Chapter 13

I was evac'd the next day to Germany. My stay there was relatively brief, just long enough for the doctors to be sure my wounds were healing properly and that there was no real danger of further infection. I was then hustled onto a flight directly to Andrews AFB and from there to Walter Reed Army Hospital and the infamous 'Seventh' floor. The Psych Ward.

The first thing I noticed was the heavy wire mesh on the outsides of the windows. I guess they worried about someone jumping out in a fit of depression or maybe tossing someone else out in a fit of anger. The half of the floor I was going to be on had one big bay area all the way at the back filled with beds, like the old style hospitals always had. Not even semi-private. Almost like the old open bay barracks. The other half was for patients that had to be restrained full time. I was wheeled to my bed, sandwiched between a much older man in his fifties who snored like a buzz saw, and one about my own age who never seemed to blink. Neither one was very talkative, which suited me fine. I was given the standard welcome by the ward boss, a male nurse, Captain Rossi, who informed me about the rules and schedule. I had my vital signs taken and the results were noted on my new official chart while he talked.

"Once you've been seen by one of the staff psychiatrists they'll let us know what your status is going to be. If they agree, you'll be allowed freedom of the hospital and the grounds during regular hours. Until then you're pretty much confined to this floor. Meds are distributed three times a day; meals are brought to your bed. Along with the first generic meal will be a check sheet. You can request what you like from off the list, if you don't have dietary restrictions. If that turns out to be the case you have to suffer with what the doc's say you can have."

I nodded my understanding.

"There's a dayroom just outside the main bay with a TV, some books and games. A latrine and showers just down the hall from that, semi-private rooms along the sides, those are mostly for the female patients and patients under watch. If the door is closed, stay out. If it's open, you can visit if you want. Under no circumstances are you to close the door if you are in there with a female patient. At the end of the hall, outside the double doors are a couple more toilets and the elevators and the doctor's offices. You've seen the nurse's station. There is always someone there, either the ward nurse or a medtech. Patients are not allowed to use the phones at the nurse's station. There is a pay phone next to the nurse's station and another out by the doctor's offices."

"Is there a gym or a weight room somewhere around here?" I asked.

"Sort of. On the floor above us is a large open bay that used to be for calisthenics. It's got some big flat pads; you know the kind they use for wrestling? And I think there might be a heavy bag up there. But that's about it. No weights. For that you'll have to be sent to physical therapy."

"I'd really like to start running again. I used to run several miles a day before I got sent to Saudi."

"Is that where you got shot?"

"No. Iraq."

Captain Rossi did a quick scan of my chart. "Hmmm. Okay, you're supposed to meet with Colonel DeBerg at 1400. After that, based on what he tells us, you'll be put into a group. The groups meet every morning at 0900 with their own doctors. At 1000 we have a floor meeting. The patients elect their own officers, president, vice president, secretary. They make decisions about non-hospital related activities, like field trips to the Mall, museums, bowling, picnics and the like. When the weather gets warmer we allow patients off the hospital grounds to the Base swimming pool. If you're authorized by your doctor you can go to the Base Exchange, or the movie theater. You'll get used to the schedule pretty quick."

"How many others are there on this ward right now?"

"Ten at the moment. Eight are more or less resident, including you. That changes from time to time. We get temporary patients in and out of here all the time. Most of them are being moved between hospitals all over the country. Quite a few get sent here because they're seeing doctors or getting tests run over at Annapolis. They have more modern facilities and equipment than we do here, but their bed space is limited."

I said thanks and let the man get back to his work. I stretched out on the bed and drifted off to sleep. A medical technician woke me up a few hours later and wheeled me down the hallway towards my 1400 appointment with Colonel DeBerg.

Air Force Colonel DeBerg was a big man with thick black hair that had started graying. He looked to me a lot like a bigger, older version of my brother. His face was ruddy and bronzed, reminding me of pictures I'd seen in books of old time sailors.

"Good afternoon, Sergeant Blacktower. I'm Colonel DeBerg." Colonel not Doctor. I got up out of the wheel chair and stood facing him.

"Colonel." He didn't like that I was taller than him, I could see that in his eyes. I made him uneasy.

"Step in and have a seat." He ordered, waving me into his office. I walked in and stood beside one of the chairs in front of his desk. He followed me in and shut the door then took a seat behind the desk. I sat down and waited.

