Revealing Revelations (4 page)

Being on the defense, I abruptly stand to my feet and walk back to the sink. Shane pursues me halfway across the room. I lean over the sink once again slamming my hands down on the marble-like surface and I look in the mirror. “No, what I’m saying is I don’t know. I don’t know why we were even there. Why did fifteen months caused such a hell, for them and us? Why did so many of ours die while the politicians, the media, and fools sell us such a blind lie about a War on Terrorism? Don’t you stay up at night dreading to go to sleep like I do, Sarge, huh?” I asked Shane.

He throws his head back. “So is this what it’s all about? Over the years you developed a problem with authority?” Shane asks in a mellow voice.  

“No!” I yell out in anger. I drop my head slightly, turn on the faucet and splash cold water into my face attempting to calm down. “I have a problem with the process of breaking down a person’s individuality and rebuilding them into an order taking automatons, that lay down their lives for a county in a far away land across the oceans where no one ever knew their freaking names at all, for a country that could care less.”

Shane turns and walks towards the door and stops and turns his head. “Thomas, you realize you’re not the only person with a mind or opinion, right?”

Silence consumes the room. I realize I struck a chord in his comrade. No, more than that, a close friend. “Shane, I’m sorry. I’m just confused. We did all that we could to survive fifteen months of that hell hole.” I stand up straight and walk towards the door and lean back against the wall beside my friend. “Sarge, what do you believe we accomplished honestly?”

Shane looks at me with a mean mug and gets in my face. “Soldier, are you questioning the militant strategic minds that organize missions delegated out for the benefit and upholding of this great country?”

I couldn’t believe it, he was actually mad. “No, Sergeant!” I answer reluctantly.

“Specialist Thomas, do you mean to tell me that being a member of the 1st Cavalry Division 1ACB isn’t enough for you?”

“No, Sergeant.” I answered him again, still reluctant.

“Are you denying the right and privilege of Living the Legend and being the first to fight?”

“No, Sergeant!”

“Do you remember the first day you stepped foot in my Echo company motor pool?”

I couldn’t believe he continued to drill me. “Yes, Sergeant!”

“Do you remember the three specific topics I explained will not be discussed amongst soldiers?” Sergeant Shan continues his interrogative-like questioning.

“Yes, Sergeant! We are not allowed to speak of spouses, races, and personal beliefs, Sergeant.”

“And why don’t we speak about personal beliefs amongst comrades?”

“Because personal beliefs may give or receive an unwanted idea or opinion resulting in dispute causing separation in a unit’s teamwork, Sergeant!”

Shane asks in a cold stern voice, “Soldier, do you still want to head down that path?”

I pause for a long moment. I had to be honest with him like I am with myself. “Yes, Sergeant!” The interrogator ceases and stares into my eyes. I guess to see how adamant I was. He walks to the fridge that was next to me. He looks in both the upper half of the freezer and lower half of the refrigerator. He resumes the previous mellow tone that’s shared between friends. “Damn, Thomas, you ain’t got a bottle of Corona to save your life.” Back bent down with his head inside my fridge I look at him. This country fed blue eyed blonde crew cut asshole. He knows I hate when he pulls rank on me just to piss me off. Come to think of it, that’s the only time he ever does it. I can count on my hand the few times I ever stood at parade rest for this man.

“Asshole, I thought you were serious,” I said to him in relief. At this point I still can’t see his head from this angle due to this slightly pudgy Texan scavenging through my refrigerator. Yet, I still can see the rest of his body go up and down rapidly. I can tell he’s trying to hold in a laugh. “Sergeant, are you gyrating next to my gallon of two percent milk?” I ask him.

He bursts into laughter. “Ha ha ha! You bastard. Ha ha! Always could make me laugh.” He stands up and closes the tan door to the fridge, making his way out the door. “Whether you know it or not, Thomas, we all have the same thoughts as you. And I know you want answers. Hell, we all do.”

“So, Shane, what are you saying?” I ask him.

He exhales while placing his hands on his sides, shifting his weight to his left leg. “Remember the Coo Coo’s Nest right outside east gate?” Shane asks me.

“Yeah, the Haitian club, yeah, I know the place,” I answered. “What about it?”

Shane reaches for the door knob turning it and slightly opening the door. “Meet me there, twenty-three hundred hours,” he says dramatically, walking halfway out the door. He always was a character. Then I stop and think about it.

“That’s a Haitian bar, Shane. A HAITIAN BAR!” I say sarcastically, pronouncing every word louder. He hears me, but continues on to the stairway. I step outside the door and lean over the brown metal railing banister looking down at the parking lot. Doors from the first floor fly open.

It’s Shane, he goes down four cement steps and walks a short distance along the sidewalk. I can’t believe it he wants to go to a Haitian bar. The First Calvary Division just got back stateside, and he wants to celebrate at a Haitian bar. I know I won’t have any problems, but the idea of Shane, a thirty-one year old white guy, sitting on the stool at the bar surrounded by Haitians. Yeah, I can imagine that would be peaceful. Then again, Shane is the type of crazy guy to try it. Start a fight with the biggest guy then offer to buy him a drink afterwards. All to say he did it so we can bring it up and laugh later on.

