A hole inside the brain of the military (A memoir from soldier who was there)
II
The news was on all channels, keeping
the hysteria alive with, and uh this time “THE REVOLUTION WAS TELEVISED,”
reporters interviewing Military Service Members, civilians, and redundantly
were interviewing each other. Just had a few minutes of free time to be away
from picking up the dead out of The Pentagon and I can’t even escape the
brooding by watching a cartoon. It was mid September 2001. One of
my peers, Pickering, described it best when he said, “How am I supposed to feel
there’s
A hole in the brain of the military?”
Yesterday, WONDER WOMAN from the
1970’s (Linda Carter) walked up to us (Operation Noble Eagle). Told us how much
she appreciated us. She had tears in her eyes. The lieutenants were star
struck.
September 11, 2001:
54 Quarter Master
“Mortuary Affairs” Company sent their first team that same afternoon to assist
the Federal Bureau of Investigations. The rest of us deployed within the 48
hours. The Honor Guard (the U.S.
Day after day,
smelling burnt flesh with burnt steel melted together. Unfathomable, it still
is to me to imagine burning to death. The televised revolution also showed people
choosing to jump from the Twin Towers
Day by day, we were
sitting and waiting for the “looters fair” to clear out so we could go in and
remove the dead. I wasn’t fortunate enough to be on the night shift when
soldiers got the most action.The looters fair was Every N.W.O. (new world
order) entity (Burger King, Outback, Pizza Hut etc.) and charity organizations
(Red Cross, Peace Corps) seemed to be on the Pentagon lawn supplying free stuff
from clothes to medical services.
It was
around September 17, when I saw our assistant
platoon sergeant and another soldier carelessly take a body out of the hole in
the brain of the military and into a reefer unit. Shortly after, I was told
that I was being placed at Fort Belvoir Dover for identification.
“Was
it?”
On the drive up,
“Unintentional?”
To me there was a false sentiment that
polluted my mind when a reporter stepped out of his vehicle to photograph one
of our reefer units.
Was this my Piece of The American 
?
?
What’s
yours?
To
be? Cause we’re all numbers.
Three
days ago I bought an American Flag to sleep under. But never did because two
sergeants told me it was desecration.
There wasn’t much to eat at Air hanger. Therefore, every
couple of days we went to the postal exchange to get food. One particular day I
went to get stocked up on a bunch of junk food. Think the healthiest food was
Roman Noodles. When I walked through the toy aisle to get to the cashier I saw
W.C.W. professional wrestling action figures. The action figure that caught my
attention the most was Hulk Hogan. These were toys that would soon be
unavailable because the company was bought out by Vince McMahon. To me these
toys represented a dream gone badly, like me. I wanted to buy these toys
because they would surely be antiques in the near future.
I had rather buy booze than toys. But I couldn’t risk
getting drunk; if the Sergeant caught me I would surely have the book thrown at
me. The Uniform Code of Military Justice is much more severe than the civilian
law. Yet, I logically deduced that I could get three mini bottles. The chemist
in me came out. If I drank three different types I could get buzzed safe and
quickly. JIM AND JACK RIDING THE WILD TURKEY (jim bean, jack daniels and wild
turkey).
Needed something to drink, after all, I was so frightened thinking
about the daily security briefings that Sergeant Hardgrove told us every day. “Bin
Laden has declared JiHad on the United
States .”
She also told us that we would eventually go after our old buddy Sadam.
To disrupt my thoughts I comically wondered “What color was America was today?” A reference
different security identification measures of terrorism such as amber alert.
Usually in vain
attempts to enjoy normalcy I would go to the barracks lobby and watch “tell me
vision” television reruns of the Buggs Bunny cartoon. Like the ones I watched
as a child. Perhaps I could also harvest innocence from my subconscious mind.
There was no peace. I overheard three phones occupied. There were
two conversations between lovers and one conversation with a parent.
The effect it had on me was that painful gnawing in my gut
as I realized I was all alone. I needed a drink. Back in my room my tears fell
faster than I could get it down. I realized in that moment I had no one to call
and no one to call me. All I had was the bottle.
1999
Land of the Morning Calm:
He
prided himself on being a satanist. Even had the certificate signed by Peter Gilmore, along with the pentagram tattooed on his back. Prided
himself on showing a cassette video that had him hanging from meat hooks. The
visuals reminded me of “Hell Raiser” movies.
P.F.C. William Crouse and I became
friends after he told that his small country town was trying to get him to be
their mortician. His Military job was computer graphics.
We went out quite
often to the bars. He was always quick to pierce his body with clothespins. He
compounded on piercing himself with a mysterious charm that attracted the
female service members and female Koreans.
September 18, 2001:
Some
how William Crouse had found my barracks room.
Saw Crouse just long enough that night to talk about our good ole days in Korea .
Told me he had been about two hundred feet away from where the plane had hit.
Told me the building shook for a few seconds. A few seconds that seemed more
like a couple hours.
Early
October 2001:
Days
later I hung out with him again in his barracks room. Crouse’s favorite cd cover was Danzig
6:66. On this cover a muscle bound man was holding a heart in his hands and had
blood dripping from his mouth.
William was chain smoking and
drinking beer wile he was trashing out his barrack’s room. He had his own “I’ll
love you forever ;” (hope he had a better experience than mine). She looked
like a modernized version of a “flower child.”
He emptied those packs of BC Headache powder on the middle
of his barracks table, and took a razor and made thin lines of the white
powder.
“Think they’ll think
I had a big party here?” Crouse asked his buddy who was also with us. His buddy,
who so conveniently, was in the Military Intelligence.
“Hey Holmes, think I should use this ketchup to make it look like blood
on the walls?”
“Sure man. But can
I use it on my chicken first?” A couple of hours ago I had bought a box of
chicken that I was unable to keep frozen.
He then
wrote “War Pigs” on the wall and smeared it with his fingers to
authenticate.
“Hey Holmes, let
me see those chicken bones.” Thus he peeled away all the meat and skin, cut
into one of his pillows, threw the feathers all around. To get an even further
evil feel for what he was doing he drew a pentagram on his floor with his black
shoe polish. Then he used his lighter to set the symbol a blaze.
He playfully snatched a half way eaten piece of chicken from
my mouth and set it in the center of the pentagram.
I picked up a book on his floor and began skimming.
“William just loves that book.” His
flower child girlfriend explained to me.
“So uh, how did ya’ll meet?” I let the book, by Poppy
Bright, close on my index finger so I wouldn’t lose my place.
“Oh, we met at a bar just a few blocks away.” And I could
just imagine him sticking clothes pins into his arms.
“I regret the fact that I have
forgotten your name?”
“ It’s Pamela, just like Jim Morrison,
pretty cool uh?” Crowse interrupted “Yea, that
book was her last one that was horror. Now she’s working on more
autobiographical stuff.”
“Hey, Crowse.
Think it is time that we had our last drink together.” His Military
Intelligence friend added. He was trying to sound so hip as he took that half
full fifth of Jack Daniels out of the refrigerator.
That night, I made
it a point to be outside and salute the flag as Tapps played.
Mid October 2001
I-95 11:32 am:
The
following day as we (The 54th QM Co.) were returning back to Fort
Lee Air Force One flew over head leaving its shadow upon our bus. I had a new
sense of hope.
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