Bumpadrum
01-06-2007, 09:02
What I remember about that helicopter trip to the ship was how uncomfortable it is to be in a war zone in your pajamas. I was a patient now, not a soldier. No M-16. No frags, C-4, claymores, bayonets. ****, I didn’t even have my pistol. I was a baby. A sick, unarmed baby. But I was on my way home. My first day on the ship resulted in more pokes and prods. They were still baffled, but decided that I could start eating real food again. I shuffled on down to the mess hall in my slippers, jammies and robe. When I walked in I discovered one of the truths of life;
... the difference between the Army and the Navy. I had just come from an environment of C-rations and water purification tablets. Every now and then a water buffalo would “accidentally” get killed and we would bar-b-que, or one of the good old boys would cook some snake on a stick, and we called that good eating. But these Navy dicks...they had not one, but two chow lines, one for hot meals and one for sandwiches . They had music playing, cold beer at night, hot showers every day, movies, mail on time, no mortar attacks. I liked their war a whole lot better than mine, but you know what ? I didn’t give a ****; I was going home.
Eventually.
Soon.
I decided to take a low profile approach to my stay aboard the Repose. I had one small medical procedure; a piece of shrapnel that remained in my leg became infected. I assisted the Doctor as he removed it. It was the tip of a ball point pen, complete with ink, which made the pus and blood blue. After that, I commandeered a wheel chair and a harmonica, and I never made eye contact with hospital personnel. I wheeled myself to hiding spots on the ship where I would smoke a joint and play the blues on my harp. At night the sky was lit up by a psychedelic light show as the Naval group accompanying us bombarded the mainland. It was a major event every night as these doctors and nurses dedicated to saving lives would gather to ‘ooh’ and ‘ahh’ and toast these ships as they cast two thousand-pound bombs on people twenty miles away. It was quite possible that they would have to work on those very same people in the morning.
I wondered how they felt about that, but I didn’t care.
I felt a lot better, however, and as long as I didn’t speak to anyone I deduced that I could hide out there until I went home. Just hide and smoke, that was the plan. Worked out nicely, for a while. One day I rolled myself to the very front of the ship, and I was toking and wailing, lost in the blue smoke. I heard a commotion getting closer and decided to bolt. I maneuvered the chair around for my get away and ran smack into a group of command officers on some kind of tour of the ship. I was busted and I was considering jumping overboard when one of the officers came stumbling towards me. It was a woman and she was wearing army fatigues and a pink beret, and there was something familiar... but I was desperate to escape and cornered;
rat-like.
“What‘s your name, soldier ?” she asked as she leaned in. I smelled two things. One, her bright red, decidedly non-military issue lipstick, and two, booze! This chick was loaded; drunk as a skunk and so wobbly I thought she should have a wheel chair also. I relaxed a little, hoping that if they were all drunk I might be able to weasel out of this.
”St.Arno, Daryl V. Ma’am.”
“Well, where ya’ from, Dale?”
By now she was inches from my face and she had her hand on my head. I examined the many patches on her uniform. Some Army, some Navy, Air Force, and Marines, too. I realized she wasn’t military at all, but she was...a movie star! Her name was Martha Raye,and she was an actress and comedienne of my parents generation. She was famous for having a big mouth, I think, and for hanging out with Bob Hope and John Wayne. She was a great supporter of the American fighting man. She was a true patriot on a morale boosting tour, and she was...dead drunk.
“Detroit, Ma’am”
She continued to talk to me for a few minutes, and then they moved on. I wheeled around the opposite way and prepared to disappear.
“Stand by, soldier”. I turned around to see some junior medical officer coming towards me with a stack of charts.
“What did you say your name is?” “St.Arno, Daryl V. Sir”. He perused his stack and asked “What’s your medical situation?” “Blood poisoning, Sir” “Report to your Doctor immediately”.
“Yes, Sir”.
I started to roll away.
“Sergeant?”
“Yes, Sir?”
“Why are you in a wheel chair if you have blood poisoning?”
Let’s not forget that only moments before this incident took place I had smoked a big, fat joint of Vietnamese weed, some of this planets finest.
