Day 20-2
The Huey touches down at Fort Lewis Medical Center, giving me somewhat of a flashback. I came in this way once with a cracked vertebrae, compliments of a water-tank rolling from the back of a 'Deuce-and-a-half'. Ducking through the swirling air-torrents blown up by the rotors, we hustle inside. Cut follows the medics in the direction of the Emergency room. I follow the signs to Admission, dragging mine and Jimmy's bag along, and getting some real weird looks from everyone I pass in the hallway. Figure I'm quite a sight. Blood all over me, wearing nothing but torn BDU pants, combat boots and a bear-claw necklace.
Stopping at one of the restrooms, I take at least enough time to wash my hands and dig through my duffel bag for a cap, my ID, and a—more or less—clean Army T-shirt. Finding Jimmy's wallet is a little more difficult. Had to be all the way on the bottom.
I finally reach it, then carelessly stuff everything else back into the bag. Opening Chief's wallet to make sure the driver's license is really in there, I realize Cut was right. Two Dollar bills and a whole bunch of pictures. Man! Wow! I unwittingly give a whistle through my teeth, getting a closer look. That woman is a knock-out! Big dark eyes, pitch-black hair down to her waist, more curves than the West Virginia Turnpike, and legs like Jamie Lee Curtis. Damn, Chief, you done good for yourself, I think, sticking the wallet into my back-pocket.
More weird looks, until I make it down to the check-in desk.
"Excuse me!" I try to get the attention of the female Lieutenant behind the Computer. I love being ignored! "Excuse me!" I say louder, and she finally decides to at least look at me. "Ma'am," I start quickly, "I need to check a friend of mine in here. He's down at the Emergency room right now with a gunshot wound..."
"Sergeant!" she cuts me off sharply, and I squint, surprised that such a hard voice could come from such a pretty face. "I need date of birth, Social Security number, and medical card."
Oh, shit! Here it goes already! "Look, Ma'am," I scratch my head, "one of the medics told me to ask for Captain...damn, now I can't remember his name."
"Captain Rowe," she helps out. "He isn't here."
"What about Staff Sergeant Kennedy? Or maybe one of your supervisors?"
"I am the supervisor, Sergeant," she snaps irritated. "Kennedy is on leave. Just give me the medical card and information, Sergeant."
"Ma'am, you don't understand...Shit!" I scan the room for someone—anyone who might be of help, but all I get is more curious gawks. "Where is the closest CQ office, Lieutenant? I need to get to a PRC."
"What for?"
"Oh, for a while!" Now I get angry. "Look, Ma'am, we just come from a combat zone, and my friend got shot, saving a General's ass. He needs to be admitted, and I don't have time to..."
"Sergeant," she jumps up, "first of all, you are out of order. Second, all I asked for was the necessary information, and third, what are you talking about? Combat zone?"
"Damn it, Lieutenant," I cut her off again, almost yelling, but not getting further than that.
"Just wait here!" She suddenly turns and hustles into the office behind her, slamming the door and picking up the phone.
Great! Damn, Chase, your temper gets you into more trouble than you'n shake a stick at. I glance around again, now meeting uncomfortable and some disdainful stares.
I gotta get a hold of Lancaster somehow. Standin' here wastin' time ain't never... That is as far as this thought goes.
"Sergeant Riggin," a hard voice says behind me, "you are under arrest!"
Shit! I spin around and suddenly feel like someone punched me in the stomach.
Two MPs, standing there, grim faced, gun in hand, aiming at my bellybutton.
"Sergeant," the one with the hard voice starts again, "I would suggest you cooperate. Turn around, put your hands on the desk, and spread your legs."
"Corporal, I..."
"Do it now!" the other MP—a Sergeant—yells, raising the barrel of his Beretta into my face.
"Alright, alright!" I exhale a sharp breath, hesitating nevertheless. For a moment the thought of resisting crosses my mind. I still have the Llama stuck behind my belt, and even without the gun I could probably take both of them. But then what? Shit!
