearing the perspective from the 'other side'.<br />
Gunter's father was an airman in the Luftwaffe, or German Air Force, during the war and served at the Illesheim airfield. Modern day Illesheim is one of the Army's Apache Helicopter bases, but during World War II, it was a resupply and armament stop for the Luftwaffe. The airbase also housed a squadron of Heinkel bombers in which the elder Georg Markert worked as a mechanic. When the Allies bombarded Illesheim, the airbase was destroyed, but Gunter's father survived and lived until the 1980's. If you stand on the high ground behind the church in Burgbernheim, there are ponds dotting the fields leading into Illesheim, which were explained to me as being old bomb craters that had filled with water. All through my life until that point, I had only really heard the story of World War II though the American side. Hearing Gunter talk about his father and his thoughts about the Nazis was a real eye opener for me.<br />
As spring progressed, the pace picked up again at Shipton. We were in the field more and more, and soon we were up to participate in a joint exercise in Hohenfels. I always heard horror stories about Hohenfels, that it was always rainy and mud was measured in feet. We would be part of a multi-force tactical exercise that would mimic being fully combat deployed and operational for the entire two weeks. Rather than one battery going off for training, the entire battalion would participate in some way. Our deployment phase began as usual with us being alerted and reporting to our respective battery location. Items were already pre-packed a few days ahead and ready to go when we pulled out. The route would take roughly two hours and would bring us within about an hour's drive time of the Czechoslovakian border. The trip down the autobahn was rather boring, so somehow we coordinated with the other medics to turn to a frequency on our mobile radios that was not monitored by battalion. We were treated to Combs giving us some hilarious tour guide like commentary, among other funny observations of how some of the towns looked like they should be pronounced. I'm sure had some wary commo commander been able to pin us to the source of short wave radio entertainment, we would have probably gotten reprimanded for sure.<br />
We arrived at the Hohenfels garrison late in the afternoon and was told we would stage there for a day or so, but we were still considered under tactical conditions. The barracks we were housed in were long metal buildings with rows of bunks, much like the platoon bays in basic training. At our end of day safety briefing, the commander told us under no circumstances could we go wandering outside our areas, especially to the shopette for alcohol. We dismissed to our barracks and could change out of our BDU's into civilian clothes; soon afterward, a growing boredom came over the room. Directly across from our barracks was a movie theater...well, it <i>technically</i> was still within our area of operation...what harm would it be? A group of us exited the barracks and the fenced in yard and waltzed right over to the theater to see the movie called <i>The Ref</i>; a comedy starring Dennis Leary that was quite funny. Once the movie let out, a little after 2100 hours, we casually walked back into company area...right into the stern gaze of an obviously displeased senior NCO. We were quickly told to form up and start doing push-ups, much like basic training. There were probably fifteen or so of us, the most senior was a sergeant who took the lead for us. He argued the fact of the close proximity of the theater, but was quickly rebutted. The area we were confined to was to only be the barracks, no further. Point made, indeed.<br />
We were awakened the next morning at 0500 and told to form up outside. We did a short PT session and afterward, told that only certain batteries would move out. Some of the medics were to deploy early in the day, while the rest of us waited and readied for the move order. The downtime consisted of last minute equipment checks and card games. Finally, Bravo Battery was called up to move out. My field partner was Hayes, and he was just entirely too clean and dress-right-dress for a field exercise. Hayes had been stationed at another installation that downsized and hadn't been in the field quite as much as I had, so this adventure should have been entertaining.<br />
We convoyed out deep into the German forest, and sure enough, there was a skim of mud on the dirt roads we were on. We could hear the booms of artillery off in the distance and passed a column of tanks and armored troop carriers moving through the fields along the road. This was much, much different than our usual field exercises already. Bravo Battery finally reached our destination after several minutes of passing through dense forest and up steep hills. Our site was an open field that was muddy, but not the muck as we had been told to expect. We sat up our tents and camouflage netting and settled in for evening chow. Even though Hayes was clean for field conditions, he jumped right in and helped out. He said that this was what he envisioned himself doing and not being in a clinic the whole time. After a while, the two of us began chatting and Hayes wasn't all that bad; but he still had that prissy aura about him.<br />
The two weeks seemed to drag by and at one point, we had to break the field site down, regroup and relocate to another site further in the 'box' as it was called. The weather wasn't too awful during the exercise and mud was to a minimum. Aside from a couple of guys coming into our aid station for minor bumps and dings, things went smoothly. The day we were to load up and move out, it was all hurry up and wait. By the time Bravo started moving, it was nearing dark. All of us were filthy and smelled from being out in the woods for so long. For the trip back after dark, we were under strict orders to travel in 'black-out' conditions, meaning no headlights and only the small black-out light on the front of our vehicles could be used. This made the trip even longer because we had to maneuver down the hills and across tank trails almost blindly. We finally arrived at the holding barracks where the trip began around 2230 hours and conducted a head count and inventory. During the formation, we learned that a HUMVEE of guys from another unit had wandered off the trail and actually struck a tank in the darkness. The HUMVEE was wrecked and the soldiers were evacuated out of the 'box' by helicopter.<br />
We stayed the night at the barracks, and the most part of the day until the whole battalion could regroup. One of the trucks from Headquarters had broken down during the exercise, so Hayes and I had a couple of more soldiers ride back with us. It was getting near dark before we left the holding area and we were all worn out from the lack of sleep during the deployment and idle time prior to departure. I, along with a couple of other guys, decided to ride in the patient area of the ambulance and take advantage of the stretcher benches for a nap. Hayes was driving and another soldier was riding in the passenger seat as we bumped along the rutted trail. I noticed the trip got a bit smoother after a while; I just figured we were on a main road headed home. Shortly afterward, we stopped and Hayes yelled back and told us to act like we were sick. Being the senior medic, I was a bit puzzled and poked my head between the partition and asked why. Apparently, Hayes had decided to get off the bumpy trail and drive on the smoother road that paralleled us, which was a no go according to base rules. No tactical vehicles were allowed on the hard road; only service vehicles and foot soldiers were allowed on it. We had been stopped by an MP, who approached the vehicle and asked for our dispatch papers. He began by telling Hayes that we were in violation of the base ordinance, when all of a sudden, a soldier in the back with me groaned really loudly. I poked my head back out again and asked Hayes what the hold up was that my 'patient's' stomach pains were getting worse. The MP looked at me and asked me what was going on. I told him that we had a guy who was experiencing some stomach pain and the bumpy road was making it worse on him. Hayes told him we were trying to get to the clinic, but the MP told him it was closed. He then gave Hayes directions to another facility and told us to"carry on", and to "just get off the hardball road as quickly as possible". Hayes had just won some major cool points with me, even if we had just boldly lied to a senior NCO and military policeman.<br />
We caught back up with the convoy and the rest of the trip back to Shipton was uneventful. It was late when we got back and all of us were dragging along, still stinking from the field. After our weapons turn in and accountability formation, we were dismissed around 2300 hours. I borrowed Ace's room to shower and rode back home with Jeremy. We had to be back at 0530; it would have made more sense to just stay in the barracks, but the lure of my own bed was too much. I got back to the apartment and Christina was sleeping. I don't think I stayed awake thirty seconds after I hit the pillow, the wake up was going to be brutal for sure.<br />
Since I couldn't drive a standard transmission vehicle very well, I rode into the battalion with Jeremy. That meant I had to walk up the hill on Benkendorff Strasse to his apartment complex each day, so part of my PT was already done before I even got to Shipton's gates. Rather than going home after PT, I used Ace's room to shower and relax before the day started. One morning, Jeremy and I were running late and went speeding down the roadway past the Kaufhalle toward Shipton when we saw a flash ahead of us. In Germany, rather than having traffic cops wait for speeders, they position radar cameras along the roadway and when a vehicle speeds past it, the camera snaps a picture of the vehicle and a few days later, a picture and a ticket arrives in the mail. Jeremy knew that we couldn't slow down in time, so just as the flash caught us, we flipped our middle fingers in the windshield. Sure enough, a few days later, Corporal Fowler handed Jeremy a picture and ticket from the polezei with our fingers prominently displayed. The fine wasn't cheap; the equivalent of around 120 US Dollars...but the satisfaction of giving the sneaky camera our salute was priceless.<br />
Christina and I were becoming more and more domesticated. I really cared for her and the idea of us getting married seemed more logical. Sure, we had some moments where we didn't get along, but our attraction was far greater. I had told my family my plans of asking her to marry me, and they naturally were apprehensive
about the idea. They felt I shouldn't have jumped into anything;
Jason York definitely gave me a hard time over it. But, like my
decision about joining the Army, I wanted to make a major life choice on my own free will; but their uncertainty still weighed on me. One weekend, Jeremy and I went to the main PX in Nurnberg and I went ring shopping. I found a nice engagement ring that wasn't too expensive and bought it for Christina. It was at this point that the first real crack in the surface began to form. I was beaming about the ring, and it looked like a great one for Christina. Jeremy and I stopped by and showed Misty, and she agreed it was a nice ring; that I had done well. When I got home and built up the nerve to finally pop the question, I gave Christina the ring and anticipated a large hug and tears. What happened instead dejected me and crushed the moment.<br />
"That's a nice ring, but not what I was really wanting," Christina said as she just casually looked down at the ring. She even slipped it off and looked closer at it, almost scowling at the shiny object I had hoped she would have seen as something symbolizing my love for her. I held my tongue as she just laid the ring on the table next to the couch, but inside I was fuming and hurt. I was pretty sure she knew I was bothered, but never said anything to ease the situation. After I piddled around with a model kit, I couldn't shake the feelings brewing any longer. I wanted to avoid a total blow up, because had I opened my mouth and let the words fly out, the things I could have said would have not been pleasant at all. Oh what I <i>could have</i> said.....Instead, I grabbed my keys and simply uttered I would be back. I started out walking toward downtown Ansbach to clear my head with no idea where I would end up.<br />
I stopped in the Musik Box and browsed through the CD's, but Christina's words still echoed through me. <i>Who in the bloody Hell did she think she was?</i> <i>All this talk and prodding about marrying her and she does THIS to me??? I needed a drink or three!!! </i>I wandered down to Hai Life and ordered a beer. I didn't recognize anyone in there but it didn't matter. I drank down the beer, ordered another and set out for the pinball machines. I don't really know how many beers I drank or how many games of pinball I played, but when I left, I was feeling pretty numb. As I walked down the narrow streets of Ansbach, I reflected on the past few months and thought about the good times. Would this just be a set back or a lingering sore spot, I wondered. I walked down a side street and something caught my eye in the window of a music store; a bright orange sunburst colored Les Paul guitar hanging on the wall. I stood and stared at the instrument and got lost in the sight of it. I wanted that guitar and made my mind up that I would save to get it...the random mind of a drunk person is a strange and uncertain thing, indeed.<br />
Eventually, I came back home, but Christina was gone. She didn't leave a note or anything, but I assumed she had went to her parents' or Oma's house. My beer buzz was wearing off and I started working on that model kit again. The apartment was too quiet. I heard every noise outside and inside and it became unnerving. Too bad I didn't have more beer. I fell asleep on the couch sometime, and woke up in the early hours of the morning to find Christina home and sleeping in our bed. I decided to let the scorn of the day go and focus on trying to make a future for the two of us, regardless of the crack in the surface. I laid down next to Christina and closed my eyes, hoping for a good dream...a dream for the good times to hopefully come.<br />
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Rob Kiskadenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11729507457550464443noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8626888127365718762.post-66186723740632797412014-10-22T10:27:00.001-07:002014-10-22T10:27:29.167-07:00Chapter 27: One VisionWorking at the Katterbach Clinic had its good and bad days. The worst part of it all was the monotony that grew after a while. Sick call and well baby clinic were so routine that we could almost perform the duties blindfolded. None of the officers or NCO's were 'power trippers' and didn't seem to have an agenda, but Captain Salzman could be authoritative if needed. One soldier who worked with us named Boudre' always seemed to push the envelope a bit when it came to military bearing and job duties. He didn't care much for cleaning up the treatment areas and always found a way to sham his way out of it. On my downtime, I usually hung around with Ludeke and Gains and talked music with them. I had my bass guitar with me and we always talked about getting a jam together, which would have been a welcomed thing for me. <br />
Christina and I were becoming more of a serious item and spending a lot of time together. She was starting to ease my uneasiness and presumed assumptions of what she wanted in the relationship. She spent a lot more time at the barracks with me, much to the dismay of Ace. Ace was a loner; aside from just a couple of us, he really had no friends. And he was just fine with it. Ace was also a very private guy who rarely said anything negative to anyone, but one evening, he told me that he felt that Christina was intruding on his space. I initially got defensive, but he explained to me that he knew Christina and I needed time to ourselves and couldn't be ourselves with a third person hanging around. The time had came where I had to put things into a different perspective; to evaluate where I wanted to be. <br />
Late February was a cold time in Germany indeed; bitterly cold. It would snow occasionally, but no large amounts would fall. The wind was the worst part of the German winters, but not bad enough for some of us to head over to the hills behind Katterbach's housing area for some sledding. One of our medics had the keys to the medical storage area and grabbed three or four wooden spinal immobilization boards we used as sleds one night. Of course, there was some beer involved, and things went well the first few runs down the hill. Degray went down the slope and fell off his sled and laid in the snow laughing. A short time later, Rucker came barreling down the hill and hit Degray's arm, knocking him down. It was classic fun until we noticed Degray rolling around, yelling. Apparently when Rucker hit Degray, his arm bent backwards and dislocated his elbow. The evening's fun was over and it was time to play medic. That's the thing about all of us who were in Shipton; we looked out for one another. If someone got hurt or had too much to drink, we patched them up or hydrated them. Many nights, I would get a knock on my door from someone asking for an IV or Motrin. Once we got back to the barracks, we fixed Degray up the best we could until he could get to sick call the next morning. Turned out, after x-rays and an exam, Degray's arm was broken along with the dislocation. And to top it off, we broke two of the immobilization boards...oops.<br />
While Rucker, Donnelly and I were at the clinic working, the battalion was preparing for upcoming field deployments and qualifications, both tactically and physically. Our battalion had to qualify periodically for what was called the Table X Qualifications, something I never really understood, but it entailed several field deployments. We were told that later in the year, the battalion would be doing tactical evaluations and other field exercises with NATO organizations. We, at the clinic, wouldn't be part of these deployments until our rotation was over, but we would have to participate in the battalion's PT test. We had taken one in Saudi Arabia, but for some reason, headquarters wanted us to take another one, this time in cold weather. The PT test took place early one morning when the wind was whipping across the field viciously, mixed with sleet. We did the push-ups and sit-ups in the battalion common area, but the two mile run would be at the old missile storage facility behind Shipton and the launcher area we called the 'Near IRP'. The weather had deteriorated before we started the run and the wind was brutal, but the regulations stated once the PT test had commenced, it couldn't be halted unless an unsafe condition warranted. Apparently freezing wind and sleet isn't unsafe.<br />
During the run, people that usually would have been lapping other runners started falling behind. It was a nightmare. My lungs felt as though they would rip out of my chest as I ran against the force of the wind. The sleet pelted my exposed skin and I felt I wasn't going anywhere as I ran. Eventually, it was over and as expected, I failed the run event...by almost a minute. There were several more who failed, but no one really did well as a whole. A few days later, I was brought before Captain Taylor with my squad leader, who was now Specialist Smith. The meeting started off well with Captain Taylor addressing my hair, which hadn't been cut to 'battalion standard'. It then moved onto the failure of my PT test and how my 'luxury of being at the clinic' was probably a factor. Granted, there was no structured PT at the clinic and the attitude was far more relaxed, but I really had no excuses. I was placed on a remedial PT program and had to get a haircut and report back when I was back to standard. My next meeting with Captain Taylor was a bit better, he didn't yell at me as much but told me to get back into shape or he'd pull me away from the clinic. Enough said...I'd do better.<br />
Christina and I ventured out into Ansbach to find a place to live. Being part of a 'ready battalion' meant I had a limited radius from Shipton where I could live. Army housing was out of the question because we weren't married, but would have been ideal because it was rent free. Until this point, I had only heard about the preconceived notions the locals had about American GI's. The only time I ever felt uncomfortable in Germany was when I wandered into the Alt Ansbach Club and the music literally stopped because I was an American who infringed on an all German club. Christina scoured advertisements for rental homes or apartments and we would follow up after duty hours. Several times, we were flat turned away because of me being an American. One time, I sat in the car while Christina looked at an apartment with an older lady, who was smiling and being very friendly. The rent price was very reasonable and the area was close to Shipton's rear IRP. Things were proceeding well until the lady looked in the car and saw me. Her smile turned into a scowl and she waved Christina away, telling her something in German that wasn't very pleasant from what I gathered. For the first time, I felt the sting of ethnic discrimination. Christina's parents didn't make matters much better with her dad saying things like, "Well, what do you expect," or, "He's about like the Turks. Nobody wants to rent to a soldier or a Turk." Her mom also piped in saying we weren't ready, which now with hindsight being 20/20, wasn't at all derogatory. After a discouraging search for a place to rent, the topic of marriage came up. It had only been just barely three months from the time we even met, but the idea and notion came up. The fact that we could get military housing if we were married was alluring, but I still was very guarded. That guard started relaxing more and more and as crazy as it may have sounded, the idea of nuptials started sounding...okay. I talked to Jeremy and Misty about it and they were supportive, Harold and Salina were supportive, but told me to be cautious and make sure I was ready. I didn't want to call home and say anything just yet.<br />
Eventually, Christina and I found an apartment at 26 Benkendorff Strasse, on the south end of Ansbach near Bleidorn and Barton Barracks. Our landlady was nice and lived below us, and she was not judgmental because I was an American. The rent was a little steep-the equivalent of 560 dollars per month-but with both our incomes, it was possible. In early 1994, the ratio of the US Dollar to German mark averaged roughly $1.57, although the ratio fluctuated depending on the market values. It was not exactly the luxury of the $3.75 ratio of the Saudi Riyal, but comfortable. We couldn't receive the basic allowance for quarters through the military because we weren't married, but we started off managing the financial end of things. We didn't have to sign a long term lease, which was a blessing considering I roughly had a year left in Germany. Had we been able to have gotten military housing, I would have had to extend my stay in Germany by another year.<br />
I was becoming more and more confident in my medical skills at the clinic, and occasionally something would happen unexpectedly that would bring a new challenge. One afternoon, Doctor Haskins was treating patients and suddenly became ill. He began to sweat profusely and complained of sudden pain in his lower abdomen and left side. He told us that he had been trying to work through the pain of a kidney stone the past few days but apparently the stone had become lodged. I established an IV in the doctor's arm and Captain Mitchell administered some pain medications, which caused some nice conversations with Doctor Haskins.<br />
"I feel like my hooter is going to split open," he blurted out loudly, while patients were in the next room. Everyone chuckled, but occasionally the pain negated the medications and he doubled over in agony. In this day and age, I'm sure he would have been a hit on Youtube. Doctor Haskins ended up being transported to Wurzburg Army Hospital that day for surgery, and recovered after a couple of weeks.<br />
Something we now take for granted as an everyday use or even necessity was introduced to us at Katterbach Clinic; the internet. With the click of a computer mouse, we could interact with clinical and hospital staff all across Germany. We could communicate within the clinic by electronic mail and pass information along within the departments. This was a totally new concept, and quite rudimentary in 1994. Another item I was starting to see more often was the cellular phone. I had seen a guy at Fort Sam with one and was intrigued by the fact you could talk to someone via phone and be mobile. Again, this is considered a normalcy in this age, and almost a must have; but in 1994, it was just plain neat and new. Only a few people had cell phones, or mobile phones as they were known then, usually higher ranking officers had them. Technology was starting to go into the 21st Century whether we were ready or not.<br />
Now that I was out of the barracks and living in town, my time at the Goose and other usual establishments diminished; mainly due to having to be responsible for once and on a budget. Not long after getting our apartment, Christina started complaining about her job and how she hated it. She had told me before that it wasn't a great job, but her complaints increased now that we were on our own. I told her to do what she felt she needed to, that she could probably get a job on post somewhere...totally thinking that was the plan of action. One day, she walked into the clinic and announced she had quit her job and was now a 'fucking dependent'. I told her that it wouldn't be long until she found something else, to not worry; but inside, I was thinking that the reduction in income would impact our rent and other bills. Things would have to tighten up financially if we were to survive on our
own for sure, and the casualty was the social escapades that had brought us
together. Eventually, the only time I ever saw my buddies from the Goose Gang was if I had to report to Shipton for whatever reason. Christina and I really only stayed at home or would go between her parents' house or up to Jeremy and Misty's place as they lived just up the street. Occasionally, we would go to Harold and Salina's but not many other places outside those. It sucked to have to be responsible and not be a carefree party guy like before.<br />
I woke up one day with a headache that felt would split my head wide open. The transition from winter to spring was happening, so I was sure it was my usual seasonal allergies. As the day went forward, the pain began to debilitate me and I asked Captain Mitchell to take a look at me. He said it was just sinus pressure and prescribed some antibiotics and Motrin...The Army had to have had a contract with the makers of that drug as much as it was prescribed. I went home that day, almost in tears, and laid down. I kept waking up with the pain pounding in my head and radiating into my right jaw. It was so bad that I couldn't hold my eyes open and became dizzy and nauseated. I didn't sleep much that night and decided to report to sick call as an official patient the following day. Christina drove me to post and I signed the sick call roster, then proceeded to Katterbach. After being examined again, Captain Mitchell told me that it was the due process of the sinus infection and to give it a few days. He ordered me as a sick in quarters status, meaning no duty for me. I went home and tried to sleep again, but was miserable. I got up the next day and the right side of my face was swollen, the pain was still excruciating. I went on into the clinic for duty, but it wasn't long until the looks and gawks began. Captain Mitchell took one look at me and said it was apparent I didn't have a normal sinus infection. He looked inside my mouth then told me to go upstairs to the dental clinic and check in. I really didn't know why he had said that, but went regardless. At the dental clinic, an X-ray showed that my wisdom teeth were impacted and one had started coming in through a molar, causing the pain. The dental surgeon was called and I was set up for a next day surgery, something I wasn't too keen about but if it relieved my agony, I was up for anything.<br />
The next day, the pain was still as bad and I went into the dental clinic with hopes I could be put out and be able to sleep for once. Instead, the oral surgeon injected lidocaine directly into my gums and the roof of my mouth, creating some of the most intense pain I'd ever experienced to that point. Eventually, my mouth went numb, but I was wide awake as the dentist began cutting into my gum line. I could feel the pressure of the instruments as he worked and that was very unnerving. As he worked on my upper right tooth, there came a point that the dentist took a small chisel device and hammer and began chiseling my upper gum. He hit a point that hurt and I told him, so he gave another shot of lidocaine into my upper gum just behind the tooth. There was an intense shock of pain when he did it and I nearly came off the chair. I was told to relax and settle back in, but my face felt like it was on fire.<br />
After about thirty minutes of the surgeon trying to hammer the tooth out, the lidocaine wore off again. I told him it was starting to hurt, of which he replied, "I've given you enough medicine. Do you have a substance problem?" I was taken aback at his assumption, but he said he was about done and I should "suck it up." After a few more minutes, the dentist, who by now I was convinced was a sadistic impostor, started pulling chunks of tooth out and dropping them into a metal pan. I was soaked with perspiration and nearly in tears at that point. The molar had to come out in one piece, but the wisdom tooth came out in five pieces. The ordeal had taken the most part of an hour...an hour of brutality in my opinion. After I was cleaned up, the dentist told me that due to the severity of the extraction, I would need to come in at a later time to have the rest of my wisdom teeth taken out. I think I would have rather braved the headaches than what I had just endured.<br />
Aside from drinking too much and the night at Tivoli Park, I had never been on any kind of narcotic drug until my wisdom tooth was taken out. I was prescribed Percocet for the pain and given a few ways off duty. I was also told not to drink alcohol while taking the medication. I went back to the barracks that day because Christina was elsewhere for some reason and couldn't pick me up right away. Luckily, Ace let me use his room to rest until Christina could come get me later. I took my medicine and laid down; my face still throbbing. It was still early in the day but overcast and cold with snow starting to move in, a great day to just sleep. Soon, I drifted off and slept a while. I woke up sometime later, dazed and my head feeling very fuzzy. It wasn't like a good beer drunk feeling; I felt like I could walk through a brick wall. For some reason, I thought it would be a good idea to go check the mail, so I walked down stairs and outside into the cold and light snow shower. the only problem was I was just wearing my PT sweatpants with no shirt or shoes on. I walked into the mail room and the clerk just stared at me at first, then blurted out, "Kiss, are you drunk already?". It was like I knew what was going on but my body and mind were two different beings. The clerk handed my my mail and I wandered back toward the barracks, still unfazed by the cold. When Christina picked me up, I was asleep again and the medication was wearing off, not a fun hangover.<br />
I spent the next few days at home, only waking up long enough to change my gauze or try to eat. My mouth and face was swollen like I had been beaten at the Goose, but the excruciating headache was gone finally. Christina felt it would be funny to take candid pictures of me while in a Percocet daze or asleep during my recovery, I still don't know what she was trying to prove by doing so. After about a week, I recovered and felt like a new person. Apparently the problem had been ongoing for a while and I was just passing the headaches off as sinus problems until it got worse.<br />
I got together with Gaines and Ludeke one evening at the Katterbach Recreational Center and we started jamming some songs as a band. It was all mainly classic rock material from bands like The Cars, Tom Petty, John Mellencamp and Cheap Trick. For being only the first time getting together, things sounded pretty tight. I was surprised we knew all the songs we did. Gaines was a good singer and a good guitar player, Ludeke was a solid drummer who's inspiration was Neil Peart from Rush. We decided to get together on Sunday afternoons as often as we could just to see how we progressed. If we never payed a gig, then it was going to be okay; we were just having fun playing music. This was better than any drinking binge for me and a good release for any frustrations I may have had.<br />
Things were going well for me all around. I was feeling confident in my Army skills, was at a good duty assignment, had someone to care for and a place to live for us, and I had my music back. I knew I was going to be sent back to 6/43 again soon, but I would have a much better vision once I got back to the unit and field. I would have one vision and one goal: To finally be all I could be, personally and as a soldier.<br />
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<br />Rob Kiskadenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11729507457550464443noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8626888127365718762.post-5666913634063555622014-08-18T11:47:00.001-07:002014-08-18T11:47:50.458-07:00Chapter 26: Hooked on a Feeling<i>As I look back and read my previous chapters, I find myself shaking my head on a lot of things I did. Memories from those times are still clear to me; sometimes too clear. That being said, the next chapters may make you, the reader, shake your head, too....</i><br />
<br />
The twentieth year of my life was closing out and I was once again back home with family. The past two holidays had been both special and therapeutic for me. It was good to get away from all the Army hustle and just be me again with those who mattered the most. So far on this trip, I had stayed rather low key and avoided the mischief I created the first time; then there was New Year's Eve. I had been invited to a party at a home belonging to one of the guys on the fire department. The plan was that I would stay until around 1130 p.m. and I would go home to watch the ball drop with mom as I always had in the past. Plus, my favorite band KISS was due to perform on the New Year's Rockin' Eve show and I didn't want to miss it.<br />
Dee Dee, Norman and I arrived at Anthony's house somewhere around 830 p.m. and I nearly fell on my face as I got out of the car due to wearing my cowboy boots and the snow still on the ground. It was bitterly cold that night and I joked that it felt more like Germany than Kentucky. Several people from the fire department were there already and playing cards and pool. Almost immediately, the conversation turned to the quality of beer in Germany versus domestic beer. Then the drinking began. I started off drinking beer, one right after another. The difference was uncanny; the domestic beer was much weaker than German beer and easier to drink. Then someone brought out a mason jar of moonshine. I drank quite a bit of it too, then some Wild Turkey. I got drunk rather quickly and by ten, I was having trouble seeing or walking. The last thing I remember is playing a card game on the pool table. Sometime after that, I passed out on the table, then fell onto the floor. I only know this because someone took pictures of me passed out. It was pretty apparent that I wasn't going to meet mom to watch the new year come in. I don't know when I woke up, but I had vomited all over the floor next to me and someone had said she worried I had stopped breathing while vomiting and quickly turned me to the side; possibly saving my life. It was after midnight by the time I woke up and KISS was already on the TV performing. I can barely remember seeing them and trying to sing along. Dee Dee had called mom to tell her I was playing cards and winning so I would be late getting home. I'm sure she probably knew what was going on. I escaped the reaper yet again that night; how many more times? I wondered.<br />
The first day of 1994 was spent recovering. I had done so well since I came back from the Gulf, but this episode was a recanting of the pre-deployment Green Goose days. The hangover was almost as bad as the one I had the first time I was home and I was sick as a dog all day. Mom and dad chided me about it, asking when I would learn my lesson and grow up. I didn't have an answer to that question. In fact, I liked how I felt when I was buzzed...entirely too much. It was still snowy out, but didn't seem as cold, but I stayed in all day. I picked up my bass guitar and played along with some tapes; I missed playing music often. A few days later, mom and I went to see my grandmother at the nursing home. She had been there since 1987 when she lost a leg due to diabetes related infections. Granny's health had been slipping further and further away as she aged and her mind was being eroded by Parkinson's and Alzheimer's diseases. The last time I saw her, just a year earlier, she had called me by my uncle's name. This visit was different. Mom had told me that granny's condition was deteriorating rapidly, and I could see it on the video that was sent to me that it was bad. My grandmother would lay in her bed and just yell out periodically; not a yell of pain, just a sound. Her hands constantly shook and she looked so frail. My granny was such a strong willed and headstrong woman and could sometimes be rather mean, and now, she seemed so helpless and was dependent for everything she needed. Mom was used to seeing her like this, but for me, it was almost overwhelming. I gave my granny a kiss on the forehead when we got ready to leave and patted her hand. She grasped my hand and squeezed it, looking at me for a long moment. And then mom and I left. The ride back home was a quiet one and somewhere inside, I knew this would be the last time I would spend with her.<br />
My time home was starting to come to a close and the weather still wasn't very good. It was probably best the weather wasn't as it was the first time I visited, because I got to do what I wanted; to be close to my family for once. When the day came to go back to the airport, it had warmed up some and started to rain. I had called Christina and told her my flight itinerary and when to expect me back in Nurnberg; she seemed generally happy that I was coming back, so that was a good sign. As I boarded the plane in Lexington, I said my goodbyes, but they weren't as sad this time. I felt satisfied that I had spent as much time as I could with who mattered. I took my guitar with me this trip back, so at least I would have some home association.<br />
The flight was the usual long and grueling trip, but I slept nearly all the way. I had my Walkman on while asleep and was briskly awakened by a flight attendant asking if I wanted anything to eat. I wasn't hungry and declined, then fell off to sleep again. Shortly after, another attendant woke me and asked the same, and seemed a bit more aggravated that I declined. I woke up again to find a plate of food sitting on the pull out tray in front of me; I guess while I was asleep, they went ahead and decided I needed to be fed.<br />
We landed in Nurnberg and for once, there was no snow on the ground. I wasn't in military uniform and while I had been home I grew a goatee, so I looked quite different I'm sure as I stepped off the plane. Christina greeted me at the arrival gate with a big hug and kiss, she hadn't forgotten me. We drove back to Ansbach and talked about my trip home the whole way back. She seemed fascinated with me telling how life in the U.S. was. Christina also said that she wanted me to meet her family and told me her dad was a very strict man who liked to intimidate people. Not exactly the kind of person I wanted to meet, but I would probably have to if this relationship was going any further.<br />
We arrived back in Shipton later in the day, the time difference was starting to take a toll on me this time. I was very tired, but wanted to stay awake to make the best of my company. Once I got upstairs to the room, Ace was doing his usual routine of nothing but watching football games. I still technically had 24 hours of leave left, but thought if I didn't go sign in, I would forget to do so. Without thinking, I reported to Battalion Headquarters still in my old Led Zeppelin shirt, jeans and full goatee. I presented my paperwork to the duty NCO and he stood up, giving me a full all around look.<br />
"Soldier, what do you mean by coming into my office, reporting off leave, looking like a bum," he barked at me. I snapped to attention and the sergeant took my hat off, telling me that my hair was a disgrace. After being back home in the civilian setting, this snap back into military bearing jolted me a bit. I told the sergeant that I would have it all fixed as soon as possible and he told me once I did, to report back and he would accept my return paperwork. The problem with that was the barber shop on post was closed due to it being a weekend. I returned to my room and shaved, then found someone in the barracks to cut my hair. The haircut wasn't by any means what I liked and was much shorter than I usually kept it, but after the run in with the duty NCO, I wasn't going to complain. After a return trip inspection, the sergeant accepted my paperwork and I was officially back with 6th Battalion, 43rd Air Defense Artillery...back in the Army grind.<br />
The aid station was back in full operation soon after my leave ended. All inventory was completed and medical records sent back to Katterbach, so there was some downtime during January, 1994. Field assignments were being revamped because of the new medics that had arrived; the new ones were being paired with the more seasoned medics. According to SFC Bechtel, I was included in the seasoned medic category, although I hadn't thought of being. Promotion boards were approaching for the soldiers who were specialists promotable to the sergeant rank. For the rest of us, we were being evaluated for promotion from private up to specialist ranks. My evaluation was not entirely charming, in fact, it was almost scathing. "Not initiative oriented. Low motivation. Needs to be driven to complete tasks." At the bottom, the recommendation for promotion was denied. At the time, I was floored by what I read. Looking back, it wasn't far from the truth. I took that evaluation to heart after the initial shock wore off and vowed to do better. First thing was to fix about me was the binge drinking; I had to get a hold on that. The New Year's Eve party scared me a bit, plus I had someone to maybe keep me grounded somewhat. But the lure of a good night at the Goose or a barracks party was always inviting.<br />
Around February, I was selected with Rucker and Donnelly to work at the clinic in Katterbach for the 90 day rotation I had hoped to be part of. We would be exempt from field deployments and other unit activities while attached to the 526th Medical Detachment. I was excited that I would continue working in the clinical realm rather than freezing in a tent somewhere. Plus, it would provide me with a confidence boost in my skills from the time at Khobar Clinic. We reported to the clinic every morning at 0645, which meant we were exempt from PT at Shipton. Usually a bus ran to Katterbach around 0600 so Rucker and I would ride over on it. Donnelly lived in military housing at Katterbach so she just met us there.<br />
The first couple of weeks were devoted to orientation and training. There were two more medics from other units with us, neither had been deployed anywhere yet. The clinic staff was a mix of military and civilian personnel, the commanding officer was Captain Salzman. There was a radiology department, lab, emergency room and outpatient clinical rooms in the building. Other than the krankenhaus in downtown Ansbach, this was the only medical facility in the immediate area. After orientation we started being assigned in different areas each day; one day we would be in the main clinical area, another in sick call, or taking care of well baby visits. There was always something to do at the clinic and the staff were great in teaching us new techniques of medical care.<br />
Our duty days ended at 1700 hours and by the time we got back to Shipton, everyone was already gone or getting ready to head somewhere off post. Christina worked for a engineering firm and did technical drawing and blueprints for them, so she didn't get to the barracks until after 1800 hours. After a while, Christina started hinting around about wanting our relationship to progress, to move in together. I hesitated at first, I wasn't entirely sure she and I would work. I was hooked on a feeling more than anything at that point; a feeling that things were going good, but was I actually hooked on <i>her</i>? A kind of shitty way to think about a person that I professed to care for, but it was all about the feeling in the moment, not a lot else.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-Eg7J6hfbeug/U-4wnzy_p1I/AAAAAAAAAPY/pBfu4fbd-oc/s1600/IMAG1691.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-Eg7J6hfbeug/U-4wnzy_p1I/AAAAAAAAAPY/pBfu4fbd-oc/s1600/IMAG1691.jpg" height="320" width="190" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>Christina and me, early 1994</i></td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i><br /></i></td></tr>
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I went with Christina to meet her family one evening and was very nervous. She told me that her mother, Heidi, worked at the Post Exchange at Illesheim Airfield and her dad, Gunther, was the post master in Illesheim. She had a younger sister, Nicole, living at home and her grandmother, whom I only knew only as Oma, lived close by. I was reminded that her dad was very stern and strict, especially when it came to American GI's. The Markert family lived in a four-plex house on the outskirts of Burgbernheim. As we drove through the town, it was neatly preserved in the Renaissance look. A lot of the buildings in the main district dated from the 1500-1600's and were built in traditional Bavarian form. The church, which dominated a large knoll in town, was built in the 1100's but had been remodeled over and over through the years. It was a fascinating small town, but densely populated for its size.<br />
I sat on the couch in the Markert household, nervously awaiting the impeding meeting about to take place. Heidi came in first and shook my hand; she seemed pleasant and looked at Christina and said something in German, smiled and walked away. My German language skills at this time weren't very good; in fact I could only speak or understand basic terms like asking directions or expressing gratitude. Nicole came in and sat in the chair, staring at us. An occasional giddy teenager smile would cross her face, but it seemed like she was trying to figure out if I was human or not. Christina had given me a photo album and I was looking through it when all of a sudden, something caught my peripheral vision.<br />
"Do you know what this is," a deep booming voice asked. I looked up to see the barrel of a .357 Magnum pistol staring down on me. I looked up and said, "a .357 Magnum with what looks like hollow points loaded." Gunther laughed and lowered the weapon, saying, "well, good deal, you passed the first test." New shorts, anyone? I stood up to shake his hand and he gave a strong, firm grip, then turned around and poured two shot glasses of what looked like vodka. He handed me the glass and toasted a welcome. I turned the drink up and the burn immediately started; this was not vodka. I must have winced, causing a laugh.<br />
"You passed the next test. You didn't puke," Gunther laughed. The drink was 'Slovakian Schnapps', he called it, a very potent drink that he demonstrated could be lit on fire. Much more of that, and I would have to either have to be carried back to Shipton or my stomach pumped, or both. The home was a small place; it had a living room area, three bedrooms, small kitchen and a bathroom. Nicole's room was probably the most interesting. She had a large cage in her room the housed a ferret and chinchilla, along with a couple of rabbits in a cage. Other than the zoo, the room was a typical fourteen year old girl's room with posters of the current popular people displayed everywhere. After a lengthy stay, we drove over to Oma's house. Her home was in the heart of Burgebernheim and was in an older district. Across from her home was a large barn and the smell of cattle was very prominent in the area. Oma didn't speak any English and was an elderly woman who seemed very kind hearted. Our meeting was brief because of the late hour, but as we left she took my hand and patted it, telling Christina something in German that I again didn't understand.<br />
The visit wasn't too bad, other than the gun incident. I asked Christina on the drive back what they had said, she just smiled and said they liked me. She brought up the idea of moving in together once more, and I still hesitated. She became defensive and questioned if I really liked her or was just playing on her emotions. <i>Of course I cared for her</i>; <i>plus who did she think she was asking me that</i>? That thought ran through my head but not out of my mouth. I tried to explain that I had been through some rough times within the past year on a personal level, but Christina was still pretty upset. We ended the night with her still being upset and saying something along the lines of, "when you figure things out, call me." I in turn was upset at her attitude and what I perceived as being pushy.<br />
The following day, I was at the clinic working and Christina came in to see me. She apologized to me and said she hadn't slept well because of our argument. I actually hadn't slept well either, but I didn't want her to know. After she left, Rucker and Donnelly asked if Christina was my new girlfriend. I replied that she kind of was, and they chided me because I didn't introduce them. <i>Kind of</i>. That was a lame way to put that she was my girlfriend, and was probably me subconsciously trying to rationalize my feelings. <br />
Clinic duty was running smoothly. I had made some new friends there, Corporal Gaines and Specialist Ludeke were both musicians and we hit it off well. My favorite part of the clinic was the treatment area. I worked under Major Hoskins and Captain Mitchell who were pretty laid back about things. Captain Mitchell reminded me of Lieutenant Balser with his demeanor and humor. In the treatment area, we had a few people come in during sick call hours with run of the mill ailments, some looking for nothing more than a day off from duty. After sick call, unless there were patients in the treatment area, we worked in other areas, so there was always something to do. Being the only medical facility in the area, we saw several soldiers come in from nearby training areas or aviation hangers that had minor injuries. Usually, we did nothing more than patch them up and send them on their way, but occasionally, we needed to stitch someone's cuts. I learned how to do stitches and became 'suture certified', which meant I could do them without direct supervision. I also learned how to work in the lab, doing blood draws and running simple blood tests; things I didn't get a chance to do at Khobar. I also became very proficient in doing the well baby clinic duties. Every Tuesday and Thursday, children from newborn up to 18 months old would come in for their vaccinations and check ups. We measured their weight, length and head circumferences, as well as checking their vaccination records and administering them when needed. Easier said than done. Giving adults a vaccination is pretty routine, aside from the ISG vaccination that went bad in Saudi. Children, however, are a different story...babies especially. Babies tend to move around a lot and when they get vaccinations, they are given in the thigh. A lot of babies had the legs of marathon runners, I'm truly convinced. It took a couple of people to secure their legs many times, and I know these kids that were older must have had my face burned as an image in their minds. <br />
As the weeks passed by, a steady routine had developed that provided some stability in my life for once. I didn't pass my time getting hammered like I had before; I stayed occupied. Christina and I grew closer and I became more confident in my medical skills. I still had my buddies and closest friends in the barracks, but didn't spend as much time with them as before. Harold, Smith, Rucker and Petty were probably the ones I was closest to, but the guys in Bravo Battery were right there with me, too. That's one thing about sweating it out in a bunker on a remote desert tactical site; it brings everyone a bit closer because we all had each others' back. Plus, I was their 'doc' and took care of them in the field, so they had a level of trust in me. I remember talking to Petty one night about Christina and he told me that I shouldn't jump into anything. He said she was a German girl looking for a free ride and I should be cautious. Of course I got defensive, but in the back of my mind I wondered if Alan knew something about her I didn't. Some German girls had a reputation as being 'green card seekers' and whores that slept with any GI that would have them. I hoped that what Petty said was only a form of brotherly precaution, however blunt it may have been. I passed it off as nothing more than him being overly cautious and let it go. It was true that I was hooked on a feeling, more precisely a feeling of in the moment, but I felt that I had something I had been looking for...a stable, and sober, frame of mind.Rob Kiskadenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11729507457550464443noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8626888127365718762.post-81171958993318597102014-06-26T09:22:00.000-07:002014-06-26T09:22:33.879-07:00Chapter 25: HomeboundThe barracks can be a place of solitude, a place to hide, or in some cases, a holding cell. I was glad to be back in Germany; back in Shipton away from the desert heat and those who wanted to harm us. It was the confinement that made me crazy inside. I started unpacking my bag I had carried with me about the time the staff duty NCO came around to break the seals on our lockers. He had our inventory sheets in hand and had to confirm that the serial numbers on the locker seals matched and had not been tampered with. When the seal was broken, it was almost like I should have heard a whoosh of air or something. I had three uniforms hanging in it, a few personal items, but that was about all. Everything else, including CD's tapes, and even my portable stereo, were either stashed away in the mail building or on that plane lost in Turkey. Ace had his TV and some video tapes, so all wasn't totally lost. After a quick check of everything on my inventory list, the staff duty NCO left for the next room.<br />
The day dragged on it seemed. I reported to the aid station with the rest of the medics and noticed there were some unfamiliar faces among us. These were either newbies or some that had been transferred to us from other units that had been downsized. Downsizing was going on all across Europe; Army units that were garrisoned in Germany and surrounding areas for Cold War duty assignments were being deactivated and their personnel were being dispersed among other units or sent stateside. Most soldiers who had been in longer and nearing retirement took the early out option. The process started just before our deployment and we had some of the new soldiers end up with us in Dhahran or Riyadh; but for the most part, the others were rear detachment while we were deployed. For the ones of us who came to Shipton Kaserne that snowy day just nine months earlier, we felt like seasoned veterans. Martinez, Donnelly, Arms and a couple others who had been at Shipton before I got there were still with us for a while, so I know they must have felt seasoned. We made some small talk, but it was obvious that our attention was elsewhere...somewhere other than Shipton.<br />
After several hours, we had another formation. It was around 1800 hours or so and everyone had confinement fever. The lost weapon had been recovered, thankfully, and was in transit back to post. One problem solved. The other issue was the lost luggage that had still not been located. It didn't matter; once we got the all clear, I was Goose bound with the posse. The sky was darkening and the air was bitterly cold; a far contrast to just twenty-four hours earlier. Walking was probably out of the question. I need to find a ride to the Goose. Who would be there? Would Moni be waiting for me? If she wasn't, what then? All these thoughts ran through my head as the commander gave us the usual safety briefing. When the commander gave the call, "platoon sergeants, take charge of your platoons," the anticipation nearly boiled over. We were dismissed and all of us let out a thunderous shout. We ran into the barracks and nearly ran each other down as we hit the stairwells. I changed clothes quickly and ran down to the shopette, only to be greeted by a line a mile long. The beer cooler was nearly sold out by the time I got to it, but I was able to score a six pack of beer to start the night off. <br />
I went back upstairs, opened the first beer and savored it. Ace was laying on his bunk watching sports on TV while I prepared for the Goose adventure. I asked if he was going out, but he said he wanted to just stay in. Apparently, not much had changed with Ace since August. He was still a slouch. I drank two more beers and walked down the hallway to meet with the other guys. No one was available to drive us, so the command decision was made to foot it to the Goose, no matter if hypothermia set in on us. I carried my remaining beers with me as we, the motley crew we were, exited the rear gate. Gosh, it felt good to be back, even though I had kinda despised the place before we deployed. At least the only threat we had at Shipton were the rabbits or farmer Herman's sheep...or the concoction of human and animal waste fertilizer spread on the field outside the perimeter.<br />
We arrived at the Goose with grandeur, well, at least in our minds it was grand. The place was packed with people; many of the guys from the battalion had already arrived by the time the posse had arrived. Shouts of welcome back rang out and rounds of drinks were ordered by the guys already there soon after our arrival. I immediately looked for Moni and Mary. I thought they would surely be there waiting somewhere. I wound my way through the mass of people to the DJ booth, which was in the back center of the room and gave a fairly good view of the place. The music was pounding techno music and the lights were mesmerizing. The crowd on the dance floor seemed transfixed on the beat and beams of light that pierced the hazy room. I looked carefully over the room, but still no sign of Moni. The patio was closed due to the weather, so I knew she wasn't outside. I looked at my watch and it was only 2100 hours; still early in the Goose time zone.<br />
After a while, I found the posse and we began to hammer down some alcohol. I got buzzed very quickly because all that time sober killed my usually high tolerance. The Goose was just as it was before we left; packed far beyond capacity with hot headed, drunken soldiers and pretty young German girls. Eventually, the inevitable brawl started and spilled out into the parking lot. For once, I didn't follow the mob as they rolled out the front door. <br />
We all continued to drink as the night grew on, but I was getting hammered quick. I slowed it down a bit and looked around again for Moni, with no such luck. I felt hurt and angry at the same time, so I started slamming drinks again in rapid succession. I started to feel sick after a while, so I slowed down again. I remember walking around and seeing a lot of people who I used to see at the HHB parties. They all seemed to remember me for the most part. I walked up to a group of people whom I recognized and saw a girl I had seen and blurted out, "hey, I know you!". The girl was shorter than me and had jet black hair. She just smiled and replied, "do you now?". Before long, the two of us started chatting it up and dancing together. I still looked around to see if Moni was anywhere in the building, but she hadn't showed up. It was well known when we would be back from Saudi, everyone seemed to know, from the German locals to the Katterbach guys. Moni should have known when I would be back, and I had even written her one last letter a couple of weeks or so before I left Khobar telling her when I was expected to be back. I kind of figured this would happen, or I'd see her with another guy. All the well, I seemed to enjoy present company.<br />
The girl I was talking to was named Christina. She had been to the parties at the barracks a few times, and I had seen her at the Goose. I actually knew her friends, Cindy and Tanja more than I did her, but I hadn't forgot seeing her. She was, as I said, a bit shorter than me, a little heavy set but not obese and not too bad looking. We talked all night, and I'm sure I spilled my guts about my frustration with Moni and how the deployment had went. When it came time to go, I gave her a hug and told her I'd see her around again. When we walked outside, the air was absolutely frigid and being that I was sweaty from being inside the Goose, it was brutal. German winters are notoriously cold. I started walking toward the back road to Shipton, hunkered down to shield myself from the cold wind. Christina pulled up next to me and yelled for me to get in. The passenger door opened and Tanja was sitting in the seat, so I just spilled in on her lap. Christina drove off into town and I told her I wanted to stop at Hai Life, that she could go on if she needed to. We stopped and Hai Life wasn't too packed, in fact, it was quite dead. I made a round to see if I knew anyone and left quickly afterward. That fiberglass shark was still hanging on the ceiling...one day, shark...one day.<br />
Christina, Tanja and I packed back into the little white Volkswagon Rabbit and headed out once again. Christina had already promised to take Tanja home, so I was along for the ride. I was feeling a good buzz still and as we whizzed down the road, the trees blurred outside the window, intensifying the buzz. I hadn't drank myself into total oblivion as I normally would have. I guess it was where I had to pace myself to keep from vomiting everywhere and ruining a good night. Or maybe it was because I had hoped Moni would show up and I didn't want to be blitzed when I saw her. Oh well, whatever the reason, I was okay with it.<br />
We took Tanja to her home somewhere outside Ansbach, and I had to get out to let her exit the back seat. As she got ready to leave, I just grabbed her and kissed her, don't know why, but I did. She told Christina to "be careful" and disappeared into the house. It was nearly three in the morning, my buzz was starting to wear off a bit, and I was tired.<br />
"Where the crap are we," I asked Christina. She told me, but I had no clue where we were to be quite honest. I asked her where she lived and she told me a town called Burgbernheim, which was about 20 minutes or so from Ansbach; in the opposite direction we were at presently. I told her that she just needed to stay in the barracks rather than drive back as late as it was, that I'd sleep in the floor. We got to the barracks around 0330 and Christina left her ID card at the front gate. I really didn't think she would go into the barracks with me, but she did. There were a few guys milling around in the hallways still drinking, but I was worn out. We got into the room and Ace was snoring away, quite loudly, too. We laughed at him and made snippy remarks about his bodily functions as he slept; unconscious flatulence I called it. Christina laid down in the bed and I prepared to sleep on the floor next to the bunk. She laughed and told me to get off the floor, that she wasn't going to rape me or anything. I crawled into the bed and before I knew it, we were making out. There was an attraction between us, but I still felt bad because of Moni. Eventually, we fell asleep before daylight.<br />
We woke up sometime late the next morning, my head was still a bit fuzzy from the night's buzz. Christina was lying there smiling and there was a moment between us. I don't know how to describe it, but we just visually connected. Ace groaned loudly and broke the moment, causing us to laugh. He rose up and was just in his underwear and quickly said, "oh crap, oh, oh! I didn't know you brought someone home!". He was clearly embarrassed and we were clearly amused at the sight. I threw the blankets over Christina and my head and we laughed out loud.<br />
"Go ahead, man, go on and get up," I quipped. I could hear Ace scrambling around and mumbling to himself, in apparent disgust in his embarrassment. Then, I got a bit concerned. <i>What if Moni came by for a surprise visit?</i> We had to get up and get going; well, Christina needed to get going I thought. I told her I had to get stuff ready for the next duty day and was still adjusting to being back in garrison. A not so subtle way of saying, "yeah, you need to get outta here before <i>you know who</i> shows up". Christina agreed that she should go and said she needed to get back to Burgbernheim, quite possibly picking up on my uneasiness. I walked her down to her car, hugged and kissed her. I told her that I enjoyed her company and that I hoped to see her again sometime. <i>My God, what was I doing? I still technically had a girlfriend!</i> I dismissed any thoughts of guilt, mainly because of that connection we had made. I still can't describe what it was, but it was there. Plus, I was starting to get a little mad about the whole Moni thing anyway.<br />
It was Sunday and I had felt like the past thirty-six hours had been a week long. There wasn't much of a time difference, so jet lag wasn't a factor. It was the return trip and the long night at the Goose that finally came crashing down on me. I spent the afternoon washing what little clothes I had and preparing a uniform for the next day. When I got my desert uniform out of the dryer, I held it up and looked at it. A realization came to me while looking at that tan and brown uniform; I had grown so much as a medic and had done so many things the past year and three months. I pressed and placed the uniform on a hangar, ready to store it away for later viewing. Later, I went to the mail room and there were boxes lined up neatly along the walls with numbers on them. I opened my mailbox and there was a slip of paper with numbers written on them that corresponded with the numbers on the boxes. I found my boxes, which contained my stereo, CD's, tapes and some other items. I was glad to see them, but still concerned about my other bag that was long lost. I had some of my favorite concert shirts from back home in that big green bag, along with my jeans and favorite pair of boots. <br />
The first post deployment Monday morning wake up was as it always had been in Shipton; 0530 in PT formation for our Monday Motivational Run. It was frigid out and my body was still not acclimated to the sudden change. The run was three miles and the crisp air burned my lungs, but unlike before, there wasn't a hang over lingering. The run actually felt good once I got into it. Maybe I'd slow the drinking down a bit, I felt good for once during PT. I had been sober for four months, with the night back being the exception. I hadn't got wasted in Bahrain and had ample opportunity to do so. Maybe I would turn a new leaf and behave. Maybe.<br />
We had filled out paperwork prior to leaving Saudi for our block leave for Christmas. I had accumulated almost a full three weeks of leave, but was only allowed to take two weeks due to the other soldiers' leave schedules. I found out that my leave was approved and I was ecstatic. I would be home for Christmas! I hadn't told anyone at home I was indeed coming home since I didn't really know for sure. I called home as soon as I could and told mom the news, but I didn't want her to make a big deal of it or tell a bunch of people; I wanted to just show up and surprise everyone. It had been a year since I was back home and I had so much to tell everyone. My leave would begin on December 18, and I would have to return no later than January 3. They allowed two days grace period for overseas travel because of the time differences. I went to the travel company in Katterbach and Micheala was my travel agent. I hadn't seen her but maybe once or twice since the Metallica concert but she hadn't changed at all. Travel tickets and vouchers in hand, I was ready for the next week to end. Only problem, the lingering elephant in the room, I still didn't have my clothes or bag. That finally changed the next day or two when we were notified that some of our bags had been recovered and returned to the battalion. We reported to the motor pool to retrieve our belongings and there was a pile of green bags in the floor; not neatly organized like our other packages. I found my bag finally and it had holes scuffed in it and what looked like pieces of asphalt embedded in it. For the most part, everyone got their bags back, with only a few exceptions. We were told the plane loaded with the bags was trying to make an emergency landing and hit the runway hard, skidding off into the ground. My bag smelled like diesel fuel and there was a stain on the side. Aside from the holes, it was intact. I just wondered how my clothes looked after the condition the bag was in. Once I got to my room and opened the bag up, I noticed some of my clothing was damp, and only one shirt smelled of the diesel fuel. Everything would have to be washed and rewashed but I got it all back.<br />
During my off duty time, Christina was starting to come around more and more. I told her about Moni, but she still kept visiting. It was beside the point that almost a week had went by and still no word from Moni. To me, that meant she wasn't interested in me any more. Then, it happened. Christina was at my room and we were watching a movie with Ace when there was a knock on the door. Call it intuition, karma, or just plain expectation, but I knew it was Moni. Ace opened the door and closed it almost immediately and shot me a stare or pure bewilderment. I was already almost to the door and eased it open enough to slide out into the hallway. Moni and Mary was standing there and my blood went cold. I told them we should go to the kitchen area and talk.<br />
Moni hugged me and said, "I'm here," with no further explanation of why it had taken so long to come see me.<br />
"Where were you," I asked. She turned to Mary, and Mary translated my question into German.<br />
"I'm here now," was Moni's reply. I don't know if she didn't understand my question or what was going on. Before I left for Saudi, she seemed to understand English pretty well, but now, she was using Mary to translate for her. I had so many things I wanted to say; about how angry I was at her, how disappointed I was, how confused I was over all this. All I could muster out was that I had moved on. Mary shot me a look to kill when I said that. Moni stood there looking like nothing had been said. I looked at Mary and told her, "tell Moni that I moved on. I hadn't heard from her, and I have been back for a few days now. I'm sorry." Mary told Moni what I had said, well, at least I think she translated, and the expression on Moni's face drastically changed. Mary grabbed Moni by the arm and they left. I felt relieved, but also bad about the situation. I walked back to the room and sat down next to Christina. I told her what had happened and that I needed to process it all. She left, a bit upset at me, but I needed to filter through the thoughts in my head. <br />
The days before my leave were somewhat busy. We had to get things back in order as far as equipment turn in and medical records returned to the 526th Medical Detachment. In addition to that, we had to get everything cleaned and inspection ready. Some people had already started their leaves, so not much more activity was going on throughout the battalion. There were no field exercises scheduled until after the new year, and starting in late January or early February, some of us would be going to work at the 526th for a 90 day rotation. This meant clinic duty, and exemption from the field. I hoped I would be one of those selected after I got back from leave. During the day, we did the usual PMCS of our vehicles, which stayed parked for the most part. We drove them around the battalion from time to time to keep the tires from becoming flat spotted. The aid station wasn't really disorganized due to the rear detachment soldiers taking care of it. On my nights off, I stayed away from the Goose, mainly because I didn't want to deal with the personal drama that may have presented itself. I noticed that the guys who usually had the big barracks parties or practically lived at the Goose were lying low. Maybe the Saudi deployment made us grow up a little bit? Who knows.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-LTT8pCyhW20/U1_ZcFVSlcI/AAAAAAAAAMM/weL6gDgGy2s/s1600/il_570xN.521670924_79r9.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-LTT8pCyhW20/U1_ZcFVSlcI/AAAAAAAAAMM/weL6gDgGy2s/s1600/il_570xN.521670924_79r9.jpg" height="320" width="226" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>A traditional German Christmas Pyramid </i></td></tr>
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Christina and I started seeing more of each other, she came by the barracks every night and we would sometimes go into town and walk around. Ansbach was preparing for the Christmas holidays, or what is called Weihnachten. The open market place was transformed into a large Christmas themed market called Christkindlmarkt and was astounding to see. Vendors sold crafts ranging from grandfather clocks to small ornaments. There was plenty of candy floating around the market. On one trip to the market, I decided I wanted to buy mom something traditional, like a clock or other craft. The clocks were beautifully hand carved and quite pricey. I had thought about a grandfather clock, but the shipping cost would be more than the clock itself; plus, it was a good chance that the clock would have been damaged in transit. After the ordeal with my bags from Saudi, I didn't feel real comfortable with shipping anything at all. I found a type of wooden, tiered windmill with intricately carved figurines on each level inside it. It was called a candle carousel, or a Christmas Pyramid and was very unique. I had never seen one of these ornaments and it was small enough I could bring it with me on the trip home. Christina and I walked around the market and took in the feeling of the evening. I was still leery of becoming attached to someone, especially after Kim and Moni, but something just felt right about the moment.<br />
