Some may be wondering how on earth this could possibly be considered a miracle. Well, the miracle is the fact that the bus came to a stop just in front of a restaurant. That restaurant had food, drink, and, thank goodness, bathrooms! While waiting for a replacement bus to arrive, we were allowed to avail ourselves of the hospitality of the owners. They actually fed us at no cost. I left money for them anyways. They had shown so much concern when they saw me running at full sprint toward their bathrooms.
It took another two hours before we finally reached Camp Lincoln in a replacement bus. We were all looking forward to ending our long journey from the United States to the war in Korea. When I think about it, that was probably the most illogical feeling that we could have ever had. We were relieved to end the safest part of our journey so that we could begin the most dangerous part. I’ve heard the term “young and stupid” many times in my life. I may just now be getting to the point where I understand it. I even breathed a sigh of relief when they ordered us off of the bus. It made perfect sense to me at the time. Of course, most comic books made perfect sense to me at the time, too. Wow, I am getting old.
When we arrived at Camp Lincoln we were told to find a bunk and to be ready for inspection at 0600. Why does the military have to do everything early in the morning? Do they have something against sleeping in? I wonder if we would have a more peaceful world if we all just snored a little while longer. There’s some philosophy for a PhD candidate to write about. Regardless, it was getting late. It was already dark before we had arrived, which made getting around colorful, but it also meant that none of us were chosen for sentry duty that night. The barracks we entered were made from plywood and had obviously been thrown up in a hurry, but they were air-conditioned, much to my surprise, so I couldn’t complain. There was only one bed still open, and it was right next to the entrance to the latrine. No wonder it was still available. The smell and the fact that people would be walking past you all night long is why no one else had chosen that bunk. This never happens to anyone else that’s “fashionably late.”
I tossed my duffle bag next to my bunk and laid down. Why is it that we can control a little remote control car on another planet but we can’t design a decent bed for soldiers to sleep in? Yes, it is certainly better than the ground. I know that intellectually and from experience. Still, those things cannot be healthy for someone’s back. I was tired, but not so tired that I was going to fall asleep right away. I started to make up the bunk and noticed the soldier next to me doing the same. It was odd. He looked almost exactly like me, but he seemed older and more in shape. He couldn’t have been much older than me, but there was something in the way that he moved and the look in his eyes that contained a lifetime of wisdom that I lacked (and that I’m still looking for). I didn’t realize I was staring until he looked over his shoulder and said, “Why don’t you take a picture? It’ll be easier to study.”
I blinked and immediately looked away, ashamed at my ill manners. However, when I looked back, he was smiling at me. I realized that the tone of voice he had said it in was not reproachful but more conversational. He wasn’t angry at me. He was breaking the ice. He held out his hand to me. “My name’s Ian.”
I shook his hand. “They call me Pup.”
He nodded his head a little. “I can see that. You must have been on that late bus. Welcome to Camp Lincoln. Don’t get too comfortable. You won’t be here long.” The whole process of what was going to happen to me and what they expected me to do was never really clear to me. I had stopped asking people about it because I got tired of being told not to ask stupid questions. I’m not entirely sure if I have any other kind of questions. Ian gave me a little half-grin. “Go ahead and ask me stuff. I know what it’s like when no one explains anything to you.”
There are days when I wonder if he ever regretted giving me permission to ask questions. I had a million of them. That isn’t even much of an exaggeration. He explained to me what to have prepared for inspection, when I would be issued gear, and when mess call usually was. He gave me a list on how to pack a rucksack and even helped me find ways to get my boots on and off more quickly. That man probably saved me from more embarrassment than any other individual in my life. I finally remembered a question that I had been wanting to ask all day. “This is going to sound stupid.” He snickered. I figured he was used to that by now. “But there are two terms I’ve heard recently that I don’t understand. First, what is Whiskey Tango Foxtrot?”
Even as patient as Ian had been, he looked at me like I was clueless. Well, that’s because I was. “You’ve never heard the term WTF?”
I had to think about that for a minute. I had never bothered trying to convert the military alphabet terms to actual letters. It took a minute, but it finally hit me what he meant. “Oh! I guess that poor Japanese lady at the airport really didn’t like me.” I didn’t bother trying to explain that one to him. He was wise enough not to ask. “OK, I can understand that. One thing that I have heard a lot more is Hiss. What on earth is the Hiss?”
“You’re standing on it, Pup.” He laid back on his cot and propped his head up on his arm. “The term started back near the beginning of the Second Korean War. Soldiers started calling this place the Hiss.”
I also laid down on my cot and faced him. “Why?”
“You ever look at a map of Korea?” I nodded. “It looks like a ‘thumbs down.’ Boo, hiss.”
I nodded again. “I take it the South Koreans don’t care for the name?”
