Head wound? Shooter could barely feel it, but according to X-rays and an MRI, the bullet that he thought had glanced from his helmet had actually pierced and had cut a deep and dangerous groove completely through the left parietal bone of his skull. It was hard for Galloway to accept. The blow had seemed no harder than a knock he might take on a ball field.
Despite Galloway’s denials, his doctors stood by their diagnosis. Surely, he had lost consciousness, and he certainly had a vicious headache. Severe concussion had occurred, whether the patient felt it or not, Captain Galloway was informed.
For a short distance, the bone was completely penetrated, and the brain was exposed. Infection threatened. Delayed subdural hematoma was discussed. Undiscovered particles of bone or bullet/helmet material could have been exploded into the brain itself, one or many bits and shards could be lying there undetected, but ready to do terrible damage.
Brain swelling was feared, and mysterious drugs were administered to ward off unnamed possible afflictions.
Gabriel gathered that his head wound was genuinely dangerous, but his head felt fine. He had not lost consciousness—he was reasonably sure of that. He had no headache, and he was positive of that—no matter who or how many said he had to ache.
Captain Galloway was not without pain, however. His right side and arm were severely lacerated from flying debris, and there were a pair of shallow bullet grooves along his upper left arm. Shooter wondered when those had happened?
Enlisted medical personnel picked bits of unidentified materials from beneath his skin, and placed disinfectants and bandages on his bullet grooves. Because of his head injuries, they offered nothing except Tylenol for muscles and joints that ached and stiffened from the explosive force of the bomb and, for a few days, moving became miserable.
Most serious in Captain Galloways’ mind was hearing loss in his right ear, but not until he was most thoroughly re-examined at Walter Reed was his hearing loss diagnosed and described as minor—temporary and self-correcting—probably, if given time. What could he do? Shooter hoped they were right.
+++
Captain Galloway, a combat hero among the patients, was to face a board. For unknown reasons, the nature of the board was unannounced and therefore became mysterious and probably a bit sinister. Nothing good came from boards—everyone knew that.
Was Captain Galloway to be interviewed, debriefed, or interrogated on his actions during the twenty-four hour period of his sniping activities at the police station and firefight at the cement plant?
That seemed most logical to the many speculators, but investigations sometimes took strange directions, and the captain could not be sure what his board was about. Information was unusually hard to come by, but two Full Colonels and a Light Colonel were listed as board members.
What the hell was this all about? Wreck of a Humvee? Impossible. Humvees were being lost as often as old duty rosters. Having an unapproved rifle in Iraq? That would be a sour joke, and he was unsure that anyone important knew about the rifle even after its dramatically effective use.
Captain Galloway’s baggage had recently arrived from Iraq, and Shooter believed he could at least present a military figure. He had no idea how to prepare because he had no hint of why the board was meeting.
His shot-through helmet had been included. His men probably figured he would like to have the souvenir—and they were right.
The Rock rifle did not arrive, and Gabriel wondered if he would ever again own the expensive piece. If the rifle were being put to use in Iraqi he would be satisfied. If it were hidden away for someone else to take home? That would be another matter. E-mail went back and forth, and Galloway planned to find out.
Chapter 28
Captain Galloway reported to his board with a Drill Manual salute. His freshly pressed Class A uniform was a perfect fit. He wore service ribbons in impressive numbers. Except for a shaven and bandaged head his appearance exemplified a young and combat experienced officer.
Three board members sat behind a curved almost banana-shaped table. An empty chair, obviously for Captain Galloway was positioned opposite the Colonels, more or less within the curve of the banana
Shooter thought it an unusual arrangement. Every board he had sat on or had observed ran in a straight line, and disciplinary boards were often raised above floor level to grant majesty and authority to the members.
Galloway smartly reported his presence, and the senior colonel waved him to his seat. Then the board examined Captain Galloway as intently as he studied them.
Shooter saw three older officers. All were beribboned, and each wore both parachute wings and combat Infantry Badge. The Combat Infantry Badge pleased Galloway. It meant that his board was composed of men who had experienced battle. Officers of that stripe were more likely to understand and appreciate any explanations he was allowed to offer.
Each board member had an open folder before him, and Galloway supposed they had been reviewing his case. What case? That was what he had to know before he could even consider a practical defense or reply—or whatever response he would have to deliver with military exactitude and clarity.
The Lieutenant Colonel said, “Welcome to this board, Captain Galloway.” He waited for a response and Galloway said, “Thank you, Sir.”
The Lieutenant Colonel said, “I am sure that your various orientations and technical explanations have clearly delineated what we are to do here, so we will ignore preliminaries and go directly to the subject at hand.”