"Sergeant, questions have been raised about your willingness to continue in military service."

"Willingness, colonel? I'm not sure what you mean by that."

He eyed me for a few seconds.

"Let's cut to the chase, shall we? Your mental stability is in doubt. I'm informed that you talk to yourself, no... that you have animated conversations aloud in which you take both sides."

"That is probably true. I can't be sure. I was wounded and bleeding, injected with morphine, dehydrated, hadn't been eating well, sleep deprived and suffering from heat stroke. Also physically exhausted and trying to keep from being captured or killed. I'm pretty sure I was also delusional. Of course, I could have imagined that."

"How are you feeling right now?"

"Physically, my hip hurts like hell, but not nearly as bad as before. The painkillers help. The scratch on my shoulder hardly bothers me at all. I tire easily, but that probably won't last much longer. Mentally, I'm having some difficulty keeping focused. I never used to have that problem."

"Your file says that you were on a classified mission when you were wounded, a combat mission."

"I didn't shoot myself colonel."

"No... I didn't mean to give that impression."

"It's an awkward question, I know. Yes, I killed men."

"Does that bother you?"

"No, not at all. No guilt, no remorse. I had a long talk with myself on the way back about that very subject. I have ethical and philosophical problems with the justification and rightness of killing, but not with the necessity."

"Would you do it again, if your commander ordered you to?"

"My Colonel didn't order me. He asked me to go. I agreed with his reasons for selecting me over the other men, so I went. I spoke with him before they sent me to Germany and I told him then that I couldn't do that kind of thing again."

"I don't follow."

"Colonel, I worked in Army CID for two years before I was transferred to a combat intelligence unit a couple of months ago. I never trained for the mission I went on. I've never been to Combat Infantry School, or survival school, or sniper school or anything like that. I was trained to be an analyst and an interviewer; a criminal investigator. Do you remember in the news a few months back about a couple of shootings that happened in Maryland; an army Lt. with a rifle shooting at people on the street from his apartment? And a man in a police station who took the gun from a cop and held him hostage?"

DeBerg nodded. "Yes, I remember hearing about both of those."

"I killed those men. That's when I was transferred to a unit headed for Saudi Arabia."

"So taking a life is not something new to you?"

"No. I learned to hunt when I was thirteen. The act of killing does not bother me. I'm good at it; far too good, if you want my opinion. But it's not what I want to do with my life."

"Alright, Sergeant, that's enough for now. I'm going to schedule you for some additional evaluations and medical tests. Once the medical tests are complete and your regular physician releases you, you'll be allowed full freedom of the hospital and weekend passes off base if you want them. I'll see you when the other evaluations are completed."

I had been dismissed, though politely. I stood up and left his office. Leaving the wheel chair in the hallway, I walked back to my bed in the bay and lay down.

Maybe this wouldn't be so bad. A quick retirement from the Army and I could get on with my life.

Never, ever underestimate the perversity of the military bureaucracy.

That night, after the dinner meal (and they say MREs are a lousy substitute for food), I wrote a short letter to my sister.

My dearest Izzy,

Pay no attention to anything you may have heard from the Army or the DoD about me being missing or killed. I'm alive and kicking. A little perforated, but otherwise fine and back in the US.

I'll be here at Walter Reed until the military makes up its collective mind what they want to do with me. If you want to come see me, you're more than welcome. If not, I understand.

I realize that I've been insensitive to your feelings for far too long. Part of that was me paying too much attention to feelings and not enough to actions. Part was me being stupid and selfish and unwilling to share my feelings with you. It's been far too easy for me to take for granted that you know how I feel, just because I knew how you did.

I sealed the envelope, addressed it care of my father and gave one of the nigh medtechs five dollars to mail it for me. No way was I trusting it to the military psych censors.

The next morning I attended my first 'group' session.

If you've never been to a 'group', I highly recommend it. There's nothing like sitting around for an hour listening to other people talk about their problems, and you have no choice but to stay and listen.

Yeah, I could have tuned them out. I'm pretty sure at least two of them did just that on a regular basis. There's supposed to be some kind of 'shared group dynamic' that allows the individual to spill their guts without fear of mockery or recrimination.

There were five men in my group.

