Storymania - Sickness Of The Young by Mila Strictzer

Sickness Of The Young (4)
Mila Strictzer

"Roger, Romeo, how long will this take, over?"

"I am not anticipating on returning until tomorrow. I will contact you at that time, over," John answered.

"Roger, Romeo. The war is over. Take it easy, over."

"Roger, sir, out."

"You don’t out me, sergeant, I out, out you!" Their lieutenant screamed angrily back over the radio.

"Jesus fucking Christ! What crawled up his ass sideways and suddenly died?" John turned and asked his team and then keyed the mike again and answered, "Roger, sir, over!"

"Roger...OUT!"

"That fucker must be stressing bad. Fuck him, man, fucking asshole. I guess we can’t all be fucking happy as fucking pigs in shit," John said and put the mike down.

Night rolled in across the desert in its typical, awesome, slow, and purposeful glory. Once they were moving down the main highway, and John felt they were safely far enough away from the old man’s farm so that Joel would not turn around and go back to try and kill him, he unscrewed one of the bottles of whiskey. He took a big slug from the first bottle and felt an intense burn in his throat. Then he put that bottle down between his legs and wiped his mouth with his BDU jacket sleeve, thinking that was what the cowboys must have felt at the end of a long, dry, hot cattle run.

"Goddamn, Sergeant, I hope you don’t fucking die from shock to you fucking system. The last time we had booze was back in Germany. Save some for the fish!" Rodriguez said, as he looked over at John from the other side of the hummer.

"Aaahhhhh...fuck an A! Fuck a B a C, fuck it-fuck it all the way to Z. Fuck the fish too! That is fucking goddamned ecstasy, there can never be any doubt. Better than sex! Well, not quite, but awful damn close! Ha!" John answered on the trail of Rodriguez’s comment.

Then he took another long drink, forcing down the whiskey against his pain and said, "Want some?"

"Damn straight. Hand that fucking bottle over and consider it mine."

John handed the bottle across the middle of the hummer to Rodriguez and then opened the second one. He took a smaller drink this time and then handed the bottle over his shoulder to Johnson, who took a swig and then loudly checked back a cough.

After a moment, John felt a very strong rush of alcohol slam into him like a giant tsunami wave hitting fifty miles inland. He leaned back in his seat, stared at the slowly darkening sky as it passed by and the setting sun in the distance, and felt the sensation of the warm Arabian breeze on his skin, blowing in his face. John quietly thanked God for letting him feel so good.

"Look at the stars up in the sky. It’s not even dark yet. I wonder if it’s legal to have open containers in Iraq. It’s still legal in Oklahoma, did ya know that? Joel, do you want some?" John asked his teammate coyly.

"No, Sergeant. You know I don’t drink."

"Oh, I’m so sorry to hear that," John said mockingly and they all laughed, except for Joel. They all knew Joel did not drink. He was the perfect designated driver for his team.

"Okay, let’s talk about this problem you had with the old man. I know you’re pissed as fucking hell but I don’t know the fuck why. I understand you are a Jew, but who cares? I respect that, you know that. But I mean goddamn, I don’t get bent out of shape when the British talk about taking over Northern Ireland. Well, maybe just a little bit. Rod doesn’t care about Puerto Rico, do you? I guess you do. We’re Americans, man. So what’s the fucking problem? Does Johnson care about Africans? Probably not. Now his bros back in Chi town, oh yeah, you better believe he cares about them. I guess Johnson is the only real American among us, then.

"What the fuck am I talking about? Fuck it, just drive. I don’t have any answers. We don’t have to be back until tomorrow, we have the two five gallons on the back rack and two fifths in hand...hell, we could go all night. So let’s just drive. Wanna go to Baghdad?" John asked, half-joking, half serious, now feeling very buzzed from the alcohol.