My leave was starting to get closer and Christina volunteered to drive me to the airport in Nurnberg. I had an early flight, which meant we would have to get on the road by 0400 to make check-in. The days prior, I packed my bags and prepared for the trip home. packing bags had become a routine task by this time. It seemed I was always packing bags to be on the move. There was a certain way to pack ruck sacks and our big green duffel bags to optimize the most items to be placed in them. Even now when I pack to go somewhere, I find myself rolling my socks and underwear. I called home the day before I left for the States to let mom know what my flight plan was going to be so they could arrange my pickup. I was going to leave Nurnberg, stop over in Frankfurt, then to Louisville and finally to Lexington. At least I didn't have to deal with Atlanta airport; I always disliked flying in there. The night before I left, Christina stayed at the barracks with me so we could leave straight from Shipton. I gave her my parents' phone number just in case she wanted to call me while I was back home. We got up around 0330 and started loading the car. Overnight, a steady snow had started to fall and the air was bitterly cold. I was glad to see the snow when we got off the plane from Saudi, but by now, the cold and snow had outstayed its welcome in my opinion.<br />
We trekked to Nurnberg and in many places, the roadway was covered in snow. Back home, people would crawl at a snail's pace, but not Christina. We sped on down the road. I guess when you are accustomed to weather like this, it's no big deal. We stopped off at a gas station somewhere between Ansbach and Nurnberg and it started snowing harder. I asked Christina if she thought the flight would be delayed, she said she doubted it. I was due to fly out at around 0830, so by her calculations, we would be at the airport by 0615 or so; plenty of time to check in baggage and relax a bit. We arrived at the Nurnberg Flugplatz and I started unloading my bags. After check-in, there was some down time, so Christina and I walked to the shopping area and grabbed a quick bite to eat. I remember saying something along the lines of "well, are you going to forget about me too after a couple of weeks" which resulted in a quite angry look from her. It was mostly a joke, but had some truth to it. Finally, it was time for me to go to the terminal gate. I hugged and kissed Christina and told her I would call her when I got settled in at home. Then I said, again, jokingly, "and are you going to be here to pick me up in a couple of weeks?". Yeah, I had to dig that dagger in just a bit more for sick and twisted humor's sake. <br />
The flight to Frankfurt was short, and I didn't have to change planes, so I fell asleep while waiting. I was awakened by someone sitting beside me. He was a large framed black man in civilian clothes and he looked at me, nodded, and said, "hello private". I was in my Class A uniform, so it wasn't too hard to figure out I was a soldier. The plane took off and headed west toward the Atlantic and I eased back in my seat. Air travel was starting to be a bit more routine for me by this time; my anxiety wasn't near as bad. During the flight, the man next to me asked where I was headed and what unit I was part of. He said he was also in the Army and had been in Germany for three years, and was going home to St. Louis for leave. We chatted for a while, then when the stewardess came by, he ordered the two of us a small bottle of Jack Daniels. We toasted the Army and "being all we can be" and drank the whiskey down. <br />
The flight was uneventful, and I slept most of the way across the Atlantic. I woke up while we were about 300 miles from Newfoundland according to the map on the screen. Everything with the flight was going as scheduled, with just a minor delay in our expected arrival time. When we entered North American airspace, I let out a silent sigh of relief. I was almost on the home stretch again...Homebound. A few hours later, we were in Kentucky, descending into Louisville. It was starting to get dark out as we landed. The man next to me said good luck and it was good talking to me as he started to exit. He shook my hand as he stood up and said, "private, keep your head up and do good things. Who knows, fifteen years from now, you can be a first sergeant like me". I sat on the plane and waited anxiously for the short hop to Lexington. The flight was running about twenty minutes behind schedule and it had started raining. After several more minutes, we were cleared to take off. I was excited and nervous about coming back home. As we were in the air, the pilot told us that the rain was starting to change over to sleet and freezing rain, and our arrival into Bluegrass Airport would be within twenty minutes. Like the other time I flew from Louisville to Lexington, the plane didn't get too high in the air. The lights below were plainly visible in the dark, and a glisten of slushy moisture was starting to accumulate on the plane's window. Before I knew it, we started our approach into Bluegrass Airport. The plane touched down and seemed to accelerate some before it slowed. The runway was wet and I could see the precipitation had increased as we made the turn toward the gate. I was on home soil, just forty miles more to go.<br />
I walked down the gangway to the door, mom, dad, Dee Dee, Norman and Casey were waiting for me. It was so good to see them again. I was worn out from the trip and it was getting late, plus the weather was starting to deteriorate rapidly. We piled into the car and headed to Owingsville, local time was around 8 p.m. Mom told me that she hadn't said anything to anybody about my leave, but wanted to play a prank on my cousins Jason and Matthew. The ruse was that she would call and say they had received a package and needed to come pick it up. The road trip was interesting; sleet and freezing rain pelted down on the car's windshield as dad drove cautiously. I couldn't help but laugh because Christina had driven so normally on the snow covered road to Nurnberg. I hadn't really said anything about Christina to anyone at home because it had been so soon and things were so hectic at Shipton. I wasn't quite sure I wanted to tell them I was starting to get involved with someone else just yet; plus I didn't know if I even wanted to get involved with someone again. <br />
We arrived in Owingsville just as the sleet tapered off a bit. I dropped my bags in my old bedroom, which was still pretty much as I had left it, although now mom and dad were using it to store things. Mom called Ruth and set up the ruse for Jason and Matt. Several minutes later, we heard a car door shut outside and I went into my darkened room and closed the door. Ruth, Jason and Matt came in and made some small talk. Ruth asked if mom had heard from me, and mom told her that yeah I had called and didn't know when I would be home, probably after the first of the year. She then told Jason that their gift was in my room that it was too big for her to move. Jason and Matt opened the door and looked in. I was standing in the middle of the room, silent. Jason looked around and said, "where's the light," I spoke up and said, "you have to turn the bulb". Jason didn't clue in immediately, but it hit him shortly after. The ruse had worked, and they were all greatly surprised. The last time I was home, I didn't spend any time with Jason and Matt, even though we had been so close growing up. This time home would be different; no running around from place to place. I was going to spend time with my family and close friends on this trip.<br />
I had frequently stayed overnight at the Vice household over the years and Jason asked if I would come over and stay again while I was home. I agreed, but wanted to stay at mom and dad's and sleep in my old bed again for once. I woke up the next day and mom had her classic gravy and biscuits and bacon ready for me. Outside, there was a couple of inches of snow on the ground; great, I had brought it with me. Later in the day, I called Jason York and told him I was home. He came up and we decided to make the best of the snow by going to his parents' farm and sledding. The farm was way back off the grid and had this large open field. We found an old car hood and some rope, tied off to Jason's brother's ATV and spent the day being tossed wildly across that field. It was good to be home. A day or so later, I went to the high school just before their Christmas break to visit those I knew who were still there. I walked down the hallway as classes let out and blended in with the crowd, catching up to a group of people. I walked behind them, listening to the conversation and then broke in like I belonged with them. It was funny to see the reaction from them and everyone else I encountered that day.<br />
The next day, it snowed again. The temperature was bitterly cold and the wind would seemingly cut one in half. No one stirred in town, so it lessened my opportunities to run rampant as I did the first time I was home. I spent the night at the Vice household and played video games most of the night, just like before I left. Jason is two years younger than me and we grew up together. Jason's dad was a Vietnam veteran and had been wounded in combat. He never talked about his experience, and once when Jason and I were younger, we found his Class A uniform and his Purple Heart medal. Jerome told us to put them away and to never get them out ever again. Jason wanted to go into the Army, especially after I had left. The evening was good for all of us, but it was apparent that I was grown up and the days of being carefree kids in the basement playing war games or Nintendo were over. That was probably the moment I knew life as I had remembered was very different than the life I was living in that moment.<br />
We celebrated Christmas at home as a family again. It felt so good to be home for the holidays among family; and felt good to be there with no lingering hangover. So far, the trip home had been relaxing and a sober one, but I still had a bit longer to go. Christina called me a couple of times while I was home, but the time difference made it difficult and unsettling a few occasions when everyone was awakened by a ringing phone at 2 am. The new year was fast approaching and I planned on bringing in 1994 as I had every other year; watching the ball drop with mom. Nineteen ninety-three was closing in a whirlwind. So much had went on with my life in those twelve months; I had been so many places and had met so many people. This trip home only solidified my relationships back home...a solidity I would need later on in my journeys.<br />
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<br />Rob Kiskadenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11729507457550464443noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8626888127365718762.post-39035970447788895552014-04-01T15:59:00.000-07:002014-04-01T15:59:55.841-07:00Chapter 24: The Traveling SoldierThe Operation Desert Falcon deployment was nearing an end finally. That light at the end of the tunnel was starting to get a bit brighter as November arrived. That didn't mean the job load or threats were lessened by any means. Captain Kungys told us of yet another attempted car bombing on a post location near us. The guards were on their game and thwarted the attempt, but the captain told us that the threats were starting to be more frequent. This caused us to keep an ever watchful eye on our surroundings, as if we didn't already. I wondered if one day while driving to the tactical site if a fanatic would try to ram my vehicle or try to blow their vehicle up at our ECP. After the harrowing experience in Al Jubail, I wasn't sure I even trusted our Saudi allies. This concern came to light once again on a trip to MODA. I was taking some soldiers to the hospital one morning in the sport utility vehicle that was provided to us, just as any other time I or someone else was tasked to do. As we drove into the populated area just before the gate to the airbase, I noticed an increased presence of Saudi military vehicles and troops meandering about. When we approached the gate, two soldiers waved for us to stop; not an uncommon thing, because they always checked our credentials and did a quick look in our vehicles every time we arrived. This time, however, was different. As I rolled the window down to the vehicle, the soldier told me to turn around. I told him that I had patients that needed to go to MODA for appointments, but he still insisted that I turn back. Behind me was another HUMVEE and some cars behind it, so I was hemmed in. I tried to talk to the soldier but he refused to listen to me and I could tell was becoming agitated. I was envisioning the Al Jubail ordeal all over again, when an Air Force security police sergeant walked up to my vehicle. He asked the Saudi guard what the problem was and they moved away from the window. Meanwhile, the other guard was holding position at the passenger's side of our vehicle. A couple of minutes later, the security police sergeant told me to hang tight and he would move traffic to let us back out of the area. I asked what the problem was but he just said to follow him out. We maneuvered out of the way and followed the HUMVEE away from the gate, which was within sight of MODA. A few minutes later, we were waved down by the security sergeant and he asked if we knew the back way into the airbase, through the American sector. I knew the route, even though it was about thirty minutes out of the way and the soldiers with me would not meet their appointment times. I never got a straight answer of why we weren't allowed to go onto the Saudi sector of the air base, but we arrived at MODA finally, forty-five minutes later than scheduled.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>Riding out an alert inside a bunker on Bravo Battery's tactical site.</i></td></tr>
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Advanced party soldiers were arriving and the incoming medical commander and his NCO stopped in the clinic one day to tour the facility. His name was Colonel Potter, which I thought was funny because of the TV show MASH's commanding officer having the same name. Another funny name moment came when I was working the check-in desk at sick call one morning. A sergeant handed me his ID card so I could log him in and his name was Palmer, Harry S. Harry Palmer...the juvenile joke started echoing in my head and I looked at him with a perplexed look, prompting him to say, "yeah, I know." Duty days hadn't changed much, except we were starting to move things from our tower to another building across the complex. Anything non-essential would be moved to what was called the transitional housing area. We also were starting to catalog items and prepare them for shipping back to Germany. I hadn't realized just how much I had acquired since August until I started this process. In addition to those daily activities, we still maintained the tactical site. We still had alerts and would have to go to our bunkers occasionally, but they had became routine. I still had the occasional soldier become overheated and require an IV, but for the most part, the months of endless hydration had worked out well for everyone. There was one incident at the clinic where a Saudi national had nearly severed his finger and walked in with his hand wrapped up in a shirt. One of the other medics asked if she could help him, all he said was, "I have pain." No expression of pain at all, even though his finger was mauled pretty bad. Apparently, he was working outside our building and had smashed his hand in a metal grill or something. Captain Kungys and LT Balser worked the best they could to patch up the injured man's finger, but it was way out of our capacity. The captain loaded the man into the SUV and took him over to MODA for treatment. I'm not sure if he was able to keep his finger or not.<br />
Another part of the clinic job was to do the medical out-processing for our soldiers. This was like the same process we went through at our pre-deployment phase, just not as many injections. One soldier came in and we started the out-processing checklist. He was to get a shot of the ISG vaccination and a TB skin test. Remember, the ISG shot was thick and went into the hips. The guy bared bottom, assumed the position and I started giving him the vaccination, like I had so many times before. This time was a bit different; the soldier's legs buckled and he went unresponsive. Great....I had killed my first patient. I called for LT Balser who was in the next room and he came in and laughed at the sight. By this time, the soldier was starting to come around and looked at me saying, "what the Hell did you do to me?'. Lieutenant Balser explained to me that in the hip is what's called the Vagus Nerve and when it is stimulated or compressed, it can cause fainting. I had injected the thick medication too close to the nerve and it compressed it, causing the soldier to pass out. Relieved that I hadn't indeed killed the guy, I apologized and sent him on his way. Always a learning experience to be made, for sure.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>Commander's Day at Half Moon Bay, November 1993.</i></td></tr>
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Sometime around early November, we were treated to a rare R&R day at a place called Half Moon Bay. It was called Commander's Time, but clearly a chance to kick back and forget about things for a day. The beach was a resort area used by the Aramco staff and had a small restaurant, jet ski rentals and other amenities that was found on an American beach. The vast expanse of the Persian Gulf was ahead of us and the water was crystal clear. The day's events featured lots of volleyball, tanning and swimming. Jeremy and I decided to rent out a couple of paddle boats and race each other in the gulf. We were several meters off shore when I spotted something off in the distance. Something big was moving around in the water and what looked like a dorsal fin popped up. Jeremy yelled out, "shark" and started paddling with all his energy <i>toward</i> the creature. I followed suit, partially curious and thinking I would have to drag his half eaten body back if indeed it was a shark. The creature surfaced two more times, but we were getting no closer. Jeremy finally got a good look and noticed it wasn't a shark, but a dolphin. We pushed those little paddle boats as hard as we could to get closer, but the dolphin kept going further away. We stopped to rest a minute and heard a lot of yelling behind us. The shoreline was full of people yelling for us to get back; we had gone far, far out into the gulf, and had we caught the current, we would have been pushed far beyond the limits of the resort.<br />
Jeremy and I finally got back to shore and we were properly scolded for our off shore adventure, but nothing more was said to us. Some of us obtained some snorkeling gear, something I had never done before. Jeremy grew up in North Carolina and had spent some time at the local beaches there, so he showed me the basic principle of snorkeling. After ingesting a few gulps of salt water, I finally got the hang of it and spent a while in the shallow water watching the small crabs and fish dart around. As the day went on, the sunscreen I had used washed off and I didn't reapply it like I should have. Eventually the brutal desert sun started to take its toll on me. I knew I was getting burned so I got out of the water and put a shirt on; but the damage was already done. <br />
The day ended and was well needed for all, especially for me. I was still in a funk, and the events at Al Jubail just dug into me. I wasn't sleeping well at all, and the constant feeling of being on alert wore me down inside. After the trip to Half Moon Bay, I nursed a nasty sunburn for a few days and got back into the routine. It seemed that the month was starting to fly by; a lot of activity was happening all at once. I did one more shift at Lucky Base and spent almost the entire twenty-four hours cleaning the clinic from top to bottom, in between breaks of watching the movies I had rented. I'm sure the commander would have really loved walking into the clinic and hearing the video concert of Queen Live at Montreal blasting at top volume. I drove back from Lucky Base that last morning and as I was driving down the roadway, I was passing a vehicle when another darted <i>between</i> us at high speed. I swerved off to the left to keep from making a Caprice Classic sandwich and nearly ran off into the sandy median. The car sped away, not even slowing down. This was by far the craziest driving I had ever seen.<br />
I had to make a supply run to the airbase late one afternoon, a task that wasn't too bad, but still a long trip across the sand. As I was coming back, the traffic suddenly stopped in the roadway and people started getting out. I was in a HUMVEE ambulance and stood out like a big green elephant with a red cross on its side. As the people exited their vehicles, some shot me hard glances and I noticed some were opening their trunks. I was starting to worry at this point. I reached for my radio to try and call for help, but was perplexed by what was going on around me. The road was complete gridlock and the people were taking colorful rugs from their cars and placing them on the ground. A moment later, the group of people dropped to their knees and bent forward on their rugs and started praying. I nervously sat in the ambulance and waited. I was certain the people would see me as an infidel and mob me as I sat there, but after about fifteen minutes, they returned to their vehicles and traffic slowly started to move again. I got back to Khobar, still a little shaken from the ordeal.<br />
I was greatly surprised one day when I found out I was on the list to go into Bahrain. First Sergeant Banks had told me that I wouldn't have any off base privileges because of the Al Jubail debacle, but I was slated to go across the Gulf regardless. After seeing Cowden and Toole when they returned, I was ready to enjoy a day off in drunken fashion. The trip started by all of us reporting outside Headquarters at 1100 hours. We were to dress in our BDU's and take clothing to change into once in country. We boarded the bus after a roll call and instructions by the commander and first sergeant. There would be no alcohol brought back into Saudi Arabia, period. We were to respect the nationals at all costs and retain our military bearing at all times. If we ended up in trouble, there was a USO nearby that would be our contact liaison, but basically we were screwed should we end up in trouble. The bus trip would take about a half hour, going across a causeway bridge in the gulf; quite possibly the longest bridge I had ever seen. Halfway there was an island sand bar that had a checkpoint operated by the Bahrainian military. We stopped at the checkpoint and had to exit the bus and get into formation while the guards checked the bus for any contraband. Another guard walked around us as we opened our carry on bags to show we only brought clothing. After several minutes, we were cleared to re-board the bus and continue.<br />
We arrived in Manama, Bahrain's capital city shortly after 1300 hours, stopping at the USO building. As we exited the bus, we were greeted by Asian girls who immediately came up and started hugging us. I wondered if this was like Hawaii where you get a hug and a lei upon arrival, but quickly realized it was a marketing scheme to buy shitty souvenir shirts. The catch line was, "I sleep with you GI if you buy a shirt," and you'd be surprised how many guys fell for it. Problem was, once they bought a shirt, they were pestered to buy more and more with the same empty promise of a good time. Pretty smart tactic; a bunch of horn dog GI's who have been holed up at Khobar Towers for three months away from promiscuous activity and alcohol was a goldmine for these ladies. We found the changing quarters and Bruce, Lewis, Arms and I set out for the recreation area and bar. When we got to the bar, there was a sign that said there was a two drink limit. Two drinks?? Really?? We soon figured out we could give other guys money and get more, but that soon came to a halt because the bartenders really kept track. What we didn't realize was that the limit was only if we stayed there in the bar the whole time. If we left and came back, then we could get more. See...a loophole even there.<br />
The city of Manama wasn't much different than Dhahran. There was a large mosque just behind where we were congregated, an elaborate structure that dominated a whole city block. Rows of shops lined the streets, much like downtown Dhahran, peddling anything from T-shirts to golden artifacts. I found a music store and bought a couple of CD's, which were a bit more expensive than the ones at Khobar. Bruce and I rejoined the others at the USO after a little while and we played games of pool, pinball and air hockey as we enjoyed the relaxed feel of things. We noticed a few guys getting pretty hammered and a couple began to push on each other in alcoholic bravado. The sparring was quickly stopped by a couple of NCO's and didn't escalate any further. Another guy came back in, bragging how the Asian girls came through with their promises, although I highly doubt they ever did because he only had the one shirt he got in the parking lot when we stopped the bus. The day was fun, relaxing and not bad at all, but at 1800 hours, we had to suit up and head back across the gulf. We boarded the bus again, some staggering and needing a helping hand along the way. Once underway, a sing along began in the back of the bus; rousing versions of Army cadence calls with filthy little twists.<br />
We approached the checkpoint and one of the guys started fidgeting in his seat. He nervously started going through his bag and when the bus stopped, the guy bent down and reached under his seat. Everyone exited the bus as we had before, but the soldier was still acting very nervous. When we formed up outside, he whispered, not very quietly, to another soldier next to him and me that he had brought back a can of beer. The guards were doing the routine of having us open our bags while another inspected the bus. After a few short minutes, the bus guard came out with the beer can talking in Arabic to the others. The senior NCO in the group was summoned to talk to the Bahranian soldiers and we were then ordered to empty all the contents of our carry on bags so the items could be inspected. The NCO asked repeatedly who had brought the beer on board the bus, no one stepped up. The guards were finished with their search, and ready to let us go, but the NCO was embarrassed and furious by the discovery.<br />
"Soldiers, we can stand here all damn night for all I care. Who brought contraband on the bus?" The group stood silent, but the guilty soldier was visibly nervous, prompting him to be called out of formation.<br />
"Private, do you have something you want to tell us," the NCO barked. The PFC bowed his head and confessed he was the one. We boarded the bus back and headed back to Dhahran and once back at Khobar, the NCO and PFC disappeared into the headquarters building. The soldier wasn't part of our unit, but was with the maintenance company attached to Task Force 6/43 and I would have hated to had been him.<br />
The new building we were beginning to move into was across the facility some distance and was smaller in comparison to where we had been housed. We occupied the first floor of the new building, probably in an attempt to keep everyone else from any further bombardments of glow sticks. The rooms were a mess when we first moved in; books, training manuals and other debris cluttered up the area, some looked as if it had been there since Desert Storm. We cleaned the building from floor to ceiling and found a box of old weather balloons....oh, the possibilities. Jeremy and Bruce opened one of the balloons and unfolded it. The thing took up half the living room area. We weighed some possible uses for the balloon, but after the water gun scare, decided it would be in our best interests to abandon any mischievous plans.<br />
By mid-November, we weren't being tasked out on the tactical sites as much. The battalion had started the transition and transfer of command to the incoming Patriot unit. We had started shipping items back to Shipton regularly; my items consisted mainly of CD's and tapes. We were starting to have some downtime, but were still expected to come help in the clinic whenever we could. I was still doing the Monday night DJ gig when I had time, but had started to scale it back some. As before, with downtime, there was boredom, and the boredom led into mischief once again. Jeremy, Kirk and I got bored one night and went around our area drawing chalk outlines of our bodies like a crime scene here and there. There were chalk outlines under vehicle tires, below the seven-story towers and just about anywhere else we could find. We found it rather amusing, but a day or two later, we learned that a British Air Force guy had committed suicide by jumping off the seventh floor balcony of a tower close to where we had placed the outlines...very creepy and sobering.<br />
Thanksgiving dinner 1993 was provided by the fine culinary staff at the Khobar Towers dining facility, sarcasm inserted here. Actually it wasn't too bad, just not mom and granny's home cooked meals. This was the second Thanksgiving away, and we all got to call home. I was so glad to hear voices from back home, as my calls were infrequent due to the long lines at the phones or the things we had going on. My spirits were starting to cheer up a bit, knowing it was just a couple of weeks before I was gone from Saudi Arabia. I had learned so much during the deployment; about my role as a medic, self initiative, and one thing that has stayed with me...the ever feeling of alertness and cautiousness. But I had maybe grown up a little, also. The test of that was the Bahrain trip and me not getting hammered. In fact, I only drank three beers on that trip. Had this been at the Goose, I would have drank three just as I walked into the place. I found out that I had been recommended for an Army Commendation Medal by SFC Taylor. He told me one afternoon on site that he appreciated how I checked on the soldiers of Bravo Battery and he felt I was a top class soldier. I thanked him and never thought more about it, but when I found out he recommended me for the award, I was humbled. Perhaps I had made some of an impact despite my crazy and sometimes questionable antics. During the battalion awards ceremony, I was given a challenge coin, a commendation certificate from LTC Geraci and a Certificate of Achievement. The only medic to receive a medal award was Cowden, who received an Army Achievement Medal. Sergeant First Class Taylor told me later that I had been "robbed of that medal", and he planned to appeal the decision, but no more came out of the ARCOM award.<br />
One day we were tasked out to clean out an old storage container that was assigned to the clinic. It was crammed full of things, from out dated saline solution to nerve gas antidote injectors and anything else in between. Anything out dated was to be tossed out. Some things we found dated to Desert Shield. Things like small informational pamphlets and leaflets printed in Arabic and English on how to use the antidote kits and general first aid information. We just tossed them all out, but now I wished I had kept one as a souvenir. One of the guys kept a couple of the nerve gas antidote injectors and took it with him to the room for some reason. Later we found out why when the guy captured one of the stray cats and used the injector of epinephrine on the poor animal. The cat ran about ten feet and collapsed, dying instantly. And this is what we were supposed to put in our bodies in case of nerve agent attacks?? Another non-violent thing we did with the cats that roamed around was to take our water guns and shoot them from the balconies. The cats would wander into the open area and we would open fire with the long range bursts of water and watch them either stop and hunker down or dart off somewhere. Again, boredom creating mischief.<br />
November ended without much incident. I did my final Monday Rock Night gig the last Monday night that month. I had a blast doing it the time I was there and really learned a lot about how to mix songs and entertain people through music. I saw Patty there and told her I was about to leave Saudi, so we exchanged post addresses to keep in touch. She invited me to come over to their building before I left and play music with her sergeant and a couple of others. The night before I left, I came over to their building and jammed a little bit with the guys. When I got ready to leave, Patty walked me out and we exchanged a hug and a promise to keep in touch. Most of the time that last month was committed to out-processing, so the final two weeks in country weren't as hectic as leaving Ansbach was. We had already started compiling all the medical records to send back to Shipton and the task went much smoother than the pre-deployment phase. We received our orders to ship back and Task Force 6/43 ADA's deployment for Operation Desert Falcon was essentially over. We had a change of command ceremony at Khobar those first couple of weeks in December, then the hurry up and wait process began.<br />
My last twenty four hours in Saudi Arabia were uneventful. The day day prior, which was December 9, 1993, I spent packing and making sure all my bags were clearly marked for the trip back. The last thing I wanted to have was lost luggage when I got back to Ansbach, because BDU's wouldn't go over well at the Goose. We cleaned the rooms one more time and made sure the clinic was in order one last time. Some of the people from the battalion had already went back, so business was slow at Khobar Clinic that last couple of weeks. We ended the day with our briefing from the commander, outlining how the next day would go. There would be no PT that day, we had to be in formation at 0600, then off to breakfast, and an inspection formation at 0830. At the 0600 formation, we loaded our bags onto trucks that would haul them to the airbase. We could keep out a personal bag to bring on the plane, and mine was crammed with cassette tapes for the trip. It was hot that day, but nothing like it had been the past four months....Four months...had we really lasted in this wasteland four months? <br />
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-BDuzZzdWDFY/Uzl8Kl0UTEI/AAAAAAAAAL0/k7UPdnrdYQM/s1600/2189_48652568113_6449_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-BDuzZzdWDFY/Uzl8Kl0UTEI/AAAAAAAAAL0/k7UPdnrdYQM/s1600/2189_48652568113_6449_n.jpg" height="230" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>6th Battalion, 43rd Air Defense Artillery departing Saudi Arabia, December 10, 1993. Photo courtesy of Ellsworth Rucker III.</i></td></tr>
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We arrived at the staging area on the airbase around early afternoon, sometime after lunch. This was the same area we arrived in back in August. It was all downtime while we were there; more hurry up and wait. Some caught catnaps, others played card games, anything to keep occupied. Then around 1600 hours, the order was given, "fall in". We got into formation and did a roll call, and after some closing remarks by LTC Geraci and CSM Jemison, we were ordered to file out of the hangar and into the waiting plane. I took one last look around as I topped the stairs leading into the plane and breathed a sigh of both relief and accomplishment. I felt that I had blossomed as a medic during the deployment and had learned so much than what I had at Shipton. Granted, there wasn't the battlefield trauma usually associated with war, this was a cease fire conflict, but I saw quite a bit of real time injuries and sickness; and I learned a wealth of knowledge on how to treat those who were sick and injured. Captain Kungys and Lieutenant Balser did well teaching and guiding all of us during our time in Saudi Arabia, and I will always be grateful to them.<br />
Our flight would take us from Dhahran to Riyadh, then out of the country for good. I settled into my seat and dug out my trusty Walkman and a Queen compilation tape. It was going on 1800 hours and the sun was starting to dip low on the horizon as we started our taxi down the runway; the sky painted in majestic orange and red. The ground fell away from us as we lifted off and a cheer erupted from all of us as Dhahran grew smaller and smaller. We arrived in Riyadh a little while later as it was getting darker out. After the plane was boarded, we seemed to sit on the runway for a long period of time. We started the usual taxi down the runway, then sped down the runway. It seemed like we were taking longer to get airborne than normal and all of a sudden, the plane started bouncing, causing a slight panic with all of us. We finally got off the ground and started the climb in the darkness. The pilot's voice came across the public address system and he started off by saying, "Sorry about the rough take off folks, the runway was a little shorter than we thought". Great...I had just finished a hazardous duty tour, survived hypothermia as a result of Mad Dog 20-20 and been granted a reprieve from being held in captivity for a wrong turn at Al Jubail and now the plane ride back home would be my demise, I thought. <br />
"Anyway folks, welcome aboard and we anticipate a smoother flight back to your destination," the pilot continued. The pilot finished by saying his name was something Nugent and that he "was related to The Motorcity Madman", referring to Ted Nugent.<br />
The flight continued on into the night and I fell asleep. I'm not sure how long I was asleep, but was awakened by the pilot addressing us once again by saying we were going to make a stop at Sigonella Airbase for an 'undetermined amount of time'. I had never heard of Sigonella, let alone where exactly it was. Someone in the plane made a comment about it and another person said it was located in Sicily. So within the course of four months, I was going to be stepping foot into four different countries; something I would have never dreamed of doing just a year and a half before. We landed in Sigonella sometime before midnight and disembarked the plane. The air was humid and moist as we walked from the plane to the building we were to wait in, far different than the weather in Saudi; more like Kentucky summer humidity. We filed into the terminal building and found anywhere we could find to sit, and we waited. Sicilian television was to say the least, interesting. I looked up and on the screen and there was a topless woman in a new car advertisement. That was definitely something that would never be seen on any local stations back home.<br />
After about two hours, we were able to board the plane once again, and this time, the take off was very smooth. We were never told what the issue was, but as long as the plane got us back to Germany, I didn't care. But I can say I had been to Sicily, just never left the airbase. I drifted off again during the flight and woke up as we were flying over German soil. It was still dark out and I couldn't really see much because of the clouds. I was still groggy as the plane started its descent, but the sight outside woke me up. Below, I saw the roofs covered with a thin white blanket of snow. Wait...snow??? We had just left the sand and 90 degree heat and it was snowing outside? The plane touched down in Frankfurt finally and we all cheered. We had made it. Our tour of duty was over; no more sand, 100+ degree heat, no more smells or uneasy feelings about the locals. I couldn't wait to get off that plane and step foot on European soil, and I was kind of glad to see the snow, honestly. <br />
We filed off the plane and down the gangway into the airport terminal. When we ended the corridor, the Army band was playing the Army Song and a line of senior officers and NCO's from V Corps, 3rd Infantry, and 69th Air Defense Artillery Brigade greeted us with handshakes and pats on the back. It was a good feeling to see all of this, it felt like a great homecoming for us, the traveling soldiers. And that is exactly what I felt like; a traveling soldier. In the past year and three months, I had gone to so many places and had seen so much. I wasn't the gangly kid I used to be, and I wasn't the person I used to be just a few months before. I was more confident and felt more proficient as a medic after leaving Saudi Arabia. I hoped to maintain this high.<br />
We boarded buses destined for Ansbach as the glimmer of daylight started to break the horizon. The snow had tapered off some, and the weather was bitterly cold. But it didn't matter; we were away from Hell. We all were excited about being so close to Shipton, something I never thought any soldier would be. We laughed and joked all the way there, energized from a near catatonic state a few hours earlier. The most common topics were how soon we would crack open our first beers and go to the Goose. The club would surely be hopping once we got back. The buses finally pulled down the long road to Shipton's front gate as a fine rain started to fall. There wasn't as much snow in Ansbach as there was in Frankfurt, but it was still cold out. As we pulled into the gate, the guards stood and saluted us as we passed; a very humbling feeling. We stopped in the motor pool and were ordered off the buses and into the mechanic bay. Walking out into that cold Ansbach air never felt so good.<br />
We got into a battalion formation and were addressed by LTC Geraci and CSM Jemison once again. We had all made it home, but there was one problem; our bags had not made it. Most all our military issue clothing and anything else we could cram into our duffel bags were missing. No problem, just a minor setback, the bags would arrive later. We were dismissed to our barracks and told not to leave or start drinking as there would be another formation later. I almost raced back to my room just to relax on my own bunk for once. Ace was already at the room; he had came back a week or so before with the advanced party. It felt good to be back and see that big goof. The hallways were alive with soldiers yelling and announcing their presence. I dropped my bag and went out into the hall, following a group down to White's room. We all gathered inside and closed the door, then broke the rules by cracking open beers that were waiting for us, courtesy of one of the rear detachment guys. <br />
We gathered again in formation at the motor pool bay and were told that our bags still hadn't arrived, that the plane that was carrying them was 'lost' in Turkey. Lost? Not only was the plane lost, but word was it had went down near an airbase in Turkey and that our belongings would have to be replaced. I had most all of my civilian clothes in that bag, and only one change of clothing with me in my carry on bag. This was bullshit, but, what could anyone do? We were then ordered to the armory to return our weapons that we had carried with us the whole trip back. This was a long process that I felt just drug into our personal time. After we turned in our weapons, we could go back up to the barracks or eat chow. I was about starved, so I chose to eat. After chow, I went back to the barracks, only to be met by a sergeant telling all of us to report downstairs for formation...again. <br />
We stood in formation, this time outside since the rain had stopped. Captain Taylor began by welcoming us back and that we were on lock down orders until further notice; no one was to leave or come onto base and the gates would be locked. Apparently, a pistol was unaccounted for and possibly left on one of the buses, now probably almost back to Frankfurt. We hadn't been back even twelve hours, and already shit had started going bad. Our baggage probably left burning in plane wreckage, a missing pistol, and no way to leave post to unwind and celebrate our return. And to make matters worse, no one could come visit us. If Moni really did wait on me, she would be turned away at the gate until this missing weapon was found. What a way to welcome back the traveling soldier....confined to post.<br />
<br />
<br />Rob Kiskadenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11729507457550464443noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8626888127365718762.post-89947042722834398542014-01-28T09:21:00.001-08:002014-01-28T09:21:55.590-08:00Chapter 23: Down in a HoleOctober, 1993, I had survived almost two months in Saudi Arabia without much incident; aside, of course, the water gun brigade debacle. We still had the same routine of clinic and tactical site duties, with a little break here and there, but it seemed a little too easy. Little did I know, there was a boiling cesspool brewing all over the region. We would watch jets take off with full compliments of arms loaded on their wings and come back with a missile or two gone all the time. We really didn't have much outside news that filtered into us at Dhahran, but we did know that military units were operating in the African Nation of Mogadishu and units were still in the north near the Iraqi/Kuwaiti border. We still had alerts occasionally, but they had become pretty routine. One day, on Bravo's site, we saw an awesome sight. Waves of fighter jets took off one right after another, screaming overhead with a purpose. The few of us that watched this happen stood in awe; wondering what was going on. I never thought much about immediately afterward, but later on I learned that a battle had taken place in Mogadishu and two Blackhawk helicopters had been shot down. Even though we were thousands of miles away, the Air Force scrambled fighters as a precaution in case problems arose in our area.<br />
We were told one day that security measures would be bumped up on Khobar and increased security patrols would be walking the beat more often. Apparently, it was because a suspicious vehicle had been spotted attempting to get into the facility and there was some type of threat to US personnel in the region. Any unnecessary off post travel was halted, not that it really mattered; I strongly disliked going into town for any reason. On occasion, we had to transport soldiers to the local military hospital called MODA, which was located on the King Abdul-Aziz Airbase. This constituted going off post and driving into town, which was a white-knuckle ride to say the least. Drivers in Saudi Arabia would dart in and out of traffic, no matter how close the gap was. Another tactic I saw was a driver passing between vehicles that were passing each other. It made me very nervous driving to MODA, and to make matters worse, one of the vehicles I had to drive had a standard transmission. Even though I crew up in a farming community and helped on the family farm, I never learned to drive a standard transmission vehicle. I learned the basic concept, but taking off from a parked position was never easy for me. For those who had to ride to the hospital with me, I'm sure if they weren't nauseated before the trip, they were once we got there.<br />
One night, I rode into town with Captain Kungys, SFC Bechtel, LT Balser and a member of the Consulate General's staff. We didn't go to the mall or the usual gold district, but to the carpet district. Along the streets were shops with brightly adorned rugs and carpets, and Captain Kungys was shopping for a rug. We walked into a shop and was greeted by a man with a white flowing traditional robe. He extended his arms and welcomed us into the shop by seemingly kissing each cheek, of which I found was a custom in the region. The man invited us to a rug on the floor and asked us to sit around it. Another person came out with some small glasses and a metal pitcher that contained hot tea. We all were given a glass and the man filled them with the steaming drink. After that, the shop owner said a blessing and gave a toast. The tea was scorching hot and tasted nothing like the old fashioned Southern sweet tea I was accustomed to back home. This was an interesting experience for me; to be a part of the local culture. After some more hospitality, Captain Kungys began negotiating his purchase and finally decided on a beautiful red and gold floor rug. While this was going on, I hadn't noticed that i forgot to give the hosts my tea glass and offered it back to him.<br />
"No, you keep it, my American friend," he said, waving away. I thanked him and placed the small glass in my pocket. I still have it after all these years.<br />
In mid October, we were given the opportunity to participate in the Air Force's medical evacuation operations in the region. It was strictly voluntary and would be done on our day off following clinic duty. I signed up as soon as I found out about it, and was given the go shortly afterward. Lewis, one of our other medics, and I reported to the Air Force barracks early one morning for an all day trip that would be the most one of the most fascinating parts of my entire deployment. We were briefed in a hangar near where we first arrived in country. Outside, a large C-130 plane awaited on the tarmac; the plane was much bigger up close than I ever imagined. The duty officer gave us a rundown of how the day would go; we would depart the airbase in Dhahran and fly to Riyadh, then to Kuwait City and finally, Bahrain to pick up patients who would be sent back to Landstuhl, Germany for further treatment. Where else could you step foot in three countries in the span of 8-10 hours?<br />
The C-130 lumbered down the runway; the engines roaring. We wore ear phones with a microphone to communicate because the noise was so loud, nothing like what is seen on television where a person can have a normal conversation. This was nothing like a jet airliner at all; it was rough riding. The interior of the plane was set up like a giant ambulance with stretchers fastened into supports down the middle of the cargo area. There were hospital like supplies all around and nurses among us. The flight took a couple of hours and the view outside the small portal window was so desolate. We touched down in Riyadh and was met by a bus that had patients in it with various degrees of injuries and ailments. There were a few in wheelchairs and a couple who were being brought out on stretchers. I didn't see any major injuries on any of them, but they were assisted on board the plane and into the stretchers. After a few minutes, we started to taxi down the runway; next stop, Kuwait.<br />
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-mI7by6c6eQk/Up9d_MkpXkI/AAAAAAAAAJA/8SLKNv38AE4/s1600/30616_409806442496_7761379_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-mI7by6c6eQk/Up9d_MkpXkI/AAAAAAAAAJA/8SLKNv38AE4/s320/30616_409806442496_7761379_n.jpg" height="220" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>Cockpit view inside a C-130 enroute to Kuwait, October, 1993.</i></td></tr>
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The trip to Kuwait was to be a long one, but there were things to do while on the way. Lewis and I helped the nurses get proper identification from the patients and any pertinent paperwork they carried. Since there weren't many on this part of the trip, we finished our assigned work early. I had my camera with me, but the interior of the plane was a bit too dark to take pictures and I couldn't use flash inside the plane. En-route, Lewis and I were invited up into the cockpit area to check out the view from the pilot's perspective. The C-130 aircraft is a massive, technological beast. The cockpit was a vast array of gauges and buttons that I would have never fully understood. The windows provided a great view of the skies ahead and light tan, barren landscape below. The pilots explained that we would be veering off over the Persian Gulf and then circling into Kuwaiti airspace soon, and an escort plane would accompany us in. <br />
I sat back down in my seat down in the cargo area of the plane and looked out the window again. We were over the Gulf and I could see a jet fighter off in the distance just ahead of us. I tried to take a picture, but the jet was too far away. We banked sharply and started our approach into Kuwait. Out the window, I could see a dark haze I wondered if it was the remnants of the oil fires set by Iraqi troops when they retreated from Kuwait just a couple of years prior. As we came around again, I could see what appeared to be wrecked and burned vehicles, including a tank, lying in the sand below us. I think this is when I realized just where exactly I was; the place where Desert Storm played out. It was an indescribable feeling at that moment, but before I could think any more about it, the C-130 began to descend. <br />
We landed on the airfield and rolled to a stop near a group of buildings. We were at Kuwait City International Airport, a place I never thought I'd be ever in my life. We had a bit of a layover waiting on the bus bringing the soldiers for transport, so I took the opportunity to visit the restroom and look around a bit. The area we were in wasn't the normal passenger terminal but a military area. Armed guards were everywhere and it sort of made me uneasy, but they were very friendly. Lewis and I stood outside the plane marveling at our surroundings and I posed pr a picture next to the nose of the C-130. Soon after, the bus with patients arrived and we helped them onto the plane. These soldiers bore a mix of injuries and ailments; one arrived on a stretcher and his head was bandaged fully and he had tubes protruding from everywhere. Another had an amputated leg from the knee down and was also bandaged up. I was told that these guys were part of a team who had been clearing mines from the Iraqi/Kuwaiti border and something had went horribly wrong. We again took the patients' vital signs and assisted anyway we could, but I couldn't help but look at the guys who were injured so badly. This was the real result of war, one I could have been easily a part of on the front.<br />
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-_wXXH7FK18o/Ur1w0KbhLyI/AAAAAAAAAJU/BHjOZoLsR70/s1600/30616_409806447496_1875243_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-_wXXH7FK18o/Ur1w0KbhLyI/AAAAAAAAAJU/BHjOZoLsR70/s320/30616_409806447496_1875243_n.jpg" height="320" width="232" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>In Kuwait City, October, 1993.</i></td></tr>
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We took off soon after the patients were loaded and headed for our last stop in Bahrain. Bahrain is an island country off the coast of Saudi Arabia and was home to a naval base used by the United Nations. It isn't really that far from Dhahran, and it was our area rest and relaxation port, only this trip, there would be no R&R. The flight took a while, so we settled in and waited.<br />
The coastline of Saudi Arabia came into view near the Port of Damman and we started our descent. Bahrain was a tiny plot of land off in the distance; the Persian Gulf was so vast. I had never seen the ocean until we flew to Germany, let alone been close to anything resembling it. The closest comparison to what I was seeing was when I went to Lake Michigan and visited Stony Point and the sand dunes a few months before I left home. The C-130 touched down on the airfield and the back loading doors dropped down. A group of soldiers and sailors met us and hurriedly began off loading the patients. The plane's engines kept going through the process and in no time, all our sick and injured were off the plane and into the awaiting buses. We lifted off soon after and headed back across the gulf to Dharahn. The trip was a great experience for Lewis and me; a real once in a lifetime event.<br />
The downtime at Khobar was so mundane, and my mind constantly wandered back and forth. I sat and reflected on many aspects of my life to that point. I didn't have the luxury of alcohol to make Mr. Hyde come out and and make things better. The worst times were pulling duty at Lucky Base. I did a few shifts out there and it was like a sort of solitary confinement. I rarely saw anyone out there because the base was so remote and the tactical site was pretty far down range from the aid station. Aside from the chow hall, the barracks and the video check out place, there wasn't anything at Lucky Base. While on duty, we had a check list of chores to do like basic cleaning and checking stocked supplies for expiration dates and such. Other than that, it was just waiting for someone to get hurt or need something. At Khobar, clinic duty was mundane, but nothing like Lucky Base. I basically rented movies and watched them while on the base when I wasn't cleaning. All that down time plays on a person's soul over time.<br />
There was one place to sort of escape it all nearby; a place called The Oasis. The Oasis was a recreational area that had two swimming pools, a tiki bar (without the alcohol) and for a fee, camel rides. The process was we had to get a pass from the Morale, Welfare and Recreation office, then we were authorized to leave Khobar and get onto the facility. The Oasis wasn't too far from Bravo's TAC site, so I knew how to get there. It was managed by the Air Force personnel and very clean despite the desert surroundings. It was a relaxing place to go and forget about things for a while.<br />
Mail was still a little slow by mid-October, but I was still getting letters from home. I hadn't heard from Moni except for one letter and that concerned me some. After the Kim ordeal, I was a little numb to the idea of not hearing anything from Moni and kind of accepted the fact that I may not hear back from her. I wrote her back one more time to let her know I was still thinking of her and waited. After a couple of weeks, I got a brief letter from Moni explaining that her English writing wasn't good and that is why I rarely heard from her. She also said that Mary had written the previous letter she sent to me. That numb factor kicked in and I passed the explanation off as an excuse and nothing more. By this time, the deep, personal reflections and general feeling that I wanted no more of Saudi Arabia brought me down. I felt I was down in a hole of sorts. Outwardly, I didn't show that I was feeling down, but I kept to myself more and more for a while. On my off duty days, I either slept or just roamed around Khobar, usually at the music shop or mini-PX we had. I still did the Monday night DJ gig at the recreational center, so that provided a little bit of an escape. Even though I was surrounded by people, I just really felt alone and it was hard to shake off. There was no way to take a break from any of what went on in the desert, and a break is what I wanted so badly. I was becoming homesick and started the countdown until December, still a month and a half away.<br />
Once a month, we could sign up to go on R&R in Bahrain, and the list was always long. Bahrain was the only place in the Gulf Region to get a beer, but there was a 'limit' per soldier. Usually when soldiers would come back from R&R, they were quite hammered. On Halloween night, Smitty and I rented a video camera from the rec center and filmed ourselves goofing around in the clinic. Some of the video clips are quite funny; with me doing some type of comedy bit and Smitty doing all these crazy video effects. A couple of our soldiers had went to Bahrain and came back obliterated. Cowden and Toole came into the clinic wild eyed and loud, most certainly over their two beer limit. We filmed their arrival and turned into a farce act. At one point, Cowden wanted an IV to help sober up. We did this on occasion in the barracks back in Shipton, so it was no strange request. Toole was sitting in the kitchen area struggling to eat a gyros and the pita bread just wasn't cooperating. I did Cowden's IV and resumed filming just as Smitty and I heard Toole's voice over my hand held radio. We had call signs designated; SFC Bechtel was Med 1, SFC Martin was Med 2, and on down the line. <br />
"Med 8 to Med 1, over," Toole's words slurred across the airwaves. He repeated the call again with no reply. It was around 2100 hours or so and suddenly a sleepy voice crackled over the radio.<br />
"Med 8, this is Med 1, over."<br />
"Med 1, I-I-want, I want to come, c-come see you," Toole mumbled. He had left the clinic and was wandering around drunk, trying to call SFC Bechtel.<br />
"Med 8, I'll talk to you in the morning," SFC Bechtel replied, obviously aggravated by the disturbance of the evening. Smitty jumped up and ran outside to try to locate Toole before he got himself into trouble. By this time, Cowden had finished his hangover remedy and retired upstairs. I went out the back door of the clinic and saw Toole sitting on a step still trying to talk to SFC Bechtel and Smitty was doing his best to coax him back into the clinic. Eventually, Toole relented and went inside. Smitty took him upstairs and got him to lie down for the night. I took the opportunity and went outside with the video camera, filming randomly. The video of that night is really fun entertainment.<br />
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-eLFePXjttbM/Ur3Xb9eAOWI/AAAAAAAAAJk/dpZgXcQMv8Q/s1600/MAP93.png" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-eLFePXjttbM/Ur3Xb9eAOWI/AAAAAAAAAJk/dpZgXcQMv8Q/s320/MAP93.png" height="244" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>The Khobar Towers Complex and our area of responsibility</i>.</td></tr>
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The next morning, several soldiers from the battalion came in to receive flu shots at the clinic. Smitty and I stayed and helped for a while until the line of soldiers dissipated. I went upstairs and went to sleep. After I woke up, I remembered I still had the video camera and plenty of VHS tape to use. Smitty, Martinez, Kirk and I took the camera and headed out into Khobar to film more shenanigans. The highlights of the daylight video are us walking around cracking jokes about anything and everything. One part has Martinez pretending to piss on the side of a building by holding a water bottle in front of him. Another is Kirk pretending to get high off a Saudi cigarette, even though it did smell a lot like marijuana. Another rather amusing scene is me struggling to get into the hammock on our balcony. It looked more like I had been splatted with Spiderman's web. One thing on the daylight video that is rather ominous though is when the camera pans out to see the entire Khobar facility from the seventh floor. Off to the right of the balcony in the distance were Air Force occupied buildings that lined part of the perimeter. One of the buildings in the camera shot is Building 131, which would factor into a historical tragedy a few years later. We filmed the shops in the underground bunker facility and anything else we could in order to fill up the remaining tape. Finally, we went to the recreational center and Smitty filmed me getting ready to do my DJ thing. Maybe one day I will convert that video into a digital format and post it on YouTube, who knows.<br />
We had some new soldiers arrive; one being Specialist Brown, who would become my medic partner from time to time. Brown was a tall, lanky guy who wore wire frame glasses. He was a funny guy and fun to be around. Brown also had a rather interesting personal link to Saudi Arabia; a former uncle by marriage named Moshari lived nearby at the Aramco facility with his family. The Aramco facility was an area that housed the US and Saudi oil industry employees and was heavily guarded. I'm not quite sure what negotiations were held, but Brown was granted the opportunity to visit his ex-uncle and I was invited to join.<br />
Brown and I left clinic duty one morning and prepared for the trip across the desert to Aramco. We had been given special passes signed by the Consulate General to gain entry into the area. This would be the first interaction I would ever have with a Saudi family in their home environment, so I was a bit nervous. All those pre-deployment etiquette speeches echoed in my mind as we waited outside Khobar for Moshari to pick us up. After a short while, a white car pulled up and Moshari exited, approaching us. He greeted Brown and me and we left for Aramco. The Aramco area was much different than the rest of Dhahran. Most of the residents in Dhahran lived in stucco sided homes that were less than anything luxurious. At Aramco, the homes and streets looked like suburban America; like any hometown street lined with trees, shrubs and grass. It was a total departure from the barren landscape just outside the area. We passed through the gate and the guard looked at Moshari's credentials and the passes Brown and I had. We were waved through without any problems and soon arrived at the home. Moshari's home was a typical American style house and for once I forgot about where I was.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-8snIZlgkEBg/UuAPyw7VlqI/AAAAAAAAAJ8/qirrSDMrIUs/s1600/moshari.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-8snIZlgkEBg/UuAPyw7VlqI/AAAAAAAAAJ8/qirrSDMrIUs/s1600/moshari.jpg" height="231" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>Bill Brown and I at Moshari's house, November 1993.</i></td></tr>
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We were welcomed in by Moshari's wife, a pretty dark haired woman who wore a cream and dark colored flowing gown-like dress and surprisingly didn't have her face covered. The home was decorated much like a home back in the States and was adorned with some exotic looking dishes and gold accessories. Brown and Moshari talked and caught up on old times while I sat and looked around. The television was on, showing a US soap opera that was over dubbed with Arabic language. The Arabic culture doesn't condone the showing of females' excessive skin, even low cut dresses or shirts, so the show was heavily edited. After a while, Moshari and his wife offered us dinner, a traditional meal that included a soup and some type of stuffed dumpling. The food wasn't bad, a bit tangy, but not bad. Moshari's wife told us she was of Iraqi descent and had fled the country in the late 1980's to get away from Saddam Hussein's Iraq. She talked about the fear she felt during Desert Storm and that she felt she would be sent back. Moshari had started working for Aramco when he was married to Brown's aunt, but the marriage fell apart when he was sent to Saudi Arabia to work. He explained that most Saudi men are sent to the United States colleges to get degrees in engineering or other industrial positions, all for little or no cost. In return, they came back to Saudi Arabia and worked off their debts to benefit the country. That reminded me of a trip across the airbase one day where I walked into an office and saw a Kentucky Wildcats Basketball poster with Eddie Sutton as coach. Sutton coached the team around 1986 and left amidst scandal for recruiting violations. I had asked the man in the office about the poster and he said he had went to the University of Kentucky and that Eddie Sutton was "number one". I laughed and shook my head when the man said that. Brown and I were on limited time and had to be back at Khobar at 1800 hours, so soon after we ate, Moshari took us back. It had been a great cultural experience for me, one I will always remember.<br />
The battalion's PT test was in November and the day of, I woke up sick. I was very nauseated all morning and reported to the PT formation in the brewing heat. Even though it was fall, the heat wasn't letting up. I told SFC Bechtel that I wasn't feeling well, but I couldn't really reschedule my PT test. I did fine with the push-up event, the sit-ups, however, were not so kind. When it came time for the run, my stomach felt like a churning torrent inside. It was already 85 degrees out and the smells of Khobar were giving me absolute Hell. Our running route took us all around the perimeter fence of Khobar for two laps. I drudged through the first lap, but the elements were starting to work against me. I felt light headed and weak as I started the second lap. My pace was far slower than I had ever went in any other PT test; I was in danger of failing my first PT test.<br />
As I rounded the back corner of the course, everything started getting black around me. I stumbled, then fell, skinning my knee. As I got back up, I started vomiting to the point I thought I'd pass out. A group of runners passed me and made sure they were far away from me. I got back up, ran a few more feet and vomited again. I had not experienced the infamous 'Khobar Crud' until this moment. I tried to stand up and was so dizzy I just sat back down. A sergeant came from between the buildings and asked if I was okay. I told him I wasn't and he helped me up and we jogged a steady pace back around the buildings. I had to stop once more but nothing else would come out. I was the last person to finish the PT test run, and was well past my minimum time. Not much was said about it thankfully, considering my circumstances.<br />
I went up to the barracks to shower but still felt horrible. I was going to be tasked out to drive north to Al Jubail and support a firing range on a Marine base that day with Martinez, but didn't know if I could make it. I skipped breakfast and went to the clinic for an IV in hopes that would make me feel better. Captain Kungys was already in the clinic and gave me some medicine to help ease my stomach. I started feeling a little better and began packing for the trip to Al Jubail. Martinez and I reported to formation with all our field gear and aid bags fully stocked. We looked like we were going out on a combat mission. My stomach still felt horrible, so Martinez drove the HUMVEE ambulance in the convoy.<br />
The trip would take at least a couple of hours, so I decided to rest on the way. I fell asleep about thirty minutes into the trip and slept most all the way to the tactical site. We arrived at a desolate post that was located among large sand dunes. The sand was a mixture of light tan with salt deposits due to being on the coast. There was no sign of any buildings or other structures aside from military tents and trailers to be seen. The Marine sergeant pointed us to the staging area and gave us a safety briefing in case of an incident. I asked where the nearest medical facility was and he replied, "about two miles off shore, anchored and ready," meaning a Navy hospital ship. If someone was seriously hurt, a medevac helicopter would be dispatched to carry the wounded soldier and either Martinez or me to the awaiting ship. Not that I wanted anyone to get hurt but.....<br />
We were on the site all day while the range was active. The heat was absolutely brutal and I felt horrible. I tried to eat an MRE, but could only take in about a quarter of it. I drank water like crazy and basically, just rested inside the ambulance. The day was uneventful and we wrapped up the operation around 1800 hours. I had my camera with me and took a few pictures, one being the magnificent sunset over the sand dunes. The sky was a deep orange and red hue and the stark contrast of the desert just made the scene indescribable. That picture is somewhere in my vast collection; I will have to try to locate it.<br />
It was a late night getting back to Khobar and I was finally feeling much better. I stopped in the clinic and snagged some more phenegran to ease my stomach and help me sleep. I was still having sleep issues; not sleeping well at all and being awakened easily all through the night. I don't know if it was the overall atmosphere, the feeling of imminent danger or just plain insomnia, but it started taking a toll on me. I retired up to my room and took the medicine after I showered. I laid in my bunk listening to my Walkman until I drifted off to sleep, which turned out being the best sleep I had up to that point. God bless phenegran.<br />
A few days later, I was told I'd be tasked out again to do range duty at Al Jubail, this time, with Brown. Since I had went before, I was to be the lead medic and driver in the convoy. We did the PMCS on the HUMVEE and everything looked okay. The fuel level was just a little below full, but the log showed the truck had been topped off the day before at the fuel point off the airbase. The convoy took off from Khobar a little later than scheduled and was a bit more spread out than usual. We had the usual assortment of vehicles in the line; regular transport HUMVEE's, equipment trucks, a fuel tanker and security vehicles positioned at the front, center and end of the convoy. We hit a sandstorm north of Dhahran that caused the convoy to slow almost to a standstill for several minutes. It was an amazing sight to see, but just as quickly as it blew in, the storm was over. Already behind schedule, we moved along. The convoy again spread out to a point that I couldn't see the vehicles in front of me. Halfway to Al Jubail, Brown noticed that the fuel was showing low, so Brown radioed on our designated radio frequency that we needed to catch up to the convoy again. Somehow, during the sand storm, we had ended up as the rear vehicle. No one replied to his radio calls, and we were getting concerned over the fuel situation. All the starting and stopping and rush to catch up had dwindled our supply. We attempted several times to radio the convoy leader to alert of our situation, but again, no reply. Brown checked the convoy dispatch to insure we had the right radio frequency, in which we did. The desert was becoming a very lonely and scary place. There were no discernible landmarks to tell where we were, not even a road sign. I pulled off the side of the road in a vain attempt to see if we had any spare fuel cans in the back of the truck. Since we were an ambulance, we weren't required to carry extra fuel cans like the equipment trucks. There were none to be found, so we continued forward, all the while trying to make radio contact. Finally, we saw a small village off the side of the road and a gas station. I looked at Brown and we both shrugged; what did we have to lose at this point, right? We pulled in and a Saudi man came out smiling. He thanked us for being in his country and was almost overly friendly. I already had an uneasy feeling and knew we were lost. During the previous trip, I had slept and failed to pay attention to where we were, but also, we Martinez and I were within the convoy line, too. The man at the gas station gladly pumped fuel into our HUMVEE and told us "no worries, you are American friends. No charge." The man spoke very little English and understood some of what we said, so I asked where the US military base was at Al Jubail. He looked at me in some confusion, and I pointed to my truck, saying we needed to find the Army base. He excitedly pointed up the road and told us to turn at the next road to the right and follow it to another road, which also turned right. I remembered waking up on the last trip and we indeed were taking a right off the main road. Brown scribbled down the directions and we thanked the man for his hospitality and trudged on.<br />