One was a skeletal Navy Lt. Commander named Walt, about my height, but half my weight, who looked like an escapee from Auschwitz. His problem was actually pretty simple to figure out; lousy self image. He had been anorexic and bulimic for years and the physical damage he'd done his body finally caught up and nearly killed him. He was on suicide watch most of the time and never left the ward without at least two other people to keep him company. The military was trying to cure and dump him at the same time.

One was a young Air Force Senior Airman named David who'd had problems with his superiors and tried to transfer to the army, but had been denied. He'd taken a .22 pistol and tried to kill himself by pressing the barrel to his belly-button and pulling the trigger. The doctors were still in the process of putting his mangled guts back into some kind of working order, and processing him for court-martial. He had become a radical pacifist.

One was a middle aged Air Force analyst, a Master Sergeant by the name of Tim, who had been working on recon photos in Korea, when he snapped and tried to throw several large metal file cabinets and his Korean associate out a window that didn't exist. He was so heavily sedated and drugged with anti-depressants that he made a dead turtle with two broken legs look speedy. He'd been diagnosed with an unbalanced brain chemistry leading to manic behavior. The doctors were feeding him drugs to stabilize his brain and give him back some semblance of normalcy.

The fourth was a short, bull chested Marine Captain named Auggie. This guy was unusual in that he appeared to be calm and controlled, even charming, most of the time, but had a hair trigger temper that he couldn't control. Apparently this hair trigger had gone off one time too many, even for the Marines to put up with. If the docs couldn't fix him with therapy or drugs, he was on his way to a VA ward somewhere very much like this one, maybe for good. Auggie was also sedated most of the time, but I'd been warned by Captain Rossi not to assume anything, because when Auggie went off, he'd target the largest person around.

And I was number five. The new guy. So naturally our 'group moderator', an Army 2^nd Lt. by the name of Janice Watson, decided to have me do a gut spill for the group.

"Ike, you're new to the group, so why don't you tell us a little about yourself and why you think you're here?"

No one in these group sessions was ever addressed by their ranks, only first names. I suppose the idea was to be more informal and less threatening.

I gave her a cockeyed look, but shrugged my shoulders.

"My name is Ike Blacktower, and I'm here because the Army is trying to decide if I'm mentally unstable enough to be retired."

"Sounds familiar."Auggie joked.

"Why does the Army think you're unstable, Ike?" Lt. Watson asked, moving the interview along.

I smiled at her. "Lt., I'm not sure how much of what got me sent here is classified and how much I'm allowed to talk about. You might want to talk to Colonel DeBerg and find out for both of us."

Her eyes widened a tiny bit then she relaxed and sat back. "An excellent suggestion. I'll do that right after 'group'."

Our 'group session' was being held in the open bay area; one bed had been shoved against a wall to make room for the semi-circle of chairs we sat on. The double doors to the bay had been closed for the purpose of the group meeting, but they slammed open and a stark naked woman came tearing in, looking like the hounds of hell were hard on her heels. Her eyes were hugely dilated, her lightly tanned skin was sweaty, her dirty blond hair was tangled and matted and looked like an overused mop.

She might have been pretty; it was hard to say for sure. I noticed her breasts were heavy and the skin of her belly was loose and sagged a bit, which detracted from her overall appearance. I put two and two together quickly. This woman had just recently given birth.

She started climbing over the beds then diving under them. She got to a wall and tried to climb out. When that didn't work she began looking for a place to hide.

I looked quickly towards Lt. Watson, wondering what she planned to do. She was frozen, with amazement or confusion or something, but she was out of her depth at the moment.

The others in my group, with the exception of Auggie, were watching with interest, but they weren't going to be any help. Auggie was watching the woman with more than interest on his face.

Where in hell were the techs or Captain Rossi?

Auggie started to get up.

"Stay put. She's scared enough without you making it worse." I growled at him.

"Shut your trap, snowman! I'll damn well do what I like."

I linked with him. Yeah, his trigger had gone off alright. Rage was building, running neck and neck with lust to see which could fill him first. I linked with the naked woman. She was a mass of fear, terror, and loss. I funneled her emotions into Auggie, full blast.

He whimpered and crawled under his chair, shaking like a leaf. I cut the link to Auggie and turned my attention to the woman. I started sending her feelings of peace, contentment, love and compassion.