Mass Casualties

by Michael Anthony

  I stare at Markham with my mouth wide open. This kind of stuff just doesn't happen back home. We finish up our cigarettes and head back into our room.

  2300 HOURS, MY ROOM

  “Staff Sergeant North and Thurbid were pissed. Their plan didn't work and she ended up having diarrhea and vomiting for a few days. Meanwhile the CID guy is still doing the investigation and is digging up more dirt on Staff Sergeant North. However, North and Thurbid concoct another brilliant plan. A few days later she's better and the infection is gone, and she seduces the CID guy, too. I kid you not. She starts sleeping with him.

  “Oh, I almost forgot; as this is going on there's another scandal happening. First Sergeant Powell, from down south, is sleeping with a female soldier, but she's also sleeping with another soldier named Specialist Rubino. A week later Rubino finds out and starts a fight with Powell. Rubino is drunk and pushes Powell. They both start yelling at each other, and Rubino grabs Powell by the collar and pulls him to the ground. Staff Sergeant North hears the commotion and so does the CID guy — who comes running out of Thurbid's room — and they come running and break up the fight. Rubino gets arrested and Powell walks away scot-free, even though he shouldn't have been sleeping with someone in his chain of command. And speaking of scot-free, the IG does its investigation and says the way our unit is being run is appalling at best and illegal at worst. But — and this is the Army for you — they also say that although they know illegal things are going on, they can't actually prove any of it. Still, the GOBs decide they need fall guys, just as a sign of good faith that they're changing things. So Rubino was demoted to private and that's when they sent Thurbid up here.”

  “The GOBs also needed someone to blame for the conversation that was heard in the dining facility and where Ridge threatened to send people to a frontline unit if they complained.”

  I look at Markham. I nod yes.

  “Well, CSM Fellows, from down south, objected to having the meeting in the first place. He knew it was illegal to order us not to report complaints and he told that to the GOBs. They ignored him then, but now they're blaming everything on him and they also sent him to us.”

  Markham picks up his guitar and starts talking about something else. I actually feel bad for Command Sergeant Major Fellows. I liked him. He's short, stocky, and smokes such big cigars that he'd give Freud a phallic complex. He always seemed to be trying to sell you something and to make a quick buck. Now he's working in the OR as an anesthesiologist technician, a job usually done by some twenty-year-old specialist. All because he stood up and said that we should have the right to voice our opinions about our leadership.

  I take two melatonin sleeping pills. Nothing happens and after a while I take two more. Slowly I drift off.

  What an outfit: people in their thirties, married with children, all of them having affairs. One was a heroin addict; the other has slept with eleven men in the past three months. One guy tried to kill himself and another kidnapped a drug dealer. Alcoholics, chain smokers, compulsive gamblers — who am I to judge?

  Maybe it wasn't such a good bedtime story after all. I don't want to imagine what types of dreams I'm going to have tonight. They'll probably involve some big, sweaty man with an E. coli infection….

  WEEK 3, THANKSGIVING DAY, IRAQ

  1130 HOURS, DINING FACILITY

  I'll give the Army credit for one thing: they know how to do Thanksgiving. Turkey, ham, fish, mashed potatoes, corn, peas, carrots, squash, corn bread, apple pie, and blueberry pie. Torres even found a flier about the Dallas Cowboy cheerleaders, who are on base signing autographs. “I was actually in one of these programs down in Texas called Adopt-a-Soldier,” I'm telling Torres as we go through the food line. “I was doing my operating room training. It was Thanksgiving and we weren't allowed to go home, so the Army started this program where families could take two soldiers home with them for Thanksgiving and have them eat dinner with their families.”

  Torres and I make our way to an empty table. He's trying to balance all of the food on his tray and he's not listening. I just keep on talking, though.

  “There were thousands of us down there for training and we were certain that there was no way we'd all get families to go home with. We knew somebody would get stuck, and we'd have to eat at the D-fac. It was like freshman gym class all over again, some will get picked and some won't. But there ended up being too many families; the Army had to turn away hundreds saying they didn't have enough soldiers to go around. Thousands of families were waiting to pick us up and take us to their house for a home-cooked meal. Absolutely, it was one of the best Thanksgivings I ever had.”

