Tempus Fugit
Jun. 12th, 2023 12:54 pm20 years ago today I took a chopper from Al Qayyara to Mosul.
It was a pretty good ride, not as fun as the one from the Korean DMZ back to Seoul (which came later) but the pilot practiced a Hot LZ takeoff; did a heavy pop-up to make sure we were above any power lines; and then followed the sinuous path of the Tigris, down low enough to watch the wash on the water, and then just at the height of the banks (about 50 feet) so we could see the water, and the countryside.
But it wasn't a pleasure flight. I was sick. I'd been sick, on paper, since 9 May (though I'm pretty sure the first symptoms started a week, or two, before that), so Charlie Med sent me to to the 23rd Combat Support Hospital to have an internist look me over. The whole thing felt like something out of Vietnam. Sal was going with me, partly because I was a mess, and so that, should the CSH keep me there would be someone who knew what was happening.
So he sewed his 101 Patch on his sleeve, and went to talk to the Aviation unit; which it happened he'd served with in Vietnam. Got us a ride. We were landed on the ass-end of the field, more than a mile from the CSH. He found us a place to rest (where they had a refrigerator... I don't know if I can tell you how shocking it was to see condensation on the water bottles; much less drink something which was truly COLD, for the first time in months).
He left me in the shade and found someone who was "heading toward the CSH and we piled into the humvee. Got to the CSH, and waited. And waited. Saw a kid get told he was being sent to Landstuhl; the hospital wasn't going to let him go back to his Unit first. He was in shock, and arguing with the NCO doing what Sal was doing for me. The Sgt. was trying to comfort the kid. It was hard to watch; because it was so relatable. He had buddies, and he was abandoning them for something he thought was no big deal (he'd wrenched his knee).
They took me in, and the medic took my vitals, and my history, and the paper work.
About 15 minutes later Col. Mondragon came in; made me strip, asked me some questions, spun me around, tapped my collarbones, flexed my feet and said, "you have Reiters, come back in two weeks" and filled out a form saying I was unfit for duty and needed to be sent stateside (it wasn't as clearly worded as that, and almost read as if I/my command had a choice; we didn't)
It was about 1500 by now, and cadging a ride back to Al Qayyara wasn't gonna happen. so Sal and I humped over to some other part of the compound (Mosul was a zoo, had a Division command, the CSH, a BCT and an Armor unit unit), where we were sort of blocked by the 101st's band playing a concert. Sal said he was going to see about getting us a cot somewhere, and I found a patch of dirt on the other side of the ditch which defined the road; where it was mostly shady, and went to sleep; though the creaking of M1 treads did intrude on my restless somnolence (sleep wasn't something I was getting much of, after about four hours the pressure on my joints hurt too much, and I was awake. So I was working until 0100-0200, waking at 0500ish, firing up the computers, working until about 1300, and passing out until about 1600. It meant we got more work done, but I was dragging ass all the time; and not fit to go "outside the wire")
Sal came back, two and a half-three hours later; with a ride to a billet. We had a cot, and tent; MREs, and a ride on a Chinook; be on the pad at 0600. The 1SG told his guys we were guests, and were allowed to use the shower.
Use The Shower.
The last time I'd had a shower was 27 Mar; in Kuwait. This was 12 June. The 1SG had commandeered a 1,500 gal. tanker truck and rigged hoses to the outlet; which were split out to four shower heads, which had stall built around them. Think M*A*S*H but with privacy. There were pallets on gravel pits to keep the ground from becoming sludge.
It was heaven. I got wet (the water was mostly warm), turned off the water, got luxuriantly clean (I can still wash myself with a bottle, and 1.5 liters of water; though these days that doesn't include my hair) and rinsed off; really letting my scalp get flushed. I also noticed the people in the unit had become used to it, because the stall next to me never turned off the water; they could always get more.
Back to my cot, took the better drug regimen Mondragon had prescribed and slept for more than eight hours.