"Sergeant," the Corporal grits his teeth, "last warning!" He has a look on his face, like he would really shoot if necessary, and so I finally comply.
Bet they's already waitin' for me to come in. Bet I's considered AWOL when I didn't get off the mountain. Guess Lancaster didn't even think about clearin' up the situation with Bradford when he called in for the vehicles. Shit! Now what'm I gonna do? I gotta get a hold of someone. Where the fuck's Billy when I need 'im? Maybe he's still up in Paradise at his brother's. Maybe I'n get a phone-call... maybe...Shit! I hope Jimmy's alright.
My mind is spinning in circles, and I grit my teeth, getting searched.
"Nice piece!" the Corporal admires my Llama, confiscating it along with my pocket knife, watch, the Zippo, Jimmy's wallet, my ID, and the maps that are still stuck in my cargo pocket.
I really get tense when he orders me to turn over the bear-claw necklace I am wearing under my shirt.
"Pretty!" he holds it up after I take it off at last—don't have much of a choice—then places it in the box, along with all my other belongings.
Damn, I hate handcuffs!
"All right, Sergeant, let's go!" He directs me toward the exit, the MP-Sergeant grabbing a hold of the bags and following in behind us.
I walk in front of the two MPs, out the door and to the waiting Humvee, avoiding any kind of eye-contact with other people.
The Corporal opens the door of the vehicle, then takes the duffel bags, throwing them into the back. "Get in, Sergeant!" he snaps, assisting me up into the cab since my hands are cuffed behind my back. He takes the seat next to me.
The Sergeant is the driver. He starts the vehicle and we pull out.
There is a long moment of silence, then I finally can't stand it anymore. "Look, Corporal," I begin, "is there any way you'n help me? I got to make a phone call..."
"Just be quiet, Sergeant," he barks. "You are in enough trouble as it is. We don't appreciate Soldiers who decide to go AWOL and..."
"I didn't go AWOL, damn it," I yell at him. "It's all a big misunderstanding. That's why I need to make that call and straighten it all out."
"You can tell all that stuff to Sergeant Donnan at the station. He likes to listen to them kind of bleeding-heart stories. Now shut up!" He says it so hard, I just grit my teeth and exhale a sigh of frustration.
The ride to the MP-station takes less than three minutes. Still, it seems to be the longest trip I ever made in my life. I am so furious, if my hands weren't restrained —no telling what I might do. Why the hell didn't I try to get away? I might have had a chance. Maybe I could... Damn, this is the last thing I needed. I gotta get back to Cut and Jimmy somehow. Shit!
"Get out!" the Corporal barks, opening the door when the Humvee comes to a stop.
I follow the order, though still trying to come up with a way out of this situation.
"Move!" He directs me toward the entrance to the MP-station, the Sergeant falling in behind us again, carrying the bags.
I step inside, getting a quick look around and somewhat of a flashback. It is not the first time I have been in here, and things haven't changed much, except for the people who work here now. Not one single familiar face in the room. Damn! I's hoping somebody might be here I still know.
"Sit down!" the Corporal motions me to a chair, then places the box with all my stuff up on the desk. "Where is Donnan?" he inquires from the Private who is busy filing a stack of papers.
"Chow hall!" is the short reply.
"Call over there, and tell him he needs to get back right now. We got that AWOL Sergeant Riggin. Call Bradford too and let him know."
Damn, I wish he would quit callin' me AWOL. I didn't...
The door opens again and another MP walks in.
I glance up. No, don't know him either.
"There you are," the Corporal addresses the guy who just entered. "Brought you a little present," he sneers with a motion of his thumb toward me.
"Oh, yeah?" The other one turns around, giving me a curious but not unfriendly squint.
I wisely decide to keep my mouth shut for the moment. I know from experience that cooperation gets you a lot further a lot faster, and since I had some time to cool down... Well, let's just wait and see what happens.