I continue watching Shane walk to his new white 2008 Dodge Nitro. He parked right next to my 2003 maroon Chrysler 300m. My car was nice but he had to show me up by parking his brand-new car next to my kind-of-new car. He opens the driver’s door and climbs in. He reverses enough to get out of the parking spot and rolls down this window.

“Twenty-two hundred, Thomas!” he yells out. “You better be there.”

I cuff my hands together around my mouth. “No club gets the party jumping ‘til twenty-three hundred, Shane.” I see him smile and pull off. Sergeant Shane Shan. “Hmph!” that’s some name.

I walk back inside and an old stale and citrus-like smell catches my nose. I walk over and check the small wastebasket under my sink. It’s full with orange peels at the top, so I grab the whole basket and head outside to the garbage dumpster on the opposite side of the parking lot.

After the stroll across the lot I see an older white guy in the old green and black B.D.U’s jacket and a pair of black Levi jeans watching me in the distance. He was a little shorter than me, maybe mid-forties. He has a usual high and tight militant hair style with white hair. It’s unusual to see a bum on post. But, I can’t say he’s a bum. It’s something in his face, his eyes, he’s focused. I turn my attention to opening the lid on the dark brown dumpster and emptying my garbage. When I turn back around he was gone. It seemed suspicious for a second, but I pay it no more attention and return to my room. I look at my bed that was once perfectly made now has two sets of ripples from when me and Shane had sat. I laid in the bed to rest up, killing time before I go to the Coo Coo’s Nest.

Fort Hood

Killeen, Texas

1/13/08

Before I know it I’m dreaming of that hellhole that I just recently left, Iraq. I’m walking down the gravel roads of Camp Taji once again in the daytime. The sun almost simmers my skin, so the heat had to be somewhere in the 120’s. The high cement T-walls and barriers outline and separate the roads from the pod areas where soldiers resided in their trailers. I remember this day well, I had just got back on camp from a supply run to Balad. Having some downtime, I chose to get some movies from the DVD shop by 3rd battalion’s POD area. On my way back to my POD area, I walk near the fuel base. I feel sweat going down my back and palms, another hot day in the middle-east. I’m used to it by now, six months in theater helps climatize you they say. I didn’t care, hot as hell is still hot as hell, as far as I was concerned.

Out of the usual crowd walking the camp roads a voice calls out. “Tommy Boy!”

I look to my rear and see a petite brown skinned female soldier in ACU’s. It was Green, she was probably five feet even, 120 pounds. She was curvy and attractive with long hair. But I never saw her as more than just a friend and I’m sure she saw me the same way.

“What’s up, Green?” I asked her.

She walks towards me. 3rd battalion was an infantry battalion. They were always clearing villages or apprehending suspected terrorists. She usually stayed in a clean uniform, but her ACU’s were filthy, meaning she had to have just gotten back.

“I see you made it back from another mission,” I said. “Shouldn’t you be washing your equipment, Green?”

“Thomas, that equipment had to wait today,” she said shaking her head from side to side. “I was more worried about going to the d-fac and refilling my… ammo pouch, if ya know what I mean.” She smiles, showing a glimpse of those pearly whites while patting her hand against her gut.

“That’s what you refer to your stomach as now, huh, an ammo pouch?” I ask her, pointing at her belly. I get in close enough and get a good wiff of her heavily odored ACU. I frown at the revolting smell.

“Yeah,” she answered. “And that’s hard work you’re smelling on me, Thomas.” She must have realized the reason for the scrunched up mug on my face.

“Ha ha hmm.” I laughed slightly while she smirks. But, I understood because I was a little sweaty myself. “I know what you mean, but I’m not going to hold you up. I know you’re tired. But, come by later, I just picked up some movies you can borrow.”

She nods her head. “Yeah, I’ll do that in a few hours.” She raises her hands in the air to stretch as she yawns.

“The way you’re looking it might be tomorrow when you come and get them,” I tell her.

She drops her hands. “I’m sorry, but yeah, I am that tired,” she said. “Alright then, Tommy Boy.”

“Okay,” I replied. We both walk off. We part ways heading back to our separate POD areas. We had put no more than twenty feet between us.
THUMP!
The ground shakes, making me stagger a bit.

“Red Rain! Red Rain, head for cover!!” other soldiers yell out while we all scurry like roaches to the small cement bunkers, heading for the cracks and crevices when someone turns on the kitchen lights. The thump sound must have been a dud mortar round, because if it wasn’t, that thump sound would have been a boom instead. I know the routine, head to the cement bunkers and get accountability. But I was on the other side of the camp, I knew no one except Green. At this point, I’m ready to run for cover, but I turn my head and look for Green.

“Green, Green!!” I yell out.