"Gimmi one of those bottles. I just had a fucking idea. You know what everyone is doing with the Valium, right? What the Lt said not to do. Johnson, we all know what the fuck you did with yours," John said as he turned and grabbed the bottle from Johnson, behind him. Then he opened his protective mask and pulled the mask out and reached into the back pocket of the case and pulled out his five huge shots, designed to retard the effects of chemical weapons. He carefully read the small writing on the sides of the thick shots in the dim light, his vision a little blurry.

"Atropine, atropine, some other shit I can’t pronounce, wait, pra…lio…dox-ide…cloride, Valium and more Valium, ah ha!" John said as he examined the sides of the needle cases. He put both of the Valium shots in his left hand and threw the others out the window. Then, with the precision of a junky, he placed the edges of each Valium injector against the lip of the whiskey bottle and pushed slowly downward until he felt two sudden clicks.

Two huge needles three inches in length flew out of the injectors down into the bottle of whiskey. The needles squirted their contents into the tan liquid and raised its volume by almost a third.

"Whoa, holy shit, man. Now those are some goddamn needles. Jesus, I hope this is safe," John said and continued, "but then I guess war is not so safe, either."

Then he threw the spent ejectors out the window, put his mask back in its case and swirled the bottle’s contents around and took another big drink. It tasted more mediciney then before.

"Rodriguez, you going to drink that whole.... HOLY SHIT! Joel, let’s go over there!" John said and pointed at the oil well fires they were passing on the right.

"Are you crazy, Sergeant? We can’t go over to the oil well fires."

"Why not? I wanna check it out."

"Because we just can't! Sergeant, do you ever listen to anything anyone ever says?"

"I listen. Generally. But fuck, most people don't know what the fuck they’re talking about! Well, there are some people who do know what they’re talking about but they’re just being fucking pussies `cause they’re too afraid to take chances. Then, there are a very small percentage of people who I do listen to, yes, who know everything, like the Platoon Sergeant. Other then that, why listen to what anyone says?"

"Sergeant Brown, I did not understand a word of what you just said," Joel replied.

Rodriquez had been looking at his team leader, listening to what he had said intently.

"Just pull over when you get far enough into them and we’ll walk the rest of the way. You stay in the vehicle and come get us if we get into trouble or if we’re not back after…half an hour…no, wait! If we don’t make it out of there alive I want you to carry on without us, Joel, I want you to carry on and have a life that is both meaningful and full of joy," John said and laughed.

Joel did not even turn to look at John as he spoke. He slowed down and then left the highway and drove towards the burning old wells. The hummer rolled across the sands for a couple of minutes and then Joel pulled the vehicle to a stop and engaged the parking brake. He left the vehicle running, opened the door, and got out to put a five-gallon container of fuel into their hummer’s gas tank.

John got out, carefully put the whisky bottle in his seat, and leaving his door open, walked a few steps into the desert and stood there, swaying back and forth a little as he stared at the oil well fires blazing not too far off. He spread his arms out wide and was in complete awe. He was also drunk. His head was swimming and he felt a strange relaxation engulfing his body. He realized the Valium was taking effect. Then, he suddenly saw a wall of black smoke moving directly toward their location at a very fast rate.

"Gas! Gas! Gas! Get your gas masks on, the wind just fucking changed direction and the smoke is now coming straight for us, men! Holy shit!" John yelled as he fumbled for his protective mask, taking twice as long to get it on as when he was sober. The rest of his team did the same behind him. When he had his mask on, John stumbled back to the hummer and then turned around just in time to see everything turn black from a solid wall of black smoke that instantly covered over them.

The winds that almost always blew east, Prevailing Easterlies, had decided to change direction on this day. John quickly turned back around to his open door and grabbed the bottle of whiskey on the seat and then he felt a tap on his back. He carefully put the open whiskey bottle under his BDU shirt to protect it from the smoke and turned around and saw someone from his team in front of him with his gas mask on.