The MP—I figure it is Sergeant Donnan—steps over to the desk, and starts to inspect the contents of the box.
"Look, Rick," the Corporal says, "if you got this here under control..."
"Sure! Just go on before the chow gets cold," Donnan answers without looking up. "Alright, let's see what we got here." He keeps talking, more to himself than anyone else. "One Zippo lighter, Old Timer pocket knife, Llama forty-five automatic. Man, that's a nice piece! ID, Sergeant Chase Riggin, Timex wristwatch, wallet...wow! Damn, what a babe!" He flips though the pictures of Jimmy's wife, then lays the wallet aside, not even realizing it doesn't belong to me. "Three topo-maps...wait a minute!" He quickly reaches back into the box, bringing out the bear-claws. "Is this yours, Sergeant?" he inquires with a suspicious squint, holding up the necklace.
"Yes!" I answer scarcely.
"Hmmm." He takes a closer look. "Weird! I saw one just like it once before."
"You did?" I inquire, suddenly a little interested.
"U-huh! Could've swore it was one of a kind. Looked too unique, or better say custom made."
"May I ask where you saw it?" I push the issue.
"Oh, a few years ago, when I's living down in Tulsa," he gives back, thoughtfully turning the necklace over in his hand.
"Tulsa, Oklahoma?" I ask, getting up from the chair.
"Ain't no other Tulsa now is there," he smirks. "The guy who's wearing it was an Indian..."
"Wait a second, Sergeant," I cut him off. "You wouldn't happen to remember his name by any chance, would you?"
"Well," he scratches his head. "Nah, sorry. Just remember the necklace. Had a little problem with it."
"Like what?" I keep on the subject, thinking, it seems he is talking about Jimmy.
"Well," he repeats, "tried to get 'im to take it off, and he come after me with a damn Bowie knife, big enough to..."
"Gees!" Now I grin. He really is talking about Chief. Has to be.
"Wasn't funny at all, man," he frowns. "Scared the shit outa me!"
"Why the hell did you try to get it off him anyways?" I am still grinning.
"Just policy. Gotta take off all jewelry to go into surgery."
"Surgery?" I get curious once more.
"Yeah! I's an EMT down there, before I joined up. We's on call at the Rodeo, and he got hurt. Pulled that damn white bull. That sucker's crippled more boys than you'n shake a stick at..."
"Woah, woah, woah! Hold on there," I break in. "You say, that guy you're talkin' about was ridin'?"
"Sure was. He's real good at it too. Just bit off a little more than he could chew when he got onto Snuffy. Broke his leg in three places and three or four ribs."
Now he got me bumfuzzled. I's sure he's talking about Chief. But him riding Rodeo? Couldn't be! "Wait!" I interrupt again. "Do me a favor. Look in that wallet right there."
I motion with my head. "Look at the driver's license. See if that's the guy you's talkin' about?"
He picks up Chief's wallet, opening it, and this time disregarding the photographs. "Sure is! James Nathaniel Whitehorse," he reads off the license. "Yeah, that's it! The name sure rings a bell now...but wait a minute," he gives me a hard glare, "how did you get that guy's wallet and that necklace?" he inquires sternly.
"Well, I had his wallet to get 'im checked in over at the med center, and the neckl..."
"Woah!" he cuts me off in mid-sentence. "You's gettin' him checked in? For what?...Damn it, Sergeant, for what?" he repeats hastily when I don't answer right away.
"Gunshot wound! He..."
"Shit!" he breaks in again, turning to the Private behind the desk. "Give me the phone, Larry. Hurry the fuck up!"
"What the...?"
"Shut up a minute!" he snaps at me, dialing, listening, then slamming the receiver down. "Larry, get the Sergeant here checked in. I'll be right back," he yells, already halfway out the door.
"What was that all about?" the Private inquires confused, looking at me.
"Hell, if you don't know, how should I, man?" I answer, getting a real uneasy feeling. Somethin's wrong here. Something that's got to do with Jimmy. Damn!