I was too high to be in public, or anywhere else.
“Well, uh...it’s uh...it makes me dizzy...my head or something... it hurts and it’s hard or, um, uh, woozy standing up, or to walk too, Sir.”
“Go see your Doctor.”
... the difference between the Army and the Navy. I had just come from an environment of C-rations and water purification tablets. Every now and then a water buffalo would “accidentally” get killed and we would bar-b-que, or one of the good old boys would cook some snake on a stick, and we called that good eating. But these Navy dicks...they had not one, but two chow lines, one for hot meals and one for sandwiches . They had music playing, cold beer at night, hot showers every day, movies, mail on time, no mortar attacks. I liked their war a whole lot better than mine, but you know what ? I didn’t give a ****; I was going home.
Eventually.
Soon.
I decided to take a low profile approach to my stay aboard the Repose. I had one small medical procedure; a piece of shrapnel that remained in my leg became infected. I assisted the Doctor as he removed it. It was the tip of a ball point pen, complete with ink, which made the pus and blood blue. After that, I commandeered a wheel chair and a harmonica, and I never made eye contact with hospital personnel. I wheeled myself to hiding spots on the ship where I would smoke a joint and play the blues on my harp. At night the sky was lit up by a psychedelic light show as the Naval group accompanying us bombarded the mainland. It was a major event every night as these doctors and nurses dedicated to saving lives would gather to ‘ooh’ and ‘ahh’ and toast these ships as they cast two thousand-pound bombs on people twenty miles away. It was quite possible that they would have to work on those very same people in the morning.
I wondered how they felt about that, but I didn’t care.
I felt a lot better, however, and as long as I didn’t speak to anyone I deduced that I could hide out there until I went home. Just hide and smoke, that was the plan. Worked out nicely, for a while. One day I rolled myself to the very front of the ship, and I was toking and wailing, lost in the blue smoke. I heard a commotion getting closer and decided to bolt. I maneuvered the chair around for my get away and ran smack into a group of command officers on some kind of tour of the ship. I was busted and I was considering jumping overboard when one of the officers came stumbling towards me. It was a woman and she was wearing army fatigues and a pink beret, and there was something familiar... but I was desperate to escape and cornered;
rat-like.
“What‘s your name, soldier ?” she asked as she leaned in. I smelled two things. One, her bright red, decidedly non-military issue lipstick, and two, booze! This chick was loaded; drunk as a skunk and so wobbly I thought she should have a wheel chair also. I relaxed a little, hoping that if they were all drunk I might be able to weasel out of this.
”St.Arno, Daryl V. Ma’am.”
“Well, where ya’ from, Dale?”
By now she was inches from my face and she had her hand on my head. I examined the many patches on her uniform. Some Army, some Navy, Air Force, and Marines, too. I realized she wasn’t military at all, but she was...a movie star! Her name was Martha Raye,and she was an actress and comedienne of my parents generation. She was famous for having a big mouth, I think, and for hanging out with Bob Hope and John Wayne. She was a great supporter of the American fighting man. She was a true patriot on a morale boosting tour, and she was...dead drunk.
“Detroit, Ma’am”
She continued to talk to me for a few minutes, and then they moved on. I wheeled around the opposite way and prepared to disappear.
“Stand by, soldier”. I turned around to see some junior medical officer coming towards me with a stack of charts.
“What did you say your name is?” “St.Arno, Daryl V. Sir”. He perused his stack and asked “What’s your medical situation?” “Blood poisoning, Sir” “Report to your Doctor immediately”.
“Yes, Sir”.
I started to roll away.
“Sergeant?”
“Yes, Sir?”
“Why are you in a wheel chair if you have blood poisoning?”
Let’s not forget that only moments before this incident took place I had smoked a big, fat joint of Vietnamese weed, some of this planets finest.
I was too high to be in public, or anywhere else.
“Well, uh...it’s uh...it makes me dizzy...my head or something... it hurts and it’s hard or, um, uh, woozy standing up, or to walk too, Sir.”
“Go see your Doctor.”