Chapter 15: The Voice of God  060525

      In the past, I had waited a lot, but this time it was different. The longer we waited to board our chopper, the more time I had to think. The more time I had to think, the stranger this certain feeling became. There was no logical reason for the emotions I was experiencing. We were probably going to be flying straight into a living nightmare. Maybe part of the reason for this strange feeling was having seen that door gunner get killed in such a senseless way. No matter what triggered it, I would never have expected to be feeling the way I did. I was euphoric. That euphoric feeling was further buoyed up by the sound of a recent rock song by "The Byrds". That song was playing over and over in my head. The name of that song was "Hey Mr. Tambourine Man".

     Had I finally lost my mind? I was feeling a tidal wave of upbeat emotional energy. How could I be experiencing that at a time like this? Instead, I should have been feeling at least some anxiety over the very real prospect of dying. We knew for sure that we were flying into a hot LZ. I knew for sure that I was carrying a worn-out M-16, which couldn't hit the side of a barn at fifty paces. However, my mind was having none of that. Instead, it was embracing a feeling that was new to me. I can only explain that off-the-wall sensation in the following way. You see, there was a much greater fear than combat, which had been taking over, little by little, since I joined my unit and even before A.I.T. I had no outlet to numb this growing fear. I never drank. I never smoked, and I never complained about anything to Sergeant Bartee, or anyone else, for that matter. I just tucked things down, inside, and went along to get along. I was convinced that I was powerless to change anything anyway, so why try? From those first days, shortly after basic training and during A.I.T., I learned that excelling didn't buy much respect. It seemed to do just the opposite in my case. After finishing A.I.T., I was not promoted to P.F.C., unlike my peers. Why was that? Was it because my sergeants had to stay up all night looking for me during escape-and-evasion training? Maybe. Or was it because I had refused to buckle under when given the third degree about not signing up for Officer Candidate School? Maybe. I never really figured out the reason. However, I assumed that it was one or the other. It could not have been due to poor performance, as I graduated from A.I.T. in the top ten. One sergeant told me that I would have graduated first in my class if I had only run the mile instead of walking it. There was a reason not to run that mile. As the smallest kid in my junior high class, I often had to run from neighborhood bullies. By the time I turned eighteen, I had worked out enough to face off with every single one of those bullies. I told myself afterward that I would never run again unless I were running of my own free will.

     The most recent occurrence that fueled my passive-aggressive feelings was the “Article 15”. It didn't bother me much at first. Yet, afterward, in the days since, I could feel a kind of slow smoldering deep inside, with the misdirected object of that growing anger being Captain Brown. Though he was an actor in a minor incident, he was also a straw that broke the camel's back. My perfectionist mind was now causing me to close off more than ever. The disdain I felt toward most of my unit's current leadership and the military in general was overwhelming. The damage that anger was causing to my sanity seemed, however, almost sweet to the taste. I knew my day would come. I would get even. In the meantime, one thing I knew for sure. I knew that if I wanted to survive my superiors, I needed to be careful. Interestingly, that fear I felt was much more potent than the fear I had for the Viet Cong hiding in the jungle. My fear was an overwhelming fear of "good ole Uncle Sam. That child molester had been allowed to expose me in my last year as a teenager to an X-rated environment. At the same time, he told me I was too young to vote. Now, however, what could I do against such a powerful enemy? Besides, I loved my country, but I hated the people running it very much.

     Despite this "high noon" mentality developing within me, I was feeling better than good. Go figure. Even before I was forced to enter the Army, I had never developed the social skills to interact successfully with those who had the rule over me. The fear of what they could do to me was much too frightening. It had been this way since I turned thirteen. That was also the year I turned my back on God. Yes, cowering down and withdrawing into myself was the only way I had of dealing with this unwarranted fear of my parents, teachers, employers, and now the Army. A disengaged approach to every aspect of life had become my norm.