“Not really. The South Koreans are impressive. I’ve seen their soldiers fight harder than anyone could ever expect, while the civilians are tough and resourceful. I wouldn’t want to get on their bad side.”
I was still shaking my head. “I can’t believe someone could be so callous like that. How can you disrespect the people that you’re fighting alongside?”
Ian sat back up. He obviously wanted to drive his point home. “Pup, when you get out in the field, you’re going to think that a lot of the people you meet are assholes. Some of them will be. The rest are just trying to survive. When you get out there, you’re going to try and hold on to a lot of the lessons you were taught in kindergarten, and you’ll manage to hold on to a few, but most you’re going to let go of because you don’t have time for them.” He looked away for a second. I guess he was remembering some of what he had seen and heard. “I’ve heard the South Koreans say some nasty stuff about the American soldiers. Don’t forget, this is a United Nations effort. There’s a lot of different nationalities out there, and you are going to hear them say things about each other that would result in a brawl on the streets back home.” He shrugged. “It doesn’t matter so much right now. When you’re out there, you really find out what is most important to you. Being polite is all well and good when you are on leave. In fact, you’ll get yourself in trouble if you aren’t. But in the field, you worry about getting home. That’s all anyone worries about.” He closed his eyes in remembrance and laughed. “I had a South Korean soldier on a joint patrol with me that called Americans every name in the book and a few I think he made up. Part of my mind told me to hate the guy. Still, most of my mind told me to watch his back. He didn’t just insult Americans, he insulted me directly a few times. Not twenty minutes into our patrol, we got ambushed. He almost got himself killed saving me. He still calls me all sorts of names, and I still buy him a beer every time I see him. I don’t forgive some of what people say out there, but I can get past it.”
I watched Ian lay back down and look up at the ceiling. He had given me a lot to think about. I was eighteen years old. I knew all about people trash-talking one another. But I had always felt that there was a line that you didn’t cross. Ian was on his way home. He had served his year in the Hiss. He knew what he was talking about. He knew that such a line didn’t exist or even matter out there in the field. The important thing was that you survived and made sure the soldiers around you survived. Everythin
g else was secondary. For a kid who had managed to avoid fights at school, much less true combat, it was a lesson that I had not learned yet.
After a few minutes, Ian rolled back onto his side and looked at me. “One other thing, Pup. There’s something else that will be a lot different out in the field. They don’t have time and space to set up separate facilities. Everything is coed. You’d better start getting over that now.” He looked at me to make sure that I had heard him, then he rolled back over and fell right off to sleep.
I laid there thinking about all that he had told me that night. He had taught me a whole lot. I also started to realize that before he had arrived, he’d probably been a lot like me. Maybe that’s why he was willing to be so patient with me. So he was what I would be like when I ended my tour? Thinking about the way that he had treated me, it seemed like a pretty decent way to end up.
I’m sure by now some people are wondering when the next stupid thing is going to happen to me. Well, nothing else happened that night. Even a blithering idiot has a calm night once in a while. Plus, this was a war, not a sitcom. I could end that evening talking about some of the more creative ways that soldiers in the latrine expressed their flatulence, but to be honest, it’s more true to point out that I went to sleep wiser than I had woken up that morning. (See, honey? You always think I can’t take anything seriously.)
But they could have been four-legged people . . .
җ
We were all awakened at 0400. That’s four o’clock in the morning for you uninitiated out there. Four o’clock. It is physically painful to even mention that time of day. No civilian that I have ever spoken to gets up at four o’clock unless they have to. It’s a whole different story in the army. Not only do they wake you up that early, but they do it with a trumpet call, like you should be celebrating the lack of sleep. I know, there’s tradition behind it. I don’t care. Let tradition lose sleep.
I dragged myself out of my bunk and made my way to the latrine. After taking care of the biological necessities that had put themselves on hold in order for me to sleep, I proceeded to the sink to shave. I hated shaving. I was eighteen years old and didn’t grow much facial hair at the time, so shaving just reminded me that I wasn’t as “manly” as some of the others. I preferred to use an electric razor because regular razors made my skin break out, but I learned very quickly in boot camp that the military has a certain prejudice against rotary blades. I sprayed some shaving cream in my hand and proceeded to spread it on my face when I felt something odd. I looked in the mirror and noticed something on my nose. I squinted to get a better view and realized that it was one of those strips that some people wear to keep them from snoring. I started replaying the events of the previous night in my head and never remembered putting one on. “You snore,” said a voice at the sink beside me. I looked over and saw Ian beginning the same ritual of shaving that I was about to begin. “I put that on you last night so that you wouldn’t get mugged in your bunk by sleep-deprived soldiers. I put the rest of the box in your duffel. It won’t last long, so make sure to hit the PX before you get shipped out.”