  Torres stops eating for a second and laughs.

  “What are you trying to say Anthony, that you want an Iraqi family to take you home today?”

  WEEK 4, DAY 1, IRAQ

  0700 HOURS, OR

  Denti and I are in the break room having lunch when Gagney kicks open the door.

  “WHO THE FUCK DID IT! WHEN I FIND OUT — YOU HAVE GOT TO BE FUCKING KIDDING ME….”

  Denti and I sit there staring at each other, bracing ourselves.

  “WHO WENT TO THE CHIEF WARD MASTERS — YOU TELL ME, ANTHONY!”

  “I don't — ”

  “DON'T FUCKING PLAY DUMB WITH ME — ”

  He starts pacing back and forth, mumbling under his breath.

  “IT'S A MILITARY CRIME TO GO OVER YOUR CHAIN OF COMMAND'S HEAD! YOU NEVER SAW ME TREAT A SOLDIER THAT WAY.”

  Denti and I are staring at the ground.

  “TELL THAT TO HUDGE.”

  Reto comes around the corner, after Gagney leaves. We explain the shit storm that just happened.

  0720 HOURS, OR

  “I'm the one that went to the chief ward masters,” Reto says. “Hudge and I were on second shift and Gagney stops by last night. He forgot his computer game. Hudge decides it was a good time to talk about some of our complaints — the ones we talked about at the meeting. He starts screaming at her in the break room — I can hear it. He doesn't think we've got any problems; he thinks she's making it up. He tells her that people make fun of her behind her back. He tells her she's stupid and she's a liar and she has no idea what she's doing.

  “I got her husband from the ER, she was crying. I went to the chief ward masters' office and told them. Hudge doesn't know any of it.”

  I look at Reto and for the first time I feel respect for one of my fellow soldiers.

  0730 HOURS, OR

  I chuckle to myself. All it took for me to respect someone in the military was for that person to refuse a direct order. Reto was ordered — we were all ordered — by Gagney not to complain about him, but here Reto has refused to play the game and went ahead with what he thinks is right. Refusing an order takes a lot more courage than following one — I know that. I'm a little scared for him because I realize that if Gagney finds out it's Reto, he'll crucify him.

  “Last night I went to the chief ward masters' office and told them everything about what happened between you and Gagney.”

  Hudge looks at Reto and me. She thinks he's kidding.

  Reto nods his head.

  “Oh, my God.”

  “Yeah, well….”

  “That was really nice of you….”

  Hudge smiles and hugs Reto.

  “That's not the whole story,” I say, bringing the room down.

  “Basically, Gagney's not going to take it lying down.”

  The smile leaves Hudge's face.

  Reto starts talking.

  “Don't worry; we've got your back. Everything will be fine, and if anyone's going to get in trouble it won't be you. But you should probably see the chaplain or mental health officer. Just let them know what's going on, because they're the ones who usually intervene in these types of situations, that's really the best thing to do.”

  If you could have only seen Reto talking to Hudge like that. She tells him she just wishes that everyone could forget the whole thing.

  WEEK 4, DAY 2, IRAQ />
  0700 HOURS, HOSPITAL

  The chief ward masters can't believe what they hear. Until Reto talked to them, they'd thought for sure their little meeting solved all of our problems. Gagney gets called into their office — and he gets reprimanded for being cruel to Hudge. For three days, he's felt great bringing her down. Now he doesn't know what hit him, and he's the one getting yelled at. It's just like Gagney, though: He loves to make people feel bad, but every single time he does it, he can't even help it, he gets in trouble. It's like a dog that loves jumping on the couch but is slapped every time he tries to do it. What happens with the dog, though, is eventually the dog's owners get tired of telling it no and just say “screw it” and let the dog jump on the couch.

  0800 HOURS, HOSPITAL

  Gagney gets out of the meeting with the chief ward masters and walks in the opposite direction of the OR.

