Mass Casualties

by Michael Anthony

  The chief ward masters are having a meeting with us today. Chief ward masters are the ones that are in charge of the hospital. If there are any problems, they're the final word. Early this morning someone went and complained about Gagney and the way he's been running things. Apparently, our section looks like crap. All the other sections are on set schedules and ours is the only one that changes every day.

  The day goes by slow. We have no cases so Gagney has us clean the entire OR. He sends Reto to tell everyone on all the other shifts about the meeting. It's going to be between first and second shift, but everyone from third shift has to be there as well.

  1505 HOURS, OR

  The chief ward masters ask us to tell them what's bothering us.

  Torres is the first to start talking. “I'm not one to complain, but the way this man is treating us is disrespectful — ”

  “Idiots, he treats us like we're idiots,” Hudge interrupts.

  “We switch shifts every day. I am on second shift today. Yesterday I was on first, the day before that second, the day before that third. Tomorrow I'm back on third shift. How does any of that make sense?” says Crade.

  “He doesn't do any work. All he does is sit around and play computer games and watch anime. He was sent here as an operating room technician, but why has he only done a handful of cases since he's been here? I do as many in one day as he does in a month,” says Sellers, who has obviously come to see the light.

  Waters jumps in. “We need better leadership, someone who will stay on top of things. He yelled at me twice last week over nothing. There is no need for him to raise his voice to us.”

  An hour goes by and everyone has something negative to say about Gagney. Hudge, Sellers, and Waters all have tears in their eyes. The chief ward masters look at Reto and me and ask if we have anything to add since we haven't spoken yet. Everyone in the OR is looking at us. I look at Reto. His eyes are red, not from the lack of sleep, but because he's going to cry. He can't control himself any longer.

  “This is bullshit. I joined the Army to help people, not to be treated like shit. I understand that we're at war and that times are tough. But look at every other section… .” Reto has to stop to compose himself. “Every other section in this hospital is running fine. Gagney won't even let us try and change the schedule to get a better one. We mentioned it and he told us just to deal with it. He's a fucking… .” Reto stops talking. He knows he can't talk without crying. Everyone turns and looks at me.

  I look back at them.

  “I agree with Reto,” I say.

  Everyone continues to look at me and I look back. Waters, Sellers, and Hudge look angrily at me, but I look back at them and with my eyes I try to explain that my body won't let me feel. I have nothing to say because I can't speak with the passion that they all just spoke with. I wish I could stand up and give a moving speech that would change our entire section and make us all friends and love each other, but I know I can't do this and if I could it would be all lies. I really can't stand up for myself. I know it's best for me to just sit here in silence.

  The chief ward masters look at me as if I'm slow. I stare at their foreheads and they get up and say that they'll deal with the problem. When I get up, Waters seems especially disappointed that I haven't said anything. As I leave to go back toward my room, I overhear everyone trying to figure out who it was that complained to the chief ward masters. When I get back to my room I leave a note on Markham's pillow: “Thank You.”

  WEEK 1, DAY 3, IRAQ

  0640 HOURS, OR

  I walk in early; I know I can't be late two days in a row. Gagney is already in. He's sitting at a desk and all around him are crumpled up pieces of yellow paper.

  I get my room ready for surgery. There are four scheduled.

  1500 HOURS, OR

  When I get out of surgery the second shift comes in. Gagney is still sitting at the desk surrounded by even more pieces of crumpled yellow paper. He smiles when he sees Hudge:

  “Sergeant Hudge, would you please come to the break room with me for a second?”

  Two minutes later Gagney comes out lookin' free as a bird, grabs his coat and weapon, and leaves. Hudge walks over to me with a smile from ear to ear.

  “Gagney wants me to rewrite the schedule.”

  1700 HOURS, OR

  Crade has a copy of Hudge's finished schedule.

  First Shift: Gagney — Shift leader; Elster — In charge of supply; Crade — In charge of CMS (central material services, the place where we sterilize instruments.); Anthony, Chandler, Torres — Main OR technicians.