A few miles down the road, we saw the sign that said Al Jubail and merged right off the highway. Brown and I sighed in relief, but knew we were way behind schedule and would surely be in trouble for being so late. A few more miles down the road, Brown said "turn right here," and pointed to the road that veered off. We traveled a little ways, and could see a few houses in the distance. My recollection of Al Jubail didn't include any other structures, but maybe I had slept through this part of the trip last time. As we approached the small village, we noticed kids running out to line the street and a goat herder moving his herd across the road in front of us. We slowed down to allow the herder to cross, and the children almost swarmed us. They yelled and waved at us, all smiling and giving us the peace sign as we moved through. It reminded me of the troops moving into Italy or France during World War II and the residents welcoming them. Brown and I just looked at each other, both now having a very uneasy feeling about the unfolding situation. We moved past the village without incident and continued along the barren landscape. Off to the left, I could see the Gulf shimmering way out in the distance. Far up ahead, we noticed what appeared to be a military type facility, but I didn't remember it looking so ominous. As we approached the gate, two soldiers, who obviously were not American, came out of a guard shack and waved at us to stop. Both had machine guns strapped to their bodies and at the ready. The first soldier motioned for us to pull off the road while another soldier emerged out of the gate ahead of us. I slid my window down and tried to talk to them but the soldier motioned for me to get out of the vehicle. I told Brown to exit the truck and we both slowly got out. Another soldier came and asked me what we were doing and what our intentions were. He spoke decent English and I told him our story and that we needed to get to the Marine post. All the while, the other soldiers walked around our truck looking every inch over. I was then told to open the back of the ambulance and show what was inside. Brown was talking to another soldier and trying to explain our convoy dispatch to him. I was beyond scared at this point; surrounded by armed Saudi soldiers who obviously weren't too thrilled about us stumbling upon their post. I was hoping this was just a huge joke being pulled, but it was all too real. I explained over and over how we had gotten separated from the convoy and needed to be on a firing range. It was already 1400 hours, and I should have been there long before that. <br />
The soldiers thoroughly checked the ambulance and waved us away, pointing us the opposite direction. Brown and I got into the truck and nervously sped away. We raced through the village and stopped at the intersection that led back to the highway. We both just looked at each other and Brown finally said, "holy shit, I thought we were dead." Honestly, I thought the same way. This was by far the most intense situation I had ever been in before. With a full tank of fuel and smeared underpants, we got back onto the main highway and stopped again, wondering if we should risk going forward to attempt to locate the marine post or turn back toward Khobar. Brown tried the radio once more and finally made contact with someone, a welcome American voice. We were told to head back to Khobar and meet with the first sergeant, a meeting that was sure to be a pleasant one given the circumstances. <br />
Brown and I made it back to Khobar around dusk and 1SG Banks was waiting for us outside. By the way he was standing, we could tell he was fuming. Before I got out of the truck, the first sergeant was already at the door, opening it for me and yelling. Brown and I spilled out onto the parking lot and stood at attention. <br />
"Soldiers, what in the living hell do you think you are doing here," 1SG Banks bellowed. Normally, he wasn't too much of a person to get bent out of shape, but this time was an exception. I attempted to explain what had happened, and was cut off mid sentence.<br />
"So, you didn't properly PMCS your vehicle and ran out of gas?"<br />
"First Sergeant, I'm just saying that we should have had plenty of fuel but the other things made it worse on us," I feebly attempted to explain, but it was of no use. The first sergeant was livid and in a tirade. He told us that any off post passes we had were "hereby revoked until I decide when to give them back and that might not be until we get back to Germany." We were dismissed back to quarters and just collapsed, mentally exhausted from the day's events.<br />
The next day, I was summoned to meet with the commander and first sergeant again over the incident. Before I went to meet with them, Captain Kungys asked me what had happened and after I told him, he went to the meeting with me. We arrived in the orderly room about fifteen minutes early and waited. First Sergeant Banks asked Captain Kungys to come in first, leaving me out in the room with some others who were working in the room. One of the guys came over and made some idle chat, but then the question of what happened came up. I was brief and soon it became obvious no one knew about the international incident. The soldier sat there wide eyed as I recounted the situation and just said, "wow." Shortly afterward, it was my turn to go talk to the command staff. <br />
I nervously walked in and it was just the first sergeant and CPT Kungys. Captain Taylor wasn't present, and I explained what happened all over again to 1SG Banks. He was much calmer this time, but still quite upset with me. I was being brought to the carpet because I was considered the lead medic on that mission and it failed miserably. I was ordered to take the HUMVEE over to the motor pool so the mechanics could see what the problem was with the fuel gauge. Then, the first sergeant shifted gears and said, "and...and you filled up at a local gas station? What the?" I said yes, I had and he laughed, saying, "well shit, that's the best thing I've heard all deployment." I wasn't sure how to take his laughter but it seemed he was being sincere. As the meeting closed, 1SG Banks told me that I was one of his better medics in the battery and I better shape it up or I'd have a long road ahead.<br />
I was dismissed to the clinic with CPT Kungys. This was a harrowing experience all around, and another very close call for me. The gravity of the situation started being apparent as the captain and I talked back at the clinic. He told me about how the Saudi government could have held Brown and me and how it would have been a huge international ordeal had that happened. He did acknowledge that we tried our best to do the right thing and that was all that had saved my hide in the meeting with the first sergeant; what I didn't know until then is that I was going to be recommended an Article 15 over the fiasco and the captain had negotiated to let me tell what happened in an effort to lessen the blow. <br />
Brown and I took the ambulance to the motor pool for service, but not without some chiding from the others; "Do you need grid coordinates to find the motor pool?" "Do you need an armed escort?" Yeah, Yeah...I had created a monster among the clinic. The truck was pulled in for service and Captain Kungys arrived shortly afterward. We were told the truck appeared to have a problem with the fuel pump and it would need to be taken out of service. Finally, a feeling of vindication. We rode back with the captain and instead of going back to Khobar, we went out to Lucky Base. I thought that was going to be our punishment, but in reality, we were going to eat at the chow hall that had much better food than Khobar's. Captain Kungys curiously listened to Brown and me as we told about the village and how the kids had lined the streets waving, and of the hospitality of the Saudi gas station owner who gave us the fuel we needed. If there was any silver lining to the whole incident, those were two examples.<br />
In the days to follow, I took another PT test and passed it with no problems and tried to stay below the radar more and more. While doing my DJ gig, I had met a girl named Patty who was an Air Force specialist. She was a huge Led Zeppelin fan and would always come request songs by them. We hit it off well, but knew our different jobs and crazy schedules would never make it work in our favor. We remained friends the whole remaining time I had in Saudi, never doing more than a friendly hug. I was still unsettled about being at Khobar, and the events at Al Jubail did little to comfort me. I don't know if I was becoming depressed or just ready to leave country, but it was eating at me inside. More and more I felt I was slipping down in a hole. To complicate matters more, I was hearing rumors of Moni and another guy being spotted at the Goose together more and more, and by different sources. I couldn't wait until the next month to come so I could maybe catch a break and go back home to Kentucky. I found myself watching those home movies from everyone back home more frequently and had some comfort, but also some sadness. My grandmother had been in a nursing home for a few years and her health had been on a steady decline. There is a part on the video where my family was at the nursing home with her and to see her in such a feeble state really got to me. At the end of that segment, she is shown waving at me from the hospital bed, her wrinkled face managing to give a slight smile as the camera fades. To this day, it is almost impossible for me to watch that part of the video.<br />
Mid November was approaching and some of the advanced party soldiers had started arriving to get familiarized with the day to day operations. This was a welcome sight, meaning the time was winding down finally. The weather was starting to change, meaning the days weren't as hot and the evenings were downright cool...at 75 degrees. So there was a gleam of light filtering into that hole I had created...and a hint at fresh air blowing in finally.Rob Kiskadenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11729507457550464443noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8626888127365718762.post-11728919734242695802013-10-22T19:28:00.000-07:002013-10-22T19:28:44.758-07:00Chapter 22: Summer's Almost GoneLate summer, 1993...Dhahran, Saudi Arabia. Our battalion's role in Operation Desert Falcon was in full swing. Khobar Clinic was hopping the first few weeks we were in country with soldiers being overcome by the oppressive heat and a new illness we affectionately called the 'Khobar Crud.' The crud was a severe abdominal virus that caused intense cramps, nausea and diarrhea. Combined with the brutal heat, this could spell disaster for anyone working on a tactical site. It seemed every day, more and more soldiers were reporting to sick call for the same sickness, including our battalion's executive officer. By the end of August, Captain Kungys told all of us that after hours, unless the patient was in dire need, to just do an exam then dispense the usual medications for relief after a round of IV fluids were administered; there was no need to bother him due to the overwhelming cases we were experiencing. One thing for sure, I really honed my IV skills that first month.<br />
Tactical site duty had become pretty routine the first month in country. I would trek out to the site in my ambulance and go through the usual routine of the wet bulb reading, setting up the aid station area and checking drinking water. I would get bored by mid morning and wander around on site. I always went to check the guys on sandbag duty and made sure they had water to drink, then I would go around to the ready platoon areas and make sure no one needed anything. Usually, there was no activity, so all of us made the best of our time as we could. Sometimes, SFC Taylor would do some type of soldier training or task out people for other duties to stay busy. I rarely went into the CP unless I was summoned there or to give the wet bulb readings. The thing about tac site duty is we all tried to find some way to stay cool and comfortable.<br />
When there was absolutely nothing going on, some of us would catch the scorpions that crawled about and have scorpion fights. The scorpions in Saudi Arabia were basically two types; a large, black scorpion with a stinger on the tail about the size of a hypodermic needle and a tiny brown one. The big black scorpions were aggressive, but their stings weren't deadly. The little brown ones, however, had a nerve agent type venom and could kill a human. We would get the bigger scorpions and keep them in a water bottle that was cut off about midway. When it was time to fight, we dropped the two competitors in a makeshift ring and prodded them to fight. Yes, it was cruel entertainment, but my scorpion was considered 'king of the ring' and won many bouts until we eventually were told to knock it off and cease the activity.<br />
On the days off duty, I, along with anyone else who would tag along, would wander out into the Khobar complex and see what was there. There was a weight gym in a bunker facility that was accessible to us, a small post exchange store, and not much else. Most of the time I browsed the market where the bootleg tapes were located. Everything at Khobar Towers looked the same and there were areas we didn't have access to, not that I would personally want to anyway. The area was just so foreign to me. During a security briefing, we were told that some of the local people really didn't want us there and would try to get us out of country by any means possible. Wandering into an unfamiliar or restricted area of Khobar was probably a recipe for disaster. If we went into town, which was a rarity, we had to travel in numbers, but wear our military uniforms. We were told that should a mob of people be moving our direction shouting, we should do all we could to go the opposite way in a hurry. According to what we were told, these type of scenarios could play out anytime if a crowd became angry over just about anything...and they wouldn't think twice about taking out vengeance on outsiders, especially military types. <br />
Things were just so different than in Germany; not only due to location, but due to our overall mission and daily routine. We weren't just doing PMCS on our vehicles then trying to find a place to hide until chow. We had a purpose for once. Clinic duty was always interesting for me. I wanted to learn more about my role as a medic, beyond just patching up a laceration or doctoring a broken nose. Captain Kungys was always great about including us when it came to patient care, and explaining the entire process. Like one particular day, we had a female patient that came into sick call complaining of back pain and was having trouble sitting down. After examining her, Captain Kungys gathered us up and explained that the patient had a large cyst that had formed on her lower back that was causing the pain. He showed wrote a diagram on a dry erase board of how the cyst was formed in the patient's back and then what he planned to do to treat the problem. Donnelly was the only female medic there that day, so she was asked to prepare for a surgical procedure and assist. I had never got to see anything like this in person, but Captain Kungys wanted to keep the surgery to the bare minimum of staff to avoid complications. After several minutes, Donnelly emerged from the back room with her surgical mask still on. I could see the doctor painstakingly stitching up the patient's back through the open door. I followed Donnelly into the other room, and she told me about the operation in some detail. It was fascinating, because this kind of stuff is what I had signed up for. After the patient left, Captain Kungys presented a small metal basin pan with an object that looked like a large, bloody grape. That was the cyst, he said, and the smell was rather disgusting, but it was still exciting to learn about the whole ordeal.<br />
My medic skills were tested on Bravo's site early one afternoon, and was the one incident that I felt focused me more than anything. I was in the ready trailer reading one afternoon when someone came in and yelled, "Doc, there's a guy that's hurt out here and he's passed out!". I grabbed by medic bag and raced out to find a person partially under a truck near the CP. I thought he had been hit by the truck, so immediately I started to think to myself, "crap...now what?". Luckily, the guy started waking up and was very disoriented at first. He had a large place on his forehead that was bruised and protruding outward. Several other soldiers were standing by, so I asked one to go to my ambulance and grab a supply bag I had in it. While he was doing that, I asked the injured soldier what happened. He was under the truck trying to secure a spare tire in the stowage area when the tire slipped and fell, hitting him in the head. By this time, SFC Taylor and the duty officer arrived and asked what was wrong. I was knelt beside the soldier looking at his injuries and never looked up, only stating that I felt he needed to go to the clinic to be evaluated. I felt totally in control of the situation for once, and it was like my training from Fort Sam had kicked up subconsciously. The other soldier arrived with the bigger bag of supplies from the ambulance and asked what to do. I knew the injured guy had a head injury, and my training said to immobilize the neck in case of a more severe injury. I told my new medic assistant to get me a collar so I could place it around the other's neck. Once that was on, I had another soldier who was standing by hold my patient's head to prevent it from moving. The skills just kept clicking and flowing from me, like nothing before. I then asked my assistant to grab the long wooden board from the ambulance and bring it over. Once it was in place, we gently rolled the patient onto the wooden board and secured him with strapping. Now came the moment of "what now." I had just secured my patient, who was now fully aware of what was going on, onto a board and knew he needed to go to the clinic. I told the soldier who had assisted me that he would need to drive us into Khobar. After taking the patient's blood pressure and other vital signs, the group of soldiers helped load him into the ambulance and my assistant hopped into the cab of the truck. I never asked for permission to leave site or to take the other soldier with me, I just took charge and did it. The only other times I felt this in control of a situation was when I was fighting fire or playing guitar, and it felt great.<br />
I had a portable radio on me that was linked in with Khobar Clinic. As my assistant drove down the road, I tried to call the clinic several times, but was too far out of range. Eventually, I got through and reached SFC Bechtel, telling her I was bringing a patient to the clinic and reported his vital signs and current condition. It was like an episode of <em>Emergency!</em> where Roy and Johnny got on the radio and told about the dire situation and got direction from the waiting doctor. By the time we got to the barricades at Khobar, my patient was fully alert and not complaining of anything, but the mark on his head was impressive and looked like it had grown. I really didn't have to do much more than what I had already done, and I was starting to think, <em>"did I overreact and cause a big scene for nothing?" </em><br />
We arrived at the clinic and had SFC Becthel, Lt Balser and two other medics waiting on us outside. We took the patient into the clinic and Lt Balser started his assessment. The two medics on duty, Bruce and Martinez, I think it was, started putting oxygen on my patient, who's name by the way was Reyes, and helped the lieutenant anyway they could. <br />
"What's the vitals," Lieutenant Balser asked. I couldn't remember so I stood there with a blank look I guess until he said, "your hand. Look at your hand." I had written down the blood pressure, pulse and respiratory rate on my hand and luckily it hadn't worn off. The adrenaline was starting to ease by that point and I wandered away to get some water. Bruce came into the kitchen area and patted me on the back and said, "that was high speed the way you had that guy all bundled up." I thanked him and really didn't pay anymore mind to the comment. A couple of minutes later, Lt Balser came in and said, "So, did you work as an EMT before?" <br />
"No, just a firefighter is all," I replied.<br />
"Well, great job there. He's gonna be fine."<br />
That little boost really made my day....my year even. My new assistant and I drove back out to the tac site and finished out the day with no more incidents. For the first time, I felt like I was a true medic.<br />
We were technically under peace time operations; Desert Storm had ended in a cease fire and there wasn't any nightly SCUD raids or threats...or so I thought. I was on site one day and summoned to the CP trailer for a soldier who was overheated. While assessing him, an alarm went off and the room began buzzing with activity. I had been on field exercises before where simulated attacks came across and the same excitement was generated, so I really didn't pay any mind to it. I started to get up to move the dehydrated soldier to the ready trailer and was stopped at the door.<br />
"You guys aren't going anywhere," the lieutenant barked.<br />
"Sir, I need to get him to the trailer and get an IV in him, then he will be ok," I replied.<br />
"Negative, we are under an alert and you are staying put. When we tell you, grab him and go to the bunker." An alert? Come on this was an exercise...wasn't it? A few minutes later, we received an all clear order and the alert was over as quickly as it began. I protested the order to stay put, and was quickly told that we were "in the real world Army now." The alert was in fact a real incoming threat that the Patriot radar system had picked up and started the targeting sequence. Holy Hell...this was <em>real</em>. Needless to say, I was very uneasy and the sergeant inside with us picked up on it. We walked outside and he told me that there were things going on that was need to know and that I shouldn't write home about. Meanwhile, my patient I had been treating suddenly felt well and needed no further intervention from me. That was another epiphanious day for me...the day I realized the threat was indeed real. There would be more alerts as the months went on. For the most part, they were treated routinely and we were never in any direct danger. But it was still very unnerving.<br />
Another stark possibility was the threat of car bombs. Over the years, and to this day, the preferred method of widespread chaos in the region has been detonating a car bomb in a populated area. It first off kills and maims scores of people, and, secondly, creates an instant worldwide attention grabbing moment for the responsible group and its cause. Our presence in the region meant we were prime targets for such incidents. That is the key reason the zig-zag barricades were in place at the Khobar entrance gate. We were told that if we ever saw any vehicles left unattended that appeared out of the ordinary or a group of people fleeing from a parked vehicle to report it. So the threats were very real for us. I hadn't seen any direct evidence until one evening when we went into town.<br />
We were allowed to go into town occasionally to shop at the mall and gold shops in Dhahran. We had to be in our uniforms and be in a group. There were strict rules of etiquette we had to follow; like don't directly stare down anyone, don't flash symbols of Christianity, and especially don't eye the women. Even though Saudi Arabia is one of the richest countries in the world, it still has an aura of third world country to it with some customs and the ways people live. The women are looked upon as a man's servant. They must be completely covered from head to toe with a black robe and veil and never show themselves in public. They must also remain silent and not spoken to unless it is through their men. So for a group of US Army soldiers to go into town and have a woman with them who is not covered from head to toe and openly conversing within the group was not looked upon favorably. <br />
Several of us went into town one evening and were walking near the mall. A few people would walk up to us and speak to us, telling us things like, "thank you, USA," and, "you are our friends." Then others would walk by and stop in front of us, holding their hands up and saying something in Arabic that I'm sure was derogatory from the expressions they made. Then others would simply tell us to leave their country and not come back before spitting on the ground in front of us. This was totally bizarre to me. The most uncomfortable I ever felt was when we walked into the mall and the people stared and pointed at us. Sergeant First Class Bechtel and Donnelly was with us that night and the locals made it very apparent we were not welcomed with the two women with us. One shop owner even made Donnelly stand outside the door when we went inside to browse. That was definitely one of those times where you watched every single person around you and stayed very keen to the surroundings. To this day, in a large group of people, I find myself 'scanning' for anyone who may be a threat. I was very glad to get out of town after that night.<br />
There was one other night I went into town out of sheer boredom, this time with all guys. We were in the gold district browsing the shops that lined the market area, taking in all the sights. The market area was a narrow street with vendors all over the place and shops built right next to each other in rows. Gold was unbelievably cheap in Saudi and we scooped it up, especially since one US Dollar equaled 3.75 Riyals. This night, which would be my last visit into town, we were in a shop and across the road there were two Saudi women staring at us. Of course they were covered and resembled ninjas or 'Jawas' as Peschke once called them. One of the guys said, "man those chicks are staring us down aren't they?" Etiquette dictated that we didn't return the stares <em>directly </em>but passing glances while scanning couldn't hurt, right? Suddenly, while 'scanning' one of the women dropped her veil enough we could see her face, she was smiling back at us. This lady was <em>gorgeous</em>! One of the guys with us, nudged me and said, "aww man we gotta go!" And we left the area quickly. Lord knows what would have happened had we been the typical GI's and approached these ladies. <em>"Dear family, your son was beheaded in the town square in Dhahran for insulting Mohammed...."</em><br />
Eventually, mail started trickling into Khobar. I finally heard from Moni and the letter was brief, but still welcomed. Of course mom wrote me and due to the mail, I would usually get two or three letters at a time, dated usually a week or so behind the other. It was good to hear from everyone and my usual replies were very vague, just talking about how life at Khobar was at the moment. I couldn't really discuss anything going on there because our mail was subject to random interception by military intelligence and could be read at any time. The same went for us sending pictures back home. We couldn't take pictures of the tactical sites and send them home, nor could we discuss the locations or activities on site. That also went with incoming mail. We couldn't be sent anything that would be found offensive to the locals. One of the guys found this out the hard way when his wife sent some revealing pictures that were intercepted. Not only did his mail get opened and confiscated, but anyone in the S2 section got a good look at his wife in all her glory.<br />
Overall life on at Khobar wasn't all that bad. I spent a lot of my down time at the recreational center. I usually rented out a bass guitar and amplifier and just jammed. Occasionally, someone would grab a guitar and join me, but for the most part it was just me jamming along with the music in my Walkman. During weeknights, the center had a DJ and themed nights of entertainment. Monday was rock night, Tuesday was dance night, Wednesday was country night. Country night was always crowded and the new dance fad was line dancing. This was the Garth Brooks King of Radio era and nearly every other song was by him. People would line up, wearing their colorful southwestern style shirts, jeans and boots, some with white or black cowboy hats, and do what I accustomed to a country version of a chorus line. To me, it looked absolutely ridiculous, but people went mad over it. One song that was played to no end was the Brooks and Dunn song <em>Boot Scootin' Boogie</em>. I really got tired of hearing that song over and over, but since this was the country night was the busiest night and an opportunity to mingle with other people for a while, it would have to do. Eventually, I noticed on rock night, no one would show up to DJ, so I took the opportunity to ask the desk sergeant if I could take a stab at it. She handed me a box of CD's and said, "here ya go". Thus, started my weekly DJ gig when I wasn't on clinic duty. I familiarized myself with the control board and got the hang of it all rather quickly. I could play all my favorite rock genre songs from 2000-2200 hours with free reign, and since I owned quite an assortment of CD's and tapes, I had a broad spectrum to choose from. As my time in Saudi went on, the Monday night rock show generated a bit of a crowd and gave me the chance to escape for a while.<br />
There was one night, a group of musicians came in and did a concert event at the recreational center. The band consisted of 5 Philipino guys who played classic rock and weren't actually that bad. They had a keyboard player and I remember the first song they came on with was <em>The Final Countdown</em>, a song made popular by the band Europe. It was fun to watch and musically, not bad at all. On break, I approached the guys and mentioned I played bass. The bass player told me they would have me come do some songs with them, and I got instantly excited. When they called me up, I plugged in, a little nervous since it had been since the talent show at Fort Sam since I had actually played in a live setting. The room was crowded, but not filled, and several of the folks from 6/43 were there cheering me on. We started out with a rendition of the song <em>Mony, Mony</em> and it was solid, considering I hadn't really ever played that song before. Next, we did the Cream song <em>Sunshine of Your Love</em>, which went really smoothly. I got a rousing round of applause from everyone there and saw some from the clinic cheering me on. It was a good feeling, and the first time anyone from 6/43 had really seen me play. <br />
September arrived with no fancy fanfare or great turn of events, but for me it meant two things. For one, it was my birth month, and secondly, it meant I had survived one year in the Army...just three more to go. I started receiving some birthday cards from back home early in the month, including one from everyone at Owingsville Fire Department. I really appreciated every card I got and hung them up on my wall locker proudly. For me, that was my link to those back home. I could look at those cards and see the names inside them and feel instantly better when I was down. And trust me, there were those times I was down. We could only call once a week for a limited time, and one particular evening, I called home to catch up with mom and everyone. It had been a particularly long and stressful week for me, and I was for once feeling a bit homesick and down. The phone rang, then rang, then rang again before the answering machine picked up. No one was home...great. I tried again with no luck. I tried calling for a third time, hoping they were just outside, but again, no luck. I tried to call Jason, then Jeff, then Chris, again, no answers. So I went through my little red book, desperately looking for someone to talk to from home. I was running low on time for the phone, so I chose to call Shawna, a friend I had known for years. When the ringing went on for three or four times, her answering machine picked up. Dejected, I left a message something like, "hey it's Rob, calling from the desert, guess you aren't home either. Don't guess anyone else in Owingsville is home, so I'll catch you later." I left the phone area and went upstairs to my room and just put my Walkman on, disappearing into my music. There comes a time where a simple familiar voice can do so much good, and later on, I got more than an answer on the other line of a phone. I received a box from home that had some VHS video tapes in it. A couple were some of my bootleg KISS concert tapes, but there was one that mom and Dee Dee made of things like Casey's kindergarten graduation, my cousin Ashley learning to swim, the fire department meeting and more everyday life from back home. I teared up the first time I watched the video. On that tape, mom and everyone had a cookout at the old Slate Furnace Park where it looked more like a family reunion. Then, they brought out a large birthday cake and held it up to the camera, signing Happy Birthday to me. That was probably one of the best things I ever saw and meant so much to me, and still does after all these years. Here I was thousands of miles away in a desert with God knows what hostility awaiting, and they had a party for me anyway. That boosted me so much, and I will always cherish that video...and yes, I still have it. For my twentieth birthday, the clinic had a small party for me with a cake and decorations. Everyone signed a single card for me and I got a couple of CD's and a shirt. If I couldn't be back home with family, I was glad to be among good friends and colleagues.<br />
As with any situation, boredom crept in at Khobar, usually giving a prime opportunity to mischief. We occupied the top floor of a seven-story building with a balcony overlook which had a commanding view. At night, we could see the lights far off in town and at the airfield. Closer, we got a good overhead view of the volleyball games that the Air Force guys and gals constantly played. One night while on clinic duty, Smith and I found some glow sticks in a supply closet that were expired. They still lit up just as brightly as if they were new, but we were told to throw them out or simply get them out of the clinic. The next evening, while on the balcony, someone took an ink pen and tied a plastic bag to it. They tossed the pen and makeshift parachute off the balcony and the wind carried it far out away from our building. Smith and I became inspired and grabbed the glow sticks, securing plastic bags to several and tossing them out into the wind. Soon, there were red, yellow and green lights floating all across the Khobar facility and we marveled at our ingenuity. We also found it rather amusing when one of the glow sticks gracefully fell into the volleyball pit during a match and the airmen scattered away, not knowing what exactly they were seeing. This kind of thing went on for a while, until one day, Kirk and someone else felt brave enough to toss some parachuted glow sticks off the balcony in daylight to antagonize the local workers doing landscaping. Someone tossed a handful of the little chutes at the same time, just about the moment the base commander and commanding general rounded the corner of the adjacent building...right into the path of a falling glow stick. I'm not sure what was said to Kirk and his cohort, but all I know is we were sent a command directive to cease any further glow stick bombardments from the seventh floor balcony.<br />
Another activity that eased the boredom was the water gun fights, which also had a rather hasty, and nearly fatal, ending. We went to the PX and bought several water guns and water balloon grenades, along with black t-shirts and headbands, creating the Khobar Water Gun Brigade. Obviously, we really didn't think this idea through properly. So the scenario went like this; we would split into teams and spread out into the area, establishing 'bases', like the playground that was on top of a bunker, open breezeways or anything else. From those locations, we would either do a capture the flag operation or try to take over the opposing base in an assault. We recruited some of the soldiers from the ordnance company and a couple of Air Force guys to be on our teams so there would be a good force to deal with. The first night, we were spread out and my team saw the opposing team, thus taking chase through Khobar, wildly firing our water guns. The group split up and my team split also, taking one man each. I saw a couple of the other team members run inside the building which housed the clinic. Smith and I gave chase in after them, but the other guys were ahead of us by a good distance. We got in the lobby just as the elevator door closed. Smith and I raced up the staircase to try and intercept the opposition when they exited the elevator. A seemingly cut and dry offensive, right? Not hardly. We reached the third floor just as the bell rang to open the doors and Smith and I unleashed a water barrage into the elevator...all over the wrong people. The pair inside the elevator was a lieutenant and a sergeant from another unit who were 'collateral damage', but they really didn't find the humor in it what so ever. So after a long chastising from a superior officer and NCO, we ducked tail and retreated back to the upstairs. Luckily, that incident didn't go any further than that, or at least no one from the battalion reprimanded us.<br />
The next time we did the war games, we set rules that no one was to run into a building in an attempt to elude capture or a watery death. We were in patrol mode when we caught sight of the opposition force ahead of us. It was a perfect opportunity to ambush them from our position, so my team eased slowly up into the playground area, ready to take up a position when suddenly, a security officer on real patrol, accompanied by two other armed soldiers drew weapons on the other team we were watching. This was not good. They were ordered to drop their weapons and put their hands up while the armed security patrol surrounded them. The team was patted down and ordered to identify themselves and unit they belonged to. At this time, I had a couple of options; either hide and wait until the security patrol left, or surrender to them. My team opted the best possible solution and came out of hiding with our hands up and weapons down. After being properly identified, the security patrol, now with weapons at ease, told us that someone had reported what they thought were 'terrorists' running around the complex. The security detail had been mobilized to find the threat, which was actually us. We were all escorted back to a building where an Air Force security patrol sergeant was waiting. The chastising we endured by the lieutenant and sergeant a few nights before was nothing on what we got that particular night. We were told that we could have been shot on the spot and those weapons had real bullets in them. <br />
"What the Hell is wrong with you soldiers? Do you think this is one big game?" the sergeant barked at us. All we could do is apologize and hope for the best. Unlike the previous incident, this was reported to our commander, with our names, and we were reprimanded for our actions. Our water gun brigade was deactivated and rendered undeployable indefinitely.<br />
One evening while on duty in the clinic, I started playing around on a computer. These days, computers are a common necessity, but in 1993, they were brand new to me. I had an old Commodore 64 with a cassette drive back home that I dabbled with as a kid, but I never had any formal computer training. Donnelly showed me some features, one being the paint accessory. I could draw or make signs using this feature and it was awesome. I started drawing random things, then made a red cross with a caduceus, or two snakes crossing each other on a staff, in the middle of it. Above it, I wrote Khobar Army Clinic in large bold letters, and below, Dhahran, Saudi Arabia. The logo looked really good, so I printed it off to keep. When I saved the picture, somehow, I made it the screen saver and didn't realize it. The next day, LT Balser came in, logged onto the computer and saw my logo on the screen. He asked who did it and I was notified that he liked it and wanted to use it as the 'official' logo for the clinic. My next shift, I found some clear transparency sheets and a light projector. I printed my logo onto a clear sheet and used the projector to project the image of the logo on a wall in the waiting room in the clinic. The image looked great there and I thought to myself, "that would look cool." The next morning, I waited for Captain Kungys to arrive and showed him my idea. After about a minute, he said, "let me do some calling around and see if we can make this happen." I was very excited about him liking the idea of my logo I had designed being put on the wall in the clinic. By the next shift, Captain Kungys told me he had got permission from the base commander for me to do the painting, and he would go buy anything I needed to do it. I wrote a list of the materials I needed and within about a week, I began the project.<br />
<a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-xp33CGYW1rk/Umb1crgdfNI/AAAAAAAAAIo/0H_lsYm4Dtc/s1600/30616_409806167496_2524806_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-xp33CGYW1rk/Umb1crgdfNI/AAAAAAAAAIo/0H_lsYm4Dtc/s1600/30616_409806167496_2524806_n.jpg" height="320" width="256" /></a><img border="0" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-Zuo78nIaH98/Umb1YGaLatI/AAAAAAAAAIg/0KwFmXYekwQ/s1600/30616_409806157496_7040822_n.jpg" height="320" width="254" /><br />
<a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-0ftVDnc1e30/Umb1gn9lr8I/AAAAAAAAAIw/c8pBLaooe8o/s1600/30616_409806172496_2973250_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-0ftVDnc1e30/Umb1gn9lr8I/AAAAAAAAAIw/c8pBLaooe8o/s1600/30616_409806172496_2973250_n.jpg" height="320" width="240" /></a><br />
I projected the design onto the wall and traced it with a pencil, which took me two days to complete. Then, I started the painting, which all together took about a week to do. I was very proud of the end result, as was everyone else. A couple of days later, Captain Kungys told me that a representative from the Commander of Army Central Command wanted to stop by and see the painting. The morning of the visit, Colonel Gault and his staff came into the clinic and made some small talk with everyone and toured the area. He commended Captain Kungys and SFC Becthel on the clinic and how well it looked and then asked where the artist was. Captain Kungys introduced me to the colonel and he shook my hand firmly. The door to the waiting area was closed and when we opened it up, the smell of paint was very strong. Someone turned the lights on and the logo on the wall stood out in the room, looking better than the night I had finished it. The colonel and his staff walked over and looked at the painting, nodding in approval. I followed behind with Captain Kungys and the colonel turned to me and said, "fine work, soldier, very fine work." He reached into his pocket and handed me a large coin, the commander's challenge coin.<br />
"Here, son, you have earned this," Colonel Gault said as he again shook my hand. I thanked him and he told Captain Kungys and SFC Becthel that the painting would be a lasting part of the clinic and he would make sure no one ever painted over it. After another round of thank you's and hand shakes, the entourage left. I looked at the coin that was given to me and Captain Kungys explained that it was a true honor to receive it. Not bad for a creative mood spawned from boredom.<br />
As the month of September merged into October, not much had changed. On the calendar, it was apparent that summer was almost gone. Back home, normally the trees would be starting to change color and the air would start becoming a bit cooler. Not in Saudi; it was still 100 degrees during the day and around 85 at night. Things had become rather routine at Khobar by that point, sometimes it seemed too routine. There would be changes coming in the near future, some positive, some negative, and some very tense moments. I counted down each day while I was in Saudi Arabia, each day forward was a day closer to getting back to the real world...a world that seemed so far away.<br />
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Rob Kiskadenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11729507457550464443noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8626888127365718762.post-87216666671964692982013-06-28T10:40:00.001-07:002013-06-28T10:40:11.559-07:00Chapter 21: The Big Empty<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-ivjH4dmZYUg/UYlNaJ_3gXI/AAAAAAAAAFw/bXp683f1K9c/s1600/30616_409805957496_1651658_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="299" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-ivjH4dmZYUg/UYlNaJ_3gXI/AAAAAAAAAFw/bXp683f1K9c/s1600/30616_409805957496_1651658_n.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>Sunrise at Khobar Towers</i></td></tr>
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Zero five-thirty, Dhahran, Saudi Arabia, August, 1993. I was sleeping somewhat comfortably in my room at Khobar Towers and heard a loud, resonating moan break the silence. It started out low, then built in volume, kind of like an old siren. Immediately, I jumped out of bed and looked toward the window, fully expecting to see the streaks of tracer rounds lighting up the sky. I didn't know what was going on, but I knew it wasn't anything I had experienced ever before. My room mate, Kirk, heard me and asked what was going on. I told him I had no idea, that it had to be a SCUD alarm going off. Kirk sat up and listened to the noise that now sounded like a chanting song more than anything. With a smile, he told me to "relax, it's the morning prayers. They do this five times a day here". Kirk had been in country a few weeks before me, so he had already been through this ordeal; I was sure that there was a SCUD coming down upon us, though. <br />
My first duty day at Khobar consisted of adjusting to the climate and getting familiar with the clinic setting. Our medical commander for the clinic was Captain Kungys, who was the chief medical officer at the Darmstadt Army Clinic in Germany. Our executive officer was First Lieutenant Balser, who worked at another clinic in Germany. They, along with SFC Bechtel, made up the chain of command for the Khobar Army Clinic. The medic platoon had been split up with some going to Riyadh, so it wasn't too crowded. Martinez and I would continue to be Bravo Battery's medics as we had been before. Our duties would be split between clinic duty and tactical site duty. The clinic would be accessible 24 hours with two medics on shift, then we would have the following 24 hours off duty. The third day would be tactical site duty, which meant we would have to go to a Patriot Missile site out in the desert and provide medical coverage all day, and sometimes all night. There wasn't really any in processing we had to do; all of that was mostly done prior to our arrival. Almost right off the bat, a guy came into the clinic complaining of stomach pain and diarrhea. To this point, I had never really worked in a clinical setting, other than a simulated scenario at Fort Sam. Any patient care I had done was in the field, and the most serious case was Allison's busted nose. Specialist Donnelly walked me through the process of checking the patient in and getting his medical file. We had all the files broken down into what battery they were part of and by platoon. Once his file was pulled, we went back to the exam room where the patient told more in detail what his ailment was. I took his vital signs as Donnelly documented in the medical chart. We then took his chart from the exam room to Lt. Balser, who reviewed the chart and came out to do a more thorough exam. After a quick exam, Lt. Balser ordered us to give the soldier an IV and prescribed some medications. Donnelly went back to the dispensary to gather the guy's medications while I prepared to start an IV. I had only started one IV since medical school, so I was a bit nervous, especially with Lt. Balser standing by me. I attempted once and wasn't successful. I was beyond nervous the next attempt, and I think Lt Balser noticed. He looked at the patient's arm and felt for a good vein and said, "ahh you have those big, rolling veins that are hard to poke". He pointed one out and said to try it, looked at me and winked. I knew he was easing my tension and giving a good excuse for my inexperience. Sure enough, the IV went in without problem and my tension dissipated. The soldier even told me that was a "good stick" and fairly painless to him. I felt good after hearing that and was pretty confident. Lt. Balser told me to make sure I gave the patient fluids until he urinated and he should relax. And that was pretty much it for that patient care.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-FHizuUEAFxk/UbdFLBtKhqI/AAAAAAAAAGQ/vWESLtsksps/s1600/balser.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="211" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-FHizuUEAFxk/UbdFLBtKhqI/AAAAAAAAAGQ/vWESLtsksps/s320/balser.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>First Lieutenant Balser, Task Force 6/43 ADA's physician's assistant.</i></td></tr>
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Donnelly showed me where to get the medications for dispensing and how to count out the pills prescribed. We didn't have any really strong medications, just general pain relievers and other things. There was also surgical items, such as stitches, chest tubes, and basic surgical kits. We would be able to access any of those items to assist the docs if needed. I hadn't been in the clinic 24 hours and already felt like a true medic. I checked on my patient sometime later and his IV bag was running low. I asked if he needed to urinate and he replied no. Lt Balser told me to hang another bag and run the fluids in at a faster rate. I did as I was told and eventually, after three IV bags of fluid, my patient urinated into a collection bottle. After he did that, Lt. Balser told me to check the urine for everything and walked off. I had no idea what he meant, so I followed and asked, with bottle of pee in my hand. Lt. Balser asked if I had ever checked urine before, to which I said I hadn't. He handed me a bottle of PH test strips and another device that resembled a scope of some sort, The PH strips would test the chemical balance of the urine, and the scope was to check the density of the urine, or specific gravity. If the PH was in a certain range and the specific gravity was around 30, that could indicate severe dehydration. Another lesson learned, this was going to be a great deployment after all.....<br />
After my first patient was cleared to leave, I cleaned up the area and felt motivated. Unfortunately, the day would prove to be rather uneventful for any further patient care. SFC Becthel showed me around the facility a little more and took me outside to the ambulance area. I would be assigned an ambulance, much like back at Shipton, but not a HUMVEE type. The ambulance I was assigned was a GMC truck painted green with a big box on the back with a large red cross painted on the sides. This truck had to have been from the mid 80's. After I did the PMCS on it, SFC Bechtel showed me some other areas of the complex. Our building was nestled in between some other buildings that backed up to a roadway that split Khobar Towers. A small patch of desert and some concrete barricades separated the roadway from the buildings and not much else. Of course we were in peace time, just under a cease fire operation. It was brutally hot that day, along the lines of 118 degrees. Part of our duties would include doing what was called a wet bulb reading to determine the relative humidity versus the temperature. This measurement also determined how long a soldier could stay in the superheated conditions and perform regular duty. It was explained to me that the wet bulb reading would help us regulate the work load on soldiers and how they would sweat; if the measurement indicated a certain level, the sweat a body used to cool would evaporate causing heat stroke and possibly death. SFC Bechtel showed all of us how to perform this task, one we would do in hourly increments starting at 0600, until the wet bulb reached the black measuring line. Our demonstration clearly showed that it would be considered a 'black day.' Each medic would be issued one to take to the tactical site and this would be the lone tool to set the pace for daily activities for the site.<br />
As the day went on, we toured surrounding areas such as the shops and Domino's Pizza place, which were located in an underground facility that was probably a bunker structure. Inside the shopping area, there was a gold market, Domino's, a barber shop, a souvenir store with paintings and rugs, and a music store. I instantly went into the music store to see what was available. In Saudi Arabia, the currency is the Riyal, in which the rate versus the American Dollar was 3.75. This meant that items were relatively cheap to buy. Like Germany, most stores took dollars and did the ratio conversion without any issues. The music store was lined with cassette tapes and very few CD's. The tapes, however, looked far different than American tapes. They were in heavy plastic cases and the artwork was far different than domestic releases. Another change was that most tapes were 'best of' compilations of random songs by an artist, usually 20 or more songs, and very obviously bootlegged. The tapes were roughly three dollars, much better than the seven they were going for in the United States when I left. This would be a regular stop for me in the months to come.<br />
We left the shops and walked over toward the chow hall, which was a small prefabricated building that sat almost in the middle of the Khobar facility we occupied. As we walked, I noticed outside every building, there was a volleyball pit; they were <i>everywhere</i>. The air in Khobar was just so stale and smelled foul. The best way I can describe it was as I said before...a landfill. We walked into the chow hall and it kind of reminded me of the one at Fort Sam. There was a mix of Army and Air Force personnel in there, and some with uniforms I didn't recognize. I would learn that those were the British and French Air Force guys which occupied another part of Khobar Towers.<br />
The food wasn't too bad at the chow hall, a bit better than back at Shipton, but the smell as soon as we walked out kind of ruined the enjoyment of the meal. Directly across from the chow hall was a pool, which had a deck all around it and was very crowded. With the heat, that pool was a saving grace, I'm sure. We met back at the clinic, where CPT Kungys told us to get ready to head out to another site called Lucky Base. We piled into an SUV waiting out back and headed out of the security checkpoints into the vast emptiness. Off to our right was the airport and air base we flew into, to the left, not much of anything but brown and tan Earth. We traveled down a divided highway past a tactical site that had Patriot Missile launchers positioned for defense. I had seen this before back in Germany, but this was different, it was real world and not just a field exercise.<br />
We arrived at Lucky Base after about a fifteen minute drive. This facility was out in the middle of nowhere and was not much more than prefab buildings grouped together. This was where the command section was housed, and further down, Alpha Battery was positioned for defense. There was an aid station located at Lucky Base that was about the size of the one at Shipton. One medic would be stationed there 24 hours daily, seven days a week. There was very little to do at Lucky Base it seemed, so we would have to bring movies or reading material to occupy us while there. The tactical sites operated day in, day out. The ready platoon would rotate soldiers during their tour of duty every four hours, then rotate platoons every week. There was little sleep on the site for those on watch, but it meant the skies were protected above us.<br />
I felt that I had put in a full day of activity, then looked at my watch in disbelief as it showed it was only 1500 hours when we left Lucky Base. I also felt dirty because of the sand and sweat; this was nothing like field duty in Germany. When we got back to Khobar Clinic, I was told to check the duty roster for shift assignment. While inside, I noticed another soldier with an IV lying in the exam room; another victim of the elements. I was scheduled to go out on the tactical site the following day from 0800-1700 hours. We would still be required to do PT at 0500 every morning as usual, which would totally suck due to the environment. By 1700 hours this first day, we were ready to attend our end of day formation. First Sergeant Banks gave us our safety briefing and welcomed those of us who were new in country. The formation didn't last long and we were dismissed for the day. I went back to the building and went upstairs to clean up and change. Martinez, Lewis, and Smith were all filing in behind me, Cowden and Peschke were downstairs in the clinic. We had two bathrooms in our living area, so waiting for a shower was common. All in all, the rooms at Khobar Towers were really nice, very laid back. The room I shared with Kirk was spacious and had a sofa, two chairs and two big wall lockers in addition to our beds. I had the bed closest to the window, which faced the inner part of Khobar. I could look out at see the air base off in the distance and could see the fighter jets darting off into the skies. I could also see the large minaret that towered above a mosque near the entrance to the facility. I hadn't really seen anything like this ever before; it was desolate, yet inspiring. <br />
After taking a shower, Jeremy, Martinez and I went to the chow hall and to see what else was around Khobar. It was around 1830 hours and still hot out, however the sun was behind some of the towers and not directly upon us like before. After chow, we wandered around just taking in the sights. Some Air Force guys were playing volleyball and were quite into the game, which reminded me of the Top Gun movie scene. We came upon another underground bunker like structure that had a sign indicating it was a recreational room. Upon entering, there were pool tables, air hockey tables, foosball games and some other arcade type games. It reminded me of Gateway Video Store back home. On the walls, there were murals painted from different Air Force units, some depicting a combat duty scoreboard and others the unit's designated insignia. There was a juke box blasting out some of the latest music over in the corner and several guys milling about. Around the corner, there was a club-like area with a dance floor, DJ booth and tables set up. There wasn't anyone around that area and no music was playing, but the place had great potential for an escape in the daily activities.<br />
Inside the recreational center, they offered food and drinks; items like hot dogs, chips, soda and 'near beer'. Near beer was basically a non-alcoholic malt drink that resembled beer, just without the kick. That was going to be another down part of the deployment...the sobriety. We were briefed extensively before we left Shipton on the subject of no drinking while in Saudi. For one, we were still operating under combative conditions and two, alcohol was frowned upon by the locals, as it was against their religious beliefs. My escape from boredom and general stress was drinking, now I would need to find another outlet, and hope my liver didn't go into complete shock.<br />
Martinez, Jeremy and I shot a few games of pool and left after about an hour or so. It was getting late and 0500 would come early. Even though it was after dark, the air was still stale and muggy. The temperature had fallen to about 80-85 degrees and there was a slight breeze that whipped between the towers. As we were walking back to our tower, there was a truck that resembled a street sweeper emitting a plume of white smoke behind it. It looked like rocket exhaust rather than just a faulty motor or anything. As it got closer, the breeze pushed some of the white fog in our direction and the effect was instant. Immediately, there was a burning sensation in my nose and my eyes watered; the smell was like burning diesel fuel or something. The three of us quickly picked up pace and darted into our tower. Martinez asked, "what the Hell was <i>that</i>?" None of us had a clue, and to us, it could have been a chemical attack for all we knew. We ran inside and began to wash ourselves down, thinking the worst. After a few minutes, we realized that we weren't going to die in a convulsing and choking death and went onto the balcony, seven stories above everything. We noticed the truck weaving through the complex, and the fog creeping around every nook and hanging in the air for several minutes. That was something very out of the ordinary, but we weren't sure if we needed to report it. We watched as the truck faded from view and there was no alarm or any security mobilizing, so it must have been routine. All I knew is that the ordeal gave me quite a reality check, and the effects would eventually surpass just the eye and nose irritations.<br />
Before I turned in for the night, I sat down and wrote two letters, one for mom and the other for Moni. We had our new address already established, but mail, we were told, would be slow for a while until everything got adjusted. We were also told to be wary of what we wrote home about, as our mail could be intercepted and read at any given time to insure we weren't giving tactical details of our location or mission to anyone. I wrote in both letters that I had arrived safely and it was truly a foreign place. It was just a big, empty place, I wrote and one I wasn't sure I could adjust to. My letters were short and simple, mainly an acknowledgement of my existence. I turned in for the night, the first, busy day behind me.<br />
Morning PT always sucked. In Germany, it was the bitter cold at that early hour, at Khobar, it was the building heat and smell that made PT grueling. By 0500, the atmosphere was already becoming thick and the temperature was near 80 degrees. The truck that we saw the night before had made its rounds shortly before our PT formation, so the fog was still in the air, just not as thick. We did the usual routine of calisthenics then started the run. The route was basically a big square around Khobar Towers and equaled roughly 2.5-3 miles and ran along the perimeter road that bordered the complex, just behind the fence and barricades. We would run through the Air Force section of Khobar, then back to our area of operations. When HHB ran as a unit, we sounded off, singing cadences rather loudly as we usually did at Shipton. Eventually, our commander notified us at a battalion formation later on that PT would be conducted at 0600 and we weren't going to sound off any more. Apparently the Air Force Squadron Commander in the back side of Khobar complained we were 'too motivated' and was disturbing key personnel who needed their required sleep. To each their own, I guess.<br />
I reported to the clinic at 0730 to begin my first day at the tactical site. I really didn't have an idea where to go, but CPT Kungys told me to get my ambulance and follow him. We weaved out of the barricaded entry/exit point and headed off in the desert, toward Lucky Base. Bravo Battery's site was not too far away, and was the one we had passed near the end of the airfield. The ready platoon was already on site, most had been there overnight and was prepping the site for daily activity. Captain Kungys and I were waved through the entry bunker and entered the tactical site. It wasn't too different than when we were out on field exercises in Germany, but all the netting was desert colored and there were only a couple of tents rather than a tent city. There were bunkers dug into the Earth that were fortified with sand bags and looked like the fire support bases from Vietnam. Some of the guys were filling sand bags off to the side and stacking them on the bunkers. It was already approaching 90+ degrees out and CPT Kungys asked me to do a wet bulb reading on site. It was not quite into the black, but very close. He accompanied me into the command trailer and the first thing he asked was how long those soldiers outside were going to continue to fill sand bags. The lieutenant on duty dodged the question and said that it was necessary to keep the bunkers at a ready state. Sergeant First Class Taylor shook my hand and told me to follow him to where I would be setting up a temporary aid station. Captain Kungys gave me a salute and told me to call if I needed anything then left. I was led to another trailer that had several bunks and a small office space in it. This was the ready trailer, I was told and the ready crews rotated sleep shifts in there. Sergeant First Class Taylor looked at my name tag and struggled to pronounce my name, and when I told him, he said, "shit, soldier that's too difficult, I'm gonna call you Kiss." That was funny, because 1SG Franklin called me that from day one. Again, he told me if I needed anything to just find him, then he left. There was no one in the trailer at all. It was air conditioned and comfortable, a little dusty but not unmanageable. I sat my aid bag and ruck sack down and just...sat there. On site, we were required to bring our full gear with us; all our TA-50, Kevlar, ruck sack loaded down, NBC mask and flak vest. The flak vest was something that was new to us and was issued just prior to our deployment. The vests were very heavy and had protective material inside them to protect us from shrapnel mainly. A round fired from an M-16 probably would have penetrated the vest though. The usual duty dress on site was our regular BDU's, except on Thursdays when it was sergeant's time for training. The only thing I didn't have on site was my weapon; it was still locked up in the armory at Khobar. <br />
Around 0900, I did another wet bulb reading and it was in the black. There was a status board on the outside of the command trailer, so I wrote the results of the reading on it. I also went inside the trailer and told the duty officer, who just kind of acknowledged me and went about his business. I went outside and found SFC Taylor and told him about the conditions and to watch his guys closely. He went to the guys filling sand bags and told them to take it easy and get some rest. I went back into the ready trailer and documented the wet bulb readings and who I told on a piece of paper. I wasn't sure if I really needed to do this, but I thought it would help in case I ever needed to look back on what happened on site. <br />
Chow was brought to us in Jerry cans, like they were in basic training when we didn't do MRE's. Jerry cans were metal containers that looked like big metal soup cans. Our water supply was out of a big metal tank on a trailer we called a water buffalo. From time to time, I would have to test the water like I had on our field sites back in Germany. That was extremely important due to the desert conditions. Even though the water wasn't cold to drink, it still was refreshing. There were cases of bottled water on site too, but those were reserved for emergency situations. After chow, it was business as usual on site. I took a few minutes to look around at the site. Above me, the roar of two jet fighters taking off from the nearby airfield caught my attention. They were still low to the ground and I could see they were well armed with missiles on each wing. The jets raced off into the distance staying close together, again, like the movie Top Gun. <br />
"They are going up to the No-Fly Zone," a voice said from behind. I turned around and it was a fire control sergeant watching the jets fade away too. The No-Fly Zone was an area near the 32nd Parallel in Iraq that was restricted by the UN after Desert Storm. The Iraqi Air Force could not fly into this area, and coalition forces patrolled the region to insure compliance. The mission was called Operation Southern Watch. Any fighter planes or unauthorized flights in the zone could be engaged and shot down. As we watched the planes disappear, the sergeant told me to watch the planes as they came back into the airfield, as they most always had a missile or two gone from their wings. Wait...it was peace time,wasn't it?? Little did I know, but a month or so prior to our arrival, there was a skirmish involving US fighter jets and Iraqi radar sites near the No-Fly Zone, and there was always something going on just to our north. <br />
I really didn't have an eventful duty day, other than one soldier who was brought in to cool down for a few minutes. He didn't require an IV, but I'm sure had he stayed out any longer he would have needed more vigorous medical attention. The duty day ended and I went back to Khobar well after final formation of the day. I went into the clinic and checked the duty roster, I would have a 24 hour shift the following day. Usually at the end of a duty day, I retreated downtown or somewhere out of Shipton. I didn't have that option at Khobar. I went down to the music store and bought a couple of tapes, then retreated back to my room. The first couple of days in Saudi Arabia were interesting to say the least. It was a different place and mindset there. My buddies who were usually rowdy and liked to party down were all starting to become focused; the party days were on hold for a few months. As I sat in my room and listened to my newly purchased tapes, I started thinking about where I had been so far, and how far I had came personally. I had a birthday coming up, another one away from home. I wondered how it would have been had I stayed home, or even more, what it would be like to go back for a visit. I was so different than what I was just a short year prior, and I wasn't too sure if it was for the good or the bad. I left my room and walked out onto the balcony, looking out over the Khobar complex. Far off in the distance I could see the lights of a jet taking off...off into the big empty.<br />
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<br />Rob Kiskadenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11729507457550464443noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8626888127365718762.post-89789304442645115432013-04-22T08:54:00.000-07:002014-02-04T06:12:53.078-08:00Chapter 20: Desert SongBy mid to late July 1993, things started moving pretty quick for the 6th Battalion, 43rd Air Defense Artillery. Our field exercises had came to a halt and last minute equipment checks were taking place within the battalion, all in preparation for the deployment to Saudi Arabia. Ace left the second week of July along with several others in the battalion. We had a going away ceremony for them, and the evening of the deployment, families, friends, girlfriends and all of us staying behind this round watched them all board the buses and leave out of the gate, into the unknown. For some, deployments were no strange thing. They had been there, done that during Desert Shield and Desert Storm. A few had been in service for a number of years and did the Panama deployments back in the 80's. For me, a nineteen year old kid who was just getting used to life in the big world, this was a big deal.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-dVOczDd6brc/UMtSP4kxm5I/AAAAAAAAAFA/fqz5BoooiwA/s1600/deploy.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-dVOczDd6brc/UMtSP4kxm5I/AAAAAAAAAFA/fqz5BoooiwA/s1600/deploy.jpg" height="243" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>Task Force 6/43's advanced party deployment to Saudi Arabia, July 1993. My room mate, Ace,</i> <i>is in the foreground</i>.</td></tr>
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With the field exercises ending, we had a lot more time on our hands and the duty days weren't quite so long. We still had to do guard duty and PMCS as usual, but no more endless days of inventory. Most of my friends who stayed behind and were either waiting for deployment or staying on rear detachment took advantage of all the down time and commenced into partying. Prior to the deployment preparations, Harold had moved off post to a housing area called Bliedorn, an old Army post near Barton Barracks, in anticipation for the arrival of his wife, Salina. There had been some issues preventing her from joining him up to this point, but he was allowed to move and prepare the apartment. He wouldn't be deploying with us to Saudi, but would be staying back in Shipton manning the supply section. Across from Harold's apartment complex, nestled in the trees by a lake was a place called Cafe Waldsee. Sal had taken us there a couple of times and it was a far different atmosphere than the Goose. I would describe Waldsee as a biker type bar, lots of guys in leather jackets and multiple tattoos hung out there. Few, if any, Americans frequented the place, but the music was awesome. The DJ played nothing but metal and hard rock, none of the Ace of Base or Snow that was being blasted at the Goose. I never really wandered in there much, mainly because it was such a long walk from Shipton. Now that Harold lived across the lake, we went a few more times, but I always got an impression we were considered to be intruders and not really welcomed. One funny story that Harold recently recounted to me is one night after a drinking binge at Waldsee and the apartment, I needed to relieve myself and somehow wandered into the closet in the apartment's hallway, then proceeded to urinate all over the wall and floor. I eventually passed out on his couch, but I'm sure Harold was a bit perturbed over the incident, although he never let on that he ever was. Even though I had all my party friends and a new girlfriend, Harold always remained one of my closest friends and one I could count on regardless of my predicament. When Salina finally got to Germany, she welcomed me as her surrogate brother-in-law, a title I was humbled by.<br />
Shortly after Ace left, I had to do a room inventory and account for all my personal effects; clothing, hygiene products, CD's, everything. I wouldn't be able to take everything with me from the barracks room and this inventory would serve as a log in case I came back and found my room had been broken into. Ace did the same thing and the day before he left, the first sergeant and his platoon sergeant put a secure metal strip lock on his wall locker door and night stand. The usual baseball cards that covered the walls in our room were gone, the room looked so empty aside from my stuff. At least Ace left his TV out for me to watch, I would secure it when I left out. Things were starting to sink in some now that I had seen people leaving. I couldn't help but think to myself, "what if they don't come back?" Again, it was peace time, right?<br />
Monika and I were getting along good, we spent quite a bit of time together. After Ace left, she stayed in my room most of the time, but had to leave by 0600 each morning. The way the guest thing worked was a guest had to surrender their ID card to the front gate guard and sign a roster of where they were going to be on post, including the soldier's name they were visiting. On duty days, guests could stay from 1700 hours until 0600 the next morning, but usually on weekends, they could stay from Friday night until 0600 Monday. Should a guest not leave by 0600, the guest and soldier would get called to the battalion's security officer's room and have to answer to him. If a soldier had another occurrence, it could end up as an Article 15 and revocation of guest privileges. I for sure didn't want that to happen with Moni so we made sure she left out as I was heading our for morning PT, no matter how late of a night we may have had.<br />
