Posted: 10/26/2008 2:32:24 AM EDT
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Monday, October 27, 2008
I met with the therapist again today. No real breakthrough––I think all this psycho-babble is crap anyway. But if it keeps me out of jail, I'll keep going. Besides, she's kind of cute, in a bookworm librarian kind of way. She asked me about Rourke again, almost like she suspected I imagined him. I didn't invent him. He was already there. I only knew one other guy in my unit. Rourke was from my hometown. I didn't know him very well; we went to rival high schools, we were in different platoons; and he was combat arms––infantry––while I was a REMF (Rear Echelon M***** F*****). Rourke went crazy while we were quarantined at Bagram. One day I was sitting on my cot thumbing through a motorcycle magazine and Rourke surprised me by grabbing my shoulders and freaking out on me. He was sweating, his face and eyes were beet-red, and he wasn't making any sense. He was screaming something about the firefight. "They wouldn't stop! They want us to be like them! Their blood is in my blood! I have to get out!" Four burly guys in full decon suits appeared out of nowhere and subdued him. They held him down while one of them injected a syringe into his neck. Rourke quickly became quiet. They escorted him out. I had to wash my face because through all his screaming, he blew spittle all over me, even in my mouth. I never saw Rourke again. They said it was nothing to worry about, that he was a victim of PTSD. I thought it was all bullshit. Rourke was a tough guy. He'd been in the Army four years. He looked to me like he was scared, not stressed. I wonder whatever happened to him? The therapist said he was a figment of my imagination, or perhaps a dream. Something I invented to deal with the trauma. "The trauma caused by the events I've been telling you about since Afghanistan?" I asked. "No," she replied, "I'm talking about what happened in Afghanistan, not since." Hmph. Stupid therapists. Posted by Jacob Kovak at 2:45 AM 0 comments Labels: Afghanistan, Rourke, therapist |
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Friday, October 31, 2008
Well it's been a couple days since I wrote anything down. When I see the therapist next week I know she's going to chastise me. Some days it's easier than others. Today I felt compelled to write. It's Halloween. Coming home from work I saw a few early trick-or-treaters. One of them, a boy about ten-years old, was dressed and made up like a zombie. Seeing him sent a chill down my spine and reminded me of that guy in Ramstein. Ramstein Air Base in Germany is our first stop when leaving A-stan. From there, soldiers usually get a few days rest and catch the next hop to their home station. I was in transient billeting for two nights waiting for my flight to the US. During the second night, at about 3:00 AM, I was awaken by horrible screams coming from downstairs. Unlike in A-stan, we weren't armed in Ramstein, but nonetheless a few badasses ran downstairs to see what was happening. Not me, I stayed in my bunk. Next thing I know, I hear gunfire. M16s from the sound of it. Screams and gunfire, worse than I've ever heard before. QRF (Quick Reaction Force) soldiers ran in through the door leading to the outside staircase, on full alert and pointing their weapons at us like they're looking for an excuse to shoot. "What the Hell is going on?" I asked, but they ignored me. Appearing to be a little relieved, they rushed us out the side door to the outside stairway, not through the interior through the first floor. Keeping their weapons at the ready, they ran us down the stairs while we could hear the occasional "pop" of an M16 coming from the first floor. Running down the stairs past the first floor is when I first saw it. I looked toward one of the windows and saw a most hideous sight. There was a soldier, or what appeared to be what used to be a soldier, in a brown t-shirt and boxers as if he'd been sleeping, clawing at the window trying to get to us. I couldn't recognize him. His face was contorted, his eyes were red and wild, and his mouth seemed to open too wide with teeth covered in blood and with what looked like bits of flesh stuck between his teeth. Another M16 "pop" and his head exploded. There were about thirty of us from the second floor of the billeting area. They pushed us into an open parking lot, all of us still in sleeping attire, mostly t-shirts and gym shorts or sweats. Within the next few minutes, three 5-ton trucks arrived and we were ushered into the backs of them. We were driven across the base to yet another decon station. All of us, transients and QRF guards, stripped down and repeated the application just like in Bagram. I tried to ask one of the QRF guys what was going on but he just sneered at me. Another three days in quarantine and I was finally going to get to go home. Damn I couldn't wait to get out of this insanity. My EAS (End of Active Service) date was coming up and I had no desire to re-enlist. Posted by Jacob Kovak at 8:47 PM 0 comments Labels: decon, Halloween, Ramstein |