I was just shy of my 36th birthday and I don't think I've ever had a better present than that shower.
It was a pretty good ride, not as fun as the one from the Korean DMZ back to Seoul (which came later) but the pilot practiced a Hot LZ takeoff; did a heavy pop-up to make sure we were above any power lines; and then followed the sinuous path of the Tigris, down low enough to watch the wash on the water, and then just at the height of the banks (about 50 feet) so we could see the water, and the countryside.
But it wasn't a pleasure flight. I was sick. I'd been sick, on paper, since 9 May (though I'm pretty sure the first symptoms started a week, or two, before that), so Charlie Med sent me to to the 23rd Combat Support Hospital to have an internist look me over. The whole thing felt like something out of Vietnam. Sal was going with me, partly because I was a mess, and so that, should the CSH keep me there would be someone who knew what was happening.
So he sewed his 101 Patch on his sleeve, and went to talk to the Aviation unit; which it happened he'd served with in Vietnam. Got us a ride. We were landed on the ass-end of the field, more than a mile from the CSH. He found us a place to rest (where they had a refrigerator... I don't know if I can tell you how shocking it was to see condensation on the water bottles; much less drink something which was truly COLD, for the first time in months).
He left me in the shade and found someone who was "heading toward the CSH and we piled into the humvee. Got to the CSH, and waited. And waited. Saw a kid get told he was being sent to Landstuhl; the hospital wasn't going to let him go back to his Unit first. He was in shock, and arguing with the NCO doing what Sal was doing for me. The Sgt. was trying to comfort the kid. It was hard to watch; because it was so relatable. He had buddies, and he was abandoning them for something he thought was no big deal (he'd wrenched his knee).
They took me in, and the medic took my vitals, and my history, and the paper work.
About 15 minutes later Col. Mondragon came in; made me strip, asked me some questions, spun me around, tapped my collarbones, flexed my feet and said, "you have Reiters, come back in two weeks" and filled out a form saying I was unfit for duty and needed to be sent stateside (it wasn't as clearly worded as that, and almost read as if I/my command had a choice; we didn't)
It was about 1500 by now, and cadging a ride back to Al Qayyara wasn't gonna happen. so Sal and I humped over to some other part of the compound (Mosul was a zoo, had a Division command, the CSH, a BCT and an Armor unit unit), where we were sort of blocked by the 101st's band playing a concert. Sal said he was going to see about getting us a cot somewhere, and I found a patch of dirt on the other side of the ditch which defined the road; where it was mostly shady, and went to sleep; though the creaking of M1 treads did intrude on my restless somnolence (sleep wasn't something I was getting much of, after about four hours the pressure on my joints hurt too much, and I was awake. So I was working until 0100-0200, waking at 0500ish, firing up the computers, working until about 1300, and passing out until about 1600. It meant we got more work done, but I was dragging ass all the time; and not fit to go "outside the wire")
Sal came back, two and a half-three hours later; with a ride to a billet. We had a cot, and tent; MREs, and a ride on a Chinook; be on the pad at 0600. The 1SG told his guys we were guests, and were allowed to use the shower.
Use The Shower.
The last time I'd had a shower was 27 Mar; in Kuwait. This was 12 June. The 1SG had commandeered a 1,500 gal. tanker truck and rigged hoses to the outlet; which were split out to four shower heads, which had stall built around them. Think M*A*S*H but with privacy. There were pallets on gravel pits to keep the ground from becoming sludge.
It was heaven. I got wet (the water was mostly warm), turned off the water, got luxuriantly clean (I can still wash myself with a bottle, and 1.5 liters of water; though these days that doesn't include my hair) and rinsed off; really letting my scalp get flushed. I also noticed the people in the unit had become used to it, because the stall next to me never turned off the water; they could always get more.
Back to my cot, took the better drug regimen Mondragon had prescribed and slept for more than eight hours.
I was just shy of my 36th birthday and I don't think I've ever had a better present than that shower.