Usually when Moni and I went out, her friend Mary would come with us. She was okay as far as being personable, but I felt she was a third wheel. Mary was half Turkish and and she was very outspoken, quite blunt honestly. She liked a guy who I ran around with named DeGray, but he wanted nothing to do with her at all. That meant any times I wanted to spend alone with Moni just simply walking through Ansbach or something were very few. Ansbach is a romantic town, the 14th Century buildings are adorned with gold trimmed decorations and gives an outsider a sense of extravagance. To me, I thought it was the ultimate date place, a place I could take a significant other and just enjoy the surroundings. One of our favorite places to hang out other than Hai Life was a small ice cream parlor that was situated in the middle of some shops. They made the most awesome sundaes with these big waffle bowls that were just unreal. I liked Moni's company, thought a lot about her, but there was this nagging feeling that it was borrowed time, and I couldn't shake it.<br />
We were told our deployment should last until mid to late December and we should be back before Christmas. We all filled out leave paperwork for our projected block leave dates before we were to leave, the rear detachment personnel section would process all requests and hopefully have them ready to go when we got back. If all went as planned, this meant we could all go home to visit family for the holidays. At least it was something to look forward to while we were sweating in the desert.<br />
I thought about home, how much things had changed since I went back to visit last time. I talked to mom weekly and still received letters from people back home. I sent pictures back home often and people wrote back saying how they couldn't believe how cool Germany looked. I just wondered how I would fit in now, I had changed so much since December 1992, and it was only seven months later. I couldn't dwell on those thoughts and had to focus on mentally preparing for the upcoming mission in Saudi, and surviving the pre-deployment festivities. <br />
All over Shipton, there were deployment parties. It seemed every weekend there was another room in another barracks partying it up, and yes, I was right there at most of them. If I wasn't at the parties, I was down at the Goose or Hai Life as usual. Moni was always with me, along with a few of the gang that was left in the barracks. We all had a good time and the night usually ended with me passing out. I had developed quite a tolerance by this point and could party longer, which at the moment was a great thing. The only problem was with the increased intake, I was having black out moments and passing out more often. There is very little from July 1993 that I actually remember, other than duty days. I remember Anderson telling people about how much I had drank when Harold, Sal and I stopped at the party before the Metallica concert, and how he was amazed at how much a little guy like me could drink. I guess I had racked up a notorious reputation for being the "party guy", a title I hadn't purposely tried to obtain, but nevertheless, a title I tried hard to live up to.<br />
I received my official orders at the end of July which gave me a definite date of departure from Germany. I would leave August 7th, and arrive in Saudi Arabia the next day. The orders stated my tour was to be over on December 10th, which gave me a sense of relief, knowing I would be able to go home for the holidays. I couldn't call or write home with the specific dates., I could only tell that I <i>may</i> be back home in time for Christmas. I didn't really want anyone other than family to know I would possibly coming back home when I returned, that way, if something happened and my leave got canceled, no one would be disappointed. It was about this time that things started getting very real for me. I had seen news coverage of Operation Desert Storm and knew that SCUD Missiles were a threat in the region we were deploying, but again..<i>.this was peace time, right? </i>Our most recent battalion training had focused a lot on the threat of nuclear, biological and chemical weapons, or NBC as it was called, and the necessary steps to protect ourselves. We were issued a gas mask and protective suit, called MOPP (mission oriented protective posture) Gear that would protect us to a degree from the effects of NBC weapons. We had to be tested with our gas masks just as we had in basic training, which meant a trip to the gas chamber. Before the advanced party left, probably around May or June, the battalion had performed these tests. Now, our masks and MOPP Gear would mean life or death in the event of an NBC attack, which was a very real threat according to the reports from other units who were in the region.<br />
A part of me was obviously uneasy about shipping out, but another part was excited. I mean, where else could someone from the hills of Northeastern Kentucky go to all these places in such a short time? I really didn't try to let the uneasiness show to anyone, not even Monika. I was a soldier and was about to embark on a mission as soldiers have done all through history and are still doing now. There was no room for fear to overcome me. I was excited because it was going to be a new adventure, a new place. I wasn't keen on the Arabic culture, as a kid, I remembered Yosemite Sam riding a camel and chasing Bugs Bunny, that was about all of the Arabic culture I knew. The week before we shipped out we took classes on the culture of the Saudi people. The Kingdom of Saudi Arabia is a Muslim faith based society, which was totally foreign to me. In Owingsville, Kentucky, there is a church on every block in town; Baptist, Methodist, Christian, quite a variety of the one message. The Muslim faith has some similarities, but their methods of worship are not at all diverse like America. We learned that we shouldn't wear symbols of Christianity openly in public while in Saudi Arabia, as this is considered offensive. Simple hand gestures, like the 'OK' sign with the forefinger and thumb making a circle while the other three fingers are extended was considered bad. That gesture meant a person was giving the 'evil eye' to another and considered a curse upon them. If we were to sit within a group of Saudi Nationals, it was preferred we knelt down with them and never placed the soles of our feet toward anyone, as it was considered to be 'placing that person under the feet of others' and offensive. One thing the sergeant told us that made the whole room crack with laughter was the bestiality speech. He began by saying, "soldiers, the only way to put this out is direct, and because I have been mandated to. Think of it this way; I wouldn't be talking about any of this if someone out there hadn't been caught doing it." He then hit directly to the point by saying, "so, HHB, don't be screwing the livestock." The whole room burst out in hysterics and the sergeant even broke his usual no nonsense approach to things. Sure enough, this was mandatory training we had to be signed off on as receiving on a pre-deployment check list.<br />
We had to start packing our duffel bags the days prior to leaving and everything was written off on a check list to insure we didn't leave any necessary items behind. By this time, I had purchased a portable CD player, which was a new and improved boom box, and a few CD's and I wanted to take them with me. The challenge was getting it all packed and ready to go. I bought two gym bags for the carry on baggage; one for my personal items and a change of clothing and the other for my boom box and CD's. At least I had my priorities straight, right? As I packed my bags, I couldn't help but remember back at Fort Sam Houston, when I packed everything for the move to Germany...it seemed so long ago. This time it was different, a different feeling than I had at Fort Sam. I didn't feel as though I was leaving everything behind like I did then. I wasn't entirely too torn up over leaving Moni, although I knew I would miss her and hoped she would wait for me to get back. It was just <i>different</i>.<br />
One night a group of us 'party patrol' caught wind of a new place opening up near Ansbach called Tivoli Park. We were told it was going to be the best club around and we had to go to the grand opening. About ten of us convoyed to a town southwest of Ansbach called Sachsen in anticipation to see what all the hype was about. There was a long line outside the club and it definitely was no Green Goose. Tivoli Park was much larger and not as much of a dive as the Goose. There were neon lights, flashing strobes and a techno music beat pounding as we walked into the club. There comes a point that I don't remember much from this trip, I will explain later, but from what I do recall, the place was absolutely packed with people. There was a large dance floor and a DJ booth high above it. The announcer kicked the night off by welcoming us to the place, then a pyrotechnic flash of fire and sparks lit up the room. It was like a rock concert with techno. I remember all of us walking around in awe at the place. This was billed as a Rave club, something I had never heard of. The music pulsated one continuous beat as the songs mixed together, creating a trance-like effect. I remember some of us getting drinks and walking around, I started off with a beer as usual, and it was just so surreal. Some of the guys started mingling with some girls that were there, the rest of us hung back taking in the atmosphere.I remember someone bought me a drink and gave it to me, a kind gesture, I thought. I wasn't to the point of pure intoxication at this point, but soon after drinking this particular drink, I started really feeling hammered. My head started swimming like never before and the lights flashing were suddenly so brilliant. Combined with the sound, the lights gave me a sense that I was floating in space. Then, I started getting hot; it felt like I was in a sauna or inside a burning house with all my firefighting gear on. I got beer and drank it down quickly, but still I craved water. I remember going up to the bar and asking for a glass of water. In Germany, when you ask for water, the bartender will give you a bottle of carbonated water. This is what I got when I asked, and after taking a few drinks, it still didn't satisfy me. I had to explain to the bartender that I wanted a glass of regular water, and with a smirk, she plopped the glass of water in front of me. <br />
The lights and techno beats were starting to make me nauseous and I found a place to sit down. That's the point where things get blurry. I was in a booth and laid my head down on the table. Eventually, the guys I came with came over and nudged me, making sure I was alive I guess. I got up and milled around, still sluggish and had a terrible headache. I have no idea how long I had been out, but felt horrible. I ordered another beer to try to make myself feel better, but after a few sips, I realized it wasn't going to go that way. I sat back down and waited until it was time to leave, which was going on 4 am. Once we got back to the barracks, I crashed and slept nearly all day, still feeling horrible. Moni came by and I'm sure I wasn't much company, but tried to make the best of it. <br />
We stayed in the barracks all that next day, the idea of going anywhere just made me cringe because of how I felt. This was beyond any regular hangover I had ever endured. By evening I was feeling better and decided to go down to Hai Life with Moni. Some of the other guys tagged along too and we enjoyed a night away from the pounding lights and techno. I remember talking to someone about my Tivoli Park experience and they told me that it sounded as if I had been slipped an X in my drink. I had no idea what they were talking about, and found out years later it was probably an Extasy pill, a rather potent drug used in rave clubs to enhance the person's surroundings. It had the effect of LSD but with a stimulant kick to it like cocaine. I must have missed the memo on the stimulant part because I passed out from it.<br />
In the days leading up to the Saudi deployment, Moni and I spent a lot of time together. Like I said earlier, I knew I was going to miss her, but wasn't too torn up about it. Don't get me wrong, I truly cared a lot about her, but we were just living for the moment and I don't think I ever saw it becoming a lifetime union; probably not the best way to look at a relationship. Then it became crunch time. Before I knew it, it was 48 hours until deployment day. Our section sergeants came by and rechecked all our items to make sure we were ready. When our bags were ready, we moved them to a holding area, leaving our carry-on bag and packed ruck sack and Kevlar helmet out. I had packed my carry-on to the hilt, so my big green duffel bag was no loss to me. We had to keep out our desert BDU's but for the most part all of our military issued items were in the holding area. Those first few hours weren't lock down hours, we could still leave post, and we did...ready to give Ansbach a hearty goodbye. <br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>Partying it up our last night out in Ansbach before deployment. L-R: Ray Abbott, Pablo Madera, Linroy Powell and Jason Stark</i></td></tr>
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T-minus thirty something hours until D-Day....I went into town with a crowd of guys, hitting every place I knew of that let us party there. At the local McDonald's restaurant they served beer, so we all ordered a Happy meal with a beer to drink to start the night off. We went into Hai Life, then upstairs to the club where the Turkish guy had been beaten by the Polezi a couple of months earlier. At some point we all got separated but somehow ended up back at the McDonald's later on. How that was possible, I do not know. We ended the night at the Goose, where most of the battalion was partying. Everyone was buying everyone else good luck drinks, all having good fun until someone decided to get rowdy. Sure enough, a brawl broke out, much to no one's surprise. The Goose cleared out, the Polezi and MP's came and that was the end of the fun for our last night on the town before shipping out.<br />
The day of our deployment was a calm summer day. We had our PT and other formations, then ordered on lock down, meaning we couldn't leave post. Families and friends could come see us, but we couldn't leave. All day, we were dressed in our desert BDU's, a stark contrast with the lush, green trees around us. Our platoon sergeants did walk through inspections checking our uniforms. By 1300 hours, we were lined up at the armory getting our weapons out and readied for the trip. From this point on, we carried our weapons everywhere. After an accountability formation soon after weapons draw, we were released to the barracks until the buses arrived later. Moni and Mary came to the barracks that afternoon and we hung out with everyone else, watching movies and just sitting around. We couldn't have any alcohol and the shopette downstairs had all the beer and liquor cordoned off so we couldn't buy any. Usually, boredom for me lead to drinking, so I was a bit edgy. Moni had gotten me a necklace with a guitar charm on it for good luck, That really meant a lot that she would get that for me after all I had put her through at that point, staying out and about all night without her. Around 1800 hours, we were ordered into another accountability formation and got a briefing from the Battalion Commander, which was more like a pep talk. The buses were starting to pull through Shipton's gates, the time was nearing. After formation, it was more hurry up and wait for us. Moni and I went upstairs and noticed my room, along with most others, had a piece of sealing tape on the door to show if the room had been tampered with. We went into Degray's room, his room mate was staying back for rear detachment duties and the room wasn't sealed. No one was around, so we made the best of our alone time in our own way. Soon, I heard someone going down the hallway yelling, "let's go people everybody outside and form up." We walked back downstairs for yet another formation just an hour or so after the last one. This time, we were lined up to pass duffel bags up to the waiting buses, the move was in motion. Darkness was starting to fall on Ansbach as we finished loading the bags and we had some more down time. Moni and I sat on the steps that led into the lower level of HHB Barracks and Mary snapped a picture of us. I was sitting on the top step and she was a step below me. I had my arms around her neck as the picture was taken, neither of us very emotional. This would be the last picture taken of us together.<br />
Around 2030 hours, we got the word to form up one last time. Our acting commander gave us one last pep talk and signed off by saying, "next time we talk we will be sweating in the sand." We marched to the buses and stood by waiting to board them. We were released from formation while others boarded so I took a minute to go to Moni and give her a quick kiss goodbye. Mary gave me a hug and handed me a silver ring and told me to keep it as a gift from Moni. Why Moni never gave it to me, or if she ever knew Mary gave it to me, I will never know, but I slipped it on my pinky and said my farewell. I boarded the bus and found a seat. Our tagged ruck sacks were stashed below us, but our weapons stayed by our sides on board the bus. The motor fired up and idled as the door swung shut, making a hissing noise. I looked out the window and saw Moni waving at me. I smiled and waved back as the bus started moving toward the back gate. I lost sight of her, the last image I had as the bus left Shipton was her smile and wavy hair as she waved goodbye. I sighed and looked around. Our next stop would be the airport at Frankfurt, the same place I had arrived just a few short months earlier.<br />
There is a song that was released a couple of months after I got to Saudi by Def Leppard called <i>Desert Song</i>; it had lyrics that described my feelings at that moment.<br />
<br />
<i><span itemscope="" itemtype="http://schema.org/Lyric"><span class="line line-s" id="line_9">Only the lonely will stand</span></span></i><br />
<i><span itemscope="" itemtype="http://schema.org/Lyric"><span class="line line-s" id="line_9"> </span><span class="line line-s" id="line_10">I'm holding the world</span> <span class="line line-s" id="line_11">in my hand</span> </span></i><br />
<i><span itemscope="" itemtype="http://schema.org/Lyric"> <span class="line line-s" id="line_12">I got to believe</span></span></i><br />
<i><span itemscope="" itemtype="http://schema.org/Lyric"><span class="line line-s" id="line_12"> </span><span class="line line-s" id="line_12"> </span></span></i><br />
<span itemscope="" itemtype="http://schema.org/Lyric"><span class="line line-s" id="line_12">I felt lonely again, but felt that indeed held the world in my hands; that I needed to get my game face on and realize that everything was about to become real. On that bus ride to Frankfurt, I sat in silence for the most part, thinking what I was going to see, what was going to happen once we got there</span></span><i><span itemscope="" itemtype="http://schema.org/Lyric"><span class="line line-s" id="line_12"> </span></span></i><span itemscope="" itemtype="http://schema.org/Lyric"><span class="line line-s" id="line_12">and about a million other things. I fell asleep sometime down the Autobahn and woke up in Frankfurt. It was after midnight and had been a long day. We exited the buses at the airport and secured our ruck sacks, forming up one more time. We marched into the terminal and waited to board the plane...and waited. The one constant thing about the Army was the hurry up and wait factor. After what seemed like an eternity, we finally got the word to board the plane. This was it...all the training we had done the past few months had accumulated into this moment. We boarded the waiting jet and stashed our carry-on bags and ruck sacks the best we could. As the plane taxied, then lifted into the German night sky I thought back to the last time I was on a plane and watched the lights below me fade into tiny dots. I was more at ease this time as the ground dropped away. The flight would take a few hours, so I dosed off. I don't know what, or if, I dreamed but I felt at ease when I woke up and looked out the window. It was daylight by this time and I could see brown mountains below. I heard someone say we were over Turkey, but couldn't tell anything about the terrain under us; it all looked drab and brown to me. Soon we were back over water, the Mediterranean Sea. Our flight took a different route to Saudi Arabia for security purposes and came in from the west. </span></span><br />
<span itemscope="" itemtype="http://schema.org/Lyric"><span class="line line-s" id="line_12">After what seemed like an endless flight, we touched down in Riyadh, Saudi Arabia. Those who had orders to report there exited the plane. After a long while, the rest of us onboard the plane buckled back in for the flight to Dhahran. The flight would only take a couple of hours, but by now, I was becoming flight weary. We landed at the airport in Dhahran and taxied to an area off the main runway. The land looked so bleak out the plane's window, brown and desolate. A complex of tan buildings and half-round structures were off in the distance bordering the landing area. We secured our belongings and started to exit the plane. When I got to the door, the desert heat hit me full force. In Kentucky, the summers are usually hot and muggy, around 80 degrees. There were summers that reached an average temperature of 90 plus degrees for a short period of time. The summer I left home was one of those, but the heat I experienced when I got off that plane was unlike any I had been exposed to. We formed up outside the plane and then marched into a building nearby, once again stashing our gear in a pile. We all took a seat in an assembly area and waited. The building was like a large airplane hanger with a stage and podium at one end. The air was stifling once everyone got situated inside and there was no real air flow. </span></span><br />
<span itemscope="" itemtype="http://schema.org/Lyric"><span class="line line-s" id="line_12">A sergeant from each battery came up to the stage and read off a roll call roster, which took forever. The heat compounded with the long journey was starting to wear on me and I struggled to stay alert. Finally, the room was called to attention while CSM Jameson and LTC Geraci, our command element, arrived to welcome us. We were told we were going to be bused to a place called Khobar Towers and had the usual safety briefing. The only difference was this briefing ended with a statement like, "soldiers, you are in a combat environment. Stay alert, stay alive." That's one of the moments that made me realize that this wasn't an extended FTX or TAC-Eval operation, this was the real deal. Outside were a line of buses waiting, not like the large luxury buses that took us from Ansbach to Frankfurt. These were little white buses that looked dingy and like they were about to fall apart. The drivers were all dressed in the white flowing robes and wore checkered head bands that resembled table cloths at Pizza Hut. I felt like I had stepped back into time. The last time I remembered seeing anyone in person dressed as these drivers was when I was a child participating in a Christmas play at church, and they were dressed as shepherds. After we loaded our duffel bags onto a truck, we started boarding the buses. Not everyone would fit onto the buses, so we had to wait until another one arrived. </span></span><br />
<span itemscope="" itemtype="http://schema.org/Lyric"><span class="line line-s" id="line_12">I finally boarded a bus that had not much more than a padded bench as a seat. With our ruck sacks and weapons in hand, it was tight quarters, with some people standing in the aisle. We left the airfield and headed out a desert road around dusk; it had been a brutally long day. There was absolutely nothing to see but barren, flat, brown Earth around us. And the smell....We were based close to the Persian Gulf and there was a sweet smell of sea that hovered in the air, and also a smell of just plain dirt mixed with exhaust fumes. It was about dark when we arrived into a civilized setting. The Khobar area of Dhahran is a heavily populated area with a freeway running just to the west of it. We turned onto a road and could see large buildings ahead of us that resembled high rise apartments. This was Khobar Towers, a vast array of five to seven story buildings that housed members of the US Army and Air Force, British Air Force, French Air Force and Saudi Nationals. The entrance to the complex was guarded by an outpost just off the main road that had a military policeman and a Saudi guard manning it. They checked the bus driver's ID card and waved us on. The road zig-zagged through a network of concrete barricades spaced at intervals to prevent a vehicle from going headlong into the facility. At the end of the barricaded section, another checkpoint awaited with a gate across the roadway. Two armed Saudi soldiers and a MP exited the guard shack and held us in place while another soldier dressed in full gear did a sweep of the vehicle, checking for bombs. This was a bit unsettling, because at Shipton, guard duty was sham duty. We never had to check anything more than an ID card. We entered the Khobar Towers complex and stopped in a large parking lot. The smell in the air had drastically changed from the sweet sea smell and dirt to that of a landfill. It almost made me nauseous. A few scrawny cats darted away from us as we exited the bus and got into formation again. Even though it was now dark, it was still very hot and muggy, I felt like I hadn't bathed in a week. We were released to our platoon sergeants and retreated to our respective tower. The medic tower was a seven story building on the back side of the American sector. The first floor housed the battalion clinic and an Army ordnance company attached to our task force. I made my way into the clinic area and was welcomed by familiar faces. The clinic was set up rather nicely; it had a check in area, waiting area and exam/treatment room. There was also a kitchen, doctor's office areas and supply room. This was far different than being in a tent out in a field somewhere. </span></span><br />
<span itemscope="" itemtype="http://schema.org/Lyric"><span class="line line-s" id="line_12">After I got the tour and a copy of the duty roster (yes, we had to pull regular duty 24 hours) I got on the elevator up to the seventh floor. There was a sense of elegance to the towers; marble floors, brass ordained lighting fixtures and other amenities took away from the harsh environment outside. The top floor was divided into several rooms and resembled a hotel of sorts. There was one big living room at the end of the entrance hall and to the left of it was a sliding glass door with a balcony we could stand or sit on. My room would be the first one as I came in the entrance way and my room mate was a Specialist Kirk, who was a food service specialist, or cook in layman's terms. Kirk had been there a couple of weeks before me and gave me a run down of how life in Khobar Towers would be. I was worn out and just wanted to shower and hit the bed. It had been a long, long 24 hours and wake up was coming up at 0530, much too soon for me.</span></span><br />
When I finally got settled in, I put my headphones on and listened to Jimi Hendrix's <i>Electric Ladyland</i> cassette. I listened to the mellow and soothing sounds of the song <i>1983...A Merman I Shall Turn to Be</i>, and the musical breakdown part in the middle made me drift off to sleep. I had no idea what to expect, but was ready for anything. All I knew was being in Saudi Arabia would be a life changing experience for me....in more ways than a dozen.<br />
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Rob Kiskadenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11729507457550464443noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8626888127365718762.post-70675713499375099102012-09-14T15:15:00.001-07:002013-05-31T11:51:43.614-07:00Chapter 19: The Unknown Soldier<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>Oblivious...July 1993.</i></td></tr>
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As I read the previous chapters, I can't help but question what my role was in the Army. I had signed up to better myself and be part of something bigger than the life I had back home. What I had become was something even I didn't recognize. In the midst of all the partying and shenanigans, I realized that I had accomplished all kinds of things I would have never thought possible. This chapter will hopefully remind me that I indeed had a purpose in the United States Army.<br />
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It was early summer 1993, I was going on field exercises more frequently now that the cold snap of winter/spring had gone. Bravo Battery stayed on the move often, going to places like Erlangen, Kitzingen and Oberdachstetten regularly. We would convoy out to these places, and like a concert production, set up a tactical operations site in the middle of a wide open field in less than a couple of hours. To look at the battery in combat ready stance was quite astonishing. We sat up tents in predesignated areas that supported each area of responsibility. Our medical aid station would always be situated near the command area, the fire control trailers sat up just past the CP, or Command Post, the missile guidance center sat up next to it, followed by the large radar system. The perimeter past there was guarded by what was called the ECP, or Entry Control Point, which was a dug out bunker with two men manning a radio and gun. These two soldiers would be responsible for checking anyone who wanted in or out of the inner operational site. Down range several meters was the Patriot Missile Launchers which were positioned strategically, providing an air defense blanket for the entire area. I never really understood the operational aspect of the Patriot Missile system, other than it was an outstanding weapon during Operation Desert Storm. All of our tents and vehicles were draped in a camouflage netting that blended in with the surroundings if seen from the air or from a distance. When in combat ready status, Martinez and I basically stayed in the aid station and waited until someone needed us.<br />
As medics, we were in charge of the health and welfare of each soldier on the tactical site. We also had responsibilities such as checking the water quality at the drinking point and setting up hand washing stations at the chow trailer. We set up triage points in the event we had a mass casualty situation. Triage basically means sorting out, and our role during a mass casualty situation was just that; to sort out the wounded according to the severity of their injuries and to provide necessary care to the most critical patients. But for now, it was all simulated. It was peace time, remember? Another area we were tasked out to be in charge of was the helicopter landing zone. This area had to be large enough to land an Army Blackhawk or Chinook type helicopter for medical evacuations, and the occasional VIP who may or may not stop in.<br />
Bravo Battery seemed squared away when it came to field operations, and the platoon sergeants always had something for the soldiers to do. Martinez and I would read mostly, or I would take my trusty Walkman with me and listen to music most of the time. Occasionally we would have other soldiers stop in and stay a while chatting with us if it was a down period and more times than often a card game would ensue. I became very familiar with the game Spades. In the field, we were out of the eye of the top command staff so it was a bit more relaxed. First Sergeant Franklin would stop in from time to time to get his cough syrup, which I found had some alcohol content in it. He was pretty laid back and always good to us. I never saw him ever in a rage or threatening mood while I was attached to Bravo. Captain Reynolds, on the other hand, was a different story. She always seemed to me like she had to prove something and her logic at times just didn't seem logical at all. It was always like do a task, then do it all over again three more times for no apparent reason. A prime example of being in ADA, another damned Army.<br />
Back in Shipton, Thursdays were known as Sergeant's Time. We did try to do some type of training during those times, but usually turned into a large goof off session. Sergeant First Class Bechtel would assign one medic to research a topic and present a class to everyone else. It could be anything from how to set up a pot-belly stove to managing a traumatic patient. One Thursday, we went down by Soldier's Lake with some litters, or portable stretchers that were used to put a patient on and carry them, and did casualty evacuation drills. We took turns being patients and medics and simulating proper techniques of loading and carrying. We tried to make the training as challenging as we could, having people lie in between trees and over embankments and such. Eventually, the training turned into the usual antics. Someone secured Smitty to a litter and stood him upside down against a tree, then after that, a group carried Bell upside down the whole way, with Bell yelling great obscenities the whole time. Then, SFC Bechtel got on the litter and told some of the guys to carry her. Just as they got to the embankment, SFC Bechtel rolled off the litter down the hill. The straps on the litter had either failed or not been tight enough. She laid there a minute, then reached around and grabbed her back. A couple of guys closest to her came to her aid and bent down trying to assess the severity of her injury, expecting the worst. Just as they knelt by SFC Bechtel's side, she rolled over and grabbed them, pushing them down the hill into the small stream. She had feigned her injury just to mess with they guys who dropped her off the litter. It was all good nature fun, and good stress relief to break the monotony of garrison life.<br />
Morning PT was the absolute devil in my opinion. Especially during the cold months. We had battalion runs every Monday morning to 'motivate' us for the new week. I personally think it was punishment for the ones of us who partied. On several occasions, there would be a soldier fall out of the run formation and vomit because they still were blitzed from the night or weekend before. During the summer months, it was warm, not ungodly hot, but we did sweat profusely. That sweat would smell like pure liquor sometimes, making things ten times worse on the weak stomachs. Command Sergeant Major Jameson was a PT fanatic. He wanted a top shape battalion under his watch, and rightfully so, but even the seasoned veterans began to question it after so long. We all got used to it, and dealt with the self destructive manor of the hangover run as we called it. In hindsight, maybe if we had taken better care of ourselves, me included, the PT would have been very beneficial.<br />
First Sergeant Moshner had left by summer 1993, his replacement would be SFC Banks, who was the Senior NCO in the battalion's supply section. He was an alright guy, always easy going and not so high strung. He reminded me some of Drill Sergeant Washington from Fort Jackson, just not as volatile. SFC Banks hadn't yet been promoted to First Sergeant, but had the time in service and promotion points. For some reason, it was a while before he was officially promoted. Captain Taylor was still our commander, but he was becoming a short timer. He would do the Saudi deployment with us, then have a few short months after that. In the medic platoon, we were getting ready to lose Anderson and Parker. They would be replaced with some newbies before the deployment, and even though it had only been three months since the bus from Barton Barracks arrived with us on it, Rucker, Smitty, Cowden and I felt like veterans. In the meantime, we were still making preparations for the deployment. Official orders had not been sent for anyone, but the talk was that an advanced party would leave in July to get everything squared away. Other than that, nothing much was said, and we still couldn't openly talk about the mission outside Shipton. One major task we would have to carry out was to set up a clinic to get every one's medical needs and vaccinations in order. We were required to have certain vaccinations before we could be deployed, and we had to have a recent physical exam, including a dental examination. Over the course of three days, we sat up at the gymnasium in Katterbach and painstakingly reviewed every soldier's medical file with that soldier present. It was like in processing at Fort Jackson all over again, except this time, we would be on that other side of the exam booth. One by one, a soldier would come to the stations and one of us medics would check mark a paper and if needed, send that soldier over to a physician's assistant or a doctor from the 526th Medical Detachment which had a booth set up with us. Even though we were the screeners, we too had to be vaccinated along with everyone else. There was one shot everyone had to have called a GG shot, or gamma gobulin and another called ISG, a similar vaccination, which had to be administered in the buttock muscles. The serum looked like petroleum jelly and burned when it went in, leaving a very sore spot on our butt cheeks. Needless to say, there were several soldiers walking around like they had just rode in off the open range via horseback.<br />
One night I was in downtown Ansbach doing my usual rounds. Eventually, it was time to head back but a downpour had begun. I flagged a taxi down and mumbled "Shipton, bitte." The driver was of middle eastern descent and spoke fairly good English, enough that I could understand him pretty well. As we drove toward Shipton, he casually asked, "So, I hear you guys will be leaving soon?" I asked what he meant, he said "you know, uh, going to uh, to Saudi Arabia?" I was astonished how he would know that.<br />
"Not that I know," I replied to the taxi driver.<br />
"Come on, you know you are going to Saudi soon," he retorted, trying to get me to acknowledge. I again played dumb and tried to sidestep the conversation, but he persisted. Finally, I told him I was brand new and hadn't been told anything. The whole discussion made me uneasy and put an end to my beer buzz I was enjoying. I never said anything more to the driver and was more than ready to exit the vehicle at the gate. It still made me uneasy as he drove away, so I mentioned it to the guys at the front gate, who casually said, "yeah those cab drivers know everything. They are afraid they will lose business." Operational security, or OPSEC, at its best.<br />
My personal life was starting to perk up a bit. Monika and I started hanging out more often outside of the barracks parties or at The Goose. She was pretty cool, seemingly care free. Monika was a bit taller than me and had brown/brunette wavy hair that was shoulder length. She drove a motorcycle everywhere she went and always was decked out in leather riding attire. Monika's English wasn't too bad, but she spoke with a heavy accent. She didn't seem to mind my party ways and always laughed at my jokes regardless if they were funny or not. I still didn't want to get seriously involved with anyone, but the platonic company was welcomed. I was still just as party-hearty as always, and as the Fourth of July Holiday approached, it was I was in high gear. Prior to the holiday, there was another fest in downtown Ansbach that was a load of fun. We had just got off a field assignment and everyone was aching to get out and about. We would hit the fest for a while, then meander to the Goose afterward to finish the night off in style. During the Fourth, there would be a long break in the daily life and yet another fest in Katterbach, prime time for a good time.<br />
The Fourth of July Holiday 1993 started with a knock at my door at 0630. Ace was out somewhere and not in the room, so I thought it may be him. I opened the door to the sergeant of the day telling me I had guard duty. <i>Guard duty?? </i>I had checked the guard roster religiously after the missing guard post incident and knew I wasn't on the list. I started to argue with the sergeant and he basically told me to get dressed and report to headquarters no more questions asked. I acknowledged and got dressed to start the duty reluctantly. I reported to headquarters a few minutes later and the sergeant told me that someone who had guard duty didn't report and I was the first to answer the door, a 'knock and grab' kind of deal. I was not at all happy but had no other choice but to nod and agree. I pulled the first shift at the front gate and hardly anyone came into post. My partner spent his time reading and I sat there still fuming over being duped. Finally, the other guard told me the secret; "keep a beer in the fridge and grab it when someone knocks on the door early and unannounced on a weekend or holiday. Crack the beer open and take a quick drink to get the smell on your breath then answer the door, holding the beer. This will thwart any attempt to have unscheduled guard or staff duty assignments." I liked that idea, but really, who cracks open a beer at 0630 on a day off? Well...<br />
First shift was over at 1100 hours and the sergeant of the guard returned with some great news. The soldier who had been scheduled had showed up and I was off the hook the rest of the day. I was glad to hear that and hated to be in that other guy's shoes. I went back upstairs and some of the guys were milling about, talking about having a cookout at the pavilion behind the barracks. I said I would join and left to change. After a quick stop at the shopette for drinks and food to add to the cookout, I joined the others out back. The weather was perfect, cloudless sky, warm day with a slight breeze, what more could anyone ask for? As the cookout wore on and the beer flowed the usual antics were in full swing. I remember there was one guy with us who was gay and everyone knew it. This was during the "don't ask, don't tell era" and it never really mattered. I for one hadn't been around any openly gay people before, but he was one who never made a move toward anyone in our group and no one felt uncomfortable around him...until this day. I had wandered off with one of the guys and two girls we knew from the Goose and had returned with a large bite mark on my neck. Everyone was giving me shit about the mark when suddenly, this guy grabbed my arm and bit it, saying "that's nothing like the blow job I'd love to give you right now." I reacted by drawing my fist back and lunging at him, ready to pummel this fruit cake into the ground. A couple of guys stopped me and I calmed down. The guy was told to leave and he wandered away from us. Until that point in my life, I had never been propositioned by a member of the same sex.<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-oznS-07xkrA/UFOvS9dAonI/AAAAAAAAAEI/qpawSCrNK7c/s1600/30616_409807507496_8177893_n.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="173" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-oznS-07xkrA/UFOvS9dAonI/AAAAAAAAAEI/qpawSCrNK7c/s200/30616_409807507496_8177893_n.jpg" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>Posing with my favorite beer mug at Soldier's Lake, July 1993.</i></td></tr>
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The rest of the holiday weekend is pretty much a blur to me. I went to the Katterbach fest with a bunch of guys and know I got hammered. There is a picture of me holding a fest mug, which holds a liter of beer, trying to convince everyone I wasn't drunk. One of the lieutenants was standing by me giving me a look that said "bullshit!" I don't really remember that picture being taken, but I have it. I remember a bunch of us were walking back to Shipton from Katterbach and an MP van stopping us. I just knew they were hauling us in for being drunk in public, but they gave us a ride back to Shipton, which was a welcome thing. After the ride back, we decided to go down to the Goose and finish out the night...or morning. The Goose was packed to the hilt, too crowded honestly, so we made our rounds and told a select bunch to follow us back to Shipton for the barracks party. Somehow, I got separated from the rest from the gang and left after everyone. I was walking down the backroad to Shipton and stopped a minute to relieve myself. As I was doing that, I noticed a road marker that had been knocked over and the drunken mind began to wander. Road markers in Germany are white plastic posts about three and a half feet long with black stripes painted on them and have small round reflectors placed on them. I picked the leaning post up and it broke off from its base. "Hmm, what do I do with this now" I thought. I slung the post over my shoulder and kept on trekking toward Shipton. I'm sure this was probably against the law but it would sure make a cool decoration in my barracks room, something to match the blinking construction lights I had taken a month or so earlier. Ahh, the blinkies, I called them. While walking back from Hai Life one night, there was a construction area that had orange barrels cordoning an area off. On top of those barrels were small yellow boxes with a round blinking yellow light that warned people to stay clear of the area. Not passing an opportunity up, I looked around to make sure no one was around and removed two of the blinking lights. Not wanting to draw attention to myself, I placed the lights in my leather jacket and zipped it up. Good concept, the only problem is, I looked like ET the Extra Terrestrial with the lit up chest. I walked up to Shipton's gate and stopped to get my ID card out, the gate guard looked curiously at me and just waved me on through, blinking chest and all. <br />
I walked into the gate with the newly acquired road marker over my shoulder, parading like I was bringing in a war trophy. The gate guard once again just shook his head and waved me on in. I got upstairs and the party was starting to really get going. A ton of people were there and the music was blaring. I topped the stairs and stood there for a minute, then held the road marker over my head in triumph. A roar of applause rang out and everyone walked to me and looked at the marker. I took it in Ruble and Mishler's room and propped it up for all to see. I was proud of my trophy. At some point, I got a marker and wrote on it "July 4th Weekend, 1993 and I am fucked up!!" From there everyone there wanted to sign the newly dubbed 'party marker', eventually there were 200+ names on it. From that night on, whoever opened their room as the 'beer control point' took charge of the party marker and displayed it in sight for all to see. <br />
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-v55WF1Cbce0/UFOvKTvb-3I/AAAAAAAAAD4/5zDoQIJZjgA/s1600/181682_10150126756907497_273530_n.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="220" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-v55WF1Cbce0/UFOvKTvb-3I/AAAAAAAAAD4/5zDoQIJZjgA/s320/181682_10150126756907497_273530_n.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>Signing the 'party marker' at the barracks party, July 4th weekend, 1993.</i></td></tr>
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That night was wild indeed. There was one girl who came to the barracks from the Goose who wore a zebra striped spandex mini-dress thing that hugged every inch of her body who no one knew, but made her rounds to several. For example, one of the guys and I walked into a room to get a beer and she was there performing oral sex on a guy sitting on a futon, unperturbed by our intrusion. A little more than anyone wanted to see of the guy there, but....Eventually we noticed a trend with this girl. She would walk up to a guy, then lead him off for a short time, then back again and on to another guy. This played out for a while and then one of the guys named Petty got a tap on his shoulder as she led another guy off and a whispered, "you're next." Petty and I started laughing and just walked off, not wanting to take part in this bizarre circus.<br />
I actually drank myself sober that night. I never got sick or anything, I guess the walk back from the Goose kind of sobered me up and I wasn't able to get hammered like usual. I'm not sure when the party died down, but I do remember waking up in my own room for once.<br />
That entire weekend was wild, a nonstop party, then it was back to the grind the following Tuesday. Our deployment was approaching and the advanced party group would be leaving soon. We would go through inspections to make sure our gear was ready, and also do room inventories. The reality was starting to set in. Finally, we could tell our families back home about the deployment, so I wrote a letter home explaining what was about to happen. I know it scared mom and dad and everyone else to death when they got that news, but it was the Army and anything could happen at anytime. I can't lie, part of me was scared too. It was bad enough going from back home to the Army then a million miles to Germany, but to go to Saudi Arabia, where the Gulf War began really was unsettling. Through all this time, Monika and I began hanging out more often. There was a spark starting to flicker into something, but I wasn't sure I was ready for it yet. That all came to a head one night when we were downtown. Petty (yes, he is related to The King Richard) and I were at a fest tent with Monika and her friend Mary. Mary came out and asked me why I hadn't asked Monika out yet. I didn't know what to say. Monika ran out embarrassed and I went after her. I found her outside the tent crying and asked what was wrong. She just shook her head and looked at me. It was then I realized that there was a connection.<br />
"You are going away soon," she finally said. I told her yes, but I would be back.<br />
"But what if something happens to you," she asked. That was a hard thing to think of, but a logical concern. I assured her that I would be fine and hugged her. We stopped and looked at each other for a minute, and then kissed. It all made sense...the night she waited for me outside my room, the way we always ended up at the same places and hanging out, it was all pointing to this moment. Monika and I walked back into the tent hand in hand. Alan stood and clapped and yelled out, "finally!". Although I hadn't wanted a relationship or anyone to worry about me, here I was in that exact situation.<br />
The parties continued nonstop during this time. Our group of misfits were tight knit and always looked out for each other. Occasionally, someone would get into some trouble for whatever reason and suffer consequences from the command element, but no one was out to hurt anyone. It was all good times and good fun for us, until one night. I don't know the exact details of what happened over in Echo Battery's barracks on a July night, but the next day, Petty knocked on my door with some shocking news. Sean Allison, the guy who was my first real patient, had been rushed to the hospital in serious condition. Sean had been recently transferred from Charlie Battery to Echo battery due to some issues within his unit. All Petty knew was Sean had been depressed and was facing another Article 15 for something and had drank a lot and took some pills. His room mate had found him unresponsive in the barracks and called for help. Sean was taken to the Ansbach Krankenhaus, and at the time no one knew how serious he was. I was bewildered by the news. Sean was one of the regular Goose Crew guys, one who took up for us if anyone gave us some shit. I told Petty to keep me updated and find out when we could go see Sean. Petty left and I just sat there thinking about Sean and his humor. I thought about all the times I called him our bodyguard and he told how I had "saved his life". Later that day, Petty came back and delivered an update on Sean that I didn't expect; he has passed away at the krankenhaus. I backed up and let Petty in my room and we just slumped in chairs and stared blankly. I couldn't believe what I had heard, it couldn't be real. It just didn't make sense. I stayed in that night and decided not to hit the Goose. Petty came over and we toasted a drink to Sean's memory. A few days later, there was a memorial service for Sean and I was unable to attend due to guard duty. Sean was a good guy and left us entirely too soon. I still think about him to this day.<br />
A few days before the advance party left Ansbach for the desert sands, we had the commander's briefing. Our mission would be to provide air cover for the Kingdom of Saudi Arabia. Our Patriot Missile batteries would be split between two areas, Dhahran and Rhiyad. The mission would be called Operation Desert Falcon and be considered a combat/hazardous operation. What I, nor most anyone not associated with the military, realized is that although Desert Storm was over, there was still a very real threat to security in the region. The mission was considered a cease fire contingency operation and still could flare up at any time. My room mate, Ace, left as part of the advanced party in early July. The other phase of the deployment would take place later in the month and the main body would deploy in August. We would be there until December, but promised home before Christmas. It was about game time for 6th Battalion, 43rd Air Defense Artillery. It would be a journey into the unknown, and I was content just being the unknown soldier...under the radar, just doing my thing.<br />
Rob Kiskadenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11729507457550464443noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8626888127365718762.post-88574125629789992002012-07-04T06:39:00.001-07:002012-09-14T15:39:21.271-07:00Chapter 18: I Am, I'm Me<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>Private First Class Robert E. Kiskaden, 6th Battalion, 43rd Air Defense Artillery. June 1993.</i></td></tr>
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I saw a poster in the barracks lobby one night, it said "Army: Be all you can be." This was the Army motto then, and I stopped and just stared at it that particular night. I asked myself, "Am I really <i>all</i> I can be?" I didn't have an answer for my thought as I wandered out to hit the town. By now, the group I ran around with had formed a cohesive camaraderie. We would walk down to the Goose 10-20 at a time, a show of force to be reckoned with. Inside the club, we stayed close, if one person in the group got in trouble, the whole bunch would stand up for him and promptly take care of a situation. We always had an after party back at Shipton too, usually picking out people to come with us from the Goose. By the time we would leave, the group would usually grow to about 30 people staggering in the front gate. HHB's second floor would then become a block party. We had some regular people starting to hang out with us, usually German girls; Martina, Tanja, Nelly, one we called Annie, and a few others would be there every weekend. No one usually said a word about our parties or how loud they became because usually, everyone was there.<br />
In May 1993, Harold and I caught wind of a Metallica concert that was going to be in Nurnberg on a Sunday when we weren't going to be in the field. Michalea got our tickets and Sal would be our driver. It would be an awesome change of pace for me, I had already seen Metallica back home in Louisville and they were one of my favorite bands. European concerts are much different than US concerts. They are mostly held outside and huge crowds attend, so this would be an experience. The day of the concert, we all got ready and started out, but first, we had to make a stop at a party near Barton Barracks at the soldier housing complex. We got to the party just to make a short appearance before we trekked to Nurnberg, the place was crowded. Butler, Anderson and a couple others were singing a version of a song called <i>The End of the Road</i>, because the party was on behalf of someone leaving the unit and going back to the States. I found out where the beer was and was good to go, drowning down 17 before we left.<br />
I was pretty numb when we left for the concert and don't recall much of the trip. I do remember getting stopped on the Autobahn at some point. We were stuck in a gridlock and the urge hit me. I jumped out of Sal's car and ran off to the side of the road to relive myself, hoping traffic didn't start moving. I staggered back to the car, tripping over a guardrail and banging my leg up. I laughed it off because it was funny, but I was sure it would hurt like hell later. After about an hour, traffic started moving slowly again, eventually we saw what the problem was. A car had hit an overpass and nearly split in half. The Autobahn has a reputation of being the ultimate speedway. For the most part, there isn't a speed limit on the Autobahn, but generally it is 130 km/hour, or 80 miles per hour in some areas. This makes for some spectacular crashes, as we saw on the way to Nurnberg.<br />
We arrived at Nurnberg's Zeppelinfeld, a large outdoor stadium with large marble and stone entrances and walls that reminded me of a Roman coliseum. This stadium was where the famous Nazi rallies were held and a landing site for the Graf Zeppelin and Hindenburg in the 1930's. We could hear the first band, Suicidal Tendencies, already blazing through their set, the delay on the Autobahn was to blame for that. My buzz was starting to wear off and the May heat was starting to beat down on me as I walked into the gate. Inside the gate, a vast sea of people were packed in, the stage was far off ahead of us. We made our way to a spot to sit down just as Suicidal Tendencies closed their set. This was by far the most people I had ever seen in one place; upward of a hundred thousand or so people. It was awesome to see but a bit intimidating at the same. We found a beer stand and grabbed drinks and a gyros from a food stand next to it and settled in for the rest of the show. The Cult was going to be the next band to perform, I only knew one of their songs called <i>Fire Woman</i> that had been a radio hit back home a year or so before. Once The Cult got onstage, they were far from the band I heard on the radio. The singer was struggling through the opening song and hanging onto the microphone stand limply. After a few songs, the crowd began getting restless and hostile, tossing items onto the stage. Finally after a few minutes of that, the crowd began to boo loudly, prompting the band to leave the stage early. There's nothing like the sound of a hundred thousand Germans booing a band off stage.<br />
Harold and I made up our mind we were going to get closer to the stage for Metallica's performance. We noticed the crowd had started to thin out near the stage and we made our move. We got part of the way to the stage then stopped in a mass of people. Harold decided to go around to see if there was a better way forward, but nothing. We were closer to the stage but still pretty far off than what we wanted to be, then just as we stopped to gather a new plan, the familiar opening music <i>The Ecstasy of Gold</i> boomed over the PA speakers and the crowd surged forward. Harold and I got separated by the crowd but I kept moving forward. The mass of people pushed forward in anticipation of Metallica taking the stage, and once they did, it was pandemonium. The band segued into their song <i> Creeping Death </i>and the crowd was furiously pumping their fists in the air to the beat. The bass boomed into my chest and I had to get closer somehow. I made some forward progression, even tripped over a couple who were wrapped in a blanket being...intimate. Metallica had a stage at this concert that extended out into the crowd a bit and the area around that extension was called The Snake Pit. In order to be in that area, you had to have a special arm band, of which I did not have. So I wandered over to another area closer to the barricade, still within arm's length of the stage, but was stopped by a large group of people who weren't budging. I was so close, yet so far away....I had to think of something quick. When I got to Germany, I was issued the Geneva Convention Card, which identified me as a medic. The card had two red crosses and a photo of me on it with some information, so I pulled it out of my wallet and flashed it to the people in front of me. The crowd parted and let me through surprisingly, all the way to the barricade. "Holy crap, it worked," I said to myself, but then the greed of the moment started taking over. I wondered since that ploy worked so well, why shouldn't I get into The Snake Pit and blend into the crowd? I started heading to the area cordoned off, flashing the card to everyone in my way. It was working!! I got to The Snake Pit's barricade and a guy tapped a security guy's shoulder and pointed at me. The security guy looked at me and started to wave me on in, but another security guy, who was obviously American, asked to see my card. I quickly flashed it in front of him, but he motioned for me to hand it over. I complied and he looked at the front and back, then handed it back to me with a smirk and a "nice try, buddy." I felt a little dejected but still excited that I had made it that far on a ruse.<br />
I had my camera with me and took a few pictures, but from my vantage point, I couldn't get a good shot of anything, but I was set in for the duration. I wondered what had happened to Harold and if I would ever get back to Sal's location, but didn't want to miss the show from my spot. I was completely sober by this point, so I really enjoyed the show Metallica was putting on. After about two and a half hours, the show was over and people started filing out of the area. I strayed behind, looking for any guitar picks that may have been tossed out by the band and missed. Luckily, I found one near the barricade and quickly stashed it in my pants pocket. Now came the inundating task of finding Sal, Harold and the others. I wandered back to where the beer stand was that I had stopped at earlier, but didn't see anyone I knew. I stayed in that spot for a little while until the crowd thinned out more, then started toward the gate, growing a bit concerned. I got outside the gate and stopped, hoping to see anyone in our posse. This was before the day of cell phones, so I had no way to communicate with anyone. Finally, I heard someone yell my name and I looked over and saw Harold with Sal and the bunch. I fell asleep on the ride back to Ansbach, we got back to Shipton around 130 am. I was exhausted but it was a great day all around.<br />
German weather is much like Kentucky's, just without the humidity. It could be freezing cold during PT then 70 degrees by noon formation. One thing constant was that it rarely got hotter than 75 degrees, but when it got cold, it really got cold. We were tasked out for a field assignment one day in late May, early June. It was blustery and rainy the day of the deployment, far different than the back home version of the season. We woke up the next morning to find a fresh blanket of snow had fallen on the field site...wait...<i>snow</i>? I couldn't believe my eyes, but luckily we had our cold weather gear with us because of the previous day. By noon, the sun had same out and it was warming up. The snow was gone by early afternoon and it was like a totally different season. Another thing that springtime didn't bring with it was the thunderstorms like back home. We had one storm late one afternoon that packed a little punch to it, but nothing like I had seen at home. Field assignments were being a bit more strenuous during this time, all in the preparations for the deployment looming ahead. As far as the medics, we really didn't have a lot to do for the evaluations that were ongoing, but we stayed occupied doing medic skills. We always had to be on top of our game, as we were the most visible in the eyes of the Command Sergeant Major and Battalion Commander. <br />
I was settling into the unit pretty well, was getting along well with everyone in the medic platoon. I started taking my extra duty as publications clerk seriously and totally redid the publications library. I felt like I had a purpose finally, although it was nowhere near what I had been trained for. Our aid station at battalion headquarters really didn't see any action aside from the occasional soldier asking for aspirin or Motrin. One day, I was manning the station by myself and a sergeant walked in and asked me for some "stay black." Being that he was African-American, I really didn't know how to respond other than laugh and ask for a repeat. He again asked for "stay black" and pointed at a bottle of skin lotion on the table. I finally got what he was saying and we both laughed it off. It was those kind of things that opened my eyes to a world of diversity with all walks of life. There were no racial boundaries, no defining lines of black, white or any other race. We were one with each other. But as in any other situation, there are those that push the limits too far.<br />
One evening I was in the room, Ace and I were watching a Rush concert on TV. A couple more people stopped in and we were starting to have a few beers. Suddenly, we heard some yelling and the sounds of a fight in the hallway. Instinctively, I opened the door to look out and someone pushed me back in. Roundtree, the soldier who lived next door to us, ran into to the room from the common bathroom we shared and yelled for us to stay in. It sounded like the entire floor was erupting in a brawl that rivaled any at the Goose. It sounded like the fight had migrated down the hallway a bit, so I peered out. It was mayhem, people swinging and flailing around, several solid punches were being tossed about. One guy looked out his door the same as I did and was dragged out in the hallway and kicked relentlessly. Someone finally got to him and dragged in into a room. I quickly closed and locked the door, not wanting to be pummeled. The fight sounded like it had swelled even bigger and then we heard a pained scream, unlike any we had been hearing. Someone yelled that a person had been stabbed and it was chaos.<br />
By then, the duty sergeant had came in and tried to intervene, and after a minute or so we could hear some more louder voices yelling for people to get down on the ground. I peered out again to see military police pushing people against the walls and parting the mob. On the floor, one soldier was lying down holding his left side. As a medic, I instinctively went to go assist him, but was ordered back in the room. People were lying around bloody, scraped up and still cursing each other. The whole issue was surreal to me, that this could be happening at all.<br />
The melee finally dissipated and several soldiers were arrested. The stabbing victim was hauled off for further treatment at the krankenhaus by someone. The barracks were put on full lock down, meaning no one could leave or visit. The duty sergeant had guards who were not on gate duty patrol the hallways throughout the night. I think everyone slept uneasy that night, not knowing if anyone would try to retaliate. The next morning, we were dreadful of Captain Taylor's take on all of this. Our PT session was like basic training, very relentless and pushed us each to the point of collapsing. The eight o'clock formation turned into a tirade by Captain Taylor. Apparently there were two soldiers who were in rival gangs back at their home cities, one being African-American, the other being Puerto Rican. This sparked an intense fight, one that had been brewing for sometime. Each side had recruited their own gang members making this a bad situation from the start.<br />
"I cannot believe that my soldiers of HHB could act like common vigilantes," Captain Taylor began. Everyone stood at ease, not a sound could be heard. He went on telling us we were to be under lock down with bed checks and everything at a certain hour, a curfew would be imposed. This was to be in effect for everyone until the command staff determined exactly who was involved.<br />
"Anyone involved in this brawl will be punished under the articles of the UMCJ to the fullest extent," the captain continued. That meant even innocent people who got dragged into the fight would be punished, which none of us thought was fair. The next several days were very tense to say the least in the barracks, but no other incidents happened. Eventually, the soldier who was stabbed recovered and several others received Article 15's of varying degree. Truly not a good time in HHB Barracks.<br />
After a couple of weeks, the heat of the brawl had blown over. Those who were involved in the organization of the fight were separated, some even sent to other units, and things got back to normal. I was glad I was liked by most everyone and the 'party guy', no one messed with me at all. I was starting to make friends outside of Shipton, one guy was named Jurgen who was German and liked the same music as me. I would see him and some others he ran with at Hai Life often, usually drinking into oblivion. Milt, who was one of the guys from the barracks, got involved with Anja, a girl who was friends with Jurgen and the others. We'd all hang out downtown and eventually stagger back to the barracks. It was fun times, indeed and a welcome change from the military world.<br />
Nights at the Goose were always entertaining; fun times, good people, loud music...and the fights. I was at the Goose with the guys one night and some guys from Katterbach were giving someone with us a hard time. Allison, the brute he was, intervened and backed the assailants off, for a moment. The night went on and these guys kept prodding someone for a fight and were obviously tanked up on liquor. Allison got in one guy's face and backed him close to the door. Once there, he gave a hearty shove and the Katterbach guy went sailing out on his ass. This prompted his buddies to jump Allison and some of our guys to jump them. Soon the scene was much like the barracks brawl and spilled outside. There must have been twenty or more that were involved, people who weren't even part of the initial fight got involved. Someone called the local police, or poliezi, and the MP station and soon after there were blue lights everywhere. The poliezei just stood back and watched as the fight wore on. Allison was punching wildly and hit a guy with such force, he collapsed in a heap. The guy's girlfriend jumped in and clawed Allison's now bare back, and he swung around blindly, hitting the girl square in the face. He was like a man possessed when the MP's showed up, so they immediately targeted him. It took three men to tackle Allison down, and as they were handcuffing him, I sneaked back into the Goose out of sight. I ordered a beer and went outside to the patio to escape the madness. Later on, I learned that Allison got an Article 15 for hitting an MP and reduced in rank to private.<br />
Personally, I was quite content being single. I didn't try to hit on every girl who came my way like some of the guys. Most of them treated girls like pieces of meat and trophies. I talked to many girls, bought them drinks, but really only wanted someone from the opposite sex to talk to. Plus I liked to drink too much and that had already caused a rift with one potential girlfriend. If things happened, they happened and it was just what it was and nothing more, but I treated them respectfully. Around June, I started noticing one particular girl who was always at the Goose and our parties. She and I made eye contact often, but I didn't really go up to her for a long while. Finally, one night at the Goose, I pointed at her and blurted out, "what's your name?" She blushed and told me her name was Monika, or Moni as she liked to be called. Rather than moving on with the usual amenities that followed when someone is interested in another person, I replied with, "cool," and walked on by. The rest of the night we kind of flirted with each other but that was it, I never asked for a number nor did she ask anything of me. Moni would reappear often, and we always had that playful, flirty chemistry, but I wasn't ready for anything to go further.<br />
Sergeant First Class Bechtel, who had recently been promoted to this rank from staff sergeant, gathered the medic platoon together during sergeant's time one Thursday and told us we had new field assignments and partners. Some of the medics were leaving the unit soon and we had to fill slots. Prior to this, we were just assigned to line units as needed. I had been in the field twice with Charlie Battery and more times with HHB. I also did range duty for Delta Battery once with Peschke in Erlangen, which was near Nurnberg. My new assignment would be with Bravo Battery, meaning anytime they were mobilized or deployed, I would go with them. My medic partner was Martinez, a Hispanic guy from Laredo, Texas. Martinez was funny as hell and always cracked off hand jokes that made one laugh regardless if the punch line was funny or not. We got along good aside from the cultural differences we had; like I said, the Army was, and still is, very culturally diverse. We went to Bravo's barracks and met with the first sergeant and commander. First Sergeant Franklin greeted us first. He was a rather large African-American guy who spoke with a slow drawl. He asked us right off the bat if we "had plenty of that cough medicine, cause I get that field cough out there." We assured him we would have it. He then looked at my name tag and asked, "soldier, how the heck do you say that name?" I told him and he said, "that's too much to remember, so you will be called Kiss from now on." We met Bravo's commander, Captain Reynolds, who was a stocky lady with a short haircut and kind of looked a little manly. She had very little to say to us and really didn't seem that friendly at all. We would be the ones that the soldiers of Bravo Battery would come to in times of need, it was a huge responsibility, one not to take lightly at all.<br />
There was another time where, looking back, I could have very easily became a statistic. I was at Hai Life, Milt, Anja and some of Anja's friends were there too. Hai Life wasn't that active that night and Milt and I decided to go with the group to a party. All of us crammed into a small compact car and headed out to who knew where. We drove for what seemed to be an eternity and ended up in a soccer field in some town. I could see the television tower from Ansbach far off in the distance, its light blinking away like a beacon. There was a field party in full swing where we were. Milt and I were the only Americans there, so we were apprehensive at first. Anja assured us we were okay and we went into the building next to the field. As I said before, I carried my camera with me often, this night was no exception. I don't really recall much about the night, but the pictures bring the story to life. I was around people I that had no idea who they were, out in a strange place away from where I was supposed to be. I do remember at one point trying to find a place to lay down and the room I went into was full. The last thing I remember at all was drinking with some people around a bonfire.<br />
