11.

The Shooting Incident

There was talk about Sergeant Wright going up for promotion to Staff Sergeant, yet he didn't have all that much time left at the 545th, before he'd get a new assignment and so, although the promotion package was put together, he would not go up in front of the committee-board at his present duty station there in Germany, it would have to wait, and be at his next home base, plus the Army had little secret policies, if you got that close—or too close to getting out of the Army, let him reenlist first, and Sergeant Wright would reenlist for the most part, about a month before he'd leave the 545th is when he'd do it, and therefore get his promotion to Staff Sergeant at his next station. But just before he'd leave, about three weeks, Dr. Sharp, a good friend of the Sergeant, would play a drastic role.

It was the first week of April, the air was clear, cool and Sergeant Wright was training in another sergeant, of his duties, pertaining to the Surety Office, for when he got CQ [or Company Headquarters duty], extra duty that is [in other words, NCOIC in charge of the compound for one evening, the coming evening]. There was in addition to the Sergeant in Charge, an Officer in Charge as well, but he was not required to be present at the time, just on call and available if need be; for in actuality the Officer, was for some odd reason, pulling two duties, one as Officer CQ like Sergeant Wright would have to, and ENREST, which was a duty pulled in the back area at the site; which required that he'd be locked up for twenty-four hours, in a small room, with a Sergeant. The reason being, in case of a Nuclear Attack or simply an attack by the Russians, they—the two individuals in the ENREST duty station [which was in essence, a bomb shelter]—were to break seals to dispose of the ninety-nuclear bombs, they had at the site, of which they consisted of 383-megatons each: thus, making the sergeant in charge of the compound with a double duty responsibility. Sergeant Wright had ENREST many times but of course never when he had CQ. In any case, he was alone on duty in what was called the front area, the compound, not the site area.

The Incident

It was a still dark evening, the moon seemed to have a lot of shadows, too many shadows to be honest; you know, those dark inky-blue nights with a, and I say just a, --touch of gray clouds seeping through the inky blue, and it was huge—the moon—it looked as if it was, as if it was a lamp post sitting right over the compound, it would prove lucky for Sergeant Wright though.

It was now 11:15 PM, the Sergeant had just made his rounds, like a sheriff, one might say, from the old west, he was required to check each barracks, and each room in the barracks out along with the mess hall, the motor pool, everyplace on post, to see if all was ok, all was well, and of course the EM club, and the Surety Office, as well as the PX. And as he was about to sit down, after making his rounds, his assistant, a private came running from one room to the other——in the CQ Office saying [in a harsh racy breath, on the edge]:

"An incident, incident, accident, a shooting over at the 9th MP's barracks,” said the Private, in a panic

said the Sergeant in a low voice, "Now tell me what you know, slowly, but catch your breath first, slow down [getting up from his desk] and I'll be or we'll be, there in a minute.” He added, "Now say again, slowly what you were trying to tell me?”

In almost a cry, but slower: "Specialist Dolton [The Sergeant tried to visualize by looking up just who Dolton was] shot himself I think, I think, no I know, shot himself with his M16 rifle, he's a mess, simply a mess.” Quickly the sergeant grabbed his hat, and headed to the MP barracks.

--Asking again, upon arrival ["What happened?”] the sergeant approached Dalton, and the two men helping Dolton slowly, quietly walking up the second flight of stairs in this old WWII German barracks, looking at the whole scene, not making any frightful faces at what he saw, he didn't' want to panic anyone.

Then Sergeant Wright, looking at two soldiers comforting Dalton, sitting on the top of the stairs, eye-to-eye with Dalton, he nodded his head to Specialist Frapp whom was assisting Buck Sergeant Morrow, he got the whole picture in one glance now, it wasn't hard, for Dolton stood out like a sore thumb, the right side of his face was blown completely off, ripped off, from the eye all the way down under his gums, or lower part of his mouth; --one could see his ivory teeth shinning, and torn ligaments all around them, red on red, different shades of red, blood-red, pick-red, shadows of red. From a profile view he, Dolton looked as if he had nothing left to the side of his face, even his eye socket was ripped open, pulled out somewhat, along with his upper left side of his lip blown off, and his lower chin, all the way along his jaw curve was ripped, shredded like, skin hanging loose, he looked like a freak that Dracula had just used for a feast. Calmly he approached all three soldiers—within a few feet of them now.

Dolton [Frapp: holding his hand, Dolton's hand] was in a stilled-shock position—as if frozen in ice, looking as if he was high, looking about as if to say, 'what's going on,' but he said nothing, and it was obvious he had not seen his own face yet: and what he did say made no sense. He looked like a monster. Funny he was still alive, Sergeant Wright thought.

Saying sharply to the private that followed Sergeant Wright,

"Quickly run over to the Orderly Room, call Dr. Sharp, at the Babenhausen clinic, tell him I'm on duty and we need that he come over here quickly, and tell him I mean quick: -- explain to him the situation…ok?” The private nodded his head—yes, yes [twice].