"Come on, Sergeant," the Private breaks my thought. "I gotta take you in and get that paperwork started."
"Yeah," I mutter, not really listening to him. I follow however, when he directs me toward the security door that leads to the holding-cells. I get searched once again, but all I have left to lose is my dog-tags, belt and bootlaces. Then the cuffs come off, and the bars slam shut behind me.
#####
Holding-cells are nothing new to me. When Cut and I were stationed down in Alabama, we made almost a habit of getting bailed out on a Monday morning by our First Sergeant. Haven't been in one for quite a while though, since both of us settled down—at least a little—after getting married and starting families. This is still the longest wait I have ever endured, even though it couldn't be more than ten minutes before the security door opens and Donnan returns.
"Sergeant!" He steps in front of my cell, looking uneasy.
"Please tell me Jimmy's okay," I mutter, figuring this whole thing had something to do with Chief.
"He is for now."
"What the hell do you mean for now?" I yell. "What the fuck is going on, man? I gotta..."
"Just calm down a minute, Sergeant, and I'll explain it to you," Donnan says calmly.
"Alright!" I try to get a hold of my nerves.
"Look, like I said, he's okay for now, but what I told you before, when I had 'im in my ambulance...man, he's allergic to morphine."
"Shit! They give 'im any?" I throw into the incoherent stack of information.
"Don't think so. They gonna transfer him to Seattle Memorial, and I put a fax through to let the EMTs up there know."
"Man!" I draw a deep breath. "Thanks! Just hope they get it in time."
"Yeah! Sure glad I remembered that though," Donnan lets out a sigh as well.
"How come you knew that anyways?" I squint.
"I found out by accident. Like I told you, I had 'im in my ambulance when he got hurt at that Rodeo. Had 'im on the way to the hospital...Shit! Almost lost 'im too. Shot 'im up with morphine, and he went into full cardiac arrest on me."
"Gees!" Another deep breath.
"Yeah! Good thing we got onto that in time. Man..."
"Damn good thing!" I agree, thinking, if I hadn't had that damn necklace on me...
Maybe there is such a thing as fate after all? Anyways... "Look, Sergeant," I try to carefully change the subject, "is there any way you'n get me a phone call?"
"Who'd you need to get a hold of?" he inquires, not sounding all too reluctant.
"Well," I scratch my head, "I figure it's too late by now to call back up to the camp," I muse, rather to myself than Donnan. "Think you'n get me a listing for the area around Paradise? I got a friend who might be able to help me out."
"I'd have to talk it over with General Bradford..."
"Damn, Sergeant," I cut him off, "Bradford thinks I went AWOL. That's why I ended up in all this shit here, and that's why I need to get a hold of my buddy up there to get this mess straightened out. Cut and Jimmy don't even know what..."
"Wait a minute," Donnan now interrupts me, "who did you say?"
"What? Who? Jimmy?"
"No, the other name."
"Cut?"
"Yeah!" He gets excited. "I know a guy, his real name's Reece Cutler..."
"Holy shit! You know 'im?" I almost yell.
"Sure do, man. What, he's here?"
"Yeah!" Now I am grinning. "Well, I figure he went to Seattle with Jimmy, if they transferred him there. He stayed with Jimmy when I went to check 'im in."
"Gees," Donnan snickers, "I ain't seen that boy in years. He a friend of yours too?"
"Sure is. Cut and I go way back, and that's how I met Chief...I mean Jimmy, to begin with."
"Man," Donnan suddenly sounds depressed, "now I feel all bad about lockin' you up."
"Ah, you just gotta do your job," I shrug. "Ain't gonna be here long anyways, if you'd swing it to get me that phone call."
"Alright! Just sit tight a minute, and I'll see what I can do," he replies quickly, and hustles out the door before I can say anything else.
Man! Talk about coincidence. What a trip! Just hope he'n get something done fast.
It is hard to believe just how long thirty minutes can be—I figure that's about how much time passes before the security-door finally opens again.