I woke up the next morning freezing and wet from the dew, much like I did behind Shipton that one time. I was kind of confused about my surroundings, I didn't recognize anything in the morning light. I saw some tents dotting the field and the building, but where I woke up was pretty much in the middle of the soccer field. The first time I woke up like this after my run in with the Mad Dog 20-20 should have frightened me, but it didn't. This was an exception. For the first time, I was scared. I walked into the building to find several people, none of whom I knew or remembered, sleeping in little huddles. All I could remember is that I started out the night with Milt and Anja, but they were nowhere to be seen. I didn't really want to go tent to tent to find them because I had no idea who I was dealing with and sure didn't want to upset anyone I didn't know. Now, my mind wandered on how I was going to get back to Shipton. It was approaching 0630 and my wet clothes were sticking to me, causing me to shiver. I stopped for a minute and looked around as a last ditch effort to remember where I was. Far off, I saw the Ansbach tower and that jogged my memory. Slowly some things started becoming clearer....The tip to Hai Life, the sight of the tower lights blinking far off in the distance and the bonfire. Other than that, I didn't recall much more. I thought about walking back to Shipton, but this looked much farther than the walk into town I was used to. I went back into the building and found a space in the floor near the heater and laid down. I dosed back off to sleep but was woke up a little while later when people started milling about. Soon, Milt and Anja showed up much to my relief. My head was pounding and all I wanted to do was get warm and sleep. We had someone take us back to Shipton around 0900 hours, I payed attention on the trip back in an effort to see where we had been, which was a town called Herrieden.<br />
We got back to Shipton and I parted ways with Milt and Anja. I lumbered up the steps to the second floor and ran into one of the guys in the kitchen area who told me I had a visitor who waited on me by my door almost all night. I was intrigued to find out who but he wouldn't tell me, just said, "I had her come stay in my room til you got back."<br />
I went to the guy's room and there was Moni, sleeping in the spare bunk. Why in the world had she waited on me? Moni woke up and had little to say to me, other than telling me in her broken English how she fell asleep by my room's door waiting to hang out with me. I was flattered, but still felt horrible from drinking all night and made little more conversation. I'm sure I came across as a total ass to her, but at that time, all I wanted to do was sleep. Moni left and I retreated back to my room to sleep it off...again.<br />
I walked by that poster in the lobby everyday. Everyday, I saw that saying, "Be all you can be." I wondered if I was really all I could be. All I knew was one thing at that point in my life, I am....I am me....but was it who I wanted to be?<br />
<br />Rob Kiskadenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11729507457550464443noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8626888127365718762.post-27351385043143210002011-12-09T11:18:00.003-08:002012-09-14T15:49:47.294-07:00Chapter 17: Stone Cold CrazyArmy life so far hadn't been at all what I had expected. You see those movies where soldiers are on constant move and always geared up ready to attack whatever threat came near. Not at Shipton. Our biggest threat for invasion was the rabbits. Those furry things were everywhere. Each morning as we did PMCS on our trucks, it never failed, two or three would scurry out from under the ambulances. The going joke was that we really didn't have missiles or secret stuff on post, our mission was to protect the bunnies. We couldn't do any harm to them because they were protected according to the first sergeant, but that didn't mean we couldn't terrorize them a bit. One of the guys in HHB Barracks had a paint ball gun and would snipe the critters from his second floor window. An unsuspecting rabbit would be minding its business, and SPLAT! a bright orange or pink paint ball would hit it, staining the fur. It became a game, kind of like a live action Nintendo skill game. Eventually, the yards around Shipton became stained pink or orange and these little fuzzy pink and orange rabbits would dart around everywhere. One of our formation safety briefs started out with 1SG Moshner telling us he was not impressed with the colorful rabbits, but it was rather comical regardless and the practice continued for quite some time.<br />
I noticed people would come and go quite often when I first got to the unit. Most were transferring to new duty stations elsewhere, but others were either retiring or reaching the end of their Army term. And always, there was a going away party. One party I recall was for SPC Haines that was held at Soldier's Lake just off post. About everyone in HHB was there, however I really didn't know her well at all. It didn't matter, as long as someone was partying, I was there. The bunch I went with nearly cleaned out the shopette's beer cooler, so we went over to Katterbach and got more drinks at the Class 6 store. This was the equivalent of Mike's Liquors back home. I was short on funds by the time I got there, so I settled on Boone's Farm to go with the beer I already had. We arrived at the party around 1600 hours, or 4 pm and already there was a crowd. There was food being barbecued and alcohol flowing freely from a common cooler that we all contributed to. I started getting drunk real early, and it was showing. Someone had a set of yard darts, which hadn't been available for many years, and I felt I could join the festivities too. After two throws and near misses, SSG Bechtel's husband felt it was necessary to suspend my part of the game for the best interest of everyone's safety. I remember hearing KISS' <span style="font-style: italic;">Double Platinum </span>CD being played and I was doing my best drunken sing along routine. One thing about me as a drinker, I am quite funny, yet bold, when I get drunk. I don't get redneck or crying, and when I'm partying, <span style="font-style: italic;">everyone</span> has to party just as hard with me.<br />
As the evening wore on, the party was in high swing and I realized I was out of my Boone's Farm and low on beer. One of the guys handed me a paper bag and said, "Here, I'm done with this, take it." Inside was Mad Dog 20-20, grape flavored. I hadn't drank that before but it was free alcohol, who cared? I swigged the grape flavored concoction down, not knowing that it was very potent and had a legacy of making people very sick. I downed the whole bottle in no time and eventually, I lost all recollection from there on. From what I have been told, I was a riot, seemingly super-charged and partying the night away. Eventually everyone parted ways and headed back to the barracks at some point and those who were with me lost sight of me. I woke up freezing cold along the side of the road to the back gate at almost dawn. My leather jacket had a hint of frost on it, I had passed out on my journey back to the barracks and had been left, or more than likely I had wandered off from my crowd and ended up where I was. Either way, I was cold, my clothes were wet from the ground and my head was still buzzing. Once I got back to the room, I showered and changed for bed. I wrapped up in my sleeping bag and wool blankets but could not get the chill out of my system. I'm sure that had I not woke up when I did, I would have frozen to death just a 100 or so yards from Shipton's back gate. I was sick beyond belief the whole day after, and my toes were still numb from the cold up until early afternoon. I dodged the reaper for the first time.<br />
One morning during formation, I was called out to the front with several others. We were all up for promotion and I was promoted to Private First Class, or PFC. It was a short and simple ceremony and took a total of maybe five minutes; Captain Taylor saluted us, we all saluted back and it was over that quick. I really didn't see it as much more responsibility and didn't take it as such, which probably hurt me in the long run. It all didn't matter to me much, I was just a another soldier in another damned Army called 6/43. How quickly that changed in the aid station though. SSG Bechtel told me with my promotion came extra duties, so I would be in charge of keeping our publications up to date and creating a sort of library of the ones we had on file. Not too bad, I thought, but then realized what a task it would be due to the fact no one else had been doing the work.<br />
One thing about everyone in the barracks...we were all in the same boat together and looked out for each other. I made some good friends early on. One in particular was Farley, an African-American girl who was Bohlen's room mate. She hung out with us but didn't party as much as I did, or at least I saw anyway. One night I had been partying a bit too much and got locked out of my room without a key. I sat down in the hallway and ended up passing out next to my room. Every morning the staff duty NCO would do a walk through in the barracks and 'gather up' those who were out of line. To avoid that happening to me, Farley, with some help, dragged me into her room to keep me from getting busted. I woke up the next day confused but grateful to her. Another party friend was a British girl named Allison who would come party with us. She was not a usual 'Goose Slut', the name we would give girls that would come up just to score with a GI, but a girl who just wanted to party like we all did. She spoke with a thick British accent, was kind of heavy set with long dark hair and funny as hell with her jokes or 'quips' as she called them. One night after my usual drunken parties, I again passed out in the hallway. A couple of guys, White and Ruble, put me in White's room. I woke up the next day next to Allison in bed, very confused due to the fact that we all considered her as a mutual friend only. The guys and Allison let me think that something had happened well up into the day and I kept apologizing for breaching that friendship threshold, then the joke was on me...and well deserved.<br />
Aside from the party life and day to day routine, my barracks life was miserable. After the episode with Himel and his girlfriend, I was determined to find a new room. I spoke with SSG Bechtel who told me to talk to the first sergeant. The day I spoke to 1SG Moshner, he called me into his office rather informally and asked what was going on. I told him that Himel and I didn't get along and I wanted to move, that the situation was just too much for me. First Sergeant Moshner told me that Himel only had about two months left in the unit and I should stick it out, but I held my guns. Finally, the first sergeant agreed to let me move so I went back upstairs to start the packing process. A few minutes later, a knock came at my door, it was the first sergeant. He had found an available room with a guy named Galvin who had been there about a year and was pretty squared away. First Sergeant Moshner told me that he would take care of Himel, that this wasn't the first time a room mate had moved out. I was glad the first sergeant was understanding, but being as this was a pattern with Himel, I supposed he had to be after so long.<br />
I met Galvin down the hall, he seemed okay and pretty laid back. Apparently, he had been made aware of my partying ways and told me he was cool with having a good time as long as it wasn't in his room. I could respect that, as long as he was not overbearing and a total ass. I got settled in later in the day and we chatted about the unit and how things were going. He had been there a while and seen a lot so far, his best advice was to just go with the flow and stay under the radar. Galvin was a guy who was very squared away. His uniforms were crisp, boots highly shined and his demeanor was that of a leader. I felt that maybe he could steer me in the right direction, perhaps bring me out of my funk I was in and become a model soldier. We got along good, however he stayed gone a lot. Galvin was a Stinger Missile Specialist and was being evaluated for promotion to sergeant E-5. He kept a level head about things and didn't seem too egotistical. The room was at the far end of the hallway, away from everyone else I was used to but still not too bad. I was just glad to be out of Himel's world finally.<br />
Not long after I moved, 6/43 had to participate in a Brigade Change of Command Ceremony in Geibelstadt. Our home brigade, the 69th Brigade, was based there and Colonel Rountree was retiring. The week leading up to the event, we did drill and ceremony over and over, much like at Fort Sam. The day came to do the ceremony and we boarded buses for the roughly hour and a half long trip. On the way there, the skies became gloomy and it began to rain. By the time we reached brigade headquarters, it was pouring down. We parked the buses at a hanger on the airstrip and formed up inside...and waited. We had all our TA-50 on, except our ruck sacks, and our M-16's so it wasn't entirely the most comfortable wait at all. Outside the hangar, the rain poured down and the cold air breezed through the open hangar and made for an even more miserable experience. A few minutes later, we were told to fall out and wait until we got word to go ahead with the ceremony, which was to be held outside. The day was a lot of hurry up and wait as usual and there wasn't anything really to pass the time there. Our platoon sergeants kept walking by inspecting us to make sure we were still in top form visually, a lot of high ranking soldiers were milling about too. An hour or so later, we were told to form up again and put on our rain gear, which was a pull over poncho. The rain had eased up some but still was going to be a factor in the whole process of the change of command. Our battalion commander came out and addressed the group by saying due to the weather issues, the whole battalion would not be required to stand outside for the ceremony. I hoped that I would be spared, remembering the long drawn out ordeal at Fort Sam. I got my wish, the medic platoon was spared mostly from the outside activities, but we were now thrust into the eye of the senior ranking commanders and officers of 69th Brigade.<br />
The ceremony seemed to take forever, Colonel Rountree spoke about his military service and how his first duty command was at 6th Battalion 43rd Air Defense, hmm, how coincidental. He went on by saying the unit was distinguished during its tour of duty during Operation Desert Storm and he was proud to have commanded a fine bunch of soldiers. I hadn't really thought much about the history of the unit until then, I guessed I should have learned all I could about my home for two years. The brigade's flag was then handed off to Colonel Dodgen who had been a battalion commander at Fort Bliss, Texas. After the ceremony, there was a reception in the hangar with an assortment of food that went far beyond what was served in the chow hall on post. After a long while, we boarded the buses and headed back to Ansbach, another boring ADA day behind me.<br />
I went on a couple more field exercises between April and May, they were starting to become common by then. I remember once we went to a place with Headquarters Battery and set up the battalion aid station rather than a field triage tent. These exercises seemed pointless to me, we always did things the same way over and over again. Little did I realize, or was even told then, was that we were being evaluated for our mission in Saudi Arabia that was looming ahead. During the headquarters exercise we did some medic based training, doing scenarios like we did at Fort Sam. We occasionally did some type of training every Thursday back at Shipton, but this seemed more enjoyable to me. One down side of that exercise was having to do mess duty, commonly called KP. It wasn't as bad as my experience at Fort Jackson, but still sucked regardless. Extra duties weren't a stranger for the medic platoon. We had a guard rotation that we did back at Shipton, meaning we would be scheduled to work at a guard shack at one of the entrances or at the operations site entrance. It was mundane duty lasting four hours each shift by two at the main gate, two at the back gate until 1800 hours or one in the operations area. Our duty was to check ID's for anyone coming into post and collect ID's from visitors, as well as look for any suspicious activity around the perimeter. We weren't armed with any weapons, so if there was an imminent threat we were helpless beyond hand to hand combat. The field exercises were different though, all we had to worry about was fire guard during cold weather months so that wasn't too bad.<br />
The training schedules were picking up pace during early spring and when we weren't in the field, we were tasked out with inventorying our equipment and getting the unit's 600+ medical records organized. This meant when we weren't in the field, it would be long days at the aid station accomplishing these tasks. There were several nights that I didn't leave duty until well after 1900 hours, or 7 p.m. Organizing the medical records was a daunting task. We had to go through all the records for each individual soldier and log what vaccinations they had and when they needed more, as well as any condition that would make them undeployable. We organized the files by which battery the soldier was in, only problem was when we got the records from Katterbach's clinic, they were filed alphabetically and under a general 6/43 category. So we had to break down over 600 records into what battery they were part of, then the captain who tasked us out for this thought it would be best to go an extra step and organize the files into platoons. Needless to say my liver thanked her during this time, but it was mind draining work that went long hours.<br />
After duty on Fridays, I had to get away from the barracks. I had gotten used to the life of going out to the clubs, even when the others didn't want to go with me. Galvin stayed elsewhere, so I didn't really hang out with him much. I was left to my own most of the time, which was okay with me, I could sort things out in my head better on my own. I was still pretty bitter of the break up with Kim and had no plans to be involved with anyone soon. I just wanted to be me and numb myself if I felt the least bit homesick or lonely. During my strolls into town I found other places beyond The Goose or Hai Life that were entertaining, some where the American GI's hardly frequented. One place was down near the McDonald's and was more of an arcade and pool hall than anything. It reminded me some of Gateway Video Store back home, where my friends and I would spend hours hanging out and playing pool or my favorite pinball games. This was similar, yet so different, I knew no one there. The camaraderie wasn't there like back home. I usually just ordered a beer then went upstairs and played pinball until I either got bored or ran out of pfennigs, or coin currency. A lot of times I would just wander down the small streets taking in the sights of the old town of Ansbach, usually alone and quite content. One evening I wandered into Hai Life for my usual routine. I was starting to become recognized by a few there and had made some friends. I got a beer then went to the game room to play a round of arcade games, all of which were full. I found an open pinball machine and started playing it, racking up the high scores. Apparently, when I get into a pinball game, I get so into it that I am very animated. As I play, I get into a zone, something that I guess is entertaining because during a break I noticed there were a few people standing at the machine watching me play. I at first thought I was keeping someone from a game and motioned for the next player who immediately waved it off, he and the others were watching me and my wild antics at the machine. I laughed and continued playing, but was distracted the rest of the time by the audience. One girl came to me and started talking to me after the game telling me that I looked funny. I didn't know if I should be offended or laugh with her, I chose to just go along with it. We laughed and talked some more through the evening, getting along pretty good. The girl's name was Karin, she was from Ansbach and had a smile that lit any dull mood. She spoke English pretty well, although with a heavy accent. Karin was a nurse at the local hospital, or krankenhaus as it was called there. We parted ways around midnight, she had to be at work early and offered me a ride, but I wanted to walk back as I always did. She gave me her number and said goodnight with her smile. I walked back to the barracks, not entirely buzzed or drunk as usual, I guess keeping up conversation with Karin kept me in check somewhat. I didn't want to think about a relationship or anything else than just someone to talk to and wanted to leave it at that, but Karin seemed like a nice girl that I could see more often.<br />
Back at Shipton, life in the barracks had eased up considerably since the move. I still hung out with Rucker and Brightbill often, usually after duty hours we sat around and drank. Occasionally we would get wind of a party and go to it. One party in particular that has become quite infamous occurred when I was still in Himel's room, about a month before I moved out. There was a party at Foxtrot Barracks that we were going to, but first there were some stops we made. I was with Rucker, Bell and a few others and we went over to a room in Delta Barracks for a while. I started drinking malt beer, which is stronger than my usual Budweiser, then I progressed on to Jim Beam and Vodka. We stayed for a while then went over to Foxtrot Barracks where the whole second floor had turned into a block party. One thing about the Army, it is culturally diverse, even when a party is involved. The group of people were mainly African-American, but it didn't matter to anyone there. As the night progressed, I drank more and more, the last thing I recall drinking was tequila. I hadn't really been a tequila drinker, and under sober circumstances, the mere smell of it makes me nauseated. I downed most of a fifth bottle like it was water. I remember someone in a room that was open telling anyone who came in that it was toga only, so I went to seek out a toga. I ended up with a green wool Army blanket as a toga and proceeded on. The room I got the blanket from was a couple doors down and I went almost true toga, leaving my underwear on underneath it, and my other clothes in that room. At this point I wasn't really aware of my surroundings or who I was. Rucker related the rest of the story to me later. He and Bell went over to HHB Barracks. Later, I was going to go with them down to The Goose, but I ended up telling them to go on and come back later, that I was enjoying the night a little too much. Later on when Rucker and Bell came to get me, I was still in my toga, but at some point decided to go true toga, meaning nothing underneath. They told me to come on and I was telling them I needed my clothes, but I couldn't figure out where they were since I had been from room to room by this time. While going door to door I lost my toga, so here I was going door to door butt naked looking for who had my clothes. One could imagine the looks I'm sure I got from people as they opened the doors. Eventually someone tossed out my clothes and with some help, I got dressed. As Rucker and Bell were escorting me out of the barracks and from further embarrassment, I darted away from them to get another beer and lost sight of them. When the guys got to the lobby area of the barracks, they realized I wasn't with them so Bell decided to go back and look for me. That's when he heard a loud "Niagara Falls" shout from above and the trickle of liquid flowing down. As he raced up to find me, he slipped on a wet step and caught his shin on the corner. When Bell finally got to me, I was standing at the top of the stair case with my pants down, urinating and laughing the whole time. Bell had slipped my a puddle of my piss on his way up. Further tragedy averted, I finally was escorted back to my room. Bell and Rucker heaved me up to my top bunk and left me to pass out, but not before thinking they would have some fun with the drunk guy. They waited outside for a few minutes, then came back in the room, they hadn't shut the door when leaving. Once inside they thought it would be funny to mess with me a bit so I would wake up the next day in a weird or compromising position. What they didn't realize is that I wasn't passed out yet and when they came in, I heard them and bolted off the bunk to see who was at the door. Bell yelled out, "get him!" to Rucker and grabbed me. I had no idea who it was in the darkness and the survival instinct kicked in. I swung and caught Bell on the cheek bone just under his eye and then hit him again on the temple. They ran out of the room and I got back into bed unscathed,<br />
The next morning, I woke up still about half buzzing with my right hand swelled and bruised. I had no memory of most of the night, the last thing I recall was drinking tequila in someone's room. As the day wore on, I saw Bell in the hallway, his left eye was swelled and blackened,<br />
"Jesus Christ, man, what happened to you?" I asked, thinking he had got into a scuffle at The Goose.<br />
"Dude, you don't remember? You did this to me last night. You are one strong drunk," he replied. I stood there not believing him as he told me what happened, then we went to Rucker's room so he could verify what happened. Rucker told me about the attempted raid on me, the Niagara Falls incident and me running naked up the hallway. That's when I thought they had exaggerated just a bit far and passed it off. Around 1300 hours, I went to eat finally and the guy doing head count looked up at me and smiled, asking if I had found my clothes. I looked at him shocked, still thinking it was exaggeration from Bell and Rucker, and then realized that it had been true. The worst part is the guy in the chow hall told me someone had video taped me running up the hallway! Nice, very nice, I thought. Now I would surely be the laughing stock of Shipton. A few days later, I finally saw the footage of me running down the hallway. An out of focus video showed me going door to door, my bare ass fully exposed and the cameraman giving a commentary like, "look at this dumb ass, looking for his clothes and scaring the shit out of everyone." Even later down the road, several months later, people in Foxtrot Battery still referred me as "The Streak."<br />
Another not so proud moment happened around the same time the streaking incident occurred. I had been partying one night, finally turning in around 0430 on a Saturday morning. One of the last things SSG Bechtel did at the end of day formation was to tell us to look at the duty roster. That Friday, she said that and I checked the roster, sure enough I was slated for gate guard duty. Guard duty started at 0600 hours in the lobby of the HHB Command Area. The sergeant of the guard for the day would go by the duty roster and assign us shifts for the day. If we didn't report to duty, we were considered AWOL, or away without leave and could face serious consequences. That morning, I awoke to a pounding at my door and a bellowing voice yelling, "Kiskaden, get out here right damn now!" I had no idea who it was so I stammered to the door and opened it up still hazy from the night before. It was the sergeant of the guard yelling at me, which quickly woke and sobered me up.<br />
"Dammit, boy, you smell like a damn brewery," the sergeant yelled at me. I had no reply and knew instantly I was in deep trouble. The sergeant continued telling me that I was in violation of several articles of the UCMJ and could get an Article 15. Then the sergeant looked around and came on in the door.<br />
"Okay, I got that official shit out of the way," the sergeant said, "soldier what the Hell were you thinking getting drunk then not reporting to duty. It's 0700 hours!" I was sure that I was in for it and offered an apology as I scurried to get my uniform ready.<br />
"I know you were partying last night, I saw you, so I told the commander that you were doing a task for me that's why you weren't at guard briefing. You owe me," he continued. Then he told me he had put me on second watch at 1200 hours and to be cleaned up and ready to go by then or else. I had dodged a career bullet for the first time.<br />
I called Karin one afternoon and told her I was going to be at Hai Life after duty and asked if she would be there. She sounded happy that I had called and agreed to meet me there. The duty day however, lasted until 1900 hours, well beyond what I wanted. After the day ended I retreated upstairs and popped open a beer. As I got ready to leave, I continued to drink and took some with me for my walk to town. I got to Hai Life with a little bit of a buzz a little after 2100 hours and proceeded to go to the bar and get a tall glass of hefeweizen. I looked around and finally saw Karin sitting at a Tetris arcade game. I walked over to her and she glanced at me with a stern look.<br />
"You are late," she said. I explained that we had more stuff to do on post than normally expected and I think she was okay with it, but was still kind of cold to me. This wore on me a bit, so I grabbed another beer, then another while she played the game and appeared to ignore me. Finally she got up and we moved to a table to talk. By now, I was feeling rather good and I guess it was showing.<br />
"You are drunk aren't you," Karin asked.<br />
"Noooo, no I-I-I'm good," I slurred. She just smiled and shook her head. The bar was pretty dead that night, so we left and went to her apartment across town. I had no idea how we got there, my head was spinning by then. We went into her apartment and sat down and talked some more. I was still sort of perturbed by her being cold to me so I put a block up internally. I'm sure she thought that our alone time was going to be more of a get to know each other, and I got no vibes of it being just a sexual tryst, but that internal block plus the alcohol and bitter feelings probably ruined anything at all. I couldn't get out of my mind how she acted like she didn't believe the reason I was late or how she ignored me, was that game more important? I became a bit colder toward her as we talked, prompting her to ask if I was okay. I told her it was late and I needed to get back to Shipton. Karin told me I could stay with her that night, but I didn't want to, my mind was made up; I didn't need anyone to give a damn about, or about me.<br />
Karin drove me back to Shipton and I parted ways with her, feeling a bit guilty for being jaded. I hugged her and walked into the gate, not looking back. I called her a few days later and she was okay with me it seemed, so I was happy that I didn't make her dislike me. Another few days went by and I met her again at Hai Life, commencing on getting drunk yet again. I could tell early on she wasn't real happy with me getting hammered, but I didn't take that into account. She left the bar without asking me to join her that night nor did she offer a ride back to the barracks. I went back to Hai Life a few days later and she wasn't there, then the same again the following week. I tried to call but she wasn't home usually, or she wasn't answering, I thought. One night I went back to Hai Life with some guys from the barracks and commenced into oblivion. I was in rare form apparently and saw Karin standing near the table. I got up and walked to her to talk, tripping over the chair in the process. I cackled in laughter at the whole mess I had made and then walked to the back with Karin. I used to take my camera with me from time to time, stashing it in my jacket. I had left it on the table with the guys that night as Karin and I walked to the arcade room. There is a picture that was taken by someone that tells the rest of the story. It shows Karin standing facing me, my back to the camera and this look on her face that shows one of disgust and hurt. What the guys and the picture didn't see or hear was our conversation. Karin asked if I was drunk, I told her I was very drunk and she backed away from me. She began by telling me she really liked me and thought I was cool and that she hadn't dated any Americans before. Then she told me that we couldn't see each other again because I drank entirely too much and said things that hurt her feelings when I was drunk. I stuttered and tried to calm her but her mind was made up. She left by putting her hand on my chest and saying something like, "I know it's in there." As I watched her walk away, that block came back again. <span style="font-style: italic;">Good riddance</span>, I thought to myself, <span style="font-style: italic;">what does she know by telling me how to run my life?</span> I went back to the bar got a round of drinks for everyone and kept on going. The other picture taken that night was of me totally blitzed standing between two palm trees in a planter.<br />
Looking back, I realize I was an ass to Karin and I was out of control. My life had turned stone cold crazy and she was the collateral damage. I never saw her again after that night and never tried to call her again. I told myself I didn't need her or anyone to care for me, I was just fine, and believed that for a long time. Karin was a sweet girl, one who didn't deserve to be the one who came in the middle of my self destruction and self pity for the past month or so. I never gave her a chance to see if it could work, and looking back I see that all things happen for a reason, and the two of us just weren't meant to happen.<br />
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/--nR12SBkjb8/UFO0R1WYUDI/AAAAAAAAAEg/UOAhkLgOhQg/s1600/600585_10151005284087497_636976292_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="233" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/--nR12SBkjb8/UFO0R1WYUDI/AAAAAAAAAEg/UOAhkLgOhQg/s320/600585_10151005284087497_636976292_n.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>Todd Villanueva, aka Ace and his 49's room decor.</i></td></tr>
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Soon after I moved, I learned that Galvin was going to be promoted to sergeant, a fact I already knew, but the rules were that anyone over rank of E5 couldn't room with anyone under the rank, meaning I would have to find another place to live. Luckily, I found someone who had an extra bunk down the hall, and without even asking 1SG Moshner, I moved there. My new room mate was Villanueva, or Ace as he liked to be called. He was a unique individual who was a sports fan extraordinaire. The walls to his room were covered in sports cards in protective sleeves, the theme was baseball for the upcoming season. To say Ace was unique is a great understatement. He liked to party, but was rather quiet all around. He moved and spoke slowly, sometimes his thought drifting off to nowhere mid-sentence. Ace was a very funny guy so we got along great. Plus, we liked the same music, so that was a huge positive. Ace didn't have crazy rules for me to live by or any aspect of promotion anytime soon, so I was set for a while. He didn't trek to the Goose with us on weekends, he just stayed to himself for the most part.<br />
Indeed, Army life was nothing like I had envisioned. The mundane duties coupled with the stone cold crazy lifestyle I was living after duty hours certainly made life interesting. The only things I worried about were staying under the radar and waking up the next day. Changes were looming just ahead, like that light at the tunnel's end that turns out to be a train.Rob Kiskadenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11729507457550464443noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8626888127365718762.post-13886360287912587832011-07-18T10:40:00.000-07:002011-11-18T11:12:03.680-08:00Chapter 16: The Way of the WorldSpring time brings green to the dead vegetation of winter, life abounds overhead with returning birds and the weather becomes more favorable. In Shipton Kaserne, spring brought another distinct element to the table. Every day, there would be a foul stench creep into the barracks and around the post, a smell of pure shit. Shipton, as I said, was out in the middle of a cornfield basically, and the farmers would spray a manure concoction on the ground to prepare it for the new planting season. This smelled like pure sewage and after nights of drinking and then having to run PT through the smell, it made life very uncomfortable. I was sure it was a ploy by our commanders to hinder our drinking binges.<br />Life at Shipton to this point hadn't been too bad, no micromanagement or random barracks inspections, no drill sergeants yelling for us to "beat our faces", just a routine of day to day activities that seemed mundane. One thing I learned to do aside from PMCS'ing our ambulances was to drive it around. It wasn't that much different than a regular car, just a whole lot bigger and more wobbly. The side mirrors became my best friends since there was no way to just turn and look as I was backing. Not long after our trip to Wildflecken, we drove out to a site near a town called Oberdachstetten, which was our designated training area. We would drive our military vehicles in a formation which looked like an Army invasion force, without the tanks and heavy guns, down the German roadways and through these little hamlet towns that I'm sure reminded the older folks of World War II. Oberdachstetten was quite a distance away from Ansbach and the training area was behind the town far back in the woods. There were ranges for all types of small arms there, along with several classroom buildings and nothing much other than that. My first trip there, we did some type of training and stayed mainly in the classrooms all day. We would visit this area often, usually about once a week throughout my time in Germany, so I became very acquainted with the surroundings...or lack thereof.<br />The first month I was in Germany was very eventful. I had made many new friends and was getting into a groove of my own, but still got homesick occasionally. Being so far away and knowing it would be a long time until I could see anyone from home started to work on my mind sometimes, especially when I was all alone in my room. I would go out on the weekends with some of the guys and usually never remember making it back to the barracks, all in an attempt to ease my mind from the distance. I called Kim's house quite a bit, but usually I would be told by Rick that she was either at work or gone out. Granted, there was a six-hour time difference, but I always tried to take that in consideration when I called. Eventually, Kim's letters began to dwindle down and mom said she had all but quit calling her too. This began to really work on my senses, and I would bury myself into drunken binges. I never really realized I was masking things with beer, but hindsight is never blind. I do remember one night I was in town and obliterated and decided I was going to call Kim to find out why she was avoiding me. For me to call home, I had a calling card and had to connect with an international operator to complete the call. This particular night, in my drunken state, the operator hung up on me two times. Apparently, the person on the other line wasn't able to understand my mumbling, so I asked one of the guys with me to get Kim on the line at least. Once the operator connected the call I got back on the line and of course got Rick. I was mumbling again and slurring my speech terribly and Rick told me to call back when I was in better shape. This pissed me off and I slammed the phone receiver down so hard that I nearly broke it in two.<br />In April, I was told I would be tasked out on a field exercise with C Battery. The exercise would last 12 days and be much like the FTX we did in basic training and medic school, but on a bigger scale. My medic partner was going to be Hall, an African-American guy who fathomed himself to be a budding rapper. We got along well, so the trip would be good I was sure. I had no idea what a field exercise for a regular Army unit consisted of but I was envisioning what we did at Fort Jackson. The next days leading to the FTX involved getting all our supplies accounted for and ready, as well as making sure our ambulance was in top shape. I was nervous, yet excited about this opportunity, plus it would be a welcome change from the barracks. Our job in the field would basically be setting up the aid station with basic supplies and medicines, then waiting for someone to get hurt or sick, Hall explained to me as we checked off the items in the metal transport containers. He had been there for a while and had done several field exercises so he helped me out quite a bit. We came from different backgrounds, and to an extent, different cultures but it didn't matter, we were both in the same Army with the same mission.<br />About a week before I was to go into the field, I received a letter from Kim finally. I was excited because it had been a while since her last letter. I opened it up anxiously, expecting a 5 page letter like she had sent before, telling me how much I meant to her and how she couldn't wait to be stationed near me. This letter was two pages and was far different. It started off with an apology for not writing, then into something I was not expecting. She wrote that the recruiter ended up not being able to get her a duty assignment near me, not even outside the United States, but she would be reporting to Fort Bragg instead. The letter went on by saying she had spent time with her former boyfriend and things between them had got much better since she had returned, so well, that she and he were going to try to see how things went. She also said that Fort Bragg was 80% male population and she didn't feel it was fair for me to wait for her when she didn't know what she even wanted anymore. I dropped the letter on the table in front of me and stared off into space, numb. Again, hindsight is never blind, I saw the signs and deep inside I think I knew what that letter was going to say, but didn't want to believe what I was reading. Kim closed the letter by asking me not to call anymore and how sorry she was to hurt me like she had, but it was better this way.<br />After the duty day, I wandered upstairs to my room. The first thing I saw was the pictures of Kim that I had taped on the wall next to my bunk. I wanted to rip them off the wall and into a million pieces, but at the same time, I wanted to just hold them and stare. I ended up taking them off the wall and walked over to the desk in the room and began writing a reply. I to this day don't remember exactly what I said in that letter, but I do recall it was a simple one page, one sided reply. I took the pictures that had been on the wall and placed them in the envelope, sealing what was once a great feeling of promise away for good. I walked down to the shopette and ran into Smitty who said his wife had just got there from the States and was wanting to go out. I let on like nothing was going on but inside I was like "who the hell are you to be able to get your woman to come here and join you?". I told him he should go to Hai Life and gave him a general direction of where it was located. Smitty nodded and said he'd try to find it then darted off. I proceeded into the store and bought a six pack of beer and headed up the stairs back to the room. I was still numb from the letter and looking down the long hallway made me feel even emptier. I drank one beer while walking down the hall then stopped in the kitchen area and stared out the window. It wasn't too long I was already three beers into my six pack and I wandered into my room. Himel was already gone and the room was quiet...too quiet for me. I changed clothes then headed out walking out the back gate towards downtown Ansbach, destination unknown. I took my last remaining beer with me and downed it as I passed the lake behind Shipton, tossing the bottle in the water. The walk to town was therapeutic, it was starting to become dusk and the air was starting to cool down. German weather was like Kentucky weather. It was warm during the days then cool at night. The next day it would be just cold and blustery all day. The walk down the side road into town ran through a cornfield, the night air and clear sky was mind easing. Of course the beers I had consumed had started to take the chill off me. As I looked around me, I thought back to the times back home when I would just take off walking into the woods near mom and dad's house. Once I had started out one morning and walked all the way to the river, which was about eight miles away, staying on the old horse and buggy trails that zig-zagged through the forest. I didn't get back home until well after dark, my trusty dog, Grounder, followed me all the way and collapsed on the porch as soon as we got home. Those times seemed so recent, yet so far away. Man, I needed some home comfort right then.<br />I got into Ansbach, walking by the Goose where nothing was going on there. I continued into town walking into the old part of the city and for the first time, taking in the sights of my surroundings. Ansbach was a beautiful town, the narrow streets lined with buildings that were centuries old. I walked into the heart of the city and saw the cathedrals that towered over the city, I made a mental note to one day go in and see what they looked like. Farther down the street I came to a familiar sight, Hai Life. It looked like there was a good crowd in there, so I stopped in. I looked around and didn't see Smitty or anyone else I knew. I went in the back and started playing the arcade games that lined the wall, minding my own business, trying to distract myself from that letter. I went back and forth to the bar ordering drinks, eventually I got pretty soused. Finally, I spotted Smitty and his wife, Misty, at a table in the front. I joined them and introduced myself by getting a round of drinks. As the night wore on, I drank more and more and eventually unleashed on Smitty and Misty about what had happened earlier in the day. Hurt turned to anger rather quickly and I'm sure a barrage of sailor talk streamed out of my drunken mouth. Eventually, it settled down, and it got late, Smitty and I had to be up for PT early. They offered me a ride, but I declined, said I would rather walk back to the barracks. The return trip to Shipton seemed a lot longer as I stumbled down the road. I got back to the guard shack and fumbled as I tried to get my ID out, luckily, the guard knew me and waved me on it. Sometime that night, I went to bed, my head still spinning with booze and anger.<br />The morning I was to deploy to the field exercise started at 0430 hours, luckily I had decided not to get hammered the night before. After getting our M-16's from the armory, I reported with Hall to C Battery's Company Area with all my bags packed to the hilt. I had all my TA-50 gear and fully loaded ruck sack on my back. It looked like we were going off to war more than anything. After accountability and breakfast, we reported to the motor pool to pick up our convoy dispatch, which gave us our authorization to leave post in a military vehicle and our route to our field destination. All of this was mind boggling to me, I had never had to do any of this before. Hall explained to me what the papers all meant but it still looked like gibberish to me. We got in the convoy line up around 0730 hours and sat....and waited....the hurry up and wait factor once again. Finally we got the move order at around 0900 set out, destination, a holding area . The trip took about two hours, we were lined in formation that resembled an invasion force. Our ambulance was about 3/4 of the way back in the formation, which stretched for over a mile. Once we arrived in Ktizingen, we entered the military post called Larson Barracks, which was much larger than Shipton. We sat on the access road for at least an hour or so and I looked around at the area. off in the distance, I saw some guys flying model airplanes, which caught my eye. I watched the little planes climb and dive over and over again, occupying my time. For that time, I was taken to another place, one away from the military life I was in. The planes soothed my mind from what was going on in my personal life.<br />Eventually, we started moving again. It was early afternoon and I was starting to get hungry. We drove up into an area that was gated off and only had a couple of buildings on the property. There were high earthen berms and huge steel doors dotted all around, which I later learned were places for the Patriot Launchers to be placed and deployed if needed. We parked the convoy again on the road and sat...and waited. I reached in the back and got out an MRE and started eating it. There was nothing at all going on at this point, no one was moving around anywhere, it was rather boring. After I ate, I dosed off. Hall was siting back and about dosed off too. In basic training and AIT, the field exercises were all go, go and go some more, not this hurry up and wait stuff. I woke up sometime later and got out of the truck and walked off the stiffness from the traveling and sitting. There was nothing much at all to see where we were, just those large imposing doors. Eventually, we were told to set up bunks in the buildings and for Hall and I to set up an aid station. We went in and unpacked our gear into a small room that looked like a class room, setting up our fold out cots and personal effects in our own little spaces. And that was basically it for the rest of the evening; sitting there. I thought to myself, "is this the field for an air defense unit?" I guess it was, considering we weren't a field infantry and relied on the missile defense systems to do the fighting for us.<br />I was bored, bored beyond relief at Kitzingen. There was no TV, we were locked in the facility grounds and couldn't leave, it truly sucked to be there. Hall had his radio and listened to it quite a bit singing along to the rap songs he was hearing in his headphones. I was, nor have I ever been, a big fan of rap music, but the music's beat was very interesting. As Hall and I talked more that evening, we talked about our tastes in music. He was really keen on music and how to arrange songs, and told me he had written some rap lyrics. He then asked me to try to rap. Now, being as I am a Caucasian from Kentucky, where the predominant genre is country music, rap was a distinct challenge for me. Hall started off by reciting lyrics from Dr Dre, a rapper who had just begun to emerge onto the music scene, and then asked me to repeat them just as he had. What came out of my mouth sounded nothing like a rap lyric. We both laughed about it then Hall began to get serious, like he was helping me through it. We batted lyrics back and forth for a while with him even questioning how I played bass and "had no rhythm". Eventually, we called it a night and Hall told me we would work on it more in the next several days. It was fun, yet a learning experience for me, and definitely passed the idle time.<br />We stayed at the site near Larson Barracks a total of three days, then got the order to move out again. We lined up in convoy formation and started out and again, I had no idea where we were off to this time. Our journey took about an hour and a half and took us on the outskirts of Nurnberg. From there we drove into a populated area to a large park where we stopped. It appeared an unlikely location to set up a military tactical site, but it was what it was. It was a hot April day and the weather was absolute perfect out. People were walking the trails and paths around us, staring at us intently as we loaded out of our vehicles. We had a formation and the commander told us all that due to some last minute issues, we would be staying at the park. He told us that the usual mission would not be possible because the Patriot Radar System couldn't be deployed. After accountability, we were released to start setting up the field site. Hall and I set up our site, this being the first time I had ever tried to put up a medium sized Army tent. After some coaching and instruction from Hall, I finally managed to help getting the tent up. As I was staking down some tethers, I heard someone call out "Medic!" I looked up thinking someone was making a joke, then saw a guy walking with another soldier over to us, one had his hand up to his face and I could see blood. I looked at Hall who said, "Well, you're a medic now, take care of him."<br />The pair sat down and I asked the soldier with his hand over his face to let me see what happened, and his entire face was smeared with blood. His nose was gushing blood and appeared to have a large mark on the bridge. I asked what had happened and he told me he was hammering a tent stake in the ground when it bounced back and hit him in the nose. I treated him and finally was able to get the bleeding controlled, then cleaned him up a bit. it appeared his nose may have been broken, but he didn't want to be sent to a treatment center, plus, I had no clue where to even take him. The soldier's name was Sean Allison, a big guy who looked more like a bar bouncer than anything else, and he was my first patient. He went back to work on his field site, but was a bit more cautious as the day went.<br />As the field site was built, we noticed some kids curiously watching us work. The Launcher Platoon had a large tent they were working on near our location and one boy about ten years old told the group he could help, for exchange for an MRE. One of the guys gave the boy and two others with him some MRE's and they started working on the tent feverishly. They did quite an outstanding job with it considering their size.<br />After all the tents were set up and the site was operational, we had another formation outlining the next day's activities. Hall and I had no clear and defined mission other than keeping the troops healthy. The following days were pretty routine and quite mundane to say the least. There was no PT in the field, no formation every couple hours, Hall and I only had one real obligation which was to make sure the hand wash stations were up and running near the chow trailer. So far the Army I had a vision of was far different than the reality I was in. One good thing was that the weather stayed very pleasant during the field exercise, with a couple days getting quite warm. To break the monotony of it all, we all found ways to pacify out time, usually with card games or running pranks on neighboring tents at night. One day, since we had no real mission, a sergeant with some time under his belt thought up an idea of doing a combat patrol scenario, complete with a squad of opposing force. I jumped at the chance to participate. After some preparations were made with the commander and first sergeant we got the green light around 1000 hours. I stocked my medic bag with plenty of IV fluids and bandages and met with the other guys who were going to participate, which numbered around 15 or so. It was a very warm day and clear skies, a perfect day for being outside. The wooded area we were in opened up into a large open field with a slight rise off to the north-west of our position. Our sergeant gave a scenario that a platoon had come under hostile fire and was in need of reinforcement. We had a quick brief of how we were going to carry out the mission, after all, our unit was air defense, not infantry, then set out. It was like the FTX in basic training all over again. We had our M-16's at the ready with blank rounds and moved cautiously through the trails in the forest. I couldn't help but envision episodes of Tour of Duty as we did this. Occasionally we would stop while the sergeant gathered information via a field radio of the impending 'situation'. It was exciting for me to be part of this, and it sure as Hell beat sitting around the tent all day.<br />As we approached the rise, there was a clearing in the trees and we stopped again while the sergeant observed the surroundings. All appeared to be calm so we proceeded to the edge of the trees and into the open field. That's when we heard the first few pops of small arms fire, actually blank rounds, near our position. We spread out into defensive positions, finding any cover we could as this staged ambush played out. The hillside came to life with the sounds of M-16's firing and the sergeant yelling out to different people to try to get a better position and locate the opposing force. The field ahead had a ditch that ran about 200 meters ahead of us and was the length of the entire area. It appeared the firing was coming from that position but we were at a disadvantage because of the terrain; we were wide open. Had this been real combat, I'm sure we would have been torn to pieces. The sergeant tried to organize some soldiers to do a flanking maneuver, to try and force the attackers into a two front situation. Now bear mind that this was all training, no real bullets were being used and we weren't actually 'pinned down' by enemy fire, but everyone was playing this to the max. A couple minutes later we saw the opposing force retreat from their position in the ditch line and disappear into the trees off to our 2 o'clock position. We held our position and regrouped under the cover of the trees behind us, waiting for the next order. Since going out into the open field was no longer an option, the sergeant decided to have us hug the treeline and make a counter-offensive. We were staying low but apparently not low enough as the sounds of gunfire rang out again. We scrambled to get cover again and as I was moving, my foot slipped on some loose ground and I rolled down the hill into some bushes. I crawled out and into the trees once again, by now some of the other guys in the squad had arrived where I was to make sure I was okay. My adrenaline was kicked into high gear during this, but I soon noticed an intense burning sensation on my hands, arms and face. My sweat made the burning more painful. I looked down and had big red welts on my hands and exposed arms. Apparently one of the bushes I fell into had little prickly barbs that acted much like poison ivy. I was miserable but still participated in the 'battle' which was quickly turning into mayhem. At some point, some of our soldiers decided to make a charge to the opposing tree line, eventually flushing out the opposition force. From there it turned almost into a melee of sorts, guys being tackled and pile driven into the ground. It looked more like an episode of WWE than anything. The whole 'battle' maybe lasted 20-30 minutes and never really had a resolution other than some much needed fun, but it was a learning experience at least. As we walked back, my body was stinging and burning from the welts on me. I got back to the tent and washed myself off with some cool water, which helped a little bit. I changed uniforms and that lessened the burning some but not entirely. I would have to just ride it out I guessed. <br />The remainder of the field exercise was mostly uneventful. The day we were to move out of the training area, I was more than eager to head back. The long two weeks in the field nearly drove me insane, I just wanted to get back and hit the club again. We made it back to Shipton later in the morning and after formation and weapons turn in, I retreated to my room. Himel wasn't there, so I just dumped my ruck sack and TA-50 in the floor. I turned the TV on and saw on CNN a report of a large house on fire. Why would CNN be reporting a large house fire in Texas? It was April 19, 1993 and I soon learned that in this burning house was a man named David Koresh and at least 80 of his devout followers. I was watching one of the modern era's most iconic scenes unfold and didn't even realize it.<br />My crazy nights in the barracks were still in full effect after I got back from the field exercise. I would go down to the shopette and grab a six pack and have it consumed almost by the time I got back to my room. One thing I knew could ease my mind was music. I didn't have my guitar with me but wanted to play again in a bad way. Parker, who was a medic that had been in the unit for quite a while, said he played drums and wanted to jam. Parker was a unique character who had an odd personality to say it mildly. One evening after duty, we went to Katterbach's recreational center and rented a music room. I hadn't played since the talent show at Fort Sam and I was sure I'd be rusty. Parker sat behind this large drum kit with a double bass set up, I plugged the bass I signed for in to an old 70's era Fender amplifier and we started just free styling. Parker seemed like he could keep a steady beat, so I followed him mostly.<br />"Hey man, I wrote a song, wanna hear it", Parker asked me.<br />"Sure," I replied, not really knowing what to expect. We didn't have a guitar player so I was sure it would be interesting, just not as interesting as what transpired. Parker started beating the drums for all he was worth in what I can only describe as a punk style. He then started shouting words out something along the lines of "you dirty slut...you ruined me...I wish you would rot in Hell...." I just kind of sat there absorbing the noise I was hearing, not playing the bass at all. After about a minute, Parker asked what I thought. I was still stunned by what I had just endured. Not wanting to say the wrong thing to set Parker off, I just sort of nodded and said something like, "yeah, very energetic, powerful." Luckily, the recreational center was about to close so we left, my ears still ringing from the crashing of the cymbals.<br />When I was around people and the night was active, I did well. I didn't think of home or Kim, life was good. It was when the crowd drifted off to their own rooms and the alcohol stopped flowing that I started to feel hollow and bitter. I didn't want anyone to care about, all I wanted was a party that never ended. Not every night was a drunken slob fest, I reserved that mainly from Thursday night until Sunday night. Brightbill, or Harold as I now called him, hung out with me quite a bit during the week to keep my liver from jumping out of my body and running away. Like the lyric from Foreigner's song 'Dirty White Boy', <span style="font-style: italic;">"I'm a loner but I'm never alone...."</span> I was one who loved the company of everyone, but wanted to be left alone in the end. Duty days were starting to become long and drawn out and very routine. There were good moments, too, don't get me wrong. Like the time we were in Sal's room and were treated to an impromptu performance of 'Dust in the Wind' by Kansas. Sal played violin and another guy had his guitar with him, so they started playing the song. It sounded absolutely amazing. I only wish I had recorded that moment. <br />Another great thing I discovered was the spring festival called Fruhlingfest that was in downtown Ansbach at the end of April. It was kind of like a carnival with a large beer tent, called Bierhalle, in the middle of it. Where else could one get hammered then get on a ride that spins faster and faster legally? It wasn't hard to find the Americans who were in the Bierhalle, they were the rowdy ones. German people held their beer well and didn't act crazy when they drank. Beer was served with meals and even at the local McDonald's restaurant, so it was a natural thing for them. I went every night I could, usually staggering back to Shipton with a beer mug or two stuffed under my jacket. I would usually get back to the room and try to be as quiet as I could but usually ended up being much louder than expected. Himel usually didn't stay in the room on the weekends, he had met a girl and stayed at her place. There was one night that was the exception. I was in my top bunk sleeping it off when I woke up moving. I thought I had been slipped something in my beer until I heard a moan down below me. Instinctively, I peered over the edge of my bunk only to be greeted with something more horrible than Parker's song....Himel and his lady friend in the midst of passion. That was the final straw for me. The following Monday, I sought out another room in the barracks.<br />Before I left home, I would have never seen myself being in the situations I created. But then again, deep inside, there was the same person who always wanted to do the right thing, so on the surface during duty, I did what I was told and should have done no matter how I felt. No one worried about anything at all except for maybe messing up and getting an Article 15, so I was in like minded company. I had indeed changed since I left home, in some ways for the better and other ways, far worse. As far as I was concerned my way I was living was the way of the world, my little world. I found myself disassociating myself with back home and dug my heels in for the long ride, one party at a time.Rob Kiskadenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11729507457550464443noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8626888127365718762.post-46147311527598505042011-03-04T05:32:00.000-08:002011-07-18T10:36:53.724-07:00Chapter 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'.<br />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.<br />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.<br />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.<br />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 <span style="font-style: italic;">The Tide Is High</span> 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.<br />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.<br />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.<br />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.<br />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.<br />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.<br />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 <span style="font-style: italic;">are</span> 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.'<br />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.<br />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.<br />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.<br />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.<br />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.<br />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.<br />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.Rob Kiskadenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11729507457550464443noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8626888127365718762.post-51769342583184794982010-12-26T09:54:00.000-08:002014-04-25T12:48:19.533-07:00Chapter 14: Stranger in a Strange Land<div>
March 3, 1993....I had just boarded a plane bound for the other side of the world, leaving behind all I knew and felt close to. Granted, I had already left home almost six months prior, but the sanctity of knowing that all I had to do was hop across the land to get back home was soothing. Now, I was going across the Atlantic Ocean into a new and strange world called Germany. As my plane backed out of the gate, I watched that window where Kim and I had just been looking out fade off into the distance. A cold feeling of loneliness shuddered over me as that plane lifted off the ground and again, the Earth faded below me. I reflected over the last six months and how my life had changed so much in that short time as the plane climbed higher over Texas in a north-eastern path. I had written some letters home to people telling them my new destination, but because of the transition, I hadn't received any replies back from anyone. I felt more alone now than I had ever to this point. Many of the other guys from medic school were on the flight milling about once the plane got to cruising altitude. The flight would take roughly fourteen hours and across several time zones, plenty of time to relax, I thought. I drifted off to sleep at some point, only to be awakened by a jolt of turbulence. No matter how many planes I had been on, the turbulence always un-nerved me. It was becoming nightfall and I looked down below at the vast array of city lights blotched all across the land. Above the plane, there was a slight cloud bank and a bright moon starting to shine. We passed over some clouds and I saw what I think is one of the most spectacular views I have ever seen. Below the plane was a ocean of white fluffy clouds reflected by the moonlight. Just outside was the open clear sky with the moon and stars almost at arms length, oh to have been able to reach outside that plexiglass window and touch the stars.<br />
One of the things I remember most about the flight was passing over Canada. We flew directly over Toronto and the amount of lights illuminating the ground was just incredible. It looked like the entire Earth below was alight, then almost as abruptly as the lights appeared, they vanished in the dark. On the plane, there was an interactive map showing where the plane's location was, we were over Canada still and making a turn more easterly. Aside from some sparse lights of towns or cities, there was nothing to see below, so I sat back and took out my trusty Walkman radio. I scanned the radio frequencies in search of something that would take me back to my life that was passing behind and below me. I heard a familiar song called 'Lights' from the band Journey and listened to it as I looked out. The opening lines summed it up for me, "When the lights go down in the city, and the sun shines on the bay, ooh I wanna be there in my city...". It wasn't the sun shining down on any bay, and I never had been to San Francisco, but those words just fit the situation. I listened to that song and leaned back in my seat, drifting off once again.<br />
I woke up to the feeling of intense warmth on my cheek and the sensation of light bleeding through my eyelids. It was early morning and we were still in the air, high above the Atlantic Ocean. I looked at the map on the screen and we were far past Newfoundland and over open water. I had never seen the ocean until this point, the closest thing was seeing Lake Michigan the June prior to my leaving, when I trekked to Shelby, Michigan to see one of my childhood friends graduate high school. I looked down at the water below and spotted a large freighter ship below. It looked so tiny from so far up, the North Atlantic looked so peaceful. The cabin crew were walking around serving breakfast items and I had realized that I hadn't eaten in several hours. The little bowl of cereal wasn't quite enough, but it would make do. I hadn't got up and moved very much until then and my bladder was sloshing by that time. I made my way down the plane's aisle and for the first time I realized that for the most part, all aboard were soldiers like me. I saw McMahan sitting talking to some of the guys, cracking jokes just like he had at Fort Sam. After I returned from the lavatory, I sat down next to him and talked for a while. He was mimicking Senior Drill Sergeant Myers and cracking us all up, oh I wondered what the senior drill sergeant would have said about this show?<br />
The flight seemed like it would never end, and sometime up in the morning, the cabin crew returned with carts that had drinks on them. They sold little shot bottles of various liquors and canned beer. When the stewardess approached me, I opted to drink a beer and much to my surprise, she didn't card me or anything. Must have been the uniform, I guessed. Some of the guys took full advantage of the drink carts and soon were feeling pretty good. I had a couple of beers and never got a buzz, it was better to watch the others get hammered. Who needed an inflight movie when you had drunk newbie soldiers leaving the country for the first time?<br />
Land finally started appearing out the window, the map on the screen showed we were somewhere over the United Kingdom, over Scotland. We couldn't see a whole lot, there was a cloud cover partially obscuring the ground, but we could see some white dotting the landscape below, indicating snow. We had left San Antonio, where it was nearly 75 degrees there, this snow was not a welcome sight for me. A couple more hours and we were over Germany and starting to descend, our destination was Frankfurt. As we broke through the clouds, we could see more and more snow below us, I could see the famous Autobahn, which looked strikingly like our own interstate road system in America. From what I could tell, the landscape looked pretty close to what it did back home. As we drifted downward for the approach, I could make out villages and towns, houses were close together and almost arm's length distances from each other. We started out final approach in Frankfurt, this landing was far more smooth than the others I had endured. I knew some about Frankfurt and that area of Germany from history classes in school, mainly about World War II, so it was neat to actually be seeing it. We approached the gate, I was nervous about what to expect out that airplane door. I envisioned walking into the airport to a flurry of people speaking only German and no one understanding anything I was asking. I exited the plane, took a sigh and set out for the baggage claim area.<br />
Frankfurt's airport, or flugplatz, as it is called, was very large and busy, kind of like the Atlanta airport. All of us were met at the baggage claim by a sergeant in his Class A uniform. Great, I thought to myself, here we go again, instantly I had a recurrence of stepping off the plane, then on a bus and finally being met by a screaming drill sergeant. This sergeant seemed different, he didn't have that hard edged drill sergeant attitude. We were escorted to another area of the airport to a holding area and told to have a seat and wait for further instructions. We could roam around, but not too far. The 'hurry up and wait' aspect of the Army was becoming a common practice already. I went to the restroom to relieve myself and was in the process when I heard someone walk in behind me. I never paid attention until I looked over and a lady was sweeping the floor right next to me. This was something I had never experienced, usually bathrooms are private from such things, custodians knock and ask if anyone is in there before coming in on someone taking a pee in the States, this was very strange to me. After several minutes, we all were herded to awaiting buses parked outside. Our bags were loaded into the back of them and we boarded them. I again wondered if when we got to our destinations if we were going to be met by a barking drill sergeant telling us to "get off his damn bus." We all had a packet of papers given to us by our drill sergeants at Fort Sam that had our orders in them. I opened mine and scanned through the military jargon written on it and found that my destination would be Ansbach, Germany. I had never heard of the place and had no idea where it was located in relation to where I was at that time. Some of the others on the bus had started looking through their papers too. I saw the looks from a couple others reading their orders, a look of confusion, they too had orders to report to Ansbach.<br />