He could not recognize who it was with certainty but guessed that it was probably Joel, given the man’s tall, light build. John reached out with his left hand, grabbed the soldier by the neck and pulled him forward, pressing the right side of his mask against the right side of Joel’s mask to be able to hear his words clearly from within his gas mask.

"Sergeant Brown!" Came the muffled, distant words, "we have to get the fuck out of here! Are you fucking crazy! We have to get the fuck out of here, man! Pull yourself together this time! Your drunk, high and being fucking insane!" Joel screamed at John, from inside his protective mask.

Black smoke was whirling past them at a very fast rate and visibility was only two or three feet, at best. After that, the thick, black smoke was impenetrable, like a solid wall. The smoke was blowing by so fast it sounded like a roaring wall of water and it was hard to hear.

The two soldiers looked at each other from a single eye as they spoke with their gas masks pressed together. John’s right eye was staring into Joel’s right eye, only inches apart, with both of their eyes covered by the gas mask’s thick, plastic lenses. Black smoke just kept rolling across their faces. John saw that Joel’s eyeball was very red and bloodshot. He thought to himself that Joel must be under a lot stress.

"No way, Joel! Not this time, Joel! No way! What have we been through the last few months? FUCKING LIVING HELL! We are going to enjoy ourselves for once! Goddamnit! Fuck! Fuck! This is a once in a lifetime chance, man! I feel it is my destiny to go see the fire of the burning well! Just like the fucking Burning Bush! Isn't the President named Bush? I think he is! He would want no less for us! He would want us to go and see the Burning Bush, man.

"Rod and Johnson will follow me, I know! They will follow me to the end of the goddamned Earth! I know you would too. Just let me do this, Joel. Stay here if you must, with the vehicle! Come get us after half an hour if we’re not back!" John yelled at Joel.

"YOU INSANE FUCK! You-are-an-insane-fuck! You’re fucking insane! Get a grip on yourself! Get a grip! Do you comprehend me, Sergeant Brown?"

"I know I am and I know you do too! I’ll see you later! I love you, Joel!" John said, released Joel’s neck, lifted his mask up just a little, put the whisky bottle quickly to his lips and took another deep draft, finishing nearly all of the rest. Then he handed the small amount of whiskey left in the bottle to Joel and walked forward into the moving wall of black darkness.

John quickly stumbled into Rodriguez inside the enveloping, rapidly moving black smoke. He reached and grabbed Rodriquez by the neck and pressed his mask into his. John looked into his assistant gunner’s eye and shouted, "Where’s Johnson?"

"He’s right next to me, Sergeant, I’ve got a hold of him! Are we ready to move out, Sergeant?" Rodriguez asked in a confident voice. He was almost as drunk as John was, but not quite.

"Fuck an A! That is what I want to hear from you! I like your attitude! You got that goddamned right, big fucking Rod! How you feeling?"

"I drank that whole bottle, man. The whole bottle! I am so drunk I can’t see straight!"

"You are the Fucking Man! The Fucking Big Dog! El Hombre! Hold on to Johnson! He drank too and he’s just a boy! If I lost him, the Platoon Sergeant would kill me and then I would kill you! He would kill me! DON’T LET HIM GO!"

"Okay! I got him!"

The black smoke kept blowing past them. It would have easily suffocated them if they did not have their gas masks on. John started walking forward into the swirling darkness. Rodriguez was holding on to John’s web gear in front of him and holding onto Johnson behind him. John heard a muffled sound in the darkness in front of him, almost like an endless stream of loud explosions, one after the other in rapid succession. He moved toward the powerful noises streaming through the darkness.

After walking for about ten minutes, the three soldiers holding on to each other began to see red and yellow flashes suddenly and violently cut through the thick, black smoke. The flashes looked like lightning bolts striking from out of nowhere and landing right next to them.