Shooter was increasingly bewildered. What orientations and explanations? No one had told him anything. He was not utterly astounded; the military regularly fouled up and forgot.
“Before we begin, Captain Galloway, I wish to say for the board, that your combat record is as exemplary as any we have examined. You, Captain, are one hell of a fighting man. Your actions speak well for you, and we are proud to meet with you on these matters of importance.”
That sounded good, but Shooter knew no more than he had. Get to it, he thought.
“Captain Galloway, speaking for this board, I wish first to address more positive aspects. I will begin by reading, actually a sort of paraphrasing of the official description of your combat during which you received your head laceration and other less serious wounds.” The Light Colonel hesitated, before adding, “If you become overtired, or in any way are affected by this recounting, please so indicate, and we will take a break.”
Tired? Shooter felt ready to run miles and climb cliffs. When would they believe him?
As if reevaluating, the speaker said, “We are surprised and pleased to see you in uniform. As most appearing before this board are still in-patients, as are you, almost all are clad in hospital wear. We hope that you are feeling as well as you look.”
A strange board was all that Shooter could decide. He assured the Lt Colonel that he was feeling healthy and ready to resume his duties. His words made everyone move (squirm?) in their seats, and that reaction raised alarms.
The Lt Colonel began. “We include this short description so that it is a matter of record, Captain. We have all read the after action reports in detail.
“Your Humvee, occupied by you and a driver was attacked by a large group of Iraqi insurgents that included a number of foreign fighters.
“The attack was initiated by the detonation of a large bomb. Surviving Iraqi participants have explained that their ambush was prepared for a large American troop contingent expected to return to the headquarters compound.
“As described by Iraqi prisoners, your Humvee stopped, appeared to study the ambush site, then sped at a high rate of speed toward the headquarters compound. The insurgents believed they had been detected and decided to salvage what they could by destroying your vehicle.
“Your high speed made the exact moment for bomb ignition difficult, and the explosive device detonated slightly behind your vehicle. The blast hurled your vehicle into a roadside ditch. The Humvee slid on its side until it impacted the ditch embank
ment.
“Although severely lacerated and probably concussed, you took four enemy attackers under fire and killed them all using a bolt action sniper’s rifle.
“You then opened fire on the major ambush party and with your first shot killed its leader.”
The Lt Colonel paused to add his personal sentiment. “That is astonishing, Captain.”
Shooter felt obliged to say something.
“When described, the action sounds more dramatic than it was, Colonel.”
“Really? The report continues.
“You next shot and killed a number of enemy who were firing from atop a nearby cement plant.
“Your driver testifies that you never missed. That you hit an enemy with every shot.”
Galloway found himself smiling at the description.
“Colonel, as best I can remember, I was standing on top of my driver who was being trampled and could not possibly have seen the effect of my shooting.”
“Really.”
Shooter suspected the Lt Colonel was not buying his clarifications.
“Then, our report states that you ran along the ditch and, despite your severe head wound and a number of lesser wounds, willingly exposed yourself to a maelstrom of small arms fire to place covering fire for your driver’s escape. At that point you killed at least three more enemy fighters.”
The Lt Colonel paused before asking, “Does that description fairly depict the firefight in which you engaged?”
It was Galloway’s turn to shift uncomfortably. “Sir, I would recognize the fight as I heard it, but to me, nothing was as clear or as well thought out as your words describe.
“I was just fighting and shooting to keep alive and hopefully to hang on until I could get away or some help arrived.”
“Well, Captain Galloway, you managed both, and by holding the insurgents in place you allowed our reaction force to surround them and rather rapidly wipe them out. That was as clean a victory as has been attained in this war, Captain.”
The junior full Colonel took over. “Assuming you are up to it, considering your head wound and other injuries, an awards ceremony is planned for tomorrow at 1100 hours. Your entire Iraq Theater service will be recognized at that time by the award of two Bronze Star medals, and three Purple Hearts. The first Purple Heart and Bronze Star will be awarded for your arm wounds of the previous day when, as we understand it, you eliminated most of an urban insurgent group that had been harassing our positions for some time.
“All with a bolt action rifle.” The officer marveled, “That is astounding.”
Gabriel Galloway found himself unable to speak. Instead of being disciplined, purged from the army, drummed out in disgrace, or officially reprimanded, he was being decorated. Galloway’s thoughts matched the Colonel’s spoken word. Astounding!
The senior Colonel took over.
“There is more, Captain.
“This board was established to simplify complex, often enjoyable, but sometimes distasteful, situations. As a board, we are empowered to announce decisions made as well as submit our own findings.