[Chris, with a full breath taken now]: "What's the story? Or is it obvious?” said the Sergeant. Meaning, he either was trying to commit suicide, or it was an injury he wanted to inflict, so desperate to go home. Sometimes this is the case, if not most of suicides attempts, many are, not suicides attempts in general, rather done out of desperation, Home-sickness, as it is known. But what was it, Sergeant Wright didn't known. And again, some of these injuries lead into suicides unintentionally. In either case it wasn't his job, the sorting of facts would come later for the investigators, psychologists, or counselors, whatever. His job was to secure the compound, and get the doctor in there to get this medical emergency out so he could continue on with his mission, and again secure the Nuclear Compound; distraction is not what he liked, but it none-the-less was part of his job to deal with. Furthermore, he had to notify the Officer in Charge, but he simply told the Sergeant to handle it, as they always did.

[Hesitantly] "I'm not sure sergeant,” said Morrow, [a sergeant from Duluth, Minnesota, a friend of Chris]. Adding, "…aaahaw…a few minutes ago, I'm not sure, kind of looks like a suicide attempt, but he said he was cleaning his rifle, and it accidentally went off.” Chris at this point was sizing the situation up.

"Yaw, sure,” commented Wright, as if to play down the reality, and fate.

Chris having been to Vietnam, knew this was more than a cleaning job, the bullet had reshaped its course and not done what was expected, and came out at a wrong angle: --but he did not share that information, that would be for the investigators again. That said, as they waited for the private to bring back the news of Dr. Sharp coming, he had learned the MP, Dolton, had come from the Arms Room quite early in the afternoon, to his room; --actually, Chris had seen him carrying his rifle earlier, thinking it strange for him to be cleaning it so late, and in his room [but then often times they did clean their weapons in their room], or possible he could have been going to the back-area for duty, that would have allowed him to pick up his weapon; --in any event, he: Sergeant Wright, felt it was not a big concern, it was, if it was that, not out of the ordinary. And then, no one mentioned it was out so long—the weapon not being brought back, possible the Arms Room personnel overlooked it, this could be a thorn of unhappiness for the on-duty people of that time, or the ones who took on the next shift should have checked it out; plus the unlucky Lt. Crawford: no matter what, someone would have a lot to explain, if not be replaced. In either event, it would be checked out, and possible hushed up if it looked too bad. And if it was a suicide in the making [he: Dolton] needed to make his move quick before someone got a notion to come check on him. Many people in Vietnam, shot off toes, or did other strange things to their body to get out of the stressful combated zone, this was somewhat resembling that. Some even shot holes in their stomach; the old cleaning weapons dilemma, it all fit the stress factor thought the Sergeant; too much, too long in one place

--Thought Sergeant Wright: this place was getting to him also, too many soldiers, explicitly, it was mentally draining on everyone, everyday. He remembered a soldier, just a few weeks earlier, another Military Policeman [MP] had locked himself up in his room, jumped on top of his locker, in his room, half naked, with a knife, threatening to kill anyone who'd come in, possible himself. Also, a Staff Sergeant now spending his time in the Company [day]-Orderly Room, was doing odd jobs, instead of his career job because he lost a bolt in the head, in actuality, he was screaming all the time, not sure what happened to him—going mad: he was a cool guy at one time thought the sergeant, but again, stress, pressure, long hours, a nuclear site, drills in the morning, evening, night, all the time. It all became to be too much, way too much for many.

[The Private arrives back]

"Sergeant, the doctor wants us to build fires in the baseball field so he can land a helicopter, and take Dolton out that way, and bring him right to the Frankfurt hospital.”

Saying with a calm composure [said, Sergeant Wright]: "Good work Private, now let's get Dolton out slowly…: Morrow you take one arm, and you-Private, you take the other—and Frapp, you hold the doors open…” and they all walked foot by foot—step by step, slowly down the flight of stairs as Wright watched all the movements of everyone, even himself, --leading Dolton out onto the asphalt that lead to the baseball field about four-hundred-feet to the south, alongside of the gates to the compound.

Several flashlights were on around the baseball perimeter, a few fires were lit also around the field, as the helicopter landed; Dr. Sharp quickly took hold of Frapp, looking at Sergeant Wright with non-judgmental eyes, and a slight 'hello,' to a serious-smile. Then as fast as they he had landed, they were airborne again

walking back to the Orderly Room, Chris walked in an exhausted manner, he knew l977 would be different, and it was around the corner, he was going back to Alabama, out of this crazy outfit. It had taught him many things, and one being, to let go, and go forward. If anything he was burnt out, burnt to the bone. He now leaned back in his chair in the office, put his feet up on the desk, let out a frozen apple of air, and stared into nothingness, pure strange oblivion, as if he was day-dreaming, allowing his mind to digest all that just happened, and all that could have happened

A Soldiers Dilemma

In the Army you witness many things The longer you stay in, the more you see He shot off his nose, he did: His chin, cheeks, side of his face (The bullet reshaped everything; Yes, everything was displaced).