  Second Shift: Hudge — Shift leader; Reto, Denti — Main OR technicians.

  Third Shift: Waters — Shift leader; Sellers — Main OR technician.

  It's mapped out for the next month. Hudge has our official days off scheduled, taking into consideration guard duty, so that when it's complete, we'll get the next day off. Bottom line: Every eleven days we'll have a day off.

  Everyone is ecstatic, even the ones that weren't changing shifts in the first place — Waters, Elster, Hudge. Gagney walks in and notices the commotion. He studies the schedule and quickly throws it on the table. When he storms off, Hudge laughs.

  “He asks me to make the schedule because he said that everyone can't be happy. He figured everyone would be mad at me instead of him… . It only took me half an hour.”

  All we needed was a half-hour to make all the pains of the last month go away.

  WEEK 1, DAY 4, IRAQ

  0600 HOURS, MY ROOM

  The new shift: Everyone is in a great mood when I arrive at work.

  “Hey Anthony,” Gagney says enthusiastically as I enter the OR. His overly friendly, almost gay voice kind of freaks me out, but I brush it off . Today is a good day and I don't feel like thinking about the inner thoughts behind everyone's actions.

  “Can you do me a favor?” Gagney asks, which is the first time I have ever heard him ask for something and not demand it. My ears perk up and I know that I am now obligated to do it no matter what, simply for the reason because he is asking and not ordering.

  “Can you go tell everyone from all shifts to come in at fifteen hundred hours? And after you tell everyone you can go back to your room and have the rest of the day off . Take a break, here's my pager. If there's an emergency I'll get in touch with you.”

  I know I am not dreaming. I tell everyone to be in at 1500 hours.

  1505 HOURS, OR

  Gagney is talking to us:

  “I know that things haven't been easy this past month. I know that I may have been hard on a few of you, but after talking to the chief ward masters and seeing how easily Hudge was able to make that schedule, I realize that I may need to back off a little bit and become more of a reasonable and approachable leader. So if you guys have any further complaints, bring them up to me first. There's no need to go over my head to the chief ward masters. In fact, and I shouldn't even have to order this, but you are not allowed to go directly to the chief ward masters. You can talk to them and complain about me to them, but you are ordered to come to me first,” says Gagney.

  Gagney finishes and leaves. We all know that he can't stop us from contacting the chief ward masters and that we don't have to tell him, but it's not worth getting into.

  WEEK 2, DAY 1, IRAQ

  1600 HOURS, MY ROOM

  “You're not going to believe this!” Denti yells as he barges into my room. We're supposed to go to the gym but not for another ten minutes.

  “Ah, what the hell, man. Knock next time.” I'm naked and changing into my clothes.

  “It happened in the southern hospital.”

  I put my underwear on as quickly as possible.

  “This thing is huge.”

  I'm looking around the room for clean socks.

  Here's what he was telling me:

  “When our unit went to Iraq, we split up. Half of the people went to run our hospital and half of our people went to run another hospital in the southern part of Iraq
.

  “Staff Sergeant North was on mailroom duty and it was slow, so he decides for fun to open up someone's mail and start reading it. He's just sitting there reading somebody else's mail, and the next thing you know the guy whose mail he's reading actually walks in and catches him.

  “The guy starts yelling at North for reading his mail, and North just turns white as a ghost. He realizes that this guy is only a specialist, though, so North says that he shouldn't be talking to a superior officer that way.

  “The guy then goes to his chain of command and tries to file a complaint against our unit and North. His commanders are outraged. But since the soldier and the rest of his unit are all leaving in two weeks, the commanders don't want to waste their time with complaints. They just want to go home. The soldier then talks to the unit that's replacing his, and they don't want to file a complaint against a unit either, bad politics and all.

  “So this guy wants to file a complaint but no one will do it for him. No one wants to cause trouble. Eventually the guy decides to go to the IG (inspector general) himself.

  “It then comes out that we have more complaints against us than any other unit in Iraq. I guess a bunch of people from our unit and other units complained about us when we were in Wisconsin and since we've been in Iraq.