Then, as if they had walked into the gates of very hell itself, the three soldiers saw the burning oil well fire in all its grandeur. It was as if the impenetrable black night had just opened up in an instant before them to reveal a huge secret, explaining the very meaning of the universe itself. The fire of the single oil well in front of them was as big as a mansion. John now saw what was causing the sound of the rapid explosions.

The oil spurted out of some hole in the ground and then instantly caught fire and exploded in a violent combustion in the direction it had ejected. As each ejection of oil that spewed from the Earth caught fire, the whole, gigantic fire continuously exploded outwards in randomly differently directions, taking on the appearance of huge bubbles rolling over the sand, moving this way and that at a very fast rate. It was a truly awesome sight.

John and the two other members of his team stood in complete awe. They were in such a state of awe that they could not move, even if they wanted to. The soldiers had about as much control over their bodies at that moment as a deer caught in car headlights. The sight of the burning oil well before them was more powerful and magnificent than anything they had every seen in their lives. The fire seemed to be reaching for them, yearning to take them, yet stopping just short of where they stood.

The soldiers stood mesmerized by the massive oil well fire. It must have been the same as the Burning Bush was for Moses, John thought. The fire spit and flurried outward in every direction, violently moving to and fro. The massive burning oil well fire seemed to have a mind and will of its own. John felt he and his team were unfortunate enough to have stumbled onto this god, this divine being. Now, all that they could do was wait, useless as chess pawns.

John, Rodriguez and Johnson stood there for about fifteen minutes, watching the burning fire advance and retreat in different, random directions. They felt like the flame might move toward them and engulf them, but it never did. They had stopped just far enough away to be safe from the fire or the heat it generated. When the Burning Bush had finished with them, it would release them. For now, however, the flame was not about to release anything.

John felt as if he were in hell as he watched the fire ebb and flow and the massive firebombs that looked like some kind of huge chemistry experiment gone way out of control. Then, John heard the voice of God talking to him. God was telling him that he was nothing before him, a mere speck of existence-a water molecule in the vast ocean of life that is the universe. John listened to God’s words with passion.

"Hey boy, listen to me! I am God! I am the burning bush, man! You killed a man, right, another soldier, an enemy soldier, and now you crave for an answer! I don’t care about your worthless problems! You are the oxygen molecule I engulf to spread my awesome fire forever outwards, man! Get a grip! Get a grip! SERGEANT! GET A GRIP! WE ARE LEAVING! WE ARE LEAVING, NOW!"

John felt a tug on his web gear in the opposite direction of the burring oil well fire and he resisted the pull. God had been talking to him and he wanted to finish the conversation. God of the Burning Bush had been talking directly to him and he desperately wanted to finish communicating with God.

"Stop! Stop! Leave me alone! I was talking to God! He was talking to me! I want to finish the conversation! I was communicating with God! He was helping me to understand my problems! Don’t you understand?"

John fought hard but he was forced, nonetheless, in the opposite direction, where his team had come from, back into the moving darkness. The only thing John could focus on was the smacking sound that his boots made as they walked through the oil that covered the sand, a couple of inches deep.

John suddenly had a flash of reality. Joel was pulling him. His team was safe and alive and that was all that mattered. He loved his team and all he wanted was for them to be safe. He stopped resisting Joel pulling him forward, with Rodriquez holding on to him and pulling Johnson behind. As a team, they moved together through the think wall of black darkness, holding on to each other. When they got back to the hummer, John was forced into his seat and he sat there, still desiring to talk to God-the Fire God. Moments later, the hummer pulled off into the wall of black smoke.

John was feeling the Valium and the booze hard. His body was very relaxed and his thoughts were wondering in a strange dream-like flow. He wished that he were home and not here in this hell. He wanted to eat some pie. American pie. He could taste it now and he licked his lips inside of his gas mask.

The hummer plowed through the black smoke. John felt his thoughts slowly clear as the thick smoke whisked away across the windshield. He heard his own heavy breathing in his gas mask and tried to concentrate on the sound. When he saw that the black smoke had disappeared completely, he pulled his mask off and looked over at Joel, who was watching the road, his mask already off. The rest of John’s team took their masks off too.