  1400 HOURS, HOSPITAL

  Gagney has another meeting with the chief ward masters.

  1500 HOURS, OR

  Hudge enters the break room as Reto and I are playing our first game of Rummy 500. She doesn't realize it, but Gagney is right behind her. He leans down, whispers something in her ear, and walks out of the room. She gives us a quick glance and follows him.

  1630 HOURS, OR

  Reto and I are finishing up our second game. I'm about to lay down my final cards when Hudge walks in the room.

  “Well … the chief ward masters had three meetings with Gagney in the past two days. One yesterday, one this morning, then another one this afternoon. After the morning meeting he went and talked to the chaplain and the mental health officer.”

  Hudge stops and looks at Reto. She's looking to see if he had anything to do with it, since he mentioned the chaplain and mental health officer the day before. (The chaplain is an all-encompassing pastor for soldiers of every religion. A mental health officer is the Army's version of a psychiatrist.)

  Reto shakes his head and puts his hands in the air to say that he didn't have anything to do with it. Hudge sounds frantic because she's speaking so fast, but she still has a slight smile on her face.

  “Gagney orders me to go see them, so I head over to the chaplain's office.” The smile leaves Hudge's face as she begins describing what happened:

  “Come in, come in, I've been expecting you,” the chaplain says eagerly.

  “Sergeant Gagney told me to come speak to you. I'm not sure what this is about….”

  “Yes, yes, I spoke to Sergeant Gagney earlier this morning. Good man. We had a long talk, and I must admit a lot of it was about you.”

  “Um, okay, what do you mean you had a long talk about me?”

  “Well, I can't get into the whole conversation because I keep my confidences, but Sergeant Gagney told me you've been having some problems with anger and that he's afraid you may be depressed.”

  Hudge pauses at this part of the story. Reto and I are laughing. We can't believe what we're hearing. It has to be a joke.

  Hudge says she doesn't even believe what she's saying took place.

  “I just stared at the chaplain. I didn't know what to say. I couldn't believe it; the angriest man in our unit tells the chaplain that I've got an anger problem.

  “He says that Gagney told him that I've been acting up, yelling at people, and that a lot of people have problems with me. I'm just staring at him in shock. I'm speechless. Then, all of a sudden, I started to feel this thing come over me. My body is heating up. I could hear my heart pounding in my chest. ‘I've got the anger problem? I've got the anger problem? He told you that I have the anger problem? That is insane!’ I'm yelling.”

  “No need to raise your voice, Sergeant Hudge. Sergeant Gagney is just concerned about you and I think he might be right,” replied the chaplain.

  “He only came in here so I couldn't come to you first. He blew up at me the other day. If I complain about him, it will only look like revenge.”

  “Sergeant Hudge, you need to stop raising your voice.”

  Hudge stops the story and lowers her head.

  “He was talking to me like I was a lunatic and Gagney was a saint. My voice wasn't raised at all.

  “I storm out of the chaplain's office after about twenty minutes of listening to this bullshit. Of course, not before he had a chance to give me pamphlets on suicide and depression.” Hudge throws the pamphlets down on the table.

  “So I went to the mental health office. I figured there I'd at least be able to tell my side of the story, but once I got there … they're doing the same thing.”

  “Sergeant Hudge, glad to see you. You look good. Can I get you a drink? How are you feeling? Are you all right? You look good.”

  “I'm all right….”

  “Good, good. I was expecting you. I'm not sure if you are aware of this, but Sergeant Gagney stopped by earlier to see me and I… .”

  “Are you kidding me? This is harassment, this is bullsh… .”

  “Sergeant Hudge, no need for any language. I know you've been having some problems and Sergeant Gagney is only trying to help. Maybe if we can just talk for a little while we can get to the bottom of what's bothering you and causing you to lash out at everyone. Sergeant Gagney and I just want to help.”

  “He's the one who's been going around to everyone and telling them I have an anger problem — ”

  “Sergeant Hudge, no need to yell. We're in the same room. Why do you think that you have a problem with anger?”

  “I. Don't. Have. A. Problem. With. Anger. Gagney does! He's the one who has the problem….”