  “So the Good Ol' Boys hear about the complaint and they're livid.”

  Okay, the Good Ol' Boys (GOBs for short):

  They're a degenerate group of colonels and generals who, while in Wisconsin we ate rotten food, they ate at fancy restaurants and joked with each other, saying, “Let them eat cake.” These are the men who slept in two-man rooms while we slept in thirty-man bays. They get chauffeured around base while we walk everywhere. They also allow people in our unit to do whatever they want as long as they don't get caught. They're going to lead us into battle.

  Colonel Tucker is the leader of the gang. The only way to describe him would be: a mad Russian scientist, without the charisma. Tucker's main lackey is our unit command sergeant major, Command Sergeant Major (CSM) Ridge. Ridge is the man in charge of the enlisted section of our unit. He's in his sixties, well over six feet tall, and has white cropped hair with the standard high-and-tight military haircut. Ridge is also an alcoholic. Even though we were not permitted to drink alcohol while on base in Wisconsin (or once we get to Iraq for that matter), Ridge has already been caught illegally drinking several times. He'll most likely never get in trouble, though, because of his connections and rank.

  “Anyway, I guess this kid's complaint was the one that broke the camel's back. The Good Ol' Boys have a meeting down south and order all sergeants and above to attend. They tell CSM Ridge to have the meeting and tell everyone that they don't want any more complaints being filed against our unit from within our unit. If they do, they'll be reprimanded. CSM Ridge calls the meeting … but get this. He's drunk at the meeting. No one is allowed to drink in this entire goddamned country and this guy is totaled. He says that if anyone files a complaint against the unit or specifically him, he'll get them shipped to a frontline unit where they might not make it back.”

  It also turns out that the meeting wasn't just about us having the most complaints. In Wisconsin, after our initial climate control meeting, which gauged how well our commanders were doing as leaders, a few people contacted the inspector general. We had some problems with morale, conduct, control, and chain of command. Other than that we were fine. It actually started when two of the highest-ranking people in our unit said that if this were Vietnam, someone would commit fratricide the moment we stepped in Iraq. Fratricide means to deliberately shoot at someone who's on the same team as you. So this one colonel, who looks like Geraldo Rivera, is actually suggesting we shoot our commanders (the GOBs). The other colonel, a frail old woman in her seventies, stands up and says mutiny would be a good idea as well. She implied that she might take control of the unit. Almost everyone at the meeting stands up and gives the two colonels a standing ovation and a round of applause.

  The major who was conducting the meeting then went ballistic: “You people cannot be serious! You are going to war in two weeks, and you're applauding the idea of mutiny and fratricide?”

  Since then there have been even more complaints. We are actually under an official investigation by the inspector general.

  WEEK 3, DAY 1, IRAQ

  2200 HOURS, MY ROOM

  I'm beginning to like Markham more and more. We've been roommates for two months, and we're finally starting to hit it off . He's a skilled guitar player, and even though he's twelve years older than me, I feel as though we connect.

  “Hey, you heard about the mail fraud and how our unit's under investigation?”

  Maybe it has to do with my family, maybe I feel more comfortable around older people than those my own age: I grew up with four older brothers and two older sisters. All my brothers and one sister ended up joining the military, but in different branches. As a child, I heard stories of intense military training during the day and parties that lasted all night. I grew up watching military movies and playing GI Joe in my backyard. So when I turned seventeen the question never seemed to be if I would join the military or go to college. It was only which branch of the military will it be.

  Markham is the opposite of me; he has younger brothers. When I thanked him about the schedule issues with Gagney, he told me it's what he would have done for someone in his family.

  “The rest of the story involves that new girl that you said was cute, Sergeant Thurbid, and that guy in charge of the OR down south, Sergeant Plown.”

  My curiosity is piqued as Markham continues to divulge the news of the day. Thurbid is a soldier who recently got sent up to us from our southern hospital, and I briefly mentioned to Markham that I thought she was cute. I may never hear the end of it, but I'm tired and could use a good bedtime story.