I curiously watched out the window as we drove away from the flugplatz, the streets were bustling with activity, there was a light snow on the ground. The place had a kind of renaissance look to it, the buildings looked very old. I remember reading historical accounts of the Allied bombing raids and how major cities including Frankfurt were bombed almost off the map. I was in a historically important place, and it fascinated me, so much that it kept me from being homesick for the moment. We stopped several places along the way, other soldiers were getting off the bus at different posts, not all on board were from Fort Sam. Most of the ride was on the main roads leading into small villages which looked like they were centuries old. The bus trip was long and it took a couple of hours to reach Ansbach. We arrived first in Katterbach, which was an Army aviation base just a few miles from Ansbach. The group of soldiers who exited left only four of us, a female named Bohlen, Staff Sergeant Lape, Rucker who also came from Fort Sam and Sergeant Goodwin. We departed Katterbach and a short distance away we passed a sign that read Shipton Kaserne. Sergeant Goodwin told SSG Lape he had heard horror stories about that place and hoped none of us got placed there. The comment about the Shipton Kaserne made me wary, so I got out my orders and it said I was to report to the 235th BSB, I wasn't sure if that was my actual unit, but it didn't say anything about Shipton. We drove into Ansbach, which was just about 3 or 4 miles from Katterbach, the town looked very old, there was a large palace located right off the main road. It was a beautiful palace of white marble siding adorned with golden accents and statues. I had my camera with me, but unfortunately had no film in it. It was almost dark by this time and we arrived at our destination at the top of a hill in Ansbach, a sign post outside the gate read Barton Barracks. The bus rolled to a stop and we all exited. This was the 235th Base Support Battalion, the same as my orders read, and I found out the same that the others also read. There was no drill sergeant barking at us, no large group of new soldiers like in basic training or AIT, it was a calm and serene moment. The weather was remarkably different too. As I said earlier, we left San Antonio and it was almost 75 degrees. Here in Ansbach, it was around 28 degrees and snowy, I had been accustomed to the weather in Texas and not prepared at all for this. We were greeted by someone at the barracks building who told us we were staying there for the night, that everything was closed on post. I looked around and the post was quite small, a few buildings were on the property, which was enclosed by a large wrought iron fence and stone wall. There were no soldiers milling around, not much of anything at all to see. We walked into the barracks building and it looked deserted, nothing like what I had been exposed to. We pretty much had the entire place to ourselves, the building was a large structure that looked rather old, kind of a scene you would see in a horror movie....a group of four go into the old spooky building for an over night stay...little did they know that lurking in the shadows....<br />
The sergeant in charge of the barracks gave us some bedsheets and pillows and told us to grab a room on the first floor, Bohlen would have to be in a separate room, of course. Then, he left, told us SSG Lape would be in charge of us until morning. There comes a time in your life when you have to put aside your reservations about mingling with strangers whom you have never met before and this was one of those times. I have never really been the type to shy away from strangers, I can make friends about anywhere. Rucker was the only person who I could relate to, since he too was fresh out of 91B school. He was an African American guy from Washington, DC and seemed pretty mellow, we got along good right off the start. After settling in and seeking out showers to rid ourselves of the funk of a nearly two day travel, we changed into civilian attire and set out to see just what was around. Staff Sergeant Lape and the other three stayed behind while Rucker and I went out to explore the new country. There was a small shopette there, a barber shop and a pizza place. It was after 2000 hours local time, or 8 pm, and all but the pizza place was closed. I was starving by this time and Rucker and I decided to walk over to grab some pizza. While walking, I quickly found out that cowboy boots, snow and cobblestones don't mix well as I nearly slipped and fell many times in transit. That was the highlight of the evening so far, watching me attempt to walk on the slick stones and not bust my ass. I looked like quite an oddity, I'm sure, I was dressed in a black leather jacket, my Ozzy Osbourne concert shirt, stone washed jeans and those boots, all this with a nearly shaved head. I looked like one of the typical skinheads that I had read about and seen pictures of, and to top it off, I was accompanied by a black man, a stark contrast by all looks of things. We got into the pizza place and sat down, there was no one at all in the place other than the person working there. Then it hit me, how would we order our food? Neither Rucker nor I could speak or understand a word of German. Luckily, the guy inside the pizza place spoke English and the menu was also in English, I guess since we were on a US military post, it naturally would be.<br />
Our bellies full, Rucker and I quickly realized that there was absolutely nothing to see at Barton Barracks. I told him, "You know it would royally suck if this is where we are going to be stationed the next two years." He agreed, and we went back to the barracks. The rooms were cold, the heaters had not been turned up, it would be a long night for sure. I then noticed I hadn't called home, so I went out to the phone booth outside to call. There was a six hour time difference in Germany, so now it was nearly 2130 hours local time, meaning it was around 3:30 pm back home. This time difference would prove to be very tiresome for me. I called home and talked to mom, she was very glad to hear from me. I told her about all that I had seen on my trip from Frankfurt to Ansbach, that the landscape was much like Kentucky. She told me that Kim had called her and they had talked for a long time earlier. Mom said that Kim was crying and missing me like crazy, so after ending this conversation, the next call I placed was to Kim, only to get the answering machine. I had forgotten that she and her family were driving back from San Antonio and they probably hadn't got back home yet. I returned to the barracks and everyone was in the same room chit chatting. Bohlen had got spooked by being in the room alone so she asked if she could sleep in the sergeant's room. We were all adults and it never crossed anyone's mind to act inappropriately, so it wasn't a problem. We sat up until after midnight talking about our Army experiences, or lack of experience in the Army for Bohlen, Rucker and me. Eventually we all went to sleep, I had my trusty Walkman out and listening to my Ted Nugent tape <span style="font-style: italic;">Double Live Gonzo</span>. This tape was special to me in some weird way, part of it was recorded in San Antonio back in 1977 and hearing Ted address the San Antonio crowd gave me some peace of mind, knowing that Kim and I had also heard some similar talk when we saw the Damn Yankees concert just a few days earlier. It took me back to that moment and moments Kim and I had spent together.<br />
The next morning, we woke up on our own around 0630 hours, no sergeants came storming in with trash can lids banging and no early morning PT session were in store for us. Soon after, the duty sergeant came in and told us that we would be inprocessing all day and pointed us in the direction of the building to go to. This was a stark difference than what basic and AIT was, which was all go, go and go til we couldn't go any more, now it was all about that hurry up and wait. There was no chow hall there, just a little diner type thing by the shoppette or the pizza place. The pizza place wasn't open so we wandered in the diner and grabbed a bite of breakfast. While sitting there, there was a music video show on and the Journey song <span style="font-style: italic;">Lights</span> came on. I smiled at seeing it because I had heard that song as we were leaving the North American East Coast. Hearing that song and talking to mom the previous night had made me kind of homesick again, I was in a different country, about to embark on a new life, a stranger in a strange land. I had to shake the feeling, because now, there wasn't anything I could do about it. We started the long process of getting organized in the Army systems, getting our ID cards and our paperwork squared away. We all had several copies of our orders and transit papers we had to bring to each processing station, it was almost like basic training all over again with all the paperwork at first. We found out that Barton Barracks would not be our permanent home, that other orders would be given to us placing us in a permanent unit somewhere nearby. Rucker and I were issued what is called Geneva Convention ID cards, which identified us as medical personnel that we had to keep with us in case of capture in a combat situation or other type of combat related issue. What that card meant was that we had to be treated better than a usual prisoner of war if captured, but also meant we had to be the medics for the other prisoners. A wonderful thing to think about being a new soldier and all in a strange place.<br />
After what seemed like an endless barrage of processing, we finally finished around 1400 hours, or 2 pm. We each had our orders in hand, we all would be assigned to 6th Battalion, 43rd Air Defense Artillery. Staff Sergeant Lape and the Bohlen were communications specialists, SGT Goodwin worked in another field, and Rucker and I were medics. We boarded a bus and headed out back toward Katterbach. The weather wasn't too bad that day, a little overcast, but not as cold. We traveled down the main road, then turned onto another road, right where that sign that read Shipton Kaserne was pointing. Staff Sergeant Lape, spoke up and said, "Oh no, you gotta be kidding!!" We turned off the main road onto a lane that went straight through farmland. Ahead, there was a green fence and gate with a guard shack to the right. Staff Sergeant Lape groaned in displeasure as we entered the gates to Shipton Kaserne. The guard checked the ID of the bus driver and motioned us on through, then the bus stopped. There was no swarm of sergeants yelling for us to get off the bus, but there was a few standing out in the area by the bus stop. We exited the bus and were directed over to the area where the sergeants were standing. One of them, a stocky man around 40, introduced himself as First Sergeant Moshner, Headquarter's Battery's top non-commissioned officer. We quickly learned that he didn't mix words or care what came out of his mouth when he first spoke to us.</div>
"Welcome to Headquarters and Headquarters Battery 6/43, or HHB as you will now know it." His words were stern and to the point, kind of like First Sergeant Trost at Fort Sam.<br />
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"When I call your name, sound off," He continued, calling out our last names, but he called out one more than was there. "Where the hell is this soldier?" He barked, another sergeant told him that person would be on the next group to come in. He released SSG Lape, SGT Goodwin and Bohlen to the other sergeants and they walked away. First Sergeant Moshner then looked at Rucker and me and said, "you two must be my medics, follow me." We walked with him into the first set of buildings, which were three story brick buildings with very few features other than windows on them. We went into the CQ office and were told to stand by while he went into another office. He reappeared with another man, a captain, who introduced us as Captain Taylor, our Battery Commander. He shook our hands and seemed okay to me, then as quickly as we met him, he walked out of the room. First Sergeant Moshner told us to follow him once again and we followed him back outside. There, Rucker and I stood at ease while the first sergeant spoke to us about how things were at 6/43. First, he told us that the unit was ADA which meant Air Defense Artillery, or as he put it "another damned Army", that we would quickly learn that about the place. He told us he was a short timer and "didn't give a fuck about any of the bullshit cause I only got 45 days and a wake up left then I'm retiring back home to do absolutely nothing." His words were colorful, that was for sure. First Sergeant Moshner then said something that really was quite hilarious, but we could see there was a sense of seriousness about what he was saying. </div>
"There's a lot that goes on in my barracks after hours, you would think that its a damned brothel up there, we got little fuck bunnies running around fucking like rabbits, I'm surprised no man's dick has fallen off up there." Rucker and I chuckled a little bit, and the first sergeant shot back at us. "You think this is funny? You'll see what I mean. There's a little blond who makes her rounds to all the newbies, pretty soon you all will be fucking like little bunny rabbits too." His words were downright funny to me, nothing like I had expected. Then he told us something that would put a damper on the light conversation.<br />
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"Now what I'm gonna tell you, you don't tell anyone, not even your mommas back home. Reason I'm telling you is because I'm short and I don't give a fuck." His tone had changed to a serious, more direct dialect. </div>
"You will go get your field gear Monday morning, then within the next couple of weeks, you will be issued your desert gear." I looked around and noticed green pine trees and snow on the ground, desert gear? The first sergeant continued.<br />
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"You will be deployed to the Southwest Asia area of operations later this summer, around August, for a combat tour in the Persian Gulf." Wow...The Persian Gulf, the same place that Desert Storm took place. He warned us not to mention it to anyone, that this was classified information, and told us to walk with him.</div>
We were led upstairs to the barracks, which were totally different than anything I had seen to that point. The barracks looked like a hotel, with long tiled hallways and doors off to each side. We stopped at one room and he knocked on the door, the soldier opened and quickly went at ease. First Sergeant Moshner told him to carry on and to meet his new room mate, which was Rucker. The guy was a tall, lanky man, last name Arms, who also was a medic. After a couple of minutes, the first sergeant looked at me and asked, "Just how in the hell do you say your name, private?" I told him the way it should be pronounced, he said, "Well fuck, I won't remember that, I'll call you Kiss." That was a name that stuck with me from medic school, and would throughout the rest of my Army days. We walked down the hallway to another room, this time we were greeted by a portly guy who opened the door and said, "Hey, Top, got some new meat?" This guy was Himel, and was also a medic. He seemed a bit arrogant as we talked. The first sergeant came on in and asked me where I was from. I told him Kentucky, and he asked Himel if he had any of that "good old Kentucky remedy shit" on hand. Himel looked and brought out a fifth of Wild Turkey, saying "only real mean drink the kickin' chicken". Oh boy, I could see this was going to be one long tour of duty. Himel poured the three of us a shot and First Sergeant Moshner toasted by saying, "Private Kiss, welcome aboard." We all took our shot and slammed the shot glasses down on the table. The first sergeant told Himel, "This is your new room mate, try not to run him off like the others," then left. Himel looked at me for a while, then said, "Okay, here are my rules, you don't fuck with my shit, I won't fuck with you. You gotta earn your place before you have any ass up in this room without my permission." The other 'rules' were almost as equally worthless, but I let him say his peace to pacify his ego. This had the makings of a miserable time, I just knew it.<br />
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Before long, it was time for afternoon formation. We went outside to the area where the first sergeant greeted us and there was a whole group of soldiers milling about. We were grouped into platoons according to our MOS, or Army job classification, the medic platoon had about ten in it. I almost felt out of place because all the rest had been there for a while and already knew each other, it was like basic and AIT all over again for me. The first sergeant called the battery to attention, we were now called batteries rather than companies due to the artillery classification of the unit, and the individual platoons reported their status. It was Friday afternoon, so the first sergeant began with his safety briefing.</div>
"It's Friday so you all know what that means, time for the First Sergeant Moshner safety brief," he began. "If you are going to the club don't drink or drive or end up in the stockade, watch that Green Goose and those damn Turks." I wondered if the Green Goose and Turks he was talking about was a code name for some gang or something. He went on and talked about the emergency contact numbers that were posted on the wall by the CQ office and then asked, "Medic Platoon, you all got the goodies set out?" The platoon leader, Anderson, nodded and said they were, again I was oblivious. Then, First Sergeant Moshner called the four of us newbies out to the front of the formation and introduced us. He told everyone to take us under their wings and to teach us right. If Himel was to be my mentor, I already wanted a replacement.<br />
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After introductions, the first sergeant told us, "Okay, since you all don't think I know what goes on in my barracks, when I call you to attention, you sound off with 'fuck like rabbits', got it?" He then called us to attention and the whole formation shouted out "fuck like rabbits!!" One sergeant first class told the first sergeant he was offended and First Sergeant Moshner's reply was, "I don't give a fuck, carry on." I was amazed by the first sergeant's brash attitude, but I guess he deserved to be brash after all the time he had put in. Anderson, the medic platoon leader, came up and formally introduced himself to Rucker and me, he was an African American guy who had been with the unit for quite a bit of time. He was also a veteran of Desert Storm, I later found out, so he wasn't green by any means. Our usual platoon sergeant, Staff Sergeant Bechtel, was on leave and would be back within the next week, so until then we were under Anderson's watch. I went upstairs to my room and Himel was already there getting changed. He told me it was the weekend and he had to get out of the place. He didn't make any small talk or try to get to know me at all, and after a few minutes, he left. I started unpacking and getting organized, I would have the top bunk as mine but for the most part, the room was all Himel's. As I unpacked, I found pictures of Kim and taped them to the wall by my bunk so I could at least see her when I fell asleep and woke up. I was looking at those pictures and missing her immensely, I hoped I would get a chance to talk to her soon. Not long after I got settled in, there was a knock on my door. I opened it up to see a short blond female standing on the other side. She introduced herself as Brandy and she lived across the hall. I told her to come in and she walked in and started asking me questions about where I came from and everything. She asked if I was married, I said no, she said, "good." After a few minutes of sitting around and talking, she got up and straddled me in my chair, planting a big kiss on me. She then told me, "I'm so attracted to you," and I just froze, knowing then that this was the person the first sergeant was telling us about who "made her rounds". She left and told me again that she was just across the hall if I needed anything to just come over, she stressed the word <i>anything</i>. I was taken aback by this, normally I would have been very intrigued, but I looked up at the pictures on the wall and felt guilty, I really needed to call Kim and talk to her. </div>
There was a phone booth out front, so I made the first call to mom to let her know I was okay and settling in at my new unit. I almost told her about the deployment, but stopped myself before I said anything, remembering what First Sergeant Moshner had told us. It was good to hear a familiar voice again because I really felt like a total stranger at Shipton, and it was starting to eat at me. I wrapped up the conversation and quickly dialed Kim's number. Rick answered the phone and told me it was good to hear from me, but Kim was not home, she had went out with some friends to celebrate being back home. I was disappointed, but understood why she wasn't home, I would probably be doing the same thing if I were back home. I wandered back in the barracks and ran into Rucker. He was asking how my room mate was, my reply was, "his name is Himel, but it should be Hitler." He said that Arms was easy going and laid back, it figured that I would end up with the control freak. Sometime later, a couple of the other guys stopped by and introduced themselves, Rockey and Ray, who were also medics. Rucker and I went over to Ray's room and we all started playing cards. Ray told us we had to be initiated as new medics and play the card game called Bullshit, which I quickly found out was more of a drinking game than a card game. This is a point where things get a bit <br />
hazy. I remember that we were drinking the dark German beer, which tasted to me like unsweetened tea more than anything. Everything that I did it seemed, Ray would call out "bullshit!! Drink!!!" So I drank quite a bit. Little did I realize, but German beer is remarkably stronger in alcohol content than domestic beer here in the States. Very soon, I was quite intoxicated. I remembered someone saying we should go to the 'Goose'. I had no idea what the 'Goose' was but I was up for anything at that point.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-pc9w5N_rs8w/UFOyfiekMGI/AAAAAAAAAEY/ZL4H8s5oGv0/s1600/30616_409805247496_1575152_n.jpg" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-pc9w5N_rs8w/UFOyfiekMGI/AAAAAAAAAEY/ZL4H8s5oGv0/s320/30616_409805247496_1575152_n.jpg" height="320" width="308" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>HHB welcoming party, March 1993. From left to right: Bruce Wright, Darren Rockey, Jose Martinez, Rich Ray. </i></td></tr>
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The 'Goose' was a club called the Green Goose, which was located about two miles off post. First Sergeant Moshner had told us in formation to watch out for the Green Goose, surely a nightclub wasn't too bad for us. We paid our admission and walked in, the place was packed, I remember. We made our way to the bar and someone bought drinks for us because we were the newbies. We all took a shot of some very strong drinks that burned all the way down. More drinks followed and pretty soon, I was beyond drunk. I do remember a fight breaking out between a couple of guys there that soon erupted into an all out battle royal with several involved. We left the bar and from that point I don't recall much of anything. I do remember walking into the barracks and seeing an open box of condoms on a table, these were the 'goodies' the medics were in charge of stocking each weekend I later found out. I remember walking down the long hallway that seemed to be closing in on me as I walked further down it. I also remember that I didn't get sick during any of this, which would probably had been a good thing to do in retrospect.</div>
The next day I woke up with a splitting headache, a far worse hangover than I had when Jason, Matt and I went out that night in Morehead. I had the room to myself, Himel had stayed elsewhere the night before. I stumbled around trying to regain some of my composure, but I was so nauseated that I could barely function. I had never felt that way before, and hoped I wouldn't again anytime soon, but later that afternoon, I met some more people from the unit and we all popped open beers. It would be a long tour of duty for sure for this stranger in a strange land, I just hoped I would survive the first week at Shipton Kaserne.Rob Kiskadenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11729507457550464443noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8626888127365718762.post-78431649177836185212010-11-20T11:00:00.002-08:002012-09-14T15:55:14.322-07:00Chapter 13: Winds of ChangeFebruary 1993...I was almost on the home stretch of Combat Medic School. I had endured so much since September, but it was far from over. My stress levels were still pretty high, the ordeal with Staff Sergeant Van Zant had taken a toll on me. He avoided me as much as possible, but I felt at times he singled my squad out for certain details just out of spite. I still held my status as squad leader despite the altercation, much to his disliking I'm sure. Classes had now began to migrate outside for field exercises, which I liked much better. I enjoyed applying my newly learned skills rather than being lectured on them. As far as the platoon as a whole, Staff Sergeant LeValley joined us again after a few days from his ordeal, but had been reduced in rank to sergeant, received an Article 15 and was no longer able to be a platoon leader while at Fort Sam Houston. Our platoon was still doing well together, the bad seeds had been weeded out or reformed, and still we had our AWOL soldier, but nothing more out of the norm, until one evening.<br />
One night after bed check, two guys from fourth squad sneaked out and decided to go into San Antonio midweek. They had some girls from the nursing academy waiting for them and were off on their way. The person on fire guard duty did a routine walk through before his shift ended and noticed them gone. He did the right thing and reported it to the duty sergeant downstairs. This was around one in the morning and the rest of us weren't aware of what was going on until our squad bay lights went on and we were ordered to stand by our bunks for a head count. I gathered my wits and began the count of my squad, all accounted for thankfully. The two missing soldiers were nowhere to be found in the immediate area, and we were all released to continue sleeping. No one was sure if the two had went AWOL or just went for a night out until about 0300 hours when they were caught trying to get back in the door they had rigged to open. During the search, the duty sergeant found the door cracked open and shut it, the two soldiers now had to walk right past the CQ area and go up the stairs to the barracks. The duty sergeant, however, was waiting outside. We all found out the next morning that the pair were taken to the CQ office and Drill Sergeant Walls was called in to confront them. They were absent during PT and up until the first formation after breakfast. The two privates ended up getting Article 15's and all privileges revoked for the duration of their time at Fort Sam for their evening away, and apparently, this had happened before, only this time they got caught. This close to making it and they had to screw it all up.<br />
Not long after the debut of the Wiley Neckbones lone live performance, Bull was put in a recycle holding platoon due to his failing grades, meaning he would practically have to start over with his training. JB was getting close to doing his clinical trials at the post hospital and wouldn't be as free, so the band broke up. The music was an escape for me, but the time I spent with Kim made up for the loss. I really cared a lot for her and was rather convinced the pairing would last beyond San Antonio, she would write home to mom from time to time in an attempt to get to know her and the rest of the family. We spent every free moment we could together, life on that end of the spectrum was great. Now that the band was over, we could spend time at the Hacienda watching movies and being just us.<br />
Mid February came along and Charlie Company was entering a new phase of training, we would spend all day at the field site during regular duty hours, our off time was a little more relaxed now, but still Senior Drill Sergeant Myers lurked about. I was called out of formation one morning to meet with him about the painting I had been asked to help do. He started berating me about why I hadn't started the job yet and I reminded him that he was supposed to provide all the materials and ample time to complete it. He stood there for a moment with a dumbfounded look on his face, then said, "Well, don't worry about it now, Captain Bowden is being deployed in a couple of weeks anyway. Carry on, soldier." Apparently, the senior drill sergeant had forgotten and thought he would relay his mistake to me in an attempt to shift blame, but when I called him out on it, he had no retort. I relished this moment of slight victory.<br />
Our field time was as I said fun for me. We set up the forward aid stations and played war games , except that unlike basic training where we were the combatant troops, this time we were the medics treating the combatants. We set up casualty lanes under mock combat situations, complete with grenade simulators and 'enemy' forces and treated, then transported wounded comrades out of harm's way. This was like the videos we had seen in class, but without the reality that we could easily get our heads blown off. Everyone was busy doing tasks, if some weren't casualties, they were the enemy force, if not that, they worked at the aid station, and so forth. It was all good times and not mundane for once. One downfall for a few was the fact that in San Antonio, there are fire ants, and one trio of would be enemy forces mistakenly laid down in a den of them. They jumped up after several minutes yelping and batting at their clothes, it looked like they were batting out an invisible fire. The sergeant hurried them to the Salado Creek nearby and had them jump in. All this was pretty hysterical while we watched, but after they returned to the aid station area, we saw the real seriousness of the situation. Each person affected was covered with large red whelps all over them, not a fun thing in the San Antonio heat.<br />
Around this time, we had to do another PT test, a diagnostic test to see where we stood as far as fitness levels. My shins hadn't bothered me too bad, the ibuprofen I was prescribed took most of the pain away. When it came time for the test, I wanted to give it my all and make sure I passed and not get recycled in the training process. I aced my push-ups and sit-ups and when it was time for the running part of the test, we went to a dirt track we hadn't ran on before. I still felt confident when I lined up to run, we were to do eight laps around the track to complete the 2 miles. The first three laps were not bad, I controlled my breathing and set into a good steady pace. Lap five brought a return of the pain in my lower legs. My pace slowed a bit and I still had three laps to go. As I crossed the start/finish line for lap six, my timer edged me on, telling me to pick up the pace. I tried as best as I could, but the pain tore into me. Lap seven I was hurting severely and thought I couldn't go on. As I rounded turn four, I saw several of my squad cheering me on, some ran out on the track along side of me to encourage me. I heard the time as I went by, I hadn't hit the danger mark yet and still had a chance to make it for the final lap. Miller and Chase were running beside me telling me to push it further. I was on the back stretch and thought my legs were going to fall off. I heard the timer yell out a time of 13 minutes, 4 seconds. I needed to make a time better than 14 minutes, 25 seconds and still had the front stretch to go. I was determined to make the time limit or better. I got out of turn four and took a deep breath and started a full out sprint, like I had done in basic training. My mind went to another plane, I couldn't feel my pain in my legs now, it seemed I was floating rather than running. Miller and Chase stayed with me as I sprinted the final leg and crossed the finish line at 14 minutes, 10 seconds, well slower than my previous PT test time of 13 minutes 8 seconds. After I slowed down and peeled off the track, I collapsed in the grass, my legs were throbbing in sharp pain. Drill Sergeant Tharpe came to me and asked if I needed transported to the clinic, I waved him off, and a couple guys helped me up. I limped behind the formation and left Miller in charge of third squad on the march back to the company area. Back at the barracks, Drill Sergeant Tharpe got me an ice pack to put on my legs. The pain had subsided some, but it still felt like the tendons were going to rip out of my shins. Walking up and down the stairs was a nightmare, but I was determined to walk the pain off. I was for damned sure I wasn't going to get this far and let my pain do me in.<br />
One day in formation, we were notified we had received our EMT test results. Senior Drill Sergeant Myers went on a tirade about how Charlie Company standards were not met, that only 27% of the company had passed. We all did push-ups, and then were released to our drill sergeants, who had our individual results. As Drill Sergeant Walls called our names, we went to him and got the envelopes of doom. I got mine and was surprised to see that I had did remarkably well considering I had dosed off during the test. I had score a 53% on the exam, not quite the required 70%, but still, better than what I had suspected. Out of the entire fourth platoon, only six had passed the exam, but we were still allowed to continue with the course. We had an option to retest again, but the test was not until after our graduation, and we would be required to stay on post in a holding platoon until then. No one opted to do that, we all just wanted it to be over as soon as possible.<br />
One afternoon, I called home to let everyone know I was alive, when mom asked if I had watched the news. We had a TV in the common room, but I rarely watched it. She was telling me that the World Trade Center's Twin Towers in Manhattan had been bombed. This was something significant, but had no idea how significant until later. This was post Desert Storm, we were at peace, right? The next week's formation started off with Senior Drill Sergeant Myers addressing the company about the bombing. He told us that Foxtrot Company, who was scheduled to graduate in just a few days would be reporting to units who were being activated due to the bombings and could be sent to front line combat duty. The reality of the duty was sinking in now...what if we went to war and I got sent out to combat duty? Holy Hell...what a concept.<br />
One moment of freedom for me came when I heard on the local radio station that The Damn Yankees were going to be in San Antonio, along with the band Jackyl, and it was on a Saturday night. That weekend, Kim and I went into town and stayed close to the Riverwalk area. I was sure that the concert had sold out so I wasn't too concerned about it until Saturday when Kim asked if we were going. That evening, we decided to go out to eat and then try our luck with tickets. Unfortunately, by the time we finished eating, it was already 8 pm, the show started at 7:30. I decided to walk up to the ticket booth at the Majestic Theater anyway to try my luck. Sure enough, they had a couple seats still available and we could hear Jackyl performing from outside. Our seats ended up being on the second row on the left side of the stage, about 25 feet away from the band. Jackyl was finishing up their set with a song the singer described as being "a pretty little love song" entitled 'She Loves My Cock.' Their set was awesome and had some raw energy, the seats were great. This was Kim's first hard rock concert and she was kind of in a daze. Jackyl's set ended and the crowd started milling about, but we held onto our seats. After a few minutes, a tall blond haired woman came up and sat in the seat next to Kim, and a guy with long black hair sat next to me. I looked over and noticed I had just seen this guy on stage, he was Jackyl's guitar player. I talked to him a short time, told him I thought they were great and this was the first time I'd ever seen them. He autographed the back of my ticket and the lights started fading for the Damn Yankees' set. The Damn Yankees came out on fire with the song 'Don't Tread', and the crowd was loud. When the time came that singer Tommy Shaw introduced Ted Nugent, Kim elbowed me and said, "So <span style="font-style: italic;">that's</span> Ted Nugent!" I laughed out loud at her for that.<br />
The show was a good one, but there was some noticeable tension with Tommy and Ted, during an into to the song, 'Where You Going Now,' Ted erupted into a guitar frenzy of his own material, prompting Tommy to stop and tell Ted, "This is the Damn Yankees, not the Ted Nugent show." After the show, I was talking to Kim about how Jeff and I would go out behind Rupp Arena after concerts and meet members of the bands playing and get autographs. I was thinking aloud about where I should try to meet the band when the tall blond woman spoke up and said that the buses were parked out back. I thanked her and we started out to that area. Some time later, Jack Blades, the bass player, walked out and right past all of us waiting out by the back door, never signing an autograph or anything. Next was Tommy Shaw, who also strode past us all without acknowledging anyone. Michael Cartellone, the drummer, was next, he stopped and autographed whatever we wanted. I had my camera with me, but was unable to take pictures inside the theater, and asked Michael for a picture, he kindly obliged and disappeared into the bus. A few minutes later, the crowd erupted as Ted Nugent came out the backstage door and raised his arms, yelling, "San Antonio, y'all LOVE me!!!" By his side was that blond lady who had been sitting beside us for the show, turns out, she was Ted's wife. Ted only signed a couple autographs and darted across the road onto a black and white zebra striped tour bus. My observation of Ted, who was one of my favorite rock stars from the time I first heard 'Cat Scratch Fever' at around age 6, was that his ego was out of control, but damn he could make a guitar wail. The tensions we had witnessed onstage that night came to a head, I later learned, and The Damn Yankees broke up by the end of 1993. That evening would prove to be one of the final off post times Kim and I would spend together.<br />
We had less than a week left at Fort Sam Houston. The focus now was the final field exercises and skills testing. We marched out every day to the field site across Salado Creek and spent all day out there, eating MRE's and living under field conditions. One day, a thunderstorm hit while we were on site and the torrential rains caused the creek to swell up to the top of its banks. As the day wore on, the rain got harder and didn't seem to be stopping anytime soon, so the decision was made that we would head back to the company area, but one problem loomed....The creek had now overtaken the low water bridge and was rolling violently. After some planning, one of the sergeants radioed someone and they arrived on the other side of the creek with a long rope. The overall distance across wasn't that great, but the raging water would be impossible to cross safely. The rope was tossed over, tied to a tree on our side and a Humvee on the other side. One by one, we single filed across the water holding on to that rope the whole way. It was scary but we all made it unharmed, but wet and cold.<br />
Another task we were facing was the final inspection. We were all seasoned pros with cleaning the barracks by now, but this inspection would be the biggest one so far. Another task was the final PT Test. I was worried about that because of my shins, but was determined that it was not going to stop me. One thing that was weighing on my mind was the fact that soon, Kim and I would be parting ways, she would return to her home state of New York while I would be sent to who knows where. One night at the Hacienda, we had 'the talk.' She told me that she had been contacted by her ex-boyfriend and he was anxious to see her again when she got home. I found this a bit alarming, but the emotion of all that was going on overshadowed that feeling in me. Kim told me that no matter what, she wanted to be with me and would find a way for it to work out for us. It would be a heavy, uneasy week for me certainly, but the stresses of squad leader would come to a head once again.<br />
One evening, the squad leaders were told by SSG Van Zant that we would have specific areas to clean in the barracks, and we needed to start on it as soon as possible so it wouldn't be such a task at the last minute, a good concept, I thought. I went back to relay the message to the squad, who at this point in the game, wanted to just bide the time and get it all over with. A few of us went to our designated place and started cleaning. I did a quick head count and noticed three who didn't join. I walked into the squad bay and there they were lying on their bunks with magazines or whatever else, relaxing while the rest worked their butts off. I told them that I needed them to help out, then walked back out of the room, fully expecting them to follow. After a minute of two, the group hadn't followed, so I returned to find them in the same places they were. I got louder in my tone and told them to get up and help out, again to no avail. I was beyond frustrated and went to SSG Van Zant as I should have, only to be told that "they are your soldiers, you get them motivated." I was beyond livid now and had enough. I walked back into the squad bay and now there were just two left in the room, the other one had got up and started helping. At this point, I blurted out something like, "Fine, you all got what you wanted, take this squad leader crap and toss it!" I stormed out and found Miller, who was cleaning the hallway and told him he could have the position, I was tired of it all. Miller stopped and looked at me in disbelief asking me how I could go down to the wire and just walk away. Staff Sergeant Van Zant apparently heard me and ordered me to his room. Great, another round...I was beyond ready for this one.<br />
The staff sergeant veteran began by telling me that it was too late to up and quit and that I should just 'suck it up and drive on'. I was infuriated now, and just as I was ready to unleash, SSG Van Zant told me that he would take care of it, but I was not going to leave my post as squad leader. I went back to the squad room and he had the two privates locked up at attention giving them pure hell. He walked past me and patted me on the shoulder, never saying another word. The rest of the cleaning detail went unscathed.<br />
The PT test came upon us at the first of the week. The entire 232nd Medical Battalion was taking the test and it took all morning to get over with. The run wasn't as bad now, we ran on a different track that wasn't near as harsh on my shins, plus I had bought new running shoes the week prior just for the final PT Test. I passed the test with a little better time on the run, but nothing spectacular, at least I passed either way. The next several days are a blur to me, we were so busy then trying to get everything ready for the inspections and end of class ceremonies. Kim and I spent as much time as we could outside of the company area, trying to hold on to what we had the best we could. One day, Drill Sergeant Walls came out and had a list of all of us and where our duty stations would be. One by one, names and places were read to all the active duty soldiers...Korea, Germany, Fort Lewis, Washington, the places seemed so far away. One soldier got a duty station in Hawaii, a place all of us envied. For the most part, everyone called out was going to either Germany or Korea, and when my name came up, I learned I was going to Germany. I was anxious to go there, but at the same time, Germany was a million miles from anything I knew, or anyone. I had kind of hoped to remain in the United States and maybe get stationed closer to home or even close to New York, but I couldn't change anything about it.<br />
We wrapped up our field exercises and skills tests in this time, other than the diploma and official title, we were in essence, combat medics. I had made some great new friends while in the class, it would be sad to part ways with all of them. The Kentucky Connection was disbanding soon, we all vowed to keep in touch, exchanging home addresses in an attempt to have a line of communication. As a whole, we were all family now, I would miss them all. We did the whole change of address forms to have our mail forwarded home until we got our regular mailing addresses, all our class materials were turned in, the time in San Antonio was coming to an end. One day we saw a group of fresh faced soldiers doing a police call around Foxtrot Company's area, they had arrived a few days earlier and were in the holding company, the same as we were all those weeks ago. I smiled at them and called them suckers under my breath, they had a long ride ahead of them.<br />
The night before our final inspection, we stripped and waxed the floors in the bays, each squad working together like they hadn't before. We had just about three days before graduation and were pretty much finished. The memory of the infamous Fort Jackson pillow war popped in my mind, we hadn't done that at Fort Sam, and honestly, with all the stress we endured, I'm sure the pillow fight would have erupted into an all out brawl. That night, we all were goofing around during our details, my squad area had already been waxed and my locker was open while I was getting uniforms ready for the inspection. Bryce and McMahan were wrestling around and accidentally hit my locker, knocking over an almost full bottle of Polo brand cologne. The bottle shattered onto the newly waxed floor and spilled. We tried to clean it all up but the smell was overwhelming. We finally got it cleaned up then realized there was a big green stain on the floor and the wax was now gone. It seems Polo strips wax off a marble tiled floor pretty fast. We tried to use more wax to fix the problem with no luck. Great, leave it to me to jeopardize our final inspection. The next day for our inspection, we had to have everything laid out perfectly, our lockers had to be opened up and everything dressed neatly inside it. All in all things looked great...except the big green stain and the rancid smell of Polo still lingering. Drill Sergeant Tharpe would first come look at the barracks before the inspection was to take place. He he got into my squad, I reported to him as usual, his reply was, "My God man, what is that smell?" That's when he noticed the stain on the floor. He asked what happened, I told him, he shook his head and walked out, then had me meet in his office. Oh boy, I thought I was going to get it good now. Drill Sergeant Tharpe asked me what had really happened, again, I told him. Apparently, he thought I was trying to cover something up other than just the green spot and smell. He then asked me about the incident with the soldiers not helping and me threatening to quit being a squad leader. I told him that it had been a stressful time for me and I had over reacted. He told me that he felt I did kind of lay down on the job some that I was too slack for some of the things that went on, but overall I did good for being put in that position under the circumstances. He closed by telling me that he was okay with me, but I would have to work on getting on SSG Van Zant's good side. Screw him, I thought to myself, I'm almost out of this place, I don't have anything to prove. Short timer syndrome had settled in on me, and quite frankly, I didn't care.<br />
Just before the inspection, Drill Sergeant Tharpe had all of us place one pair of our combat boots right in front of our lockers. This was an attempt to cover up my green spot and hope that the commander and senior drill sergeant didn't see it. Finally, it was time. Senior Drill Sergeant Myers, Drill Sergeants Walls and Tharpe accompanied by Captain Bowden walked through each area of the barracks. We could hear the squad rooms called to attention one at a time, we still had a few minutes in my squad bay, so I did last minute checks with Miller. The bay still reeked of Polo but there wasn't anything else we could do about it. Finally, it was our turn, Drill Sergeant Tharpe called us to attention, I reported the squad's status to the commander and entourage and that we were ready for inspection. The commander commented immediately by saying, "Well, this is the best smelling room I've been in all morning." I nervously smiled and he walked over to my bunk area and looked at the neatly pressed uniform hanging on the bedpost and the highly shined (thanks to some mop and glow) boots beside it. He then looked at my locker, then looked down at the boots, I just knew he would see the green stain, but he never mentioned it. I walked with the group down the bay to each soldier, looking them and their lockers over. He nodded in approval at the end of the squad bay, I saluted him and the group left. I overheard Captain Bowden say that the rest of the company had both pair of boots lined by their bunks, why did we have one set at our lockers. Drill Sergeant Tharpe quickly replied that he thought that's the way it was supposed to be that it was his call and not any of ours. He took the heat for my mistake, wow.<br />
The inspection went well, we didn't have one single gig by the commander, I'm sure to Senior Drill Sergeant Myers' displeasure. Now the only thing left was graduation. The rest of the day after our inspection, we did minimal duties in the company area, the new soldiers would carry on our police call. We marched up to the post theater and rehearsed for our graduation, which was nothing at all like our basic training ceremony. We marched into the theater to seats, then stood at attention until everyone was in, the National Anthem and Army Song would follow, then we would be seated. After a quick rundown of the speeches that followed, we rehearsed going up and getting our diplomas, in the mean time, the theme music to the TV show 'MASH' played on the PA, kind of strange that the song is actually called 'Suicide is Painless,' wonderful ceremony music. The march back to the company area was solemn, knowing that the next time we marched up to the theater, we would all be parting ways. That night, Kim and I went back to the Hacienda and watched the movie 'The Bodyguard'. We both knew that our time was short and had written each other letters to keep with us. I wrote something simple and short that said, "Never hold back on a dream you wish to conquer. Express your visions and hold onto what is true, and to you, true love will never die." Her letter to me was about three pages about how her life had been changed since she met me and that she cherished each day with me. She closed it by saying she would find a way through Hell or high water to make it work for us. We made the walk from the Hacienda to the barracks hand in hand, both wanting it to never end.<br />
The next day after our usual routines, we had to start bagging our things up in preparation for our graduation the following day. All our non-essential items were to be packed away so that the transition would be orderly and quick. The smell of Polo still hung in the air, I wonder just how long it stayed there or if the wax ever took hold eventually on that green spot. Later in the day, families started appearing on post like they had at basic training. Mom and dad couldn't make it to my graduation at Fort Sam, and I understood completely. After the next day, I didn't know how long it would be until I saw them again, so maybe them not coming was a blessing in disguise for me, something to keep me from becoming home sick all over again. Kim's dad and step-mother was coming from New York, so I would get to meet them finally. Rick was a graphic artist in Fort Edward and was a generally nice guy. The rest of the day I had squad leader duties to deal with so I couldn't join them for the day and evening, which was okay, Kim needed to spend time with her family after being away so long. I stayed around the company area with several others the rest of the day, eventually being called to meet with SSG Van Zant. I met with him in his room and really didn't know why other than he was going to complain about something I had done not to his liking. He started out by telling me to relax, be at ease, and then said something like, "Kiskaden, you and I hit it off very wrong and had our clashes," I sat there, almost nodding in agreement. "I just wanted to tell you that you have the biggest balls I have ever seen in a private. You didn't back down to me and I could have gotten you an Article 15, but I didn't. " I sat there, not knowing what to expect. The staff sergeant continued, "I didn't because I know you will be a good leader one day and be highly respected." He shook my hand and congratulated me for completing the course. I was taken aback at all this, he actually respected me in some way and complemented me, I never thought that would ever happen in this lifetime. I really would have passed out had the senior drill sergeant done this.<br />
I wrote home one final time that night, telling everyone I was on my way to another world, the winds of change were taking me far, far away. I knew it would be a long while before I would get to see anyone from home again, that feeling of homesickness was starting to rear its head again. The next day would be trying for me for sure. The morning of graduation, we received our travel vouchers and air fares, some of our flights didn't leave until the next day, meaning we would have to stay one more night on post, including me. We all got dressed in our Class A uniforms and went through one final inspection and small awards ceremony. Some of us would receive coins, medals or certificates. I received a certificate for being a squad leader and a Certificate of Appreciation from Drill Sergeant Walls. There would also be a promotion ceremony that morning, and I was promoted to Private 2, I got a single chevron pin, or 'mosquito wings' as they were called. Most of us who were active duty Army were promoted to PV2 during the morning, only meaning a little bit more on our pay stubs each month. Afterward, we had some down time, Kim and I met up and posed for some pictures for prosperity, but they were strictly in military fashion, meaning no holding hands or hugging up on each other. We had brought our green duffel bags and our personal bags downstairs to a holding area, separated by platoon, meaning our time in the barracks was over. I can't say I missed those barracks at all, just the people that filled them. During the down time before the graduation that afternoon, the families who came could mingle with their respective soldier. Rick made sure I was included with him, his wife and Kim and asked when my flight went out, and when I told them the following day, Rick offered for me to stay at their hotel since they were staying anyway to see San Antonio. I was excited, knowing that after graduation, I would be able to spend time with Kim once more.<br />
The time came for us to march up to the theater. We all got in formation and the new group of soldiers stood by outside the company area at attention as we marched by. The looks of pure eagerness and blank stares of fear were equally mixed among the new batch of soldiers. Charlie Company 232nd Medical Battalion were seasoned veterans now, it seemed, and we marched proudly past them. We marched up the hill, the San Antonio sun was starting to warm us up in our Class A's, but none of us cared, we had made it. We marched into the theater as rehearsed, the 'MASH' theme rang out as we entered the room. There were several top ranking officers on the stage unlike the day before. Knowing how the basic training graduation went, this would be a long winded ceremony. After the National Anthem and Army Song, we all took a seat and waited as the speakers came up one by one speaking to the assembly. The filled theater and the uniforms made it become quite warm and a bit uncomfortable, at least we weren't standing in formation as we were in basic training during all this. Finally, the time came for us to march up to get our diplomas. We didn't have specifically named diplomas, just the Army's general issue one that said we were now official medics. We marched up, got our diplomas, then back down to our seats. When this part of the ceremony was over, we each raised our right hands and recited the Hippocratic Oath, and after an invocation by the chaplain, we filed out of the theater and back into our platoon formations. As we were out in formation, Drill Sergeants Walls and Tharpe came to each of us and shook our hands congratulating this day. I liked the drill sergeants, Drill Sergeant Tharpe especially because he was so laid back. I looked over just before we marched back to the company area and caught a glimpse of Kim, who was looking over at me. It then hit me that we were parting ways soon afterward, and I teared up. I choked back the tears and looked forward as we readied for the march, then proceeded down the hill for the last time. I glanced over at the Hacienda, a place I held special to me, many good times were spent there. I wondered how Bull and JB were doing as we passed the club, I wished I had maintained some form of contact with them, we were a good band together. We got back to the company area, all the families were standing there cheering us all on, and I felt a sense of sadness because mine wasn't there. I fully understood why they couldn't be there, but still felt down about it. When we got in the area, we did our last formation roll call. Staff Sergeant Van Zant reported to the senior drill sergeant, "All personnel present and accounted for, including one still on Christmas leave." This gave everyone a welcome laugh. Senior Drill Sergeant Myers addressed the company and told us that even though we had tested his patience, we had done well overall. We were definitely a hodge-podge of soldiers that was for sure. After a last round of push-ups in our Class A's, we were dismissed with a loud shout of "Soldier Medic!!!" Freedom from the tiny tyrant at last. The emotion of the day finally caught up to me when I looked over at Kim and she was teary eyed, I broke down and cried. I went upstairs so no one would see into a swarm of new soldiers being herded into their new and our old barracks. I gathered myself after a few minutes and returned downstairs. I was okay now, the raw emotion was out now. Many of us took group pictures goofing around and celebrating the fact that we had done it, we were now Soldier Medics. I felt very proud of myself now, and I knew if mom and dad were there, they would be so proud of me too. I had come a long way since September, I felt like a new person now.<br />
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Kim and I finally found each other in the mess of people and we left with her dad and step-mom. It was getting late in the afternoon, so we went to the hotel and changed clothes. Rick had reserved a room for Kim and me next to his, which I thought was nice of him. It felt good to be off post for good now. No more drill sergeants, no more 0430 wake up calls and no more Elvis in the chow hall. After we changed, we all went out to eat and walk around the Riverwalk. Kim and I showed her family what we had enjoyed the few months we had been there. I would miss the Riverwalk and all its splendors, and hope to one day revisit it. Rick was a nice guy, he really treated me well. His wife, for some reason I cannot remember her name, was equally nice to me. We talked a lot about where I came from, he told me I should come to their area and go on a hunting trip with him sometime. The night wore on and finally we went back to the hotel. A small drizzle had started, a fitting end to the last few months. We settled into the room but stayed up practically all night talking, not wanting the night to end. Eventually we went to sleep and was woke up around 0900 by Rick, who was wanting to start the day off with breakfast at a local pancake house. My flight wouldn't leave San Antonio until that afternoon, so we still had some time left to spend together. After breakfast, we took some last pictures together before we left for the airport, I had to be there early to check in. We arrived and had plenty of time to kill after my check in, now that I was officially regular Army. We stopped in the gift shop and I found a coonskin hat, which I put on and did an impromptu stand-up routine about the Kentucky cliche's that people talked about. After all that I found a pay phone and called home, a task I was dreading because I knew how mom's reaction was going to be. I would be leaving the United States, far away for an undetermined amount of time and she would not be happy at all about it. The phone call lasted almost a half hour, both of us crying at various parts of the conversation. I wanted so bad to be with my family now more than ever, to give them that hug before I left, but I wasn't able to, and it hurt...alot. After the phone call ended, Kim comforted me, but I knew that soon, she too would be left behind. We walked to the terminal area and I ran into several of the other Charlie Company gang. We stopped and took a group picture, one guy named Cowden called us the 'Germany crew'.</div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-Xo_xexGxjW4/UFO0_oRu2II/AAAAAAAAAEo/5J2o579S0nY/s1600/30616_409805242496_1417390_n.jpg" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="246" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-Xo_xexGxjW4/UFO0_oRu2II/AAAAAAAAAEo/5J2o579S0nY/s320/30616_409805242496_1417390_n.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>Getting ready to board the plane from The U.S. to Germany. March 1993.</i></td></tr>
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We would all be on the same flight, the only person from my squad to join was McMahan, who was talking about all the in-flight drinks on the plane he would consume. Kim and I sat at the gate area and looked at the gleaming white Delta 707 out the window of the terminal. This was pre-September 11, when people could accompany others in the gate area. We both kind of sat there silent, knowing that in a few short minutes, our lives would change. Finally, the time came, the boarding call was announced over the speakers. I rose from my seat and started crying again. I felt as thought someone was tearing my heart out of me. I hadn't done this when I left home, why now? Kim and I hugged and said our goodbyes, Rick and his wife hugged me too and gave me their best wishes. I picked up my bags and went to the gate corridor, it seemed like such a long walk. I looked back and waved at Kim and her family, I was still teary eyed, but had composed myself by then. A thousand thoughts came into my head, I was worried about leaving the good ole US of A, wondered when I would be able to return, wondered how mom and dad were doing through all of this, and I wondered if I would ever see Kim again. Her words seemed sincere, and her intentions seemed very clear, only time would tell. I boarded the plane and settled in my seat, I could see the window from which we had just been looking out. As the plane backed away from the gate, the window slowly passed out of sight, a denouement to a chapter in my life waited behind that glass. As we began taxiing down the runway, my usual nervousness about flying was replaced with an empty feeling, the winds of change were carrying me away; far, far away. The plane lifted off and we headed east. The flight would take roughly fourteen hours across the states and the vast Atlantic, eventually leaving my home soil thousands of miles behind me. I sighed as we reached cruising altitude and felt some complacence as I watched the ground below us, there was definitely no turning back now...I was a soldier, not the kid from the country that I used to be. It was time to put on my game face and move forward, to face my new future while keeping my past life and loves tucked just underneath the surface, hoping I would return a new and much better man.Rob Kiskadenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11729507457550464443noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8626888127365718762.post-62256562112743937402010-08-06T17:48:00.000-07:002010-11-20T10:59:50.117-08:00Chapter 12: The Grand IllusionI had been in the Army four months now, had seen and done so much, was now a squad leader in charge of fifteen other soldiers, was becoming a true soldier. One evening after bed check, the realm of it all caught up to me. I woke up, my mind racing of all the thoughts of what I had done, could I continue to go at this pace, could I live up to what I was trying to accomplish? A thousand thoughts whizzed past my brain as I tried to sleep. I looked around and reached for my Walkman radio, tuning into the local rock station to try and calm me. I lay there listening to the music playing softly in my ear and drifted off to sleep. The next morning, I woke up at the usual time, 0430, to find my Walkman was missing. I asked around, no one seemed to know anything about it. I was thinking someone had stolen it, when Private Davis approached me and said he took it. At first I was surprised someone who had taken something from me would own up to the fact, but this was not the case. He was doing fire guard duty, saw the Walkman, and took it, which was part of his duty, as we weren't supposed to be listening to them after hours. He hadn't turned it in, and gave it back to me after PT. Great, I was a prime example to all the soldiers under my watch.<br />The EMT class had wrapped up, and now we were approaching time to take the National Registry Test, a 150-question exam that would determine if we would become <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0">EMT's</span>, but not Combat Medics. The week before, we crammed all the information we could in class to prepare for the test, which would be in two phases, a written exam and a practical one. I aced the practicals, but the information for the written exam began to blur. So much information in such little time was taking a toll on my brain. We were to study each night, again in addition to all the other things going on. Weekends now were the time to get away and as soon as that end of duty formation on Friday was over, I bee-lined upstairs and changed to just get away. The first overnight weekend pass would be kind of weird to me, we were all used to being cooped up in barracks under a controlled environment, how would I act on the outside? Kim and I decided we would spend the weekend together, but I was to report back at 0200 on Saturday for fire guard. We found a hotel on the west side of San Antonio, away from the mid-town hustle. There was a mall nearby and that was about it on that side of town. We arrived at the hotel, I was very nervous, this was to be the first time I had ever spent any extended alone time with any girl, let alone overnight. We passed the day off by going to the mall and taking in the time together. Kim and I got along well, we had a lot in common and looked past the fact that we were in a temporary duty station far away from home, a recipe for disaster, but we didn't care. As we were walking by a building near the mall, I was surprised to see a familiar phone number on a sign for a building contractor, it was mom and dad's number, only with a different area code, a strange reminder of just how small the world really is.<br />We decided not to spend all day out and about due to the fact I had to be back at the company so early. We retired early to the hotel, this was new territory for me. It was just the two of us, two young people who had the same feelings for each other and the same desires. We drifted off to sleep after watching the movie <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1">Encino</span> Man, and I woke up at 0115 to get ready for fire guard duty. I called a cab and left Kim sleeping, heading for Ft Sam. I arrived about fifteen minutes prior to my watch, signed in at the <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_2">CQ</span> desk and changed into uniform. Saturday was an off day and most everyone was gone from the barracks, with the exception of maybe three or four people. My watch would be from 0200 until 0400 and would consist of absolutely nothing but hearing the faint snores of the few left in the squad bays. I sat down at the guard desk and started writing. I hadn't kept a journal like I had in basic training, but I had been writing poems and jotting random things down. I wrote a couple things in basic training, some fragmented parts of an idea, and decided to see if I could piece them together. After about a half hour of writing then scratching words out, I left it unfinished, an idea I called <span style="font-style: italic;">The Grand Illusion</span>, to which this date, has never been completed. The Staff Duty Sergeant came upstairs around 0300 hours and we conducted a walk through and head count from his roster of those who hadn't signed out for the weekend. He noticed my name on the list of those who had signed out and commended me for remembering I had duty that morning. My fire guard watch was over before I knew it, I called another cab and headed to the hotel. I wasn't sure what the day would bring, I just knew that I wanted to sleep in some more before anything.<br />I arrived back at the hotel and Kim was still sleeping, I'm not sure she even knew I had even left. We woke up around 0900 and decided to see what was around the area. Sea World was a local attraction, but was closed for the winter. The only other option was to head into town and see San Antonio in daylight. We took a city bus across town to the <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_3">Riverwalk</span> area and decided to just point in a direction and go. We walked around the city, I took my camera out and started taking pictures of the scenery. After a few minutes, we went into the mall and roamed around. My taste of shops were different than Kim's, she went into clothing stores and I wanted to go to the music stores. Eventually after about an hour, we ventured outside and down the street toward the Alamo. Me being the history nerd I am wanted to go see the famed monument of Texas' freedom. At first glance, when you see the Alamo, you think it's just a big white building and not that impressive. I quickly changed my mind when I entered the sacred building and saw the way it had been restored. The main room was large and decorated with flags from each state that the Alamo Defenders hailed from. There were markers on the floor depicting where certain men fell, the room where Sam Bowie met his fate was restored. There was a short lecture from a guide who explained that the building was only a part of the original fortification, that it spanned many acres and was heavily defended. Then I noticed the guide shoot me a peculiar look of discontent. I hadn't planned or even noticed what I was wearing, which was an Ozzy Osbourne concert shirt. Ozzy had been arrested and summarily banned from San Antonio back in 1982 when he was caught urinating on the wall of the Alamo. Apparently, the tour guide thought my shirt was a mockery of what the Alamo stood for in Texas...My first view of Texan pride.<br />Kim and I walked out the back garden part of the Alamo, it was a very calm and serene place. It was something almost out of a movie, I even said something about it "being a good place for a wedding." We both smiled and moved on about our tour. The whole day was just a lazy one, we never got bored with each other. We retired back to the hotel after several hours and relaxed the rest of the evening. We had to be back at the company area Sunday by 1600 hours, or 4pm, back to the mayhem. Early Sunday afternoon we took the bus back to Ft Sam, back to the Army way of things. Our focus now would have to be the upcoming EMT exams to start the following day. We signed in, had our accountability formation and retired to our respective barracks. There was some down time between this time and chow, so we all tried to study the best we could. The next day would be our practical exam, or skills testing. I had all that pretty down pat, it was just the rest I was worried about. Staff Sergeant <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_4">LeValley</span> called all the squad leaders to his room soon after chow and told us that an inspection was going to be sometime this week and we needed to be squared away because the senior drill sergeant was going to be the one to conduct it. This would mean that there was no way anyone could clean or square things away good enough for him.<br />Monday started off the same, 0430, PT and all the usual, then at 0800, the testing began. We would have to go to different skills stations and demonstrate the proper techniques of treating injuries. The process took all day to get the company through it, we all were nervous about the ordeal. In the down time between stations, we took more time to study for the written exam, which would be in a couple more days. I passed all my skills tests without problem and felt rather confident about becoming an EMT, in spite of all the unrelated stresses and micromanagement I had endured during the process. The whole day was pretty much hurry up and wait, the drill sergeants really didn't bother us much on our downtime, but they patrolled constantly making sure we were behaving. After the skills testing had been completed by each class, we reported back to the class room area, then to the barracks. For the most part, the day had been easy. We were relieved to have at least part of the testing over with, now came the study crunch.<br />We arrived upstairs to an absolute mess. During the day, Senior Drill Sergeant Myers had conducted his inspection. Our squad bays were a disaster; the mattresses had all been turned upside down, things in lockers had been strewn all over the place, much like the scene I had encountered at basic training. Soon after this, <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_5">SSG</span> <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_6">LeValley</span> ordered us out to the company area where we were met by our drill sergeants and Senior Drill Sergeant Myers. After some of his usual ranting and raving, the senior drill sergeant dropped us all for push-ups, then told us we had to get the barracks in "ship shape" before our written tests, that inspections would occur the next two days. We were released back upstairs to mitigate the damage and regroup. All the stress of testing, and now this...nothing could be easy around there. We finished up just prior to bed check, and again, made plans to get back up and study after the drill sergeant did his walk through. After the coast was clear, we one by one got back up and took out books. Probably twenty minutes after we began studying, we heard the fire guard call out, "At ease!!", meaning the drill sergeant was back on the floor. The sergeant was yelling for everyone to get by their bunks, he breezed past the fire guard and into the first squad bay where the guys were all still up and studying. Quickly they jumped up into a position of attention, but it was too late, we had been busted. We were all ordered out into the hall way of the barracks and stood at attention while the drill sergeant paced around us. Staff Sergeant <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_7">LeValley</span> was amongst us, standing stoic as we were preparing to get smoked, which began very shortly after. We were smoked harder than we had been until that point, and it lasted for almost an hour. So much for study time.<br />The next day was to be a review day for the written test, but first, after breakfast, we had to endure another inspection. Senior Drill Sergeant Myers walked through the barracks with <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_8">SSG</span> <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_9">LeValley</span> and Van <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_10">Zant</span> while we prepared for class time. Lord knows what we would come back to after the way things went overnight for us. We went into class without knowing what the inspection results were, but we could only guess.