I nodded and proceeded to shave. “Thanks a lot. I owe you. The flight attendant on the way over would have sacrificed body parts for me to have had those on the plane.” A sudden thought occurred to me. It caused me to nick my chin. Stupid razors! “Why do you have these things?”
“I have a bit of a snoring issue, too.” He stopped for a moment as he shaved over his Adam’s apple. I patiently waited. I didn’t want him getting nicked, too. I looked ridiculous enough for the both of us. “When I first got here, someone duct-taped my mouth shut in my sleep. It wouldn’t have been a big deal, but it was the heavy duty duct tape. I was kept from the front line for an extra week because the tape took some skin off with it.”
I smiled and went back to shaving. “What do you do if you run out of the strips while you’re on patrol?”
“You won’t need them while you’re on patrol.”
“But what if I . . .”
Ian stopped and looked over at me. “You won’t need them. Trust me, Pup.” I nodded. I had to trust him. He had a clue. He pointed to my sink. “Make sure you are using cold water to rinse your razor. It will help some with the irritation.”
I nodded and changed the water flow. It didn’t even occur to me at the time to be appreciative of the fact that we had hot water at Camp Lincoln. Oh, the lessons that we learn. “Thanks a lot, Ian. I swear, it’s like you know how screwed up I am and how to prevent it from getting me into trouble.”
He toweled his face dry and patted me on the back. “Come on, Pup. You aren’t screwed up. You’re special. I’m sure your mommy told you so.” We both laughed. She had. Several times. “Seriously, I’ve been through the same stuff you have. You grow up quick here. I had to find out a lot of stuff the hard way. I see no reason that you should have to learn the same way.” I turned to him and shook his hand warmly. It had only taken a day for him to become my best friend. He returned the gesture, and I could tell he understood. After a second, he broke out into a wide smile again. “Don’t go getting a man-crush, there, pal. I’m heading home tomorrow.”
I let go and finished shaving. I only nicked myself twice more (stupid razors!), which was a new record for me. I donned my uniform and walked with Ian to the mess hall. The food wasn’t too bad. It was cooked, warm, and at least resembled what it was supposed to be. The colors were fairly close. I sat with Ian and traded stories about home. I didn’t ask him too much about his time in the field. I figured that if he wanted to tell me anything that he would.
The time came for us to fall in for inspection. Ian told me to just live with it. He explained to me that inspection wasn’t something I’d be having to deal with much at the front, but some of the rear bases required it. The lieutenant looked us all over with a minimum of fuss. It’s a good thing. I realized later that my name tape was on upside down. I saw a smirk on Ian’s face. I never could prove that he did it. Man, with friends like that . . .
The next thing they did was start assigning us to details. I wasn’t all that thrilled about that. I don’t mind doing work, but come on! I’m just supposed to be at this base long enough for you to figure out where you want to send me to risk my life! Why do I care if your buildings are painted or trash disposed of? Still, that’s how things worked. They picked people pretty much at random, without regard to whether they had the ability to do the job or not. That’s how I saw it. In truth, most people were probably more than capable of doing these jobs without real instruction. Then there was me. I needed instructions to figure out how to use a refrigerator magnet. In the end, Ian and I wound up on separate work details. He was supposed to help raise the walls for a new set of barracks. I was ordered to help set out new razor wire along the base perimeter.
Let me see if I can explain this. Razor wire is sharp. Hence the name, razor wire. Its purpose is to create a barrier that an enemy trying to enter the base would have to cross over. It won’t kill them, but it is an obstacle that can slow them down. Because it’s sharp. It’s a wire. With razors. Razor wire. I can’t prevent myself from getting cut when shaving. With a safety razor. This was a wire. With razors. That weren’t safe.
I’m not going to get into all of the details of what happened that day. I know that my quack therapist says that talking things out is good for the healing process, but this wasn’t emotionally painful. It was physically painful. Very physically painful. Besides, I can’t go into all of the details because I don’t remember them all. What I do know is that getting tangled up in razor wire ranks right up there with skinny-dipping in Siberia on my list of things I never want to do. It’s true that the razor wire will probably not kill you. What it will do is cause you to have to receive so many bandages from the medic that a special requisition has to be sent to the quartermaster for resupply. I still wonder why vampires in books didn’t make use of razor wire. It turns out to be a ver
y effective bloodletting tool.
I managed to survive without the need for a transfusion and met up with Ian in the mess hall for supper. I discovered quickly that use of the salt shaker when one is covered with cuts is an excruciating means of flavoring one’s food. I finally decided it was safer to eat it plain. Ian couldn’t help but laugh at me. “Wow!” he exclaimed. “Talk about death from a thousand cuts!”
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