American Gulag

One look in the mirror, two days later, and I was horrified. My face was a mess, all spotted. It must had been a trick someone played on me when I was asleep. The Platoon was easy on me since the Huey incident. I think Avilia interceded. Even Chola was cordial again. But I still would not have put it passed Krasnar to besprinkle me while I was asleep.

"Shit," I said trying to rub the rash off.

"What's the matter?" asked Avilia. "Holy crap - you have a rash."

"I'm not sure," I said. "Is this a joke?"

"No one's that demented," said Avilia looking at me with close attention. "Do you feel sick?"

"No," I said. "I feel fine. I just look like crap."

"You better go to sick call," he suggested.

It was a good suggestion. When we fell in formation and sick call was announced, I immediately joined the little "sick call" brigade. Hertbie also went on sick call.

"Hi Gibbs," he said.

"What's wrong with you?" I asked.

"I just don't fell good," he said. "Maybe it was something I et. I was up all last night on the terlet. I'm a mess."

"Well," I said, "keep your distance. I don't want to catch anything."

"Wow," he said looking at my face. "You're all spotty."

The medic came and marched us over to the Infirmary. It was not long before I had the doctor poking around me - mouth, eyes, ears and finally a painful poke in the nose.

"Sit over there," said the doctor. "I'll finish with you in a moment. Who's next?"

Hertbie sat in the chair.

"And what's wrong with you today soldier?" asked the doctor.

"I have," said Hertbie, "I have was he has."

"You do?" said the doctor. "Well, I don't think so, private. He has German Measles and is headed to the hospital."

Hertbie turned to me and mouthed the words "Joiman Measles!" All I heard was the word, "Hospital." After an hour, a jeep picked me up and drove me over to the Post Hospital. The Hospital was a ramshackle of barracks and huts connected with wooden walkways. There must have been twenty building strung together like that. I was anxious. I felt alright. I did not have a fever. Nonetheless it was important to quarantine me. I guess German Measles - rubella, the doctors called it - could be dangerous to some. I was checked in quickly, then sat in one of the wooden boardwalks for what seamed a full day.

Finally, I was ushered into what reasonably looked like a hospital ward. It was full to the brim. Most of the patients were sleeping; many coughing and gasping. There were several in oxygen tents. No one looked very well. I was no where near this condition that I should warrant such a place. Nevertheless, I was wheeled to a nice, neat and very inviting bed. I did smile when I saw it. It meant rest - no PT, no gym, no forced march. Rest. I was away from the Platoon. I was away from my problems, my doubts, my angel and my misery.

I slept for what seamed an eternity, only to be rudely accosted by a nurse for blood. I actually felt worse now. I had a fever. I was sweating; and above all, my throat was sore. Little did I know that I was quarantined in the ward for upper respiratory infections; and that before the week was out, every patient in the ward would have rubella - and I would have a case of pneumonia. This was the army way. I went in healthy - just a little rash - and remained confined to a hospital bed for over four weeks fighting the worse sickness of my life. After all, I had lost over 100 pounds in 2 months. That left me susceptible to every germ that crawled on the earth.

Ironically, for all those days in Platoon B, where rarely was I allowed to rest, now I was unable to move. I rolled from side to side, day and night. I ate very little the first week. I remember once in a while someone would push some pills on me and then would take some blood. I also remember the patients on either side of me would change. They never spoke to me; nor I to them. I lost track of time.

I do not remember when the oxygen tent encased me; nor, do I remember when it was removed. I do not remember the episode that nearly took me away to those angels I often called; however, one day, I did feel better; and sat up. I still had a bad cough, bad tasting cough mixtures and pesky blood tests. I still to this day cough my head silly in the morning, the gift the Army gave me to remember them; a permanent shortness of breath and bronchial condition. All I had was German Measles. I managed to donate them to all the other patients in the ward; but, their shared kindness, the upper respiratory bug, nearly killed me.

I do remember my first steps out of the bed. I was dizzy and was caught by the nurse. She helped me to a chair and tidied the bed. I was soon moved to a different ward. There, I fought daily boredom. I read recycled magazines, books and played little puzzles and games. I remember watching the TV on the sun deck - well, it was less a sun deck than another one of those connecting boardwalks. I remember watching the coverage of the Apollo SpaceCraft fire and the death of Gus Grissom and his crew. I was struck by the fact that the crazy logic that guided the Army misguided NASA as well. Here I was, a closeted homosexual, quarantined from the rest of the trainees in the Special Training Company like a diseased animal; then, when there is an opportunity to quarantine a real disease, the Army managed to contain it by spreading it.

So after four and a half weeks in the Post Hospital, I was packed up and driven back to the Special Training Company, Platoon D. I immediately ran up to say hello to my old gang in Platoon B, but they were gone. There were new faces there - new Chaunciers, Hertbies, Avilias and Cholas. I remember being struck by a sudden sense of loss. Where were they? They've been taken from me. They were my family and now they're gone. I barely held on to my sanity. I knew no one there; and I knew absolutely nothing about Platoon D. I was delighted however when I recognized a face in the quadrangle. It was Sergeant Gonvea.

"Gibbs," he said. "You've been away - gone I thought for good. They said you were mighty sick."

"I was, Sergeant. Now, I'm back. Where . . . .where's my Platoon?"

"B Platoon? Those ladies have all checked out - some permanently, others back to Basic. There are new ladies now. You're in D now, troop. Better for you."

My gear was stowed in the office during my absence. I picked it up and sadly joined my new unit. I was learning what all soldiers learn; and I would remember it time and time again. You are new so often and old so much that it's best to make little conversation and no ties. It helps with the heartbreak. In my years of military service, I met and befriended many men, many hearty souls to share this stolen bit of life. We drank, caroused, sang, read, shared and worked together, only to part forever from each other’s company. It was as if they all died or I died, to never see them again, these men - from Michigan and Maryland and many places much like them. I guess that's the way it's been in the military since Roman times and before. I guess the Centurions from their acreage thought fondly on the souls they buried on the shoals of time; and sadly not to see those faces in the morning streams again.

I kept to myself my first week back. I followed the flow and made no friend. I sought no one’s company nor anyone's advice. I was friendly with the smile, but life was a routine. Then, after I finished a PT test, the mile run in fact, I was catching my breath, when I heard my name called. It was Sergeant Pike.

"Yes, Sergeant," I said.

"Come here, Gibbs."

He held his clipboard high above his head. He smiled and looked around. I was out of breath, but managed to get to him before he chastised me.

"Gibbs," he said. "You passed the test!! You're outta here, troop. You're back in this man's Army."

I fell to my knees. My lips quivered. I knew I was crying. Although I had six more weeks of basic training to face, my ordeal here was over.

"Hey, Gonvea," shouted Pike. "Gibbs scored 303!!"

"I knew he would," shouted Gonvea running towards us. "I knew he would."

I was now lying down in the fetal position. It was over.

"Great going Gibbs!" said Gonvea. "Is he OK?"

"I'm OK Sergeant," I said. "Just a little happy, that's all!"

"Fuckin' A Gibbs!"

"You're outta here troop!"

Fucking A.