“Unlike more formal boards that are required to meet specific rules and follow exacting procedures, we can speak directly and to the point. We can eliminate and consolidate. In so doing, we can reduce many meetings into one. We can, of course, be overruled by appeal, but that embarrassment has, so far, never occurred.
“So, it is my pleasure to announce the award of the Expert Combat Infantryman’s Badge to you for your exemplary work with the infantry’s basic arm, the rifle.”
Gabriel Galloway felt his senses tingle. To fighting men, the “Combat Badge” was the ultimate symbol of having met the enemy in battle—but he had not served in the infantry in this war.
Galloway said, “Colonel, I am not an infantryman. I am a military police officer, part of the Provost Marshal’s . . .”
The Colonel interrupted. “We know with whom you served, Captain.
“A Three Star General once reminded me that he made the rules, and he could break them. You fought as an infantryman with remarkable success. I can assure you that your award of the Combat Badge despite your assignment is not unique. Others, before you, not serving in infantry units have earned Combat Infantry Badges and, as holders of that badge, you can be sure that we care who is being honored with the award. If it were not right, you would not be receiving it. I will now proceed to the next subject.”
Damn! Shooter Galloway recognized a final word when he heard it. The Infantry Combat Badge—he valued that award far above the star medals.
The board president continued.
“Now to the bad news, and we do not wish to hear melodramatic complaints and disagreement, Captain. In some things, medics rule, and rightfully so. This is one of them.
“Your head wound is more serious than you believe it to be. At the end of this month, your active service will be terminated. You will be retained as a Reserve Officer, but you will not be recalled to active duty for at least a year, and longer if your medical condition demands it.
“You will be reassigned to inactive service. You will not belong to a unit, and you will not engage in training of any kind. You will, Captain, be little more than a name on a roster.
“I am being as clear, if seemingly insensitive, as I can manage because your doctors suspect that if you do not act wisely and cautiously, you may incur serious medical difficulties arising from your head wound. Their instructions will be thorough and complete before your discharge from this hospital facility, and judging from your denials as listed in our materials, you will resist—to your detriment I am sure—most of their recommendations.
“This board can only suggest that you use your wounded head intelligently and do what is recommended as long as necessary to completely recover. Then, perhaps, active military service may again be possible.”
The Colonel seemed finished, but Shooter saw knowing smiles appearing among the board members. Before he could decide their meaning, the senior Colonel spoke again.
“Oh yes, Captain. Immediately following your decorating ceremony, your promotion to Major will be announced.
Shooter Galloway was stunned, and he did not believe it. He was a junior Captain by any measure, and he would not be selected for a majority for years. Clearly there was a mistake.
The Board President understood his astonishment.
“Captain Galloway, there are exceptions to every rule. You are the recipient of a number of exceptions, and there are, after all, meritorious promotions. There are no mistakes. You will be promoted to the rank of Major tomorrow.
“At the end of the month, you will, for all practical purposes, be gone from the service. By the time you are ready to return, if that occurs, you can correctly serve in your new rank.
“So, the United States Army, in its generosity and infinite wisdom in these matters, chooses to appoint you a Major now instead of then.
“Congratulations, Major Galloway.”
The senior Colonel glanced at his fellow officers, then announced, “This board is adjourned.”
Chapter 29
Doc Dyer said, “I don’t see what you are so pissed about, Galloway. We’ve run every test known to modern medicine. We sent you down to Johns Hopkins for second and third opinions. Nobody can find anything. Your thick skull saved your life. There are no hidden slivers—or much of anything else in fact—inside your dome. Period! End of discussion.
“What would you rather hear, Shooter, that you were about to drop dead?”
“Damn it Doc, Walter Reed insisted the danger was real. They took me off active duty, for God’s sake. And you can’t find anything?”
Dyer was patient, but unconcerned. “Major Galloway, believe me. We would like to find something, almost anything. Then we could work on it.
“Sometimes, especially with head wounds, a diagnosis that includes some pretty far out possibilities gets into the record. Before you know it, everyone is parroting the original guesses, and they become
iron-clad matters of record. No one dares to refute because it just might occur, and the cover-your-butt syndrome drops in. We figure something like that has happened in your case. We’ve read and examined everything Walter Reed has sent, and we find a sum total of nothing.
“There is nothing. There is no damage! There are no pieces.
“There is normal healing. Your skull is growing back and the Plaster of Paris, or whatever other high-tech stuff they put in there to fill the gap in your noodle has become part of you.”
Shooter pretended to be angry. “You are the most unprofessional medical practitioner I have ever encountered. Your bedside manner sucks, Dyer.”
“Too bad, Galloway. Hell, I didn’t know ex-jarheads had feelings, anyway.”
Shooter Galloway Page 31