  “Let's not point fingers or call anyone names. I'm right here.”

  “This is a riot. We don't give Gagney enough credit. He's a genius. He's a fucking diabolical genius!” Reto is laughing uncontrollably.

  “And here's the best part.” Hudge goes on, the smile back on her face. “After I see mental health, now I'm really steaming, but I've still got to go see the chief ward masters. I go there and try to tell them about what happened and how Gagney tried to set me up.

  “He went to the chaplain and mental health and told them that I have anger problems and that I'm depressed….”

  “Yes, we are aware that Sergeant Gagney talked to them. We suggested that he talk to them and that it might help. We're glad you both were able to work things out,” the chief ward masters reply calmly.

  “Work things out?! Work things out?! He lied to everyone, he lied to us all. He made me cry…. I'm the one who has to go see the chaplain… . THIS IS INSANE!”

  “Sergeant Hudge, just before you came in here, the chaplain stopped by. He said he was concerned about you and thinks Sergeant Gagney might be right.”

  Hudge stops talking. Her cheeks are flushed.

  “I have to go to the bathroom.”

  WEEK 4, DAY 3, IRAQ

  0545 HOURS, GUARD DUTY, EAST GATE

  “And you, soldier, you will be guarding the East Side Gate,” Staff Sergeant Elwood says to me. He's the sergeant in charge of guard duty, and he always seems to be smiling, even at 0545 in the morning. We're way in the middle of nowhere at the far end of the airport. The gate is seldom used; it's only for incoming Iraqis who work on the base. The station is a tiny wooden box that has two doors and one window. Inside there's a desk but no chairs. The job is deceptively simple:

  All we — I'm assigned with another specialist by the name of Boredo — have to do is check people's IDs.

  Formerly active duty infantry, Boredo loves to tell stories of his unit fighting battles. He then joined the reserves to become a medic. Denti and Boredo are a little alike, although Boredo seems like a child who wants to look up to an adult for help.

  0700 HOURS, GUARD DUTY, EAST GATE

  It's only one hour into guard duty and I feel like shooting myself. Better yet, I feel like shooting Boredo. I have already seriously considered punching him in the face twice, but every time I look at him — and I see those deer-caught-in-the-headlights eyes — I feel bad. I just can't do it.

  �
��So then my unit ended up killing like twenty terrorists. Honestly, there's no feeling like the feeling of taking a man's life. It makes you feel alive. If you ever get a chance you should go outside the gate and see what it's really like, when you're not in the safety of your little hospital,” Boredo says. I try to be friendly and act like I'm interested, resisting the urge to slap him. I know all I've got to do is hit him once and he'll shut up.

  “Really? So how many did you kill?” I say instead of punching him. This is like the tiniest room I've ever been in.

  “Well … I wasn't really there — ”

  “You weren't there when you killed them?” They really should give us a bench or something.

  “ — with them.”

  “I'm sorry. With who?”

  “Okay, this happened when I wasn't there; it was after I left my infantry unit and joined this one — ”

  “Oh.”

  “But I heard all the stories, it was intense. One time my unit was held up in this alley — ”

  “Ah, okay,” I reply.

  “Well anyways, man, one time my unit was held up in this alley as they're getting ambushed…. ”

  Punch him…. Do it now….

  2000 HOURS, GUARD DUTY, EAST GATE

  It's 8 P.M. and Boredo and I are back on shift. We have been back on since 6 P.M.

  “… Then I ran into this burning building and pulled out five guys that were about to be executed. Well, I didn't so much as do it as one of the guys in my old unit did, but man, you've got to get out of the wire so you can experience that stuff.”

  “Have you ever actually been outside the gate yourself?”

  “Well, no, but….”

  Hit him….

  BAAAMMM. BAAAAMMMM. BAAAAMMMM. BOOOMMMM.

  BUNKERS! BUNKERS! BUNKERS! is shouted over the loudspeaker. This is really happening. Boredo and I lock the doors of the gate and grab our gear: a bulletproof flak vest, Kevlar, weapon, gas mask, and radio.