<br />After the day was over we returned to the barracks to a scene much like the day before, all our stuff tossed everywhere. Staff Sergeant <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_11">LeValley</span> also informed us that the floors had to be be stripped and <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_12">rewaxed</span> before morning, and the showers and latrines had to be 'immaculate'. This was the evening before our EMT written exam, one that we were told was one of the hardest tests to take. We grumbled about the tasks and split into groups to accomplish it all. The longest and most tedious part would be the stripping/waxing of the floors back to a high gloss shine. We couldn't be in the areas being waxed, so those of us not actively involved in the process would be cleaning other areas. We had decided that we would clean the barracks from top to bottom, front and back and leave no area untouched, a task that would surely go into the wee hours. At bed check, we were about half done, the plan was to finish after the drill sergeant left, regardless of the consequences. Luckily it was Drill Sergeant <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_13">Tharpe</span> who walked through and he told <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_14">SSG</span> <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_15">LeValley</span> that he wouldn't be back up as long as he wasn't needed. This left us open to our own devices to get the job done, only we couldn't have the bay lights on. We finally got everything done around 0130 hours, wake up was in three hours.<br />Test day arrived much too early, we were all sluggish getting motivated, which quickly prompted a smoking from Drill Sergeant Walls. My eyes felt as though they were on fire as I struggled to keep them open. After the PT session and during the first formation before breakfast, we were informed that our inspection would take place before class time, then prior to our exam, we would be notified how we did. The test would begin after lunch, which meant in addition to being sleepy, we would have a full belly and be in a warm class room for the long exam...not a good combination. After breakfast we went to our respective class rooms and began the <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_16">pre</span>-registering process for the test. We had a little time to study, but if we didn't have it by now, we wouldn't pass the test for sure. I had a hard time trying to stay alert during this down time, the sergeant would pace around and tap us with a pointer stick if we started to nod off. After the registration process, we started learning about more combat medical procedures and how to incorporate what we learned in basic training with the new knowledge in order to stay alive if ever in a combat situation.<br />After lunch, it was test time. We marched over to some old World War 2 era buildings that were not air conditioned. The exam would take approximately 2-3 hours and the hot San Antonio sun mixed with the fatigue from the night before would be a challenge. We began the test after a few minutes, and the sergeant in charge sat up front reading as we took it. I got about halfway through the test and started seeing double. My eyes felt like they were on fire as I tried to read the questions. My mind was scrambled with the multiple choice answers in front of me; on several questions, the answers were almost identical except for one word or phrase. I guess at one point I dosed off because I felt a tap on my shoulder and looked up to see the sergeant peering over my back. It was a sure bet that I would have to do push-ups, but he didn't have me do them-at that moment. That instant zapped me back into reality and I stayed focused for the remainder of the test. It was a difficult test partly due to the answers, and also because we were so rushed into the course. Outside influences also factored in, my mind wasn't totally focused like it should have been. Finally, it was over, I finished the 150 question monstrosity in about two hours, 30 minutes. After we were finished, we had to exit the room and report to another holding area until we were all done. That's when I was greeted first thing by another sergeant who quickly dropped me for push-ups. Apparently my short nap story was relayed to him. Everyone finally finished, no one was entirely confident about the results, which we wouldn't receive for another couple weeks. After we marched back to the company area, we were released to our platoon sergeants, who advised us we were on barracks duty until supper. After supper, we were told by Drill Sergeants <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_17">Tharpe</span> and Walls that due to the high level of stress we had endured that day, they were going to release us early. Some of the guys and gals went into town, Kim and I stayed around post and went to the Hacienda. I ran into <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_18">JB</span> and Bull, so we went to the music room and jammed all the stress away. Several others joined us as spectators as we jammed, we had the <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_19">Jimi</span> Hendrix songs 'Fire' and 'Purple Haze' down good. I started the song 'NIB' from Black Sabbath and we free lanced it, not entirely doing the song justice. After a while, we all went down into the food area and game rooms. Bull saw a <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_20">flyer</span> for the local talent contest and told <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_21">JB</span> and me about it. It was held every Thursday night and we could win a free large pizza and drinks, not exactly a recording contract but still.... We decided that the next Thursday we would enter the contest and hope for the best. We had some solid songs and had a good shot. Kim and I walked back well before curfew, just taking in the warm evening. We had grown very close to each other and seemed like we could go far in our lives. We sat out in the company area talking about everything until the duty sergeants came and told us all it was time to turn in for the night. I wondered why these moments had to end every night, moments of comfort I kept close to me.<br />The next morning at PT, we noticed a bit of a difference. Staff Sergeant <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_22">LeValley</span> was not heading the formation as usual, <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_23">SSG</span> Van <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_24">Zant</span> had taken his place. As a matter of fact, <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_25">SSG</span> <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_26">LeValley</span> was not even in the formation, an oddity for him. Soldiers like <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_27">SSG</span> <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_28">LeValley</span> who had prior Army duty were allowed different liberties than those of entry level soldiers. They could go off post every night, could stay later than usual and could drink alcohol. They had been able to do this from day one, when the rest of us had to endure the four week lock down. We ran our normal morning routine, then after breakfast, my platoon was held over from the rest of the company. Drill Sergeant Walls and <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_29">SSG</span> Van <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_30">Zant</span> stood out in front of the platoon with no sign of <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_31">SSG</span> <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_32">LeValley</span>. No one really knew what was going on until Drill Sergeant Walls began talking. He told us that even though some of us had more freedoms, we were still soldiers in the United States Army and should be held at high standards anywhere we went. After that, he turned the platoon over to <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_33">SSG</span> Van <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_34">Zant</span>.<br />"Fourth Platoon, your crutch is gone," he began. I was oblivious to what he was saying, but kept standing at ease as he spoke.<br />"Last night, there was an incident where a soldier was arrested for being drunk and disorderly in public downtown. That soldier is still in jail and will face disciplinary actions according to the <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_35">UCMJ</span>," <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_36">SSG</span> Van <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_37">Zant</span> continued. The <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_38">UMCJ</span> stood for the Uniform Code of Military Justice which decided discipline based on severity of the offense, and apparently this offense was very serious. It seems <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_39">SSG</span> <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_40">Levalley</span> was at the local Hooters in San Antonio with some other soldiers from post and got very intoxicated and belligerent. He <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_41">apparently</span> grabbed one of the Hooters Girls and tried to make her sit on his lap, and when approached by the manager, <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_42">SSG</span> <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_43">LeValley</span> got irate and began pushing him. The police were called and <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_44">SSG</span> <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_45">LeValley</span> resisted arrest while they were trying to put him in the car. He was booked in for disorderly conduct, public intoxication and resisting arrest. Staff Sergeant Van <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_46">Zant</span> was now our platoon leader and did not have the easy going demeanor of <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_47">SSG</span> <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_48">LeValley</span>. The next month and so many days would be interesting for sure.<br />Now that the EMT course was over, we did more clinical and battlefield medical procedure classes. This was not as crammed and stressful as the EMT course but was still a lot of information to comprehend all of a sudden. We were learning basic nursing skills for use if we were stationed in a hospital setting, suddenly I realized that the B in 91-B also could mean 91-Bedpan cleaner, not exactly the dashing combat medic who braved the bullets and saved his fellow soldiers. For me, the stress level had eased some in class, but the platoon duties were still getting to me. It had become redundant to the point of being ridiculous, all the endless barracks inspections and constant cleaning sessions. Being a squad leader was an honor for me, but not the most desirable position to be in. If a soldier in my squad screwed up, it was on me. If the squad bay was not up to par, it was on me. Staff Sergeant Van Zant was beginning to be on all the squad leaders cases. Then one evening, it came to a head. My squad was cleaning the showers and hallway. My philosophy has always been that I should be expected to jump in and do the work that I would ask others to do. It had never been an issue until this time. I was busy in the shower room shining a shower head when SSG Van Zant came in and ordered me to put down the rag.<br />"Soldier, just what in the Hell are you doing?" He barked out.<br />"Shining this shower head, sergeant," was my reply. He walked over and grabbed the rag out of my hand forcibly and started yelling at me.<br />"Private, you are a leader, you do not do their work for them. If you have people who won't do the work, you need to address it," SSG Van Zant yelled out. I tried to start an explanation of why, but he cut me off, pissing me off. He continued to berate me, going as far as saying that I should maybe not be a squad leader. This set me off.<br />"Sergeant Van Zant, with all due respect, I feel I should show my squad that I lead by example," He cut me off again and ordered me to his room. I followed him, still fuming. Once we got into his office, the tirade began again. He stood about an inch from my face, ordering me to attention, of which I complied. He started telling me I had told him the wrong answer when asked a question and I <span style="font-style: italic;">would</span> respect him. This went on for a few minutes and then he backed a half step away from me. By this time I had enough of what he was doing. I fired back at him, almost possessed it seemed.<br />"Staff Sergeant, I <span style="font-style: italic;">do not</span> appreciate what you have done to me and I <span style="font-style: italic;">do not</span> respect you for it," I began, the words just flowing out of my mouth in a way I would have never done before. I continued as he stood there, his eyes bulging out and the veins starting to show in his temples.<br />"What I do is show the guys I am not above them, I am a soldier just like they are and will do what they do. And furthermore, if you don't like it then you can take this squad leader position and stick it." SSG Van Zant snapped back and told me he could arrange that and that I had best watch my tone and attitude. I promptly snapped back and told him what he could go and do with himself, which escalated the matter even more. It had turned into a back and forth shouting match, no longer one sided. I had simply had enough of being told I wasn't good enough by him and that I shouldn't help my squad do what I tell them to do. One of the last things said was SSG Van Zant telling me that I could be reduced in rank because of insubordination, which I replied something along the lines of "go ahead, I ain't got shit for rank, so take away buddy." Apparently, the shouting was loud enough to prompt Drill Sergeant Tharpe to intervene. He whipped the door open and yelled out a stern "At ease!!!" I was ordered out of the sergeant's room and into the drill sergeant's office to wait. It was then that I realized that I had probably made a grave mistake as a private in the United States Army. I had went face to face with a senior non-commissioned officer with fourteen years of experience and a combat tour of duty under his belt and who was now my direct supervisor in my chain of command. Well, it had been a good stint in the Army the last few months.<br />Drill Sergeant Tharpe came into his office, I stood in attention and could feel my face flushing all the color away. He shut the door and told me to have a seat. He sat behind his desk a minute and started chuckling and shaking his head. I was beyond nervous now. He started the conversation by asking if I knew what I had just done, of which I acknowledged. I wasn't apologetic about it, I stood by what my core principle was that started the incident. Drill Sergeant Tharpe continued to tell me the possible consequences of my actions and then said "just wait until old Senior Drill Sergeant Myers gets wind of this." Boy was I in for it now. I sat there stoic as I should have, then the drill sergeant asked what I had to say.<br />"Drill Sergeant, it blew way out of proportion, but I don't like being talked down for doing what I think is right." I had never really been one to be outspoken, let alone to fire back at someone in authority like I did.I remembered that one time I had back talked my dad one day and he slapped the Hell out of me for it. I never did it again after that. This was potentially a bit more than a slap in the mouth however. I continued to plead my case of being one to lead by example by doing the same tasks I would expect my soldiers would. Drill Sergeant Tharpe then told me that I was a supervisor, and that I needed to tell the soldiers what to do, then supervise them to make sure they did it right the first time. I understood the concept, but still I had my beliefs of what should be done. The talk continued and Drill Sergeant Tharpe laughed and told me to relax.<br />"Kiss, do you realize just how mad you just made Staff Sergeant Van Zant? Man, you have some balls." He laughed again and told me to go back to the squad bay and he would handle SSG Van Zant. I walked out of the office, still petrified I was in deep trouble. When I got back to the squad bay, PFC Miller walked up and shook my hand, telling me way to go. A few others patted me on the back and gave me kudos, but I knew that it was short lived, I would probably get an Article 15 at least out of this ordeal.<br />That night, I stayed around the company area, Kim came out to me and I told her what had happened, she said she supported me and what I did to an extent, but she also guessed I would be in hot water. I returned back upstairs early that evening, my head racing with thoughts. SSG Van Zant avoided me, but there was noticeable tension. I didn't sleep well that night and 0430 came way too early. After PT, Drill Sergeant Walls called me out after formation and I just knew I was in trouble. He told me I was to report to the staff duty office, I was to be on CQ duty that day. Great, I was now a target for any crappy detail or duty out there. The entire day, I worked in the staff duty office, answering phones and directing them to different areas, running paperwork back and forth to the command staff and first sergeant's office. Overall the daily duty wasn't that bad, the most stressful part was dealing with the command staff and senior drill sergeant. I was, however, commended for my appearance and military courtesy. Senior Drill Sergeant Myers must not have been informed of my bout with SSG Van Zant yet. My duty ended at 2000 hours, which left no time to go and enjoy the evening with Kim or at the Hacienda. I returned upstairs while everyone was cleaning the barracks, I left my squad in charge of PFC Miller while I was on CQ duty, things seemed to be going smoothly. Still the shadow of the previous evening's events loomed over me, all the while, SSG Van Zant had no contact with me other than the daily squad leader reports he asked for.<br />The weekend came and went and the next week arrived too early again. Thursday night was the talent show at the Hacienda, so Bull and I told everyone we could about it in hopes of getting a decent showing of support. We all agreed that we would be at the Hacienda and ready to go at 1830 hours, just as soon as we cleared supper and changed. I arrived, then JB, but Bull was not there yet. We went over what we would do, our strongest song we played was 'Purple Haze'. JB went up and told the person in charge we were entering the contest, but didn't put a band name on the sheet of paper, matter of fact, we didn't have one. The event started at 1900 hours, we were third on the list, and Bull hadn't showed up. This was not going to go well, I just knew it. The first person got up with an acoustic guitar and played a Garth Brooks song to some mediocre applause, his voice wasn't really that strong. The next person was a girl who did some type of rap act with background music provided by a CD. She received a big round of applause. Then it was our tun, and Bull hadn't showed up. I was starting to panic, JB was not happy. I went to the person announcing the bands and told him we were waiting, he went onto the next act, a guy with a guitar who wanted to do Dylan's 'Knocking on Heaven's Door'. I had talked to him earlier and as I was heading back to wait on Bull, the guy asked me to join him on bass. I obliged, and the guy's timing while singing was just awful, he couldn't do both. Finally, the song was over and I saw Bull racing in with a guitar, a breath of relief. When the announcer introduced us, he gave me a look and asked the name of the band. The first thing I could think of was the Wiley Neckbones, a name that one of the drill sergeants had called us from time to time, and it stuck. We got up, tuned up and got ready to play, Bull looked at JB and me and apologized, then started the intro to 'Purple Haze'. JB and I followed suit and the song began, except when Bull started singing, he sang the lyrics to the TV show 'Green Acres' instead of 'Purple Haze'. It was an absolute riot the way it fit and we had a ball playing the song, we were tight and right on it musically. When we finished the song, we got a great round of applause, this was my very first public performance on a stage in front of an audience. After several minutes, the announcer came back and announced that the winner was the rapper girl, a decision I couldn't believe, but it was what it was. Bull told JB and me that the reason he was late is because he was held over by his drill sergeant, apparently his class studies were lacking and he was on the chopping block for a recycle or dismissal.<br />Kim and I left soon after the show and went outside. We were sitting on some bleachers at the baseball field and noticed a couple kissing close by. She got really quiet and put her head on my shoulder. I asked what was wrong and she told me the girl we were seeing was married and had been bragging about how she had a man at home and could get any man at Fort Sam that she wanted. It was a weird moment for me, until that point, I had never really thought about people and affairs, but this scene obviously disturbed Kim for some reason. She stayed really quiet all the way back to the barracks and we parted ways. I went back upstairs and did some odd chores and grabbed my notebook. I had been working on <span style="font-style: italic;">The Grand Illusion</span> with no real resolve and I brainstormed trying to figure out a direction with no luck. With the events of the past week or so I was becoming drained. I wrote a letter home and soon it was lights out time. As I closed my notebook, I read the last line of my unfinished poem which in hindsight was rather ominous, "Take me away, lead me into the grand illusion."<br />Another week gone by, another month left in training, and a new life still ahead. Where would I go and who would be there still with me?Rob Kiskadenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11729507457550464443noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8626888127365718762.post-24265558275820995912010-05-05T15:13:00.000-07:002010-07-17T07:50:22.880-07:00Chapter 11: Movin' OnI had just left my home behind for the second time in just a few months. This time wasn't as bad as before, I had got used to being gone, but this time, I didn't know when I would be back. I was to arrive in Atlanta for a turn around flight to Texas, I hated flying into Atlanta because it seemed like there was dead air over the city that caused turbulence. We arrived into the city without much incident and I went to seek out the next terminal. I had a short lay over according to my ticket, but once I got to the counter, the flight was delayed. I looked around and saw some other guys who were dressed in Class A uniforms, who also were going back to San Antonio. I talked to another guy in line at the check in counter and he pointed out a man standing in front and asked, "Hey does that guy look like Peter Buck?" I was quite oblivious to who Peter Buck was, but the guy explained that Peter was the drummer for the band R.E.M., a band I was very familiar with. As we got closer I asked if indeed he was Peter Buck and he acknowledged he was and to hold on while he checked in, then he would talk to us. After we all checked in, Peter was very gracious to us and signed a CD the other guy had. I didn't have any R.E.M. Cd's but he signed my folder to my airline ticket. He then invited us to come back to the airport bar to meet the rest of the band. This was very cool, R.E.M. was a band I knew, liked several of their songs, but was not a really big fan. To get a chance to meet them, it was quite the experience. The band was sitting around a table and Peter introduced us as some fans in uniform. We shook their hands and asked for autographs, but Mike Stipe told us he didn't put his name on anything unless it was charitable, nice, I mean we were in military uniform, wasn't that charity enough? We sat and talked to the band, they told us they were on the way to San Antonio to shoot the video to their upcoming single 'Drive'. How cool, they would all be on the same flight. After several minutes, we got the boarding call and departed from the bar, thanked the band for letting us hang out and went toward the boarding gate. We took off after a brief delay on the taxi way due to an incoming flight and was on the way westward. My flight into Dallas, Texas was rather uneventful, I caught glimpses of the midwestern landscape from five miles up, mainly trying to figure out exactly where I was flying over. I scanned the radio stations on my walkman radio, trying to see what the other stations were playing. All I was hearing was bands like Alice In Chains, Pearl Jam, Soundgarden, and some rap mixed in. I liked Alice In Chains' songs, but the music I was accustomed to was fading into oblivion. I fell asleep on the plane, and soon after that I heard the captain's voice come over the PA and tell us we were on approach to Dallas. I woke up and rubbed my eyes, the sky outside was bright with a few broken clouds hovering above. I scanned the horizon and saw the city sky line in the distance. The plane banked sharply as the buildings came into view, so I got my camera out. The plane leveled out just as the Cowboys stadium came into view and I snapped a picture of it. The plane then hit some turbulence as we descended so I sat back into my seat again. We landed with a slight jolt and traveled down the runway to the gate. I exited the plane and checked the flight plan for my connector to San Antonio. I still had about an hour until the next flight, so I wandered around the airport shops for a while. I was looking in the gift shop for music, but found they had none, the items they did have were outrageously over priced. I wandered around a little while just taking in the sights, then found a pay phone and called home to let everyone know I had made it to Dallas. The phone calls home were getting better, mom was taking it all much better now, the visit home didn't cause her to get too bent out of shape.<br />I finally got to my departure gate just in time to board, all the time I spent walking around and chatting with mom nearly made me miss my flight. Once on board, I sat in my seat, already weary from traveling all day. At this point, I only wanted to nod off, so I buckled in and waited until we got airborne before I went to sleep. The flight to San Antonio was rather short, but I still had a good nap. Once I arrived at the San Antonio Airport, I knew I had to be back in military mode, the civilian life for the two weeks was now over. I went to the baggage claim area, fully expecting to find that my Army bag was lost in transit, but amazingly it arrived on the conveyor belt. I picked it up and walked toward the lobby area, noticing there were several other soldiers milling about. I wandered over to them, and recognized a couple of the guys from the 232nd Battalion. Soon a sergeant came over and read off a roll call roster, we all acknowledged we were present, except for one name. One private was absent from the roll call, prompting the sergeant to go over and check the flight schedules. After some time, the sergeant returned and ordered us to load up on the bus for the trip to Fort Sam Houston. It was late in the evening, nearing dusk as I climbed aboard, movin' on once more.<br />The bus arrived at Fort Sam after dark, and this time, there was no drill sergeant storming aboard the bus ordering us off. We were to go into the CQ office and sign in and then wait in formation for another roll call. I saw several others who had made it back earlier, including Clark. Clark told me that he had seen me in Winchester's K-Mart while I was on leave but never could get my attention. We laughed about the time back home and how much had changed in such a short time. The laughter was cut short when the drill sergeants and Senior Drill Sergeant Myers arrived. We quickly got into formation, the platoons looked complete, our squad leaders were hurriedly counting us, all of my squad was present. Senior Drill Sergeant Myers ordered the drill sergeants to give report and one by one they platoons reported all members present, all but my platoon. We were one person short of having a full roll call, Private Rodriguez-Gonzalez was absent. The entire company was ordered to do push-ups because of this. After the push-ups, Senior Drill Sergeant Myers revoked all our after duty passes, as expected. Some welcome back. Drill Sergeant Tharpe told us after the senior drill sergeant left not to worry about anything, we would get our passes back, that it wasn't our fault because "some joker decided he couldn't hack it as a soldier medic." We were dismissed to our barracks, and I started unpacking. I noticed PFC Crutchley sitting on his bunk looking off into space. His usual cheerful demeanor was sullen as he sat there. I walked over and asked him if everything was okay and he replied with something I never saw coming.<br />"Yeah, I guess I'll be alright," he began, "I found a place under my arm when I was on leave, a big knot." He went on to tell me that he was afraid it was cancer and had went to a doctor at his hometown and had to follow up at the Army hospital at Ft Sam the following week. He was trying to stay upbeat, and I could tell he was glad someone took the time to ask how he was doing. After we talked he got up and started milling around some, but he was still not the same person he was before the Christmas break.<br />The cycle of training resumed just as hard and fast as we had left off. The medic class was becoming more strenuous and demanding. We were learning the patient handling and assessment skills now and had to memorize the proper steps in the assessment procedure in order to pass the skills test. In addition to that, we were still doing PT, barracks duties and general military tasks. Study time was still a crunch for us, and it was showing in some of our class grades. The class instructors still questioned the reasoning behind the way we were expected to keep up with our studies and deal with the senior drill sergeant's ways. Frankly we all did. Basic training was physically demanding, nothing like what we were enduring at Fort Sam, the everyday physical plus mental stress. The physical stress was taking a toll on me as far as my long fight with shin splints. The PT runs were really starting to hurt me more, I guess it was because I wasn't constantly on road marches like I was in basic training. Either way, it came to a point where I had to take some type of action. I decided one day to report to sick call at the clinic, a bold step simply for the fact I would be missing out on needed class time, but it was becoming a hindrance to me and jeopardized my Army enlistment.<br />I reported to the clinic early one morning after being excused from PT. I sat and waited in the lobby for what seemed like an eternity. There were many there, some with noticeable ailments, others were not so obvious. I kind of felt like the not so obvious soldiers there with no visible injury, and honestly that morning, the pain wasn't that bad in my legs. I finally went into the exam room and the doctor asked a few questions about how long I had been experiencing the pain, and if anything helped it ease up. He then asked me if I was just there to get a no PT profile, a rather offensive question I thought. I told him that was not my intention and was quite upset he implied such a thing. He went on to explain that the majority of soldiers who come in for sick call simply want out of the day's duty, which I could understand, but seriously.....He asked that? I left the exam room with a bottle of Motrin and a no running profile for two weeks, and a new found disliking of Army doctors. The next morning in PT, I presented my profile paper to Drill Sergeant Walls who told me that I was ordered not to run but could "walk briskly along the platoon." Yeah, whatever that meant...still felt like running to me.<br />On my personal time, I would sort through letters I'd received and reply back to them. I wrote Shanna and had received a letter back from her, she wrote how she thought it was cool that she had got a letter from someone in the Army. We talked about the time we spent together, and I apologized for asking her to wait on me. She explained that she didn't know where her life was going to take her either and I understood that. We exchanged a couple of letters, then lost contact soon after. Everyone at home was still doing well, I received letters upon letters from mom and Dee Dee. On the personal front at Fort Sam, Kim and I started spending more time together. She would accompany me over to the Hacienda Club and watch me play music with Bull and JB, I was starting to really like her and she seemed to like me quite a bit too. We got along really good and she had a great sense of humor, so far so good.<br />Medic class was breezing right along, our grades were getting better, so Senior Drill Sergeant Myers lifted our restrictions a bit more, we could start venturing off post now, but still had to be back at curfew leaving little time to explore San Antonio. For most, it meant it was party time. San Antonio was well known for its Riverwalk lined with shops and bars, and some took full advantage. The first night we were allowed off post, Kim and I went with another couple to downtown and to the Riverwalk Mall. It was a welcome release from the stress and regular mayhem of post. The Riverwalk was a tranquil place decked out with the Southwest flair only Texas could offer. There were outdoor restaurants that lined the river that flowed through the city, Mariachi bands played their Mexican folk songs to entertain the patrons as they ate and relaxed. The mall was nothing like the malls back home, this place was enormous. My first stop was the music store, naturally. Kim didn't seem to mind, although her music tastes were a bit different than mine. I picked up Ted Nugent's 'Double Live Gonzo', and she was like "Who is THAT?"<br />We walked along the river and talked about where we came from, she was from upstate New York, near Albany. She described the area as mountainous, and she loved hiking in the mountains and going to Lake George. Her home area seemed much more exciting than where I hailed from. Soon, it was time to grab a taxi and head back to post. The ride back was nice, Kim and I held hands all the way back, such innocence. We arrived back at the post and I hugged her. Open displays of affection were against the rules in the company area, so we didn't want to push anything. I got back upstairs and Bryce and Mcmahan were obviously intoxicated. They had went to a local restaurant and dove into pitchers of beer and were feeling no pain. They were quite hilarious, but Crutchley was becoming unnerved about the situation. It was not long before bed check and he wanted them to be settled down before then. Finally after a few minutes, they got in their bunks, McMahan's bunk was above Bryce's, and after a few failed attempts to get up on the bunk, he plopped down behind Bryce, spooning him. All of us started cracking up and I grabbed my camera, snapping off some rather interesting pictures of the two. With the help of Miller and Christensen, McMahan finally got up into his bunk, we wondered just how long it would be until we heard a ker-plunk onto the marble tile floor.<br />Bed check was uneventful, aside from the snickering from Bryce and McMahan. The drill sergeant passed it off and nothing was said about their condition. The next morning, which was Saturday, some of the guys woke up with a bit of a shock. Someone had went through randomly and painted people's fingernails or toenails bright red or hot pink. It was a funny sight to see, all these Army soldiers with brightly painted digits. We had formation soon, and they had no time to try to rid themselves of the paint beforehand. A few just went about the business as if nothing happened to them, while a couple more donned their gloves for formation. Once out in the company area, Drill Sergeant Tharpe walked around the platoon and stopped suddenly, looking down at one guy's hands.<br />"Soldier, why do you have gloves on when it's sixty-five degrees out," he asked, "get those gloves off and give me some push-ups." The soldier slowly took off his gloves, exposing his hooker red fingernails. We all started laughing at the scene and Drill Sergeant Tharpe just stared and shook his head, trying not to laugh. As he walked around, he noticed more and more painted nails, which prompted a quick "what the Hell is going on with my platoon?" The entire scene was just hilarious, and by now the drill sergeant was seeing the humor somewhat. He walked up to SSG LeValley and asked, "Staff Sergeant, what do you make of all this?" SSG LeValley replied, "Drill Sergeant, they are just getting in touch with their feminine side I guess," causing the entire platoon to lose it and erupt in laughter. Drill Sergeant Tharpe just shook his head and dropped us for push-ups. We did see that he had a sense of humor underneath that brown hat.<br />The weekend breezed by and once again it was a duty week, it seemed the weeks were starting to come much sooner. One detail we were tasked out to do was attend the Brigade Change of Command Ceremony, so in addition to the PT, long classes, military duties and after hour studies, we would have to be taught drill and ceremonies all over again. For five straight days, after class and chow, we had to practice marching and doing pass and review until almost dark. The ceremony would be the following Thursday and until then we would rehearse, rehearse and rehearse some more. The ceremony day came and we were lined up in formation much like the basic training graduation. We would march in field order of the battalions, then the companies, and do a pass and review as we passed the commander's podium. The ceremony would commence from there as the new commander addressed the brigade formation and guests. The road march for the pass and review would cover about a mile and a half in length, a march that would be at a brisk pace. As we marched, my shins started getting that familiar feeling of sharp pain again. I toughed it out and had no choice but to keep up the pace in the formation, otherwise the entire formation would lag behind and look bad. The pass and review went smoothly, and we formed up for the commander's remarks. This part of the ceremony took ages and of course, we had one or two fall out after locking their knees. I realized then that there was nothing quick and easy about a military ceremony.<br />Again, there was little time for personal time and homework studies during the duty week, leaving us to our own devices to study. We each took turns doing fire guard, so it helped to have that time to look over our books. We were now going on five actual weeks of medic school, and the EMT course was wrapping up. Again, normally the same class in the civilian world would take six months, we had completed it in just over five weeks. The class focus would then be basic combat maneuvers and using our newly learned medical skills in the field. We would be going to a field site across the creek by post a day or two a week and learn proper stretcher carries under hostile fire situations and how to load helicopters and field ambulances. This would be fun for me, kind of like the field exercises in basic training. The first day we went out to the site we learned how to set up an aid station, which was basically a tent in the field that worked as a quick treatment center, like a clinic. We learned about triage, or sorting out casualties according to their level of injury and did the obstacle course. The course was like the one in basic training, but with one major difference-we would be carrying a person on a stretcher in a team of four. Not an easy task by no means.<br />The evenings after all was said and done, we all had to unwind in some way. If I wasn't going to the Hacienda, I was going to the food court, which had arcade games galore. Kim and I were always together after duty hours and things seemed to be really going somewhere with us. I didn't mind her coming along wherever I went, we always had something to talk about aside from the Army. The little band project with Bull and JB was moving along quite well too, we had started getting several people come and watch us jam in the rehearsal room. All this was welcome release from the everyday stress, but my stress was only beginning.<br />I was called to SSG LeValley's room one day before classes started and was told to have a seat, he needed to talk to me about something important. My mind raced and I saw Crutchley sitting there also. Great, my squad leader and platoon sergeant ganging up on me, I must have done something really bad.<br />"Kiskaden, you seemed pretty squared away with things, I have never heard anyone say a word bad about you," SSG LeValley began, "your military bearing has been good, you seem to have a level head." I was waiting for the big crescendo of whatever I had done wrong. He continued, that's why I am recommending you for third squad leader." Wait-Crutchley was the squad leader, what was going on here? Crutchley continued the session.<br />"Kiss, you were my first and only choice to take over for me. I have to go back to New York, I have cancer and am done with the Army." I felt bad for him, he was such a nice guy and seemed so care free about himself, but I could now see the worry in his face. I didn't know what to say, so I nodded. SSG LeValley asked me again if I would accept the offer, and I agreed, not really knowing what I was getting into. Later in the morning, we met with Drill Sergeants Tharpe and Walls and they approved me taking the helm of third squad. Drill Sergeant Tharpe warned me that some may not see eye to eye with me and may cause a problem, I had two in the squad that were specialists with prior ROTC and Army duty that were key candidates. I was very appreciative that they had the confidence in me to do the job, but still worried to death over it all. I told Kim during class break and she was excited for me, but the rest of my platoon wasn't aware of it just yet, it would be official at the end of the duty day.<br />After classes, we had formation as usual, and Drill Sergeant Walls called Crutchley and me out to the front of the formation. Senior Drill Sergeant Myers approached us all and we saluted him as he stood in front of us. Drill Sergeants Walls and Tharpe flanked the senior drill sergeant, facing Crutchley and me. Crutchley was told to fall out aside the drill sergeants and SSG Levalley stood by my side. The ceremony was meticulous but short, we exchanged formalities and salutes and I was announced as third squad's leader. I took Crutchley's place at the head of the squad file and could feel the stares from some of the guys. There were soldiers who were much more qualified and had more time in service than me, but I wasn't going to step away from the challenge. This was to be a long and interesting tenure I was soon to realize.<br />My first true test as a leader came one evening in the company area. We were to do study time and barracks duty one evening, with the individual squads assigned to specific areas to clean. My squad was assigned the company area and it had to be 'immaculate' as it was put to us. I was told that no one got released from the area until it was inspected. Around 1830 hours, we finally got to the inspection phase, and Drill Sergeant Tharpe dismissed us to chow. The problem was that another platoon had already got in line, so the guys from my squad had to go to the back of the line. Study time was to happen at 1900 hours, meaning we would have to go all through the line, be served, eat and back in the barracks within a half hour. We hurried up and ate and rushed back to the company area, it was 1905 hours, five minutes later than we should have been. As we hurried across the company area, Senior Drill Sergeant Myers stopped us dead in our tracks.<br />"All of you drop!!" He belted out. We did some push-ups and he had us recover, only to berate us.<br />"It is five minutes past the time you were to be in study time, all of you will lose your privileges," he began, then he pointed at me. "And you, the new squad leader, I would expect more out of you, soldier." His words were pissing me off. For starters, we had to endure his ridiculous process of cleaning an open outside area, then holding off on even getting to eat so we could be properly inspected. At this point I had enough.<br />"Senior Drill Sergeant, permission to speak," I asked. He granted me the request, and I began, "Senior Drill Sergeant, we were tasked out to clean the company area and were told we couldn't leave until we were inspected, then we were told by Drill Sergeant Tharpe to go eat chow."<br />Senior Drill Sergeant Myers just stared at me as I spoke, the others also stared, not knowing quite what to think about me standing up to him. I continued, "And furthermore when we got into the chow hall, there was another platoon from Alpha Company ahead of us, so we had to hurry and eat as fast as we could, so technically it wasn't our fault." I stopped before saying anything else. Normally before I left for the Army I was quite passive, not really speaking my mind, but I felt I had to in this case. The senior drill sergeant stood there, looking at us as I held my tongue. He put us at ease and looked at me and said, "Well, Squad Leader, I will take that into consideration and let it slide this time, and trust me, I will check to see if what you are telling me is true. You are not losing your privileges <span style="font-style: italic;">this</span> time, soldiers, carry on." And with that, we were dismissed to the barracks. My legs were shaking as we left the area, the idea of me standing up to Hitler had just sank in. We retreated back upstairs for study time without ny further incident.<br />My squad leader authority was not only tested by those in higher echelons, but also my own squad. One evening we were on barracks duty and SSG LeValley tasked my squad out to clean the showers and latrines. I went in to the squad bay, and there was a guy, who was a specialist rank, lying on his bunk reading. I asked him why he wasn't helping and he snubbed me. I asked again, this time a bit more sternly, and he said to me, "Who the Hell do you think you are, private?" This flew all over me, I started yelling at him to get off his ass. He refused again, and I got louder, causing SSG LeValley and another staff sergeant, Van Zant, to enter the room. They asked what the problem was and I told them about this specialist's attitude. SSG LeValley ordered the specialist to attention and got right into his face, telling him he disobeyed a direct order from a superior and he had better get moving. The specialist told SSG LeValley that he shouldn't have to listen to a measly private, that he 'didn't go through four years of ROTC to be treated like this.' That's when he was ordered to follow the staff sergeants out to the drill sergeant's office. I went back to the rest of the squad and lent a hand with the rest of the cleaning, which was almost done by this point. Soon after, SSG Levalley and Drill Sergeants Walls and Tharpe came to inspect the areas. I was assured by Drill Sergeant Tharpe that this incident involving the specialist would not happen again. I would find out later that the specialist would be reduced in rank to a Private First Class and received an Article 15 for his actions.<br />The next several days passed without much incident, the classes and the mundane micromanagement were the norm now. The stresses of being a squad leader were mounting, I was in charge of fifteen others, the very first time I was ever in charge of anyone else actually. My only releases were my music and spending time with Kim. Soon, we were allowed off post overnight passes and that would take me away from the insanity. I just hoped I could keep everything together in the meantime. January 1993 brought to me new changes in both my Army and personal life. Meanwhile, I could tell things were changing back home too, aside from the letters I was still getting from mom and Dee Dee, there were few from anyone coming in, but that was okay, I barely had time to respond back. I had heard that Chris Pettit had tried to join the Army soon after I left, but was denied for medical reasons, I lost track with Les totally, Jason and Jeff were about the only two people I heard from consistently. The homesickness was gone now when I called home, I was indeed moving on. The days would pass slowly and get even more hectic and stressful, and the time off post would become my awakening and release from it all. I felt I was starting to mature some, a thought that would have never crossed my mind just a few short months earlier. My feelings for Kim were starting to get stronger, neither of us knowing what was to be in store for our future; we lived each day as it came. And for that matter, I had no idea what the future would bring for me, either. I just knew that I was still on the right track and had to take the good times as they came and the bad times in stride as they would soon be moving on as well.Rob Kiskadenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11729507457550464443noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8626888127365718762.post-2192786558440571052010-04-18T08:17:00.000-07:002010-05-06T17:45:09.430-07:00Chapter 10: Home Sweet HomeI arrived back home on a two week furlough from the hustle of Fort Sam Houston to much family fanfare. It had been since September that I had been back, and I was definitely not the same kid that left town then. The weather was remarkably colder in <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0">Owingsville</span>, which took some getting used to. The first night and next day all I wanted to do was relax. Surprisingly, I didn't wake up at 0430 like I had been doing the last almost four months, but around 0800, very much earlier than I did when I lived at home. The first morning, mom had homemade gravy and biscuits ready for me, one of my favorite things I had missed. Dad was up and asking if I was ready to go out and go hunting anytime soon, that the Army should have me in good enough shape to hike the rugged hills we used to roam. After all the time away, I was ready to go out and hit the woods back home again, but that would be at a later time. After breakfast, I called Jason and told him I was home. We planned on meeting up later in the day, plus I needed to go do some Christmas shopping for everyone. Casey, Dee Dee and Norman all came over and Casey stuck with me like glue. It was very obvious she had missed me while I was gone. Her shaky writing on the letters she sent to me had talked about her missing me, but I didn't fully realize it until I was home. It was great being back, but also very different. I was on no schedule, no drill sergeant was hounding me and I could be my old self again. This felt rather strange to me in some ways. I always saw the TV commercials for the Army, how it made boys into soldiers and all, but I never took it serious until then.<br />Jason came by and we left out for <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1">Morehead</span> to do some shopping. I wanted to get mom and dad something useful and out of the ordinary, but had no idea exactly what to get. It was much like old days for Jason and me, riding in his truck with his loud stereo system blaring out Van <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_2">Halen</span> and Guns N Roses. He joked about my nearly shaved head, how I looked like I had survived a concentration camp or that I looked like my dad, who was bald. The old banter was meant to ridicule me in a joking way, but was good at the same time. I missed these days. We arrived in <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_3">Morehead</span> and went to the local Rose's store and mini mall. The shops in the mall were still there for the most part, but a few had vacated since I left. The arcade and Music Machine stores were still there, as well as Chris' Guitar Shop, all of which were usual stops for me. The Music Machine store was still the same, records, tapes and <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_4">CD's</span> were in abundance, except it looked like Pearl Jam had taken over. When I had left, <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_5">Metallica</span> and Guns N Roses were the hottest bands to listen to, I couldn't go anywhere without seeing posters and ads of the two bands. Now, Pearl Jam, who I hadn't really listened to, had seemingly taken over. I browsed through the tapes and settled with a Genesis and <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_6">Jimi</span> Hendrix cassette, some old classic rock rather than the new norm. We went into the guitar shop and I saw Jim, the guy who worked there before, who barely recognized me now. Jason and I took down some acoustic guitars and started playing an old Tesla song, it was as if I had never left and we had just practiced the tune the day before. After a while, we left and went into Rose's with the mission to find Christmas gifts. This was the day before cell phones, so it wasn't as convenient to just call someone at the spur of the moment to ask what they thought so and so should get. For the first time, I had a reasonably sized bank account and a steady income to manage, so I wanted to get everyone something extravagant. I found some toys and a video for Casey, something else for Dee Dee and Norman (my mind has since failed me on what I got them), and finally after much deliberation, I got mom and dad a TV stand. I noticed their TV was sitting on a shelf unit with videos strewn about. This stand had an organizing shelf space for movies and fit well with the decor of the living room. Mission accomplished, then on to enjoy the day.<br />Jason and I went over to his cousin Matt's place, but he wasn't home. His mom Julie was there and hugged me so hard I felt my lungs would explode. Matt was out somewhere playing basketball and wouldn't be home for a while, so Jason and I left headed back to <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_7">Owingsville</span>, to stash the gifts at his house. We got to his house and his mom Mary was there waiting. She was almost like a second mom to me, and she too hugged me until I thought I'd explode. In there house sat a small wooden potato bin, just inside the kitchen. Without fail, <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_8">everytime</span> I came to their house, I bumped my leg on it or tripped over it somehow. This time, however I breezed past it, not even thinking about it being there, prompting Mary to comment that the Army had fixed my clumsiness finally. I hadn't put a thought into it until she said that, but I did notice a change about me. I was more confident, had more poise and manners, and knew there was much, much more outside <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_9">Owingsville</span>.<br />The day went on and I finally went back home. Later in the evening, I ventured out alone into town, to cruise the old strip and go to Gateway video. Town was still the same, except not as many people were hanging out, probably due to the cold weather. I went to Gateway, and ran into some old friends there, some I hadn't seen since long before I had left. We chatted a while, each person was fascinated by my stories of basic training and the places I had been so far. I felt kind of like a celebrity, but remained grounded at the same time. Paula and Vickie told me I should come hang out at their place in Mountain View Apartments later, I told them I might, and left to go down to the fire station. No one was at the station when I drove by, the trucks were still parked as they were the last day I left. The members of the department had sent me a card for my birthday while I was at Fort Jackson, proof they still thought about me. I drove around town some more, then went to Paula's apartment. There was a few people there, some I didn't really know well, but I was still welcomed in. I stayed there until nearly midnight, way past my normal bed time those days, then went home to turn in. As I drove home, I looked around me. I remembered what my recruiter said to me as we left that September day, that "the same people who were hanging out would still be there." I saw the same people in the same places, a point well made by <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_10">SFC</span> Stanfield.<br />The next day, dad and I left early to go on a hunting trip. I used to hunt quite a bit back in those days, usually squirrels and grouse. Dad, my cousin Troy and I went to my uncle's farm on <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_11">Naylor</span> to grouse hunt. It was a brisk cold day with a heavy frost on, I was used to the San Antonio heat and dressed very warmly to compensate. We arrived at the farm and headed out into the woods, I was armed with my old 12 gauge shotgun. We split up along an old abandoned farm that had roads leading to and from it. As I got deeper into the forest on the old road, I remembered basic training and our field exercises. I thought about how we were marching to the field sites and the grenade simulators had went off near us. I walked at a steady pace on alert, not sure if it was for the grouse or an incoming simulated attack, probably right past several grouse. As the morning went on, the decision to dress warmly quickly became a bad one. In Kentucky, there may be a change into all four seasons within the same day, winter being no exception. The sun rose over the trees into the cloudless sky and began to heat things up. I was pouring with sweat and far away from the truck. I circled back around and went toward the starting point to remove some clothing layers, and by the time I arrived, I was worn out. I dropped a layer of clothing, and the brisk coolness was immediate, great, home for just a couple of days and I would end up sick.<br />We finished the hunting trip empty handed after a few hours, but it was great getting back out there and hiking. For his age, dad had some stamina when it came to spending the day in the woods. I got back home and settled in, ate lunch and retired to my room and my guitar. The lack of go go go I had been used to the last months was starting to wane on me. It was just a few days before Christmas, a time when most people welcome a good vacation, but I was not used to being idle for long periods of time now. I played my guitar along with a <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_12">Metallica</span> cassette for a while, then started going through things in my room. I found old letters from people I knew in high school, people I hadn't seen or heard from in over a year. I read some of them and wondered where they were, if they remembered me, or if they even cared to remember me. I found a note from Tonya in the room too, and thought to myself that I had been home for a couple of days already and still hadn't went to see her. I really didn't know what our status was, the letters from her had dwindled down to almost none, but I felt I still owed it to her to visit or at least make contact. I called her house and reached her mom. Tonya was at her dad's house and wouldn't be back for a day or so, but I was still welcome anytime to come visit the family. I thought, and still think highly of her family and told her mom Brenda that I'd stop in later.<br />Later that night, Jason called me and said Matt wanted us to come up. We went to his house and met him there, it was early evening, just before dark. Matt had planned on us going to a friend's party, so I called and told mom I planned on staying in <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_13">Morehead</span>. We left and went over to a house behind the <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_14">Wal</span> Mart building, in upscale neighborhood. Matt knew the girl who lived there and she had some friends meeting us there, I had never met any one who would be with us. I was dressed in my black leather coat, black boots, jeans and a concert shirt. The clothing plus the nearly shaved head probably made me look like some skin head freak. We went into the girl's house, she introduced herself as Sherri, and hung out a while. She looked at me kind of weirdly and asked who I was. Jason quickly replied and told her I was a hitch-hiker they had picked up off the road, a great first impression. We laughed it off, but she had an uneasy look until Matt told her otherwise. We departed from Sherri's house in two car loads and headed toward <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_15">Morehead</span> State University's campus. We turned up a windy street and arrived at the party house. There were several cars there, the music was so loud we could hear it outside. I had no idea where I was or who the people there were, but the party was in full swing. Matt introduced me as his buddy from the Army, and everyone gave me a shot glass of liquor to toast. I had only been drunk twice in my life prior to this, once at Chris <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_16">Petitt's</span> house for a birthday party, and once with Kevin in town when I came home too early and paid for it the next day. Needless to say, after a few toasts, I was feeling no pain. I talked to one guy who said he had a friend in the Army too and asked if I liked to play pool. I said sure and we, along with three others, went downstairs to shoot some pool, taking bottles of liquor with us. I grabbed a fifth of Jim Beam and started in on it. After a few minutes, I heard the music stop upstairs and some commotion going on. One of the guys who was downstairs went up to see what was going on. Great, I thought, here I am in a strange place on leave from the Army, underage with a bottle of Jim Beam and already getting soused, and the cops are probably upstairs raiding the party. The guy quickly came down and told us we needed to leave and quickly. I had no idea where Matt and Jason were, but I went upstairs, still clutching the fifth of Jim Beam, which was about 3/4 full. Once upstairs, a guy was going <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_17">beserk</span> about all the people in his house, and who the Hell were all of us. He looked at me and said, "What the Hell, you got into my liquor too?" I took one last long drink of the whiskey and handed the now less than half filled bottle to him. The last thing I heard was, "Get the Hell outta my house!! All of you!!!" Matt came back inside and grabbed my arm to leave. As he did, I grabbed another pint bottle of Jack Daniels off a table and left. Apparently, the guy who had invited us to <span style="font-style: italic;">his</span> party turned out to be only the room mate to the guy who actually lived there. When the guy showed up, of course he went bonkers that a wild raving party was underway. We scattered to our vehicles, by this time, I was very numb to my surroundings, in that hazy state before total oblivion set in. I clutched the bottle of Jack Daniels and took drinks from it frequently as we drove around <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_18">Morehead</span>. It is somewhere during this time that I have virtually no memory of what happened afterward. I do remember parking some place and urinating in a parking lot, then meeting up with the other people we had came with. There are some questions regarding what exactly happened afterward, some things I still aren't sure of. Jason and Matt tell me that at some point Sherri got in the vehicle with me and we became 'better acquainted', ending up with her getting out of the car and leaving after I had said something to offend her. I have no idea what happened, or remembered her even being in the same vehicle I was in. I don't even remember leaving town, and especially don't remember getting sick all over Matt's car. Jason tells me that I felt like I was getting sick and asked to pull over. I was in the back seat and was trying to get out the window before the door was opened. I vomited all over the inside of the door and out the side of the car, ending our party night.<br />I woke up the next day around 1100 hours, sick to death. I reeked of bourbon whiskey and my head pounded. Matt and Jason were laughing at me, apparently I was the one who got the drunkest of all. I showered and changed clothes, took a couple <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_19">ibuprofins</span>, and did as little as I possibly could. Jason kept asking exactly how much I had drank, all I could remember was the Jim Beam and Jack Daniels, anything else was a blur. In the previous two drinking experiences, the mornings after were not near as bad as this one. I was worried that when I got home, the smell would still be on me, but that was of little concern compared to Matt's car. It was late December and we were taking the car to a car wash to get it clean. What a wonderful impression I must have made that night with everyone.<br />I got back home with a raging hangover still and went back to sleep for a while. I woke up around 1600 hours, or 4 pm, and ate a little something. My stomach was still uneasy from the abuse I had unleashed upon it. My escapade wasn't as discreet as I had hoped, mom was giving me three kinds of Hell over it, while Norman was teasing me. Dad wasn't thrilled about it but stayed quiet. He had quit drinking a few years prior and I think was worried I would start drinking heavy like he once did. Finally the headache stopped and I could function. Paula called the house and told me to stop in that some people were coming over and wanted to see me. I rested a for a bit and decided to go to town again. Mom chided me about the evening before, and I was definitely not going to repeat what I had endured I told her. I got to Paula's and there were several people there, people I hadn't seen in a long time. Chris <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_20">Pettit</span> was there, along with some other acquaintances from high school. Chris offered me a beer, I kindly passed due to my lingering hangover effects. We all just kind of chilled out at the apartment, and at some point late in the evening, I fell asleep, the late nights had caught up to me finally. I woke up at around 0200 hours on Paula's couch, there were still people awake and playing video games. I laughed because I remembered Drill Sergeant Washington telling us, "I bet you wish you were back on the block playing your Sega games," in basic training. He would always tell us he could tell the city folk from the country folk by the callous on people's thumbs from playing those games. I gave my good nights and left for my own bed, hangover free at last.<br />Christmas Eve 1992 finally came to the <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_21">Kiskaden</span> household. The house was full with our family, mom, dad, Dee Dee, Norman, Casey, Jackie, Troy, Sean, Travis and Brandon. It felt good to be home with everyone. It was especially gratifying knowing I had been able to buy gifts for once rather than just receive them. Mom opened the new TV stand and couldn't believe that I had went out and got such a big gift item. That stand was used for many years after that Christmas, they still had it when I moved back in 1996.<br />We opened our gifts and one large gift had my name on it. I opened it up and found that it was a brand new shotgun, only problem was I couldn't take it with me, but I couldn't wait to go out and shoot it. Another gift was a new 35mm camera, of which would accompany me everywhere for the next few years, and document certain events I would have no direct memory of. The night went well, I was happy just to be among people I knew and loved. The Army had been pushed into the back of my brain these past couple of days, civilian life was not so bad after all. Later on, the big question came up...was it all I had expected it to be. Until then, I hadn't thought a lot about it, training had kept me busy beyond belief, but there were times I questioned if I had made the right choice, usually during bad times when the platoon was under stress for whatever reason. I replied as honest as I could when I said it had but hadn't been what I expected. It was all I had seen on the videos, but yet since it was only training I had been through, I had no clue really what to expect. I didn't regret my decision at all, it was something I had to do to make something of myself. I sounded like a commercial spot for the Army as I replied to mom when she asked. Even though there were hard times and moments that it seemed ridiculous, I knew deep down I had made a good choice for me.<br />After the bustle of Christmas Eve was over, we all turned in for the night. Mom kept an emergency radio scanner in the living room, and while I was home on leave, I put it in my room in case of a fire call. I was still technically a member of the fire department, and so far while I was home, there had been no calls...until this night. At around 0030 hours or 1230 am, the alert sounded for a structure fire. I jumped from my bed and quickly got dressed and out the door. It was bitterly cold that night, and I jumped in the car and started out without the heater heating up first. I shivered all the way to the station, due to the cold, and probably too because of the adrenaline. I arrived at the station along with several other members and went to my old locker to get my gear, only to find I had no gear. I looked around and saw another member's gear that looked a lot like mine, so I grabbed it and put it on. I got aboard the utility truck, which was an old bread truck, with a few others who hadn't seen me since I got back. It was just like old times, the name calling and teasing, the smells of the gear and trucks, just like it was that last time I responded to a call. We arrived at the fire scene and quickly went into action. The single story residence was well involved with fire which was coming out the front windows and doorway. The people living there had just barely got out, but were safe. I suited up in a breathing apparatus, and found it quite odd that I didn't have to watch about pulling my hair like I had before. I went into the burning house and helped knock the fire down with a water hose. The fire had started in the living room near a wood stove, destroying everything in the house. The joy of being home for Christmas and enjoying the gifts I had just opened a few hours ago faded when I looked at this family who only had the clothes they were wearing left. All of their gifts, clothes, food, everything was now a smoldering mess. We stayed on scene until nearly 0300 hours, then returned to the station. I was very tired and filthy from working the fire scene, but stayed and helped fill air tanks for another hour or so. By the time I got back to mom and dad's and showered, I hit the bed, an exhausted trooper.<br />After Christmas was over, I finally had a chance to go see Tonya and her family. I knew back in basic training that I shouldn't expect her to wait on me, she had another couple years to go in school and lots of changes would take place in that time. I drove out to her house with the intention of just letting her go as easy as possible. I worried too that her family would be upset that I was letting her go, but hoped they'd understand my reasoning. As I went to the door, her little brother Kevin ran out to me. Kevin was in grade school and thought the world of me, I was a big brother to him. He hugged me and almost knocked me down, in the short time I was gone, he had grown some. Brenda was home, too and was glad to see me, but I could tell that she knew what was going to happen, that mother instinct. She hugged me and told me that she'd let Tonya and me talk and that I was still another son to her. I sat down next to Tonya on the couch and hugged her. She was not over excited that I was there, cluing me in to the fact that the relationship was at its end mutually. We made small talk for a while, I told her about how things had been, how life had changed and that I had no idea what was to be in store for me later. Then I manned up and told her, "Look, I don't know where I will be going after AIT, or if I'll even be coming back for a long time. It's not fair that I ask you to watch the best years you have go by while sitting and waiting on me." She sat there for a minute and nodded in agreement. It was like a weight had been lifted off both of us. We talked some more about just general things, and after about an hour or so, I decided to leave. I gave Brenda a hug goodbye and told her I would be in contact soon. I gave Tonya a hug and a kiss and told her goodbye as well. As I was leaving, Kevin ran out and asked if I was coming back. I told him, "Not for a while, buddy," and hugged him. He started to cry, and I promised him I'd keep writing to him and everyone. That seemed to work okay for him, and I left. As I got in the car, I looked around and had the same feeling I had when I left Owingsville, would I see anyone from here again? I felt a sense of guilt because of Kevin, but knew he would understand in due time. After I returned to duty, I wrote Kevin a few more times, until he got older. When I returned from active duty, I saw Kevin from time to time back home. Sadly, Kevin passed away around 2004, I always remembered him as that little teary eyed kid standing in his doorway that December night. Tonya moved forward and got married soon after high school, her and her husband are still together today. I see them from time to time still around town, there has not been any bad blood what so ever.<br />After I left Tonya's house, I drove around town, reflecting on things. The normal surroundings of home were starting to set in on me. What if I hadn't left, where would I be? What if I decided not to ever come back to this town again? Then I kept hearing my own voice talking about how it was the best move for me. I knew I had made the right choices, I said to myself. A couple nights later, I was in town at the usual hang outs, still enjoying the stress free life. I drove down to Paula's apartment to see what was going on. As always, there was a group of people there hanging out, and by now, I had become a usual face in the crowd. We sat around and had a good time talking, I vowed not to fall asleep again like before while I was there, I had overheard a plot to cover me in silly string and shaving cream if I did. I had a few beers with them all and was chit chatting, when Paula said that Vickie was looking for a good man. I was kind of oblivious and passed it off. She said that Vickie needed a good man with a good job and a good head on his shoulders, all the while looking directly at me. This made me feel both flattered and awkward. I hadn't thought about Vickie as anything other than a friend, so this idea was totally left field for me. I kindly told Paula that I had just ended a relationship because my future was so uncertain, so why would I try and start something. A good cop out for an uneasy line of questioning.<br />I hung out there for a while longer, and as I was leaving, Vickie met me in the room and gave me a kiss. It was again awkward, just knowing that Paula had tried to play cupid just a short time ago. I left and went home, another day and night behind me. The days were winding down at home, soon the craziness called the Army would be upon me, and I would have to transition from being civilian to soldier again. But how would that transition be now that I had been back to my old self kind of? I was wondering all sorts of crazy things as the days went by, but at least I had my family and friends to take my mind off it all.<br />My routine was fairly the same during my time home, spend time with the family, then at night roam town and usually end up at the apartments. One night, I went to the apartment and there was someone I knew from school, and my eyes lit up. Shanna was a girl who I had a lot in common with. We had classes together and there was always a mutual attraction between us, but either I was dating someone or she was. We kinda met in the hallway and I said,"Where's my hello kiss?". It kind of took her by surprise, but we kissed anyway. It was a rather bold move, one I hadn't planned on, but it worked. As the night went on, Shanna and I stayed together, eventually sharing some alone time. The attraction we had for each other was even more strong than before, and we both admitted that we really wanted to be with each other, but never had a chance back in school. Now we had no other ties to keep us from being together, other than the fact I was leaving to go back to the Army. I had my Bob Seger tape with me that night and while we sat alone and talked, I put the tape in and cued up the song 'We Got Tonight', I saw it fitting for the moment. We all went into town and hung out at the local Red Head gas station parking lot even thought it was freezing cold out. Shanna and I were inseparable together and I eventually asked the unspeakable, if she would wait for me. She smiled at me gave me a kiss and said softly, "No." I had just ended a relationship due to me feeling it wasn't fair to have someone wait on me, now I was asking someone to do exactly that. In any other setting I would have been upset that she said no, but I realized just what I had asked and knew she was being honest, so I took it as a living for the moment kind of situation. Later that night, I went to leave the apartment for home and realized this would probably be one of the last times I could stop by before I left. I went from person to person saying my farewells, and when I got to Vickie, she turned and went to another room, obviously upset about Shanna and me. Shanna walked me out to the car and I gave her my address at Fort Sam Houston. I told her to always remember me by that Bob Seger song, gave her a kiss and left. I had a heavy heart as I left that night, one of those feelings that for once, the planets had aligned and things looked great, but now reality was setting in and it was just for the moment. A moment caught in a mirror of time.<br />As the next few days went by, I visited family and friends again. My grandmother, Gertie, had been in a nursing home since before I left and I went to see her. Her mind was slipping from the effects of Parkinson's and Alzheimer's, but she still acknowledged people after someone told her who we all were, all except me. She confused me with my uncle Gene, who lived in California and had served in the Navy back in the 1950's. I hated to see her in this condition and the whole nursing home experience was always depressing for me. All those patients there who were so lonely, people who I felt were forgotten. Mom made sure that granny never was lonely, no matter if she knew mom was there or not. My time at home was drawing to a close, my home sweet home was soon to be a place far, far away again. I visited Jason again, went to see Jeff and my cousins Jason and Matt Vice. It was an eventful visit home to say the least. In the two weeks I was home, I tried to cram as much as I could into the days and nights. Looking back, I think I probably did less with my mom and dad than I should have. After all, no one would know if I would be coming back or when, not even me. I did spend New Year's Eve at home, watching the new year come in with mom like I always had before. We watched the ball drop at Times Square on TV, then turned in for the night. I would be leaving out on January 3rd, just two days later. My lost bag finally had showed up at mom's just a couple days before, good thing I was able to get it just to send it back on its way, hopefully this time, it wouldn't be lost when I got to Fort Sam.<br />Finally, the day approached that I would have to leave. It was a bitter cold January day in 1993, a mist of snow came down as we drove to the Lexington Airport. Leaving wasn't near as bad this time, but still hard to do considering the two weeks I had just spent. As we went through the security gate, mom and dad were allowed to join me at the departure gate. I was in my Class A uniform with my bags stuffed full. At least this departure I wouldn't be alone like I was before. As the time for my flight to board approached, dad started pacing, looking out the windows. The boarding call came and I hugged everyone and said my goodbyes. I walked down that long hallway to the plane and looked back again one final time to wave goodbye. It was time to leave my home sweet Kentucky home behind for a while and become a soldier again. I felt I was leaving so much behind me, but also felt that I had so much ahead to look forward to. I got settled into my seat and the plane taxied toward the runway. I kept looking out the window at the gate area until I lost sight of it. I sat back in my seat and took a deep breath as the plane accelerated and lifted off. Plane travel still made me nervous, but I was getting used to it by now. I watched out the window as the plane banked and remembered I had my camera with me. I snapped some pictures of Lexington from the air as it quickly faded away under me. I settled in for the flight to Atlanta, then on to Dallas, Texas with my walkman radio in my ear. I sorted through my tapes, saw the Bob Seger tape and smiled. I didn't want to listen to that song right then for fear I would feel lonely and tear up. I settled on a KISS tape and drifted off, leaving Owingsville, my family, friends and all I knew behind me once again.Rob Kiskadenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11729507457550464443noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8626888127365718762.post-28536241409805331332010-03-10T16:25:00.000-08:002013-07-01T09:55:51.830-07:00Chapter 9: Take Me AwayThe few weeks spent at Fort Sam Houston were never dull. Countless extra duties, PT, class studies and a push to the max by our drill sergeants to be the best was working on some of us. Tensions would get almost to a breaking point for my platoon, but no one ever acted out like they did in basic training. Maybe it was the new military discipline we had all acquired, of just plain fear of retribution, but whatever tensions created were quickly dissolved. I had some new friends in the platoon now, Clark, Chase and Lord were who I usually hung out with. Clark and I would share stories from back home and it felt good to still have a home connection. Every weekend I would call home and still hear home voices, so that eased my mind too. I was no longer homesick like I was at Fort Jackson, but the crazy schedule we followed made me miss the simple life I used to have. The class would pass fast I hoped.<br />