I hear the others scream at me, “Get over here and head for cover!” But the only thing on my mind was
where’s Green?
That’s when I saw her, shoulders and arms swinging in motion and legs still moving as though she was walking and nothing had happened. “Green!” I yelled out running towards her. “Green!” I yell out again. I hear the incoming sirens going off at this point, but I didn’t care. I just kept watching her as her body falls, crumbling to the ground. I make it to her body, everything was just as I had just seen it a few moments ago. Except at this point, her head was gone and blood stained her shoulders. I get dizzy and pass out.

Next thing I knew, I woke up hysterical in the infirmary asking about her. “Where’s Private First Class Green, where is she?” I ask trying to get out of the hard bed. They try to restrain me and explain that the thump I heard was indeed a dud mortar, but the trajectory of where it was fired from and where it landed ten feet in the ground, decapitated her and she died instantly.

“Instantly!?” I asked myself, “What are they saying?” I remember seeing her so full of life, how can that be taken instantly? All I remember doing was balling up, crying, and yelling, but none of that brought her back.

I wake up in my bed and hear faucet water running. Someone obviously was in my room, but I can’t see who’s at the sink because a pair of wall lockers divides the room in two halves. My side was by the door and the opposite side was my Hispanic roommate who was never there. I sat up realizing I was drenched in sweat.

“Who’s there?” I ask loudly. Even though, I had a roommate he was hardly ever here. I hear squeaking from someone turning the knobs ceasing the flow of water. A head peaks out at the top of a six and a half foot wooden wall locker. The head ducks back and the person came back out revealing himself. A young Caucasian guy with a buzz cut, wearing a gray top and black shorts P.T. uniform with a brown towel around his neck. It was Noorak. He was a farmer from Wisconsin that joined the unit while we were doing R.O.T.C training at Ft. Polk, Louisiana, a few months before we made it in theater. He lived on the opposite side of the barracks, but we shared a bathroom, so he must’ve walked from his room through my bathroom door.

“Tommy Boy, I ran out of toothpaste, was wondering could I borrow some?” he asked with blue eyes going from left to right suggesting a sense of corny humor. A toothbrush was sticking out of his mouth with toothpaste foaming out of the edge of his lips.

“Is it too late to say no?” I ask.

“No, not for the toothpaste,” he said. “But the toothbrush, on the other hand, I’m not too sure you want back. Gingivitis, halitosis and other oral diseases.” He explains the list of potential risks that I’d be taking if I did ask for it back. Slapstick comedy was something I never did get. I re-examine the visible part of the long purple and white toothbrush hanging from his mouth. It’s definitely mine, or at least was for that matter.

“I’m surrounded by jack ballers,” I say frustrated at the fact that he had the nerve. We bumped heads numerous times in the past, but once you make it through life or death situations for fifteen months you even look at a man you despise at one point like a brother.

He quickly pulls the toothbrush out of his white foamed toothpaste lips. “Well, Thomas, I would get my own, but the clubs are just now getting started. And I really didn’t want to be too late,” he says while waving my toothbrush around.

“You’re okay. I got a pack from the Post Exchange by the airfield anyway,” I said, swinging my legs over to get out of bed.

Noorak put the toothbrush in his mouth and resumed brushing his teeth.

“What time is it, Noo?” I ask standing to my feet leaning back slightly while stretching my hands in the air.

He lifts up the opposing arm the toothbrush is in and looks at his watch. “Ten-thirty,” Noorak answered.

I remember what Shane said about meeting him and I only had a half hour left. I drop my hands and rush past a foamed-mouth Noorak.

“You headed out too, Thomas?” Nooak asks me.

I open the medicine cabinet that’s to the left and grab a brand new toothbrush and turn on the faucet. “Coo Coo’s nest,” I answered, reaching out towards Noorak with my left hand.

He drags his feet as he walks towards me as he digs in his pocket and hands me the red and white Colgate tube. I guess he had plans on actually keeping that too. I bent down and begin to brush my teeth. I look into the mirror and see him now in the refrigerator.

“No liquor, no beer, huh?” he asks, moving out of the way of the closing refrigerator door.

I pause the horizontal strokes on my upper row of teeth to answer him. “You know I don’t drink beer. It tastes like panda piss. And I’ll pick up some liquor later.”

He walks over and stands beside me. “That’s right, I remember. It’s too much yeast in beer and you don’t want that beer belly,” he said.

I rinse out my mouth and stand up to let him use the sink. I grab a towel to the left of the sink to dry my mouth and throw it to Noorak to use.

I rush all around the room pulling out shirt, pants, socks, shoes, iron and ironing board. I ask Noorak to iron my shirt for me while I jump in the shower. Being late was something I wasn’t known for, besides, I don’t want to keep Shane waiting, he seems like he has answers to all this. Why we left American soil to fight in a country that did us no wrong, why we had to risk our lives, and take lives…? Why did Green have to…?

The next twenty minutes were a blur between taking a shower and getting dressed. I get in my car, open my sunroof and turn my music up. “I love the nightlife.” I tell myself as I drive a short distance to the Coo Coo’s Nest.