He said he was cleaning his M-16, But it didn't look that way at all— But rather to die by grace: And not to have to face, the enemy, Was more,--the real call...

Well, he proclaimed with his eye hanging With grim and epigrams, and relief (As the October winds swept by his face): "How dare death talk to me,” this way, (All of a sudden he wanted to live).

[The Sergeant's observations]

[In thought the Sergeant went over in his mind as he sat back] his face: a bloody mess, but his brain untouched—the strangeness of this shooting reflected idiosyncrasy [to me: the sergeant thought]: here he was in a small military site, he was a quiet sort of person, more so lately than before, more-so today than ever-before. 'No feebleminded fellow to my understanding,' he confessed. He had talked to him before, befriend him, flippantly, but made friends with him none the less.

Whatever provoked it, the sergeant thought, he'd never know, yet he did notice he was thinner than he knew him to be, possible he had lost his appetite, wasn't sleeping well, or so it looked now, as now he looked back into his memory banks—depression possible. This site, nuclear site, military location, with its isolation: offered little peace of mind to anyone of sound mind [consequently bring out unnamed fears: paranoia, nightmares, and sleepless nights]. And if possible that was circulating within his mind, why not suicide, for sometimes suicide follows: 'Goodbyes,' but his actions never announced to anyone a 'suicide attempt', but then no one was looking for them. Yet, what he was doing and what no one noticed was: turning off all his external [outside] channels, one by one to his world. That is to say, he was not talking to many people; oh he'd say 'Hi,' and that sort of thing, but no more than that. He avoided old friends, avoided even eye contact with them [even with the Sergeant] this very afternoon was a case in point, or was it just before noon, oh well [thought the Sergeant] who cares, it was today; and today was almost tomorrow, unless it was tomorrow, he hadn't looked at his watch for a while

he remembered he walked by him as if he was in another world, estranged to Planet Earth, almost catatonic, almost, and almost somewhat disassociating with the air around him, people around him. His atmosphere was filled with not speaking, alienation, and estrangement: no radio was on in his room, no T.V. going, no music at all, no magazines. It would seem he became fixated on something, locked into something, a mind-set for something. Now that it happened, was it suicide, or an attempt that didn't go well? The Sergeant didn't know what he was thinking, but surely his last dream was to be all he'd remember had his attempt not failed; now he seemed to want to be alive. If it was peace he was after, real peace, he almost got it. When hope is gone, so is the reason to live, he presupposed.

Said the Sergeant to himself, looking intently at the bare wall ahead of him, as the helicopter headed on to the Frankfurt Hospital: some forty-miles away:

he wanted to blow his brains out, but blew his face off—nobody cleans a rifle or gun loaded, nobody, simply nobody, he must have placed the rifle [trying to put the pieces together now that he had time to think] to his right side of his face, and squeezed the trigger, thus, bullets, one or two fired, tore through his face, blew away much of his nose, tongue, teeth and check bone, and ripped skin off all the way up to his right eye, possible destroying his right eye, or so it seemed, all over in a millisecond. Or possible he held the rifled between his legs, pulled the trigger with his big toe, holding the bore in his mouth, and then squeezed the trigger.

Then the Sergeant remembered his mother, his dear loving mother, whom died at 83. He remembered the day in the hospital when she thought she might be going [and possible knew she'd have to go] to an old folks home, should she recover, but he tried to assure her if she did recover, it would only be for a recuperation period; but then that was being dismissed by the doctors, and so he had to let her know that [which broke his heart, for she had even dreamt of going home, she had told him so]: she didn't want to see the days ahead [which to her would be in a Long Term Care Facility—that in itself was death, a slow death at that], and so she let go of life; --she had fought many battles before with illness, and won: yes, won them all, but this war to her was un-winnable, even if she won it, that is, won the right to live. Maybe this soldier felt the same way for some reason.

Death Remembered

Most people want a cause for death he told himself, and only get a reason. For his mother, Chris knew there was no specific cause of death, other than old age, which comes down to molecular damage, specifically in the cell structure by way of destroying genes and proteins. In one way she had lived two lifetimes, had she lived 100-years ago, when life expectancy was forty-years. They said it was partially due to pneumonia, and diabetes, and other things; whatever, Chris knew it was triggered by old age symptoms, and its immune systems inability to regenerate, in consequence, it was impossible to pin point a cause other than old age. Had this soldier died, the cause would have been a rifle wound, set off by suicide, and his ten-thousand dollar insurance policy would not be paid out. If it was by accident, then someone would be ten-thousand dollars richer. The bad thing possible, yet probably he didn't think of it at the time: he'd have not left any 'last words' for anyone to remember, sad, thought Chris, everyone wants a few last words to hand down for posterity: a few last words to remember your loved ones by.