As we were approaching the four week mark, our grade point averages had increased dramatically but the pressure from Senior Drill Sergeant Myers was still on. Each day we were told our evening passes would be revoked if we even had the slightest infraction. Senior Drill Sergeant Myers would micromanage us to no end. Then one day in formation, he asked who had artistic skills. Naturally, I raised my hand, along with several others. The few of us who raised our hands were pulled from the formation, then the senior drill sergeant asked each of us military trivia. My question was who the Secretary of the Army was, which was Michael P. Stone. How I had remembered that is no clue, but it earned me a slot along side the senior drill sergeant. The field of potential artists narrowed down to one other soldier and me, and we were led into the senior drill sergeant's office. Senior Drill Sergeant Myers told us that he wanted us to paint a <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0">Blackhawk</span> Helicopter on Captain <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1">Bowden's</span> office wall, that he would make sure we had ample time to do so and provide materials. With all the constant micromanagement, there was no way possible we'd have time to do this even in the long weeks ahead. Senior Drill Sergeant Myers told us he wanted to start the project after the new year and released us to the platoons.<br />
Thanksgiving started out a cool overcast day in San Antonio. The day before we had been told there would be no PT and wake up would be at 0600. Since it was considered a holiday, there was no scheduled training, and we would have a Thanksgiving feast at the chow hall. Six a.m. came and we got dressed and formed up in the company area. Drill Sergeants Malinowski, Myers (not to be confused with the senior drill sergeant) and <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_2">Sickafus</span>, a female drill sergeant, would be in charge of us. Right after our accountability report, we were ordered to perform police call. Non duty day, huh? After police call, we went to breakfast, then back to the company area for another formation. We went through an inspection, only to have to do push-ups for minor stuff. The air was damp and cold that day, a stiff breeze whistled across the company area, and we were still just standing in formation. It was like the drill sergeants were seeing how much we could endure by not doing anything. Drill Sergeant Malinowski paced among us talking crap to us about how cold it was and how it was a great Thanksgiving for us. Great...yeah right for who?<br />
It was time for our dinner, and the entire battalion would participate, meaning it would be insane and a quick meal for us. All of the first sergeants and company commanders were there serving food, decked out in their dress uniforms. We were hurried through the food line and expected to, at a glance, recognize the rank of the person serving us and acknowledge them. Most of us got it right, but some confused the ranks of some non-commissioned officers and had Hell to pay afterward. It wasn't mom's home cooked Thanksgiving, but it was still a whole lot better than the everyday food we ate in the chow hall. After we ate, we returned to the company area, back to standing in formation in the cold for no apparent reason. After a while, <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_3">SSG</span> <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_4">Levalley</span> had enough. He and PFC Keane, a prior service member who had joined initially at the tail end of Vietnam, approached the trio of drill sergeants and asked if there was some method to this treatment. Drill Sergeant Myers quickly took lead on the barrage of trash talking. Drill Sergeant Myers got face to face with <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_5">SSG</span> <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_6">Levalley</span>, who quickly stated for the drill sergeant to show respect and back up, the two were of equal rank. Drill Sergeant Myers then backed up and said, "Come on staff sergeant, let's roll, let's roll!!"<br />
<span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_7">SSG</span> <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_8">Levalley</span> just stood there stoic not budging. Drill Sergeant Myers still tried to provoke him until Drill Sergeant Malinowski intervened and moved in between the two. The rest of us in formation stood there at attention and in awe. What the Hell had we just witnessed here? Drill Sergeant Malinowski took control of the situation and dismissed us to the barracks, where we would finish the day off by cleaning duties, then at 1800, we would be on free time. The platoon quietly started up the stairs with the exception of <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_9">SSG</span> <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_10">Levalley</span>. Lord knows what his fate would be after that ordeal. This was way beyond anything from basic training. The only time I recalled anything like this was when Melton had his episode at the phones at Fort Jackson.<br />
We started cleaning the barracks and after a few minutes, <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_11">SSG</span> <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_12">Levalley</span> returned with PFC Keane. He didn't really say anything about the incident, other than Drill Sergeants <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_13">Tharpe</span> and Walls were notified. Great....then Senior Drill Sergeant Myers would seriously have it out for us. After we cleaned the barracks it was time again for supper, then free time. I ate and returned back to the barracks to call home. The Thanksgiving away from home that I had endured had drained me mentally. It wasn't entirely the fact that it was the first holiday away from home, it was the way the day had went compounded with being away. I called home and told mom what had went down, and that I couldn't wait until December so I could come back home a while. For the first time, I was down enough that mom noticed.<br />
The next day we did our normal routine and at formation, we feared what wrath Senior Drill Sergeant Myers had for us. Surprisingly, he wasn't present at formation, but neither was <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_14">SSG</span> <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_15">Levalley</span> or Drill Sergeant Walls. Drill Sergeant <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_16">Tharpe</span> got us going for the day and we went to class as usual. The class was starting to get interesting to me, and a welcome escape from the other things going on at the company. We were learning basic trauma care and treating burns. The burn class brought me back to the previous summer when I responded to a call where a woman was trapped in a burning car on I-64. The car was totally burned and so was she, but still alive. I had helped extricate her from the car and was there to see the effect of fire on a human body first hand, a sight and experience I have never forgotten. Some of the trauma examples we saw on the videos and slides were from actual combat in Vietnam and Desert Storm. There were scenes of medics treating these injured soldiers under enemy fire with bombs and everything exploding next to them. The instructors told us that a medic was a unique soldier, one who should put their own lives on the back burner and get out there to help fallen comrades. It was about this time that I realized exactly what the role of a combat medic was. There was a distinct possibility I could end up in a combat situation, but this was 1992, post Desert Storm, the war was over.....<br />
December came just the same as the rest of the months went by, with extra added duties and micromanagement. As our fourth week approached, we were summoned by our drill sergeants to discuss out of barracks passes. We would be able to leave the company area to explore post, but not off post just yet, unless we were prior service. I knew that Fort Sam was a sprawling base from doing the work details when I first got there, but had no idea what was around. There was a movie theater just up the hill from our barracks, an NCO club and a recreation center. We were told we could frequent those places but had a curfew of 2100 hours, a half hour before bed check, and had to be sober. As the time came for us to have pass privileges, the pressure by Senior Drill Sergeant Myers mounted. Constant inspections and barracks cleaning ensued during the week prior, and the incentive to keep our grade averages at 80 percent. All this was an effort to see just how bad we wanted to get away from the company if not for just a few short hours, and trust me I wanted to get away bad. Finally, after all the B.S., we were granted our passes, although they could be revoked at any time for the smallest of infraction. The first night, we were released at 1900 hours to go on pass. I went to the recreation center, also called the Hacienda Club. Inside, they had a mini food court, a movie room, small auditorium, game rooms, and upstairs were music rooms. I immediately sought out the music rooms. In the music rooms, there were drums and amplifiers in them, the guitars had to be loaned out from the staff. I borrowed a bass guitar and went upstairs to the jam room. I plugged in and felt like I was back home again. It had been since September since I had picked up a guitar, and amazingly, it was as if I had never stopped playing. I started out with <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_17">Metallica's</span> 'My Friend of Misery' bass line and then just started playing around. A short time later, a <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_18">blonde</span> guy came in with a guitar and nodded at me. He plugged in and started running through some blues riffs. I started following along with him and very soon, we were jamming a bluesy, Hendrix inspired composition. This was different from what I had been playing before I left home. Before, I jammed with Les and we did <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_19">Metallica</span>, <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_20">Megadeth</span>, Black Sabbath, those type of bands. Les and I had played in a band with a couple guys that never played any shows, doing various songs from bands like KISS, <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_21">Steppenwolf</span> and <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_22">Bon</span> <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_23">Jovi</span>. The smooth blues type music I was playing at the Hacienda Club was a step in a new direction. The guitarist I was jamming with told me I had a good sound, and introduced himself. To this day, I cannot remember his first name, again in the Army, it's all on a last name basis. I remember his last name being Bull, he was in another platoon in Charlie Company, and was a good guitarist. We chatted a while about our music tastes and eventually left to return to the barracks before curfew. This session was a welcome change for me, one that inspired me and gave me that escape I had needed.<br />
Returning from the Hacienda to the barracks had two ways to go, one being the roadway, and the shortcut across the baseball field. On the roadway and to the left was a hill that ran perpendicular that led to the nursing school and NCO Club. Usually at the intersection was a staff duty NCO waiting to check ID cards. This intersection of the main road and the hill to the NCO Club would prove a huge obstacle for us as the weeks passed, but that's a later story. Once we got back into the company area the first night, we were ordered in formation, with our platoon sergeants conducting head count. The first night, everyone made it back on time, and for the most part in good shape. Our pass privileges were safe for this week.<br />
Sundays were our down days, some went to church services, but most of us slept in since wake up now was 0600 on Sundays. We did cleaning duties and uniform maintenance in efforts to ease the work load during the week. <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_24">SSG</span> <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_25">Levalley</span> back was in charge of us after his ordeal with Drill Sergeant Myers, and our squad leaders were responsible for making sure we got our tasks completed. PFC <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_26">Crutchley</span>, my squad leader, kept us all riveted with his humor. His strong northeastern accent amplified his witty talk and made it even more hilarious with his banter, and that kept us motivated during barracks details. Now that we could go on pass and roam the post, we had a food court and arcade by the mini PX shopping center next to the barracks. We would go over and get items we needed to clean, along with other necessities, such as cassette tapes for my walk man. Sundays was also haircut day, we were required to have a haircut every week. No longer did we have to completely shave our heads like in basic training, but we had to have a 'high fade' type haircut, meaning skin fading into a tuft of hair on top. I would call home every Sunday afternoon to keep in touch, but was no longer maintaining my journal as I had before. The homesickness for the most part was gone, but I still yearned for that day in late December when that plane would take me away, back home again.<br />
The following weeks we did the same routine, although medic class was getting more involved with the daily routine. We were excelling in our tests and starting to to more hands on type training. We were split into groups, or 'mods', and did our hands on practicals like splinting fractures, spinal immobilization, patient exam and other things for the EMT certifications. This was kind of awkward now that we were integrated into groups of males and females, but still we made it as professional as we could. During this time, I met a girl named Kim who was in my class group. She was a little taller than me, had jet black hair and was very pretty. We talked quite a bit and had a few things in common it seemed. She was from upstate New York near Albany and was going to be a medic with the National Guard unit near her hometown. We had hit it off very well, but still leery about going any further, although there was a definite connection. We started hanging out together a lot around early December, she went several times with me to the Hacienda Club and watched Bull and me play guitar. I felt there was something brewing but was also scared about getting close to someone at this point.<br />
During the early to mid part of December, we were told how the Christmas leave would work out. We had accrued around two weeks of leave time that could be used, and we would have to arrange our own travel back home at our expense. We would leave for our destinations around December 20<span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_27">th</span>, and be back January 4<span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_28">th</span>. Those of us who didn't want to go home for the break would stay back and do details, much like we had done the first two weeks we arrived. The only advantage would be that those who stayed back would get to take leave before reporting to their regular duty stations. I for one wanted to go home again. Kim was going to stay behind even though she didn't have a regular duty station to report to after medical school. I went with a group to the travel center one evening and got my flight booked. All the way back, I stared at that ticket, knowing it was my get away for a little while.<br />
I kept going back to the Hacienda Club and jamming with Bull, and soon another guy named <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_29">JB</span> from the nursing academy joined us on drums. We all got along well and jammed out some old <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_30">Jimi</span> Hendrix songs and Led Zeppelin. We worked up the songs 'Fire' and 'Purple Haze' that sounded really well. Several from the company would filter in and out to watch us jam and pretty soon, we started getting a little crowd. It was fun to jam out with those guys, we all knew it was a just for fun type deal, that soon, the Army would sent us to wherever it needed us. As the time passed, another guy came named Ferguson in to jam with us, he was an amazing guitarist, kind of reminded me of Vernon Reid from Living Color. Ferguson was in another platoon in our company, he was a quiet black guy who spoke very little but when he plugged his guitar in, there was no need for words. Our little group had become quite productive in the short time we had been playing. It was easy to forget about the day after day activities at the company area and the crazy schedule we kept at the Hacienda.<br />
Eventually, the time to go on leave approached, and I was more than eager to go. Senior Drill Sergeant Myers went on tangents as the day to leave got closer, having us do marathon cleaning sessions in addition to our class studies, which were becoming harder and harder as the weeks passed. It seemed like I had been at Fort Sam for months, when in reality, I had only been there about a month, I still had nine weeks to go once I returned from the Christmas break. A day or two before we were scheduled to leave, we had to make final arrangements to be able to leave, such as filling out the required forms and squaring away our transits. One thing we had to do was receive our pay stubs from First Sergeant <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_31">Trost</span>. We had to go in his office and formally report to him, after we announced ourselves and stood at attention, he would slam his hand down on the desk and in his booming voice, ask a military trivia question, then hand us our pay stubs. The first sergeant was an intimidating man, his hardened face showed years of Army service, his voice was very deep and loud as he spoke. I walked in, saluted and reported as I should have, then dropped my salute too early, before he returned his salute. I was quickly sent back out to redo the whole thing. I was already nervous, and the second time, I was sweating very profusely. I again announced my presence with a salute and waited. He paused and then saluted slowly, watching me to see if I dropped my salute early. As his hand neared the desk, he formed a fist and pounded the top of the desk loudly, startling me. I kept my salute up anyway until I knew for sure his hand was down on that desktop. The first sergeant asked me what my general order number one was. I quickly responded,<span style="font-family: inherit;"> <span style="font-size: small;">"I will guard everything within the limits of my post and quit my post only when properly relieved." I was expected to learn and recite this and the other two orders, I will obey my special orders and perform all of my duties in a military manner<span style="font-weight: bold;"> </span>and I will report violations of my special orders, emergencies, and anything not covered in my instructions to the commander of the relief</span></span><span style="font-family: Verdana,Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif; font-size: 85%;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"> </span></span><span style="font-family: georgia;"><span style="font-size: 100%;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">at any given time in basic training, and it carried over to <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_32">AIT</span>. The first sergeant acknowledged my response and handed me my pay stub. I quickly saluted again and waited for his salute back. He said, "Soldier, wipe that sweat off your forehead, I'm just a soldier too." Then he saluted and dismissed me. For some reason, this man really intimidated me, and it showed. From then on, I was determined to remember what he said, that he was just a soldier like me.<br />I packed my green duffel bag and another smaller bag the evening of December 19<span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_33">th</span>, anxiously waiting for the day to follow. Wake up would be at the usual 0430 hours but no PT. As I packed my bags, I found a small red address book that was given to me at my going away party. Everyone that was at the party had wrote their names, addresses and phone numbers in it. I wondered just how many of these people I would get to see once I got back home. I finished up for the night, just as Drill Sergeant Walls and SSG Levalley began their walk through before lights out. As Drill Sergeant Walls was leaving, he sang that familiar tune 'The stars at night, they all shine bright," and just as he said that, our squad all clapped loudly and sounded off with, "Deep in the heart of Texas!!" finishing his lyrics for him. This would be the start of a routine we would do from time to time depending on the mood. I drifted off to sleep a little while after, actually waiting anxiously for 0430 hours for once.<br />The next morning I woke up to the bustle of everyone getting ready for their leave. We would have approximately an hour to get organized and in the out processing line. It was a cold morning and we were dressed in our Class A uniforms with our bags hanging off us. There was a line of tables with all of the drill sergeants waiting for us to present our leave applications, flight vouchers, and to pick up our return orders. It was a long waiting process to be able to leave the area, my flight didn't leave until around 1300 hours, or 1 pm. There was a long line of taxi cabs and buses waiting on the roadway nearby to take people to the airport. Finally, it was my turn to process out. I lumbered up to the table with my bags and handed Drill Sergeant Malinowski my paperwork. He quickly joked about my flight arriving at Lexington, Kentucky, the usual fried chicken jokes I had been getting for the past month. After I went through his line, I went back to the company area and saw Kim, who was standing talking to someone else. I told her I was leaving and asked if she would still remember me after two weeks being away. She laughed and called me silly and said of course she would. I also saw Ferguson, who was staying behind during the break, and snapped a picture of him, telling him I wanted everyone back home to see what a awesome guitarist looks like. We laughed and I went on to find my way to the airport. It was now going on 0800, all the sitting around and waiting had made me very sleepy, so I slept on the way there. Once I arrived at the airport, I was pointed to a holding area where I'd wait with several others. There was a sergeant there to make sure we behaved, but for the most part we were on our own. I found a place to sit down and relax, grabbed my walk man and listened to a Ted Nugent cassette I had bought at the PX. I drifted off to sleep sometime afterward, but woke up soon after the tape had ended. It was now nearing 1000 hours, still three hours until my flight left. I looked at my ticket and noticed I had a lay over in Atlanta, then I'd go on into Lexington. The lay over in Atlanta would be short, around 37 minutes, so I'd have no time to spare once I got there. Several of us laughed and joked about what we had all been through the past month, about the two 'masturbators' who got caught. Overall, we each had some funny stories to take back with us. I saw Clark and he gave me his home phone number for me to call while we were back home, it was almost like we were departing for good the way we all talked.<br />Finally, it was time for me to board another plane, one that would take me away, take me back home. I was eager to get back and to see all my family and friends. This would be a special Christmas for all of my family, the last one I'd probably be able to spend with them for a while. I boarded the Boeing 707 and got settled into my seat. I had forgot how I had disliked air travel until I looked out the window and we started backing out of the terminal area. I took a deep breath as the plane taxied and the Earth once again disappeared from under me. I was away form the pressures, the micromanagement and the constant hounding from Senior Drill Sergeant Myers.<br />The flight landed in Atlanta without much incident, other than some turbulence coming into the city. I exited and noticed a remarkable change in the weather, it was very cold and a slight mist rained down. I hurried to the next terminal and waited for the boarding call. I found a phone in the meantime and called home, the first time I had been able to the whole day so far. It was around 1500 hours, or 3 pm San Antonio time, an hour behind Kentucky time. I told mom that I was in Atlanta, and my flight into Lexington would arrive around 1900 hours, or 7pm their time. I noticed that when I talked to mom now, I was more direct and using military terms more often. I just wondered how my friends who remembered the skinny long haired kid with a country twang would react to a thicker, skin headed soldier now. In what seemed like no time, it was time to board my flight. It was 1540 hours roughly, and I had a couple more hours in the air to go. I was tired, but stayed alert due to the excitement of being almost home. In the air, we were notified that the flight was going to be diverted to Louisville to change planes. This caused some alarm to me, but the pilot's calm demeanor eased it some. The unscheduled stop in Louisville was uneventful, and we switched planes very quickly and in no time, we were taxiing down the runway again. This stop put the flight behind schedule some, but I didn't care, I was only two hours driving time from home. The flight from Louisville to Lexington would only take roughly twenty minutes, not enough time to even turn off the fasten your seat belt lights. It was dark outside now, and the plane was flying rather low, I could distinctly make out features on the ground that were illuminated. We followed I-64 and as we approached Lexington, I could see the familiar sky line ahead. The 'big blue' skyscraper stood out prominently and was a welcome sight to me. I excitedly looked outside the window trying to recognize land marks as we descended, then, I saw the familiar marker lights of Bluegrass Airport. The plane dropped sharply and touched down on Kentucky soil with a slight jolt. I was back in familiar territory now. The plane arrived at the gate and I exited out of the gate tunnel and saw mom, dad, Dee Dee, Norman and Casey waiting for me. It was after 8pm, an hour after my scheduled time of arrival, but I didn't care. After a barrage of hugs, I was ready to get some food and go home. Mom asked what I wanted to eat, and I immediately said McDonalds, since it had been a while since I had eaten there. We stopped off on the way home and ate. I was glad to be home, but still it seemed a bit strange to actually be back. Simple things I used to pass off were now kind of sacred to me. The weather back home was an adjustment to me too. In San Antonio it was normally 60 degrees during the day, it was December in Kentucky and it was downright cold. My head was pretty much shaved too, so that compounded the effect.<br />We drove the forty miles home, everyone asking me about my experiences. I had so much to tell, but with all the letters back and forth, things were for the most part already told. Still it was the excitement that I was with my family again that made it all new. We got home about 2200 hours, or 10 pm, nearing my usual bed time. I only had the one bag that I had carried on the flight, during the change over with the plane in Louisville, my bag had been misplaced, so I had to fill out a claim form and UPS would deliver it to me. I was beat and exhausted after all the day's events, so I decided not to call anyone that night. I walked into my old bedroom, which still had the KISS posters on the wall and my guitars were leaned against the amplifier, just as I had left it back in September. I dropped onto the bed, finally relaxing, mom came in and asked if I was done for the night. I nodded yes and turned on my stereo to my favorite radio station back home, WKQQ. I nodded off finally, sleeping in my own bed, away from the barracks, away from the hustle of AIT, and away from my new friends. As I dosed off, I thought of Kim, and if she would truly remember me, but decided for now, I would focus on seeing everyone and enjoying my time home for the holidays. Morning would arrive soon, a new morning in an old place, a new body and soul in a familiar surrounding.</span></span></span></span></span>Rob Kiskadenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11729507457550464443noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8626888127365718762.post-52654862681335259192010-02-08T05:26:00.000-08:002013-07-01T07:23:37.105-07:00Chapter 8: Same Old Song and DanceFort Sam Houston, November 1992. I had entered a new phase in my Army career, well if I completed the whole twenty years to call it a career. After the two weeks I had encountered already, a career was unlikely at this point. We finally got settled into Charlie Company, our nickname was the X-Men, we had a large wall painting of Wolverine in our platoon bay. For the most part everyone was still adjusting to the new pace of it all, and to each other. Our platoon leader was Staff Sergeant Levalley, who had came to Fort Sam from the 82nd Airborne Division in Fort Bragg. He was a tall man with a stern voice, but was about as easy going as anyone else in the platoon. The first real day, we were awakened at 0430 for PT, just like basic training. During the days prior at Fort Sam, it would reach around 80 degrees, this first morning, it was cool, no more than 45 or 50 degrees out. We were dressed in our shorts and t-shirts, shivering all the time. Drill Sergeant Walls took noticed and calmly said, "Soldiers, it is not cold out here, it is mildly crisp." Crisp? To me it was down right frigid. We started our PT as normal, stretching, rounds of push-ups and sit-ups, then started the morning run. The run would take us off to another area of post and around the National Cemetery, up and down some inclines that were unlike our run trail at Fort Jackson. Halfway through the run, a familiar pain started in my legs, my shin splints had returned. I slowed the pace down but kept from falling completely out of formation. Once the run was over, every step I took hurt. I did my best at not letting it get the best of me, I had came so far, I was not going to let my shins do me in.<br />
After breakfast and morning hygiene, we were formed back up in the company area. Senior Drill Sergeant Myers was waiting for us and instantly dropped us for push-ups because we "weren't motivated enough." He then began to tell us how it would be a long road for us if we thought this was a "summer camp" and that he would be constantly watching us, waiting for us to "muck things up." After that, we recovered and he continued on a rant about misconduct and how it could affect our military lives. He went on by telling us that one soldier in the company was facing some serious charges and would be housed with us until his fate was decided by the military court system. All of us kind of looked amongst ourselves, we had only been in the company a short time and someone had already been busted? Senior Drill Sergeant Myers finished and released us to a group of soldiers who introduced themselves as our instructors. Under their instruction, we would become combat medics, learning hospital and field medical techniques. We were split into groups according to a list given to each instructor, males and females integrated. After the groups were decided, we went into our class rooms, which were adjacent to our company area. My group had approximately 25 soldiers in it and was led by 2 instructors, of which I can't recall their names. We were all still in the basic training mode, standing at attention, when the lead instructor told us, "Sit down, Hell, we ain't drill sergeants." He was a sergeant first class, but was obviously laid back. He started out by telling us that over the next several weeks, we would become EMT's, learn how to give IV's, call for helicopter transports and other medical type things. This is exactly what I was wanting to learn. As the orientation continued, I scanned the room at all the new people, as was everyone else. For the first time I noticed there were some attractive females in the class room, and it scared me to death. All during basic training, we were told we couldn't have any contact with females, not even staring at them, so for me to be looking and them looking back, I felt like I was committing a cardinal sin in the Army. Back to focusing on the agenda at hand, the medic class was going to be just what I had wanted when I nearly walked out of MEPS back in July.<br />
July seemed so long ago at this point. So far no one had forgotten me back home, or so it seemed. My mail was still slow getting to me because of the transition, and I was still getting letters addressed to Fort Jackson. Still, the letters from mom came on a regular basis. I hadn't been able to call home as much as I had before, after our duty day, we were kept busy around the clock until bed check, doing a number of tasks that really had no given point. After that first day of class orientation, we had some down time that night in the company area called uniform maintenance. We gathered in the area and worked on shining our boots. Some of the other soldiers who had been in for a length of time were giving us tips on how to get that high gloss shine Senior Drill Sergeant Myers had told us he wanted to see. We were again integrated and for the first time, not within the bounds of looming drill sergeants. I was busy trying to take care of my boots when I heard a voice call out, "Robbie?" Normally, only people I have known since childhood calls me this, and being in the Army where everyone is referred to by last name, this was a jolt to me. I looked up and saw someone I recognized, Rhonda, a girl I had known since we were kids and had went to school with, was approaching me. It was strange to see someone I knew all the way down in San Antonio, but also reassuring. Rhonda was a year behind me in school, we had played little league baseball together as kids and talked from time to time in school. Other than that, we hadn't had much contact with each other until then. We sat together talking about how our basic training experience had been and what we were doing in a place like Fort Sam. We talked all the way up until time to turn in for the night. The time at Fort Sam wouldn't be too bad now that I knew someone.<br />
The next day, the usual routine started as normal, but after PT we were brought into formation and dropped for push-ups. Senior Drill Sergeant Myers and the other platoon's drill sergeants were all pacing. First Sergeant Trost then appeared and started in telling us "by no means would he tolerate any type of inappropriate conduct in his company." I had no idea what was going on, along with a few others in the platoon. Just then, Drill Sergeant Tharpe called out Bryce, and a female was called out in another platoon. They were led away by Drill Sergeant Walls, Senior Drill Sergeant Myers, and First Sergeant Trost. The confusion of the matter flew over us as we were dismissed up to the barracks to get ready for the day. We were chatting amongst ourselves when SSG Levalley called us into the common area. He began by telling us that we were soldiers, soldiers to be held at a high level of integrity, that we were all adults and should know better to get into situations. Still at this point we had no idea what the problem was. Drill Sergeant Tharpe came in and reiterated what was said and promptly left us in SSG Levalley's watch. After SSG Levalley made sure Drill Sergeant Tharpe had left the area, he told us that Bryce and a female were caught out in the break area in a 'compromising situation'. Apparently, the female had her hand down Bryce's pants and, to put it lightly, helping him enjoy the evening. A drill sergeant was walking near them and somehow spotted the act under the picnic table from a distance and busted them. I had no idea what was going on , since it was on the other side of the company area. Either way, the repercussions would resound all down the ranks. A couple minutes later, Drill Sergeants Walls and Tharpe came back to the barracks area and called SSG Levalley to their office. We were put under the watch of our squad leaders and told to start getting ready for the day ahead. Eventually Bryce rejoined us not saying much about the ordeal, but he was visibly shaken. We didn't at that time ask any questions but went on to our normal business, all the while kind of snickering at the whole incident.<br />
We went to class as normal, sitting in the class room after being up so early and doing PT would be a challenge for us to stay alert. For the next few hours we heard lecture about emergency medical care, learning the anatomy and physiology of the human body. The EMT course in the civilian world takes about six months to complete, giving that classes are two days a week for four hours. We would learn the same course in three weeks, classes five days a week, 8-10 hours daily. In addition to the class room curriculum, we still had to deal with daily inspections, barracks maintenance, PT, repercussion push-ups, and the same old song and dance we had left behind in basic training. The next four weeks would be grueling and stressful, and we were told after that, it would ease up. The instructors in the class were more laid back than the drill sergeants and questioned why we were still having to endure the basic training type treatment, saying that being up at 0430, doing PT at 0440 and going at a hard pace all day would hinder our studies. This I didn't understand either, but we all had to deal with it just the same. Senior Drill Sergeant Myers told us that we had to maintain a 70% average to stay in the medic course, but he would accept nothing less than 80% on our tests and class work. After the first day of class, we retired to the barracks, drained from the barrage of physical and mental pressures of the day. We now had limited liberties outside in the company area, a drill sergeant would be present throughout the time we were out there, looking for any hint of an infraction. We would have to keep a certain distance from the females now because of the incident involving Bryce.<br />
While out in the company area, Drill Sergeant Tharpe announced that he needed our platoon to report upstairs. We formed up and quickly went upstairs to find Senior Drill Sergeant Myers and Drill Sergeant Walls waiting. We were immediately berated by the senior drill sergeant about how our barracks were pathetic and a disgrace to his Army. We were dropped to do push-ups then side straddle hops over and over again until we were all worn down. It was approaching 1930 hours, or 7:30 pm, we were to start study time at 2000 hours, then lights out at 2130 hours. Senior Drill Sergeant Myers expected us to clean the barracks top to bottom, plus study for a test the next morning, then be done by lights out. This was insane, I thought. We hurried and started working on the barracks, each squad splitting up in areas to clean. SSG Levalley would come and look over the areas before going to get the drill sergeants for inspection. At 2045, we all had done what we could, and readied for the inspection. SSG Levalley summoned Drill Sergeants Walls and Tharpe to inspect our hard work. The barracks floors and bathrooms shined like they were brand new. After a while, Senior Drill Sergeant Myers accompanied the drill sergeants and SSG Levalley, tediously inspecting the areas, and of course finding problems. The individual squads responsible for the areas cleaned were punished and forced to redo their work. My squad was in charge of the hallway and common area room, and of course we had infractions. By the time we all got finished with redoing our work and push-ups, it was 2115, only fifteen minutes until lights out, and to study for the test the next day. We hurried up and tried to study best we could, but it seemed that as soon as I got started into the studying, it was time for lights out. At lights out, whoever was on fire guard duty and Drill Sergeant Walls would perform a head count at our bunks and make sure the back door was secure. After his walk through, Drill Sergeant Walls would always sing the line from 'Deep in the Heart of Texas'..."The stars at night, all shine bright...Deep in the heart of Texas..." as he walked out of the room. After the fire guard cleared the room and Drill Sergeant Walls left, most of us retreated into the shower area, the only place safe from being caught with lights on, and studied. We sat and studied until nearly 2330 hours, or 11:30 pm. Wake up was in a few short hours, and the routine would start again.<br />
This routine of early wake up, PT, breakfast, classes, and all in between was very tiresome as the days went by. One morning, we were ordered into formation and the company commander, Captain Bowden, whom we hadn't met yet, came out accompanied by Senior Drill Sergeant Myers and First Sergeant Trost. We were ordered to attention, and a soldier was led into the company area wearing handcuffs and leg shackles, accompanied by two military policemen and another colonel. The group stopped in the middle of the formation and Senior Drill Sergeant Myers approached them.<br />
"Soldiers of Charlie Company, this is an example of what you can do to muck things up, " he started, "this soldier is a disgrace to mine and your Army. He makes me sick to be around him."<br />
Senior Drill Sergeant Myers then removed the rank from the soldier's collar and continued to talk.<br />
"This soldier is charged with the rape and assault of a female soldier from up the hill. In my company, we do not tolerate this activity. Let this be a reminder to those who muck up in Charlie Company." We were silent as the soldier was led away into a police car. This was the soldier spoken of earlier in the week that was facing charges. This treatment was harsh in my opinion, but got the point across. We went to class still reminded of what we had just witnessed<br />
and tired from the routine of the previous night. We were into our emergency medical class, our test results were not very desirable and definitely not up to Senior Drill Sergeant Myers' goals. We were approaching 2 weeks in and told that our 4 week liberties would not be honored unless our scores came up. By this time, we were fed up with Drill Sergeant Myers and his ridiculous expectations. SSG Levaley asked Drill Sergeant Tharpe if he could speak with the senior drill sergeant and was told, "good luck." He arranged the meeting anyway to address the treatment of all of us. Later, he returned and said the meeting didn't go well at all, that Drill Sergeant Myers had accused him of trying to undermine him and unless SSG Levalley wanted to end his military career, he'd drop the issue and leave the training to him. SSG Levalley warned us that we may be singled out and treated more harshly because of his effort to stand up for us and to be prepared. Sure enough, the next formation, we were dropped for push-ups in front of the entire company. Senior Drill Sergeant Myers then started a tirade about how he didn't like his authority challenged and any soldier who wanted to do so would suffer repercussions. The X-Men had made themselves a target.<br />
Aside from the insanity of the 91B course, I still had time to write home and get mail. Mom and Dee Dee were the constant writers, I had only received a couple letters from Tonya, that relationship was on its last leg. It was now approaching early December and talk of us being able to come home on leave was circulating. I was looking forward to coming home and seeing everyone, but also very anxious to see how I would be accepted now I was a soldier. The pace had increased so much that I had sat aside my journal I had faithfully kept going since I left in September and had not been able to keep it going. My letters home spoke of the hurried pace and general low morale of the others at Fort Sam. I always got a reassuring letter back saying that I should stick it out, so that eased me quite a bit.<br />
I still talked to Rhonda nearly every night outside during uniform maintenance, usually about how things were back home compared to where we had been so far. Another guy in the platoon, Clark, was also from close by Winchester, KY, a mere 25 minutes from my hometown, and another guy, Chase was from Ashland. The four of us formed a kind of bond, the Kentucky connection we called it. About 2 weeks or so into training, we were informed some of the company would be leaving and joining Delta Company due to their class roster being too small or something like that. Rhonda was one of those people who were transferred out. No longer would I have a hometown connection and someone who knew me at all. There was never a real romance connection with us, one at least I was aware of, but the idea of having someone I had known for so long was a type of security for me. I counted the days down until I would get to come home for leave, ready for a break in this insanity called Fort Sam Houston, away from the same old song and dance. And also, who knows when I would see home again after this opportunity. But until then, I would keep positive and look beyond the ridiculous demands brought onto me, and try to do my best to get on with my Army life.Rob Kiskadenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11729507457550464443noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8626888127365718762.post-81155450354259367652009-12-02T18:15:00.000-08:002013-07-01T07:14:16.454-07:00Chapter 7: Blind in TexasIn eight weeks, I had transformed from a long-haired rock star wanna be from the country into a polished Army Soldier. I had left behind the life I knew to begin my own journey, now I would be taking it further. I boarded the plane in Columbia, South Carolina, leaving the past two month's experiences behind me. I was more at ease leaving on this trip, but the jitters of flying were still there. I boarded the plane and started my westward journey, still thinking about my family I was leaving in Kentucky. My flight would not pass over Owingsville this time, I would be routed into Atlanta, then on into San Antonio. My new friends I had made would not be making the journey with me also, with the lone exception of Dave Taylor, who was going to Fort Sam Houston to become a Army Radiology Technician. We were the only Young Guns on the plane, and talked about the infamous last pillow raid and other things we had endured at Fort Jackson. It put me at ease to have someone I knew somewhat on the same flight, the trip was not as lonely as my first one.<br />
I looked out the window as we soared over the southwest, looking at the land pass by under me, not recognizing anything I saw. The flight took only about two hours or so, and as we approached Atlanta, the flight got very bumpy with turbulence. We bounced around and banked to the left making a final approach. I looked out and saw the plane's wing waving in the unstable air. A sickening feeling welled up in my stomach as the turbulence increased and I broke into a sweat. After what seemed to be an eternity, the turbulence eased and we landed safely. Louisville's airport thus far was the largest airfield I had been to, but Atlanta dwarfed it. We exited into the baggage claim area, which was crowded with people waiting for loved ones. The flight Dave and I would take on to San Antonio was across the airport at a gate way out in limbo. We rushed to the tram subway and waited for the next available train, and just like in the movies, the door opened and a hoard of people exited. We got on board and were zipped across the terminals to our destination with little time to spare. I didn't even have time to call home and tell everyone I had made the first leg of my westward journey before the boarding call was made for our flight. The flight to San Antonio wasn't that bad, Dave and I talked about what we were about to embark on at Fort Sam Houston, or "Fort Sham", as we heard people call it. We were told we were going to the "easiest Army post in the Army", no drill sergeants and a ration of 4 to 1 females per men. This, I liked. After all, medics were usually working in hospitals and clinics we were told, so the training would be a breeze.<br />
The plane landed in San Antonio, and immediately there was a change in atmosphere. The cool November day we had left in Fort Jackson had been replaced with dry, hot southwestern air. At the terminal, a sergeant stood by dressed in his Dress B short sleeved uniform, much like the one SFC Stanfield had worn when he came to the house the day I signed up. Dave and I went over to him and identified ourselves, and were directed to an area where a few other soldiers waited. We all had our packets that was given to us at where we had just came from, and after several more soldiers arrived from other flights, we went to the baggage claim area to retrieve our duffels. We were marched to a bus outside and loaded, Dave and I sat in the same row of seats, so far he was the only person I remotely knew. The bus ride would take us across town to the fort and make a few stops at the post. Dave had borrowed my Black Crowes tape I had bought at the PX at Fort Jackson and was listening to it in his headphones. I took the time to relax on the trip, thinking again how far I had come. We arrived on Fort Sam Houston around mid afternoon, stopping at a large complex of buildings. A sergeant got on the bus and announced, "Those who are going to AMEDD, exit now." A few people exited, some in Class B uniforms with rows of ribbons and awards lined up on their chests. This was the Army Medical Academy, where soldiers became doctors of varying degrees. After that, the bus rolled on to another location where another sergeant arrived onboard and said," Anyone goin to nursing, x-ray, dental assistant exit now." Dave got up and we shook hands and wished each other luck. He departed off the bus, still with my cassette tape. By now there were a small handful of us left on the bus and we arrived a short distance away from the last stop. The bus door opened, and a familiar sight made his presence known aboard.<br />
"All you bravo's off this bus!! Move, move MOVE!!!" A drill sergeant was barking at us to exit, much like at Fort Jackson. Someone had lied to us, circle two of Hell was upon us. We hurried to a company area after we retrieved our bags from the bus, but apparently not fast enough to suit the drill sergeant, so we had to do push-ups. I thought I had left this crap behind at Fort Jackson. The drill sergeant introduced himself as Drill Sergeant Bradley of Bravo Company, 232nd Medical Battalion. He was in charge, period. We didn't move, speak or breathe without his permission. We were out of kindergarten and into grade school now, still soldier babies, he said to us. We were ordered up to a barracks room to unload our bags. The room was similar to the one I had at Fort Jackson, except it wasn't a vast open bay like there. We each secured a bunk and a wall locker and had time to place our bags inside the lockers as Drill Sergeant Bradley came back inside and told us to meet out front for linen issue. We hurried downstairs to the company area and into formation awating further instructions. This was very much like basic training all over again so far, but without the sudden adjustment. No one caused a problem, everyone was disciplined well as we stood in formation. We marched by squads to a room where we were issued a stack of bed sheets, pillows and blankets, then back out again to formation. Drill Sergeant Bradley walked by and inspected each of us to insure we all got what we needed, occasionally asking a random soldier where he or she had came from. The group was integrated male and female, a bit of an odd sight considering what we had just been through in basic training. We were told then to go upstairs and get our bunks ready, then in a half hour, we would go to chow. We were separated, naturally males in one barracks area, females in another. It was then that I realized it had been a long while since I had eaten. I had grown accustomed to the daily ritual of meals for the last eight weeks and was now getting very hungry.<br />
We all got upstairs and started organizing our areas, mildly chatting to each other. Everyone had a bewildered look, I'm sure they too were told this was an easy ride. I stayed quiet mostly, still comprehending all of it, and organizing my locker. Soon, we were told to form up outside again, it was time to march to chow. The time had flown by from the time we exited the bus it seemed. The group marched to the chow hall, which was located a short distance from the barracks. As we marched, I looked around at the surroundings and complex of buildings. This was a very different place than Fort Jackson, a different atmosphere all together. We lined up in the chow hall in a much different way than in basic, no longer did we line up outside with a drill sergeant checking our names off. We stood outside, then let in the hall a little at a time, staying close to the wall in a straight line as we entered. The chow hall was tiny compared to the one at Fort Jackson. As we approached the serving line, one cook caught my eye. He was an older man with jet black hair and long side burns, a striking resemblance of Elvis Presley. I nearly started laughing out loud when I got closer and heard him speak. He spoke in the same twang Elvis did, even down to the lip gestures. I had found Elvis alive and well, flipping burgers at Fort Sam Houston.<br />
We sat down and it was a strange vibe, we were not told to keep quiet by the drill sergeants as we had before. We could sit with females at the same table for the first time. Some aspects so far weren't that bad I thought. After chow, we were formed back up outside and marched back to the company area. I noticed our group wasn't that big, much smaller than Delta 2/28. Drill Sergeant Bradley told us in formation that we would go to the nearby PX to get items we would need for our stay. The PX was larger than the shoppette by our barracks at Fort Jackson and had much more to choose from. We were told to get personal hygiene items and boot shine kits and no snacks would be allowed. After we exited, Drill Sergeant Bradley inspected us to insure we didn't get anything not essential. When we arrived back at the company area, Drill Sergeant Bradley told us to take a seat, he would explain what was going on. We were in the transition barracks, like the initial reception company in basic training. Our medical class would not officially start for another two weeks. Until then, we were his responsibility and he would make sure we'd have plenty to do. He told us we may be tasked out to work at various places on post, doing 'busy work' as he put it. We were dismissed to our barracks shortly after to get settled in, lights out was to be at 2130 hours. Our personal time was to begin right away after our dismissal, so I found a phone and called home. I was eager to hear a familiar voice again. Mom answered and I told her I had arrived okay, and that this was nothing I had expected. We talked a short time, and it was then I realized just how far away I was from home. I knew no one here, the comfort of the brotherhood of the Young Guns had faded, I felt alone again, starting over once more. I went upstairs and set up my bunk, then showered, worn out from the long trip of the day. I returned to my bunk and started writing in my journal I had started those many weeks earlier, expressing my anxiety of what was to come. I also noticed that we weren't told we couldn't have our walkman radios, so I got mine out of the locker and dialed the tuning knob until I heard a familiar song, a KISS song playing on a local channel. This was the first comfort of my old surroundings I had in a long while. At 2115 hours, the drill sergeant came in for a walk through before lights out, telling me and a couple others to make sure the radios were put away before bed check or they'd be taken. I went ahead and put mine away and covered up in my bunk. I looked around and there were maybe ten or so of us in the room scattered out. Drill Sergeant Bradley left us but never mentioned wake up, but I was sure it would be 0430 as always. After lights out, I drifted away into sleep, putting another day behind me.<br />
I woke up to the sound of PT outside the barracks window. We were all still in the barracks and not on the PT field. I looked at my watch and saw it was 0500, holy cow, we had missed wake up somehow!!! We would all suffer for this I was sure of it. Slowly, others started waking up and had the same look of concern across their faces. One person asked, "So what do we do?" No one had the answer, so we all just went to the latrines and started our hygiene, shaving and all. By 0600, most everyone was awake and up milling about. Drill Sergeant Bradley came in at 0600 and said, "Well, you guys are going to be easy." He told us to be in formation at 0615 in BDU's downstairs and ready for breakfast. This was a new concept for all of us, 0600 wake up. This I could handle. We ate breakfast and returned to the company area. Since we were in the transition barracks, we really had no set mission, so our morning would start out doing 'police call' or walking in a line picking up anything that was not naturally growing out of the ground. This included gum, gum wrappers, cigarette butts, paper, and trash in general. We finished, and Drill Sergeant Bradley walked over what we had just swept through, finding a few items missed. We all were dropped and had to do push-ups for this infraction. We didn't get smoked as bad as we did in basic training, but still it was enough. We then went back over the same area, except this time we were to pick out all the grass from the gravel that lined the areas between the concrete and building. This was painstaking and time consuming for us, that 'busy work' I guessed. After we completed this task to Drill Sergeant Bradley's satisfaction, and after many more push-ups, we were formed back up and told we would be split up by squads to help out in other areas of post. Four sergeants arrived and took each of our squads with them. My squad would go to the post's parade field for landscaping duty. It was mid morning, and the San Antonio sun started warming up as we marched across the post. The parade field was a large open field of grass with a dirt track surrounding it. We were marched to a shed on the far side of the field and each given a tool. Some were given lawn mowers, others weed eaters or rakes. We were to mow and trim the parade field from one end to another. My task was to use the weed eater, a rather undaunted task, and one that I could kind of be on my own while doing. I started working, having flash back memories of the job before I had left, mowing my neighbor's yard and our own. The thoughts made me feel a little home sick as I continued, it's funny how the smell of certain things like freshly cut grass can trigger memories. We stopped for lunch, marching to a new area of Fort Sam Houston, near the Medical Academy. I, along with a few others, was covered from the knees down with grass, our black boots caked with green cut grass. We did our best to brush off the grass, but the officers we encountered still looked at us like we had just crawled out of a UFO. Everything was spit shined and polished here at Fort Sam, unlike basic training. We probably looked like desolates in the eyes of people regularly stationed there.<br />
We returned to the parade field and worked until around 1600 hours, then marched back. The day had gone very quickly, not as hurried and hustled as the days in basic training. When we arrived back at the barracks, Drill Sergeant Bradley immediately lit in on us who still had grass on our uniforms. We were ordered to drop and do push-ups as he berated us loudly about how we disgraced the Army uniform by wearing it in such a filthy state. I thought to myself, "What is this guy's deal? It's beside the point we were out using weed eaters in uniform. What the Hell does he expect?" But none of us dared to speak out, knowing it would cause more smoking. After we recovered from push-ups, were were told that we were to go upstairs and clean up our "filthy asses" and report back for an inspection, we would have to be back within ten minutes. We rushed upstairs and hurried to get changed into clean uniforms and boots, then returned back with little time to spare. We were inspected and quickly dropped again for more push-ups because our boots were not "highly shined like glass." This was more intense than basic training, this drill sergeant was a neat freak or something. Needless to say, he was not on our favorite list so far. It was like night and day from the day before, the easy pace had been replaced by this treatment. After the inspection, we had to do police call again, and the usual picking the grass out of the gravel. After supper, we then had to go up to our barracks and start cleaning them, another inspection would follow. This would be a long process, I could already tell.<br />
Inspection of the barracks went, as we guessed, not well. We were smoked yet again, and again. The words, "Fort Sham-no drill sergeants," resounded in my head as this process was unfolding, with a quick retort of "Bullshit!!" resounding much louder. We were given another task before morning of shining our boots to a highly polished state. We had to keep them shined in basic training, but the rigors of the training usually wore off the shine by mid-day. At Fort Sam Houston, there was no rigorous training, especially in this transition period, and we learned another Army lesson-hurry up and wait.<br />
The next morning we were in formation with pressed clean uniforms, highly shined boots and a new outlook on our Army life so far. We passed our inspection and proceeded with daily police call just as we had before. After breakfast, we were again split into squads and tasked out to work on post. This day, my squad wouldn't have the pleasure of yard duties. Instead, we were taken over to a supply warehouse complex via trucks, no marching this morning. We arrived and met with a portly sergeant who told us we were going to organize an office space an other rooms in a building there. He seemed laid back and was the only person in charge of the squad. We spent the morning working in rooms, clearing out the clutter of tables, chairs and file cabinets. We split into a couple groups, one removing items, the other organizing the mess. We waxed and buffed the rooms after they were cleared out, then reorganized the rooms as directed by the sergeant, setting up nice office spaces. The task went smoothly, we all worked as a team, and before lunch, we were finished. The sergeant looked at our work and told us he was impressed by the great job we had done and the quick time. He told us he was going to recommend each of us for a letter of commendation from the section commander of the supply battalion we were assisting. After lunch, we dreaded going back to the barracks, and one of the guys in the squad asked the sergeant what else he had planned for us. After some thinking he marched us over to the academy to a computer lab. He spoke with someone in the lab and soon we were ushered in and began a class on basic computer skills. I had not worked on a computer hardly at all. As a kid, I had an old Commodore 64 with a cassette drive and only had a limited understanding of how it functioned. I school, I had a typing class, but no computer classes because they were only used in the advanced math classes I was not a part of. These classes were a far cry from the insane pace we had grown used to, but we all knew that after class, the pace would pick up yet again.<br />
The two week period of transition flew by, mainly because we were so busy. The new surroundings had started to sink in for me, and some of us were starting to bond a bit. Still, that idea of the drill sergeants taking pride in smoking us was a little much. We still had a long way to go, and if this was to be the way of things, we'd all either be very muscular or insane by the end of training. Finally, we were introduced to our permanent drill sergeants and our companies. I was part of Charlie Company, 232nd Medical Battalion, which was just a mere short walk from Bravo Company. Charlie Company's drill sergeants were Drill Sergeants Walls and Tharpe. Drill Sergeant Walls was an African-American who moved slow, but gracefully when he walked. He spoke in a calm, collected voice, as if he were carefully choosing the words that came from his mouth. Drill Sergeant Tharpe was a stocky white man who reminded me of anyone back home, but he had a voice of authority. Charlie Company had grown into four platoons, I was in fourth platoon, third squad. Things were to be different here, the company was integrated with a platoon of females and there were veteran soldiers in the mix, one of whom served in Vietnam near the end of the war. My squad leader, Private First Class Crutchley, was a gangly man who had crossed over from the Navy after serving 15 years. He reminded me of Gilligan from the TV show, with a strong New York accent and had a remarkable sense of humor. And of course, there was a black sheep in our ranks. One guy, who was a specialist, felt that he had been wronged by the drill sergeants overlooking his rank while choosing squad leaders. He voiced his opinions strongly at the platoon's expense as often as he could. With the exception of good hygiene, it appeared we had another Private Stinky among us.<br />
The drill sergeants then told us the low down. Advanced training would consist of ten weeks of intense medical training, both hospital type and field training. For the first four weeks, things would be like basic training, constant drill sergeant monitoring and restrictions. We couldn't go outside of immediate post area, and after four weeks, we could earn weekend passes to venture off post. There would still be a curfew, bed check, fire guard duties and other general duties just like basic training. Inspections were to be common, our uniforms had to be pristine now that we were in a hospital training environment. While the drill sergeants were talking, a small stature man came into the company area. He looked like either Adolf Hitler or Edgar Allan Poe and was around five foot two inches. This would be Drill Sergeant Myers, our senior drill sergeant. He spoke in a high pitched voice that was very annoying, and after hearing what he had to say, the Adolf Hitler personality seemed to fit him. Immediately he dropped us to do push-ups, for no obvious reason but to show his authority. After that, our First Sergeant introduced himself. First Sergeant Trost was a medium framed man who spoke with a loud and booming voice that demanded respect. He gave us his idea of what was to be expected, and promptly left the area, back to our drill sergeants. We were then ordered up to our barracks and start the task of unloading out gear into lockers again. We got settled in and started chatting amongst ourselves. I occupied the bottom first bunk in the room, with PFC Crutchley on the top bunk. Our neighbors were Privates McMahan and Bryce, McMahan was from Texas originally, Bryce from California. One thing I had noticed from the time I joined the Army was that we were no longer called by our first names. The name tags on our BDU's displayed our last names, thus thats how we addressed each other. People had trouble pronouncing my name, so I earned the nickname "Kiss", a name that would stick with me my whole Army stint. Naturally, even though PFC Crutchley was our squad leader and would normally be addressed by his rank and name, he was christened "Gilligan." The room was a melange' of all areas of life, like basic training but with the discipline we had earned. No more were ones trying to be outsiders or gang bangers, we had matured.<br />
As we settled in, the scope of things started to sink in. My life had indeed changed. The next few weeks would continue to shape me in ways I couldn't begin to fathom at this early point, I felt I was truly blind in Texas. I had survived basic training, now all I had to do was survive the endless micromanagement of Fort Sam Houston.Rob Kiskadenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11729507457550464443noreply@blogger.com0