  “First off, I will say this. I am not from this damn unit. I was cross-leveled into it. I'm from Washington State. All this drama that goes on is always because of you damn New Englanders,” Markham says.

  I laugh knowing he's wrong because Captain Tarr is from his home state and she's got her own bag of drama, but I don't say this and instead I tell him to go on.

  “So a few weeks ago that meeting went down with CSM Ridge. Well, when the speech was going on Sergeant Plown was taking notes. He wrote down everything that CSM Ridge said. He then typed up an anonymous letter and mailed it to every congressman in the U.S. The IG heard about the letter and started a new investigation into our unit. A general even went down south to personally check up on our unit, and he brought with him a few CID soldiers to conduct the investigation.”

  The CID is the Criminal Investigation Division, kind of like a military FBI.

  Markham picks up his guitar and starts strumming as he tells the story. I enjoy it. Even though what he's telling me isn't the most pleasant, the sound of the guitar in the background can make even the worst story sound relaxing.

  “The GOBs are not pleased about the IG investigating them again. The next day, they're in the dining facility with Ridge having dinner and discussing how to get everyone in our unit to stop contacting the IG. They want to find a way to order us to do it without actually ordering — which is illegal. And here's the part you're not going to believe.”

  “While the GOBs and CSM Ridge are having this discussion at the dining facility, they don't realize it but sitting behind them are three members of the CID who are part of the investigation against us. They hear their whole conversation.”

  Markham stops playing guitar and begins tapping his cigarette pack against his palm. He's craving a cigarette, I can tell. So I get out of bed and we head outside.

  He hands me a cigarette. I pause. I know I shouldn't — I've already had ten this week — but I light one up with Markham anyway, and he continues talking and playing his guitar.

  2230 HOURS, OUTSIDE

  All right, I'm listening to Markham:

  “The IG does their investigation for
a few days, gathers all the information they need, and then heads back to their headquarters to make a decision on what to do — if anything. So everyone leaves, except for one CID guy who is tasked to stay behind and investigate the charges of North reading someone's mail. Oh yeah, I forgot to tell you. The GOBs found out that Plown was the one who wrote the letter to the senators. They fired him from his position as head of the OR and now he's working in the administrative section of the unit down south. This way they can keep an eye on him. But anyways, back to the mail fraud story… . So here's really why your cutie Sergeant Thurbid got sent up here: Staff Sergeant North approached her:

  ‘Thurbid, listen, I need you to do me a favor. I've been having some trouble with this guy. He's trying to get me in big trouble for reading his mail. My whole career could be ruined because of this guy.’

  “Thurbid looks at North. They've been friends for years. She has three kids and Staff Sergeant North and his wife, Captain Dillon, even babysat for them a few times.”

  ‘I know; that's awful.’

  ‘This is a big favor and I understand if you'll say no, but this scandal could ruin both me and my wife's career. I could even go to jail. The specialist who filed the complaint is kind of a dork, but he's been here a long time. I was thinking that if you slept with him you could then convince him to drop the charges.’

  “So Thurbid thought it over. ‘Okay, but you owe me …,’ she says.”

  Markham stops telling the story and puts his guitar down. He looks me in the eye.

  “Now here's the best part of the story… . Thurbid has sex with the guy, and while they're having sex they decide to get a little freaky. Thurbid lets the guy give it to her in the ass with no condom. Then after the guy is done she sucks his dick. The next day she has an infection in and around her mouth. She goes to the hospital assuming it's some type of STD but is relieved when the doctor tells her it's only an E. coli infection. When Staff Sergeant North comes to visit her, he has no idea what to say at first, but then he gets a plan. Later that day she goes to the guy and says that he gave her an STD and that if he doesn't drop the claim against Staff Sergeant North that she'll file a complaint against him. The guy says he doesn't have an STD and tells her to go ahead. The guy then says that he knows that she and North are friends and it's obvious what they were trying to do, and that if she does tell, he'll get them both in trouble for blackmail.”