"Make sure that you look out for the Air Force craters, Joel. Are you listening to me? Watch out for the cluster bomb craters," John said to Joel, referring to the massive holes blasted into the highway by stray USAF cluster bomblets.

"Sergeant, you are an insane fuck, you realize that, don’t you? Do you realize that you truly are an insane fuck? You know what makes me mad, Sergeant? You actually do realize that you are an insane fuck but you still don’t care. It’s the fucking audacity that fucking pisses me off, if you must know."

"Well, I appreciate you expressing your feelings to me, Joel, and I love you very, very much and you know that. And you are my fucking driver. But I was talking to God back there, do you know that? I was talking to God through the burning bush. He was communicating with me about my problems."

"Go to sleep, Sergeant. I will see that we all make it back to our tent and out cots, okay? I will see to it that our weapons are secured. I will see that our team is squared away, alive, healthy, very well-fed, that we have plenty of water and enough ammunition, that we are well-respected within the platoon, kept out of trouble tonight, and always have the best stories to tell, okay Sergeant? Just like you always do, somehow, but I SWEAR TO GOD that I don't know how you do it, insane as you fucking are! So just go to sleep, man. Our team will be tucked away and happy tonight, Sergeant, just leave it to me."

"Okay, Joel, I trust you. I trust you, Joel, you know I trust you. Thank God for you, Joel. I love you, Joel."

"Good, then just go to sleep now."

"I am going to sleep now, Joel."

"Goodnight."

"Goodnight, Joel, my friend and lover. Goodnight."

John leaned down on a box of water bottles and quickly fell asleep.

In the middle of the night, John forced himself out of his dreams. He got up, and stumbling, fell out of the entrance of the tent, knocking it down as he went through. He made it a short distance and then took a piss in the sand. When he finished, he turned and started back toward the tent but was stopped cold in his tracks from a deep growl in front of him, somewhere in the darkness. The hair on the back of his neck instinctively stood on its end and his heart raced.

John quickly reached into his BDU cargo pocket for his .45 that he always kept there, loaded but not locked. His heart sank as he did not feel his weapon at his side and then he realized that Joel had done exactly what he said he was going to do, secure all of their weapons. Again, John heard a low snarl from what must have been a rabid dog, blocking the entrance to his tent.

John had no choice but to run for it. So in a mad dash, he rushed forward into the darkness where he guessed the entrance to the tent was. Just as he found the semi-collapsed entrance to the tent, he felt the dog hit his left leg. John scrambled in terror for the hole to the tent and hurriedly crawled back inside.

John got into the tent and then he heard the dog scurrying behind him. It sounded like the dog had made it inside too. John tried to move in the darkness to the opposite side of the tent as fast as he could. He ran into someone’s cot and knocked it over. He heard a startled groan.

"Wake up, everyone wake up! There’s a fucking mad fucking dog in the tent! Wake up!" John yelled to his team. He was still very drunk and the only thing that was keeping him on his feet was a sudden rush of adrenaline. Then, he heard the dog bark loudly in front of him somewhere in the darkness. The dog was just as scared as he was.

"Joel! Joel! Where is my goddamn forty-five! I have to shoot this fucking mad dog!"

"You can’t shoot in here, Sergeant, you’ll kill one of us! I am not giving you the forty-five! No way! We’ll have to stab it with our bayonets! They’re under my cot! Here! Here’s one, come over here!"

The dog was still barking loudly and it seemed to be moving around as it barked. Luckily, John had run into Joel’s cot, knocking it over between them and the barking dog. John moved over to Joel’s voice and felt his arm and then reached down to his hand and quickly snatched the bayonet from his hand and pulled it out of its sheath. He threw the sheath across the tent and it hit the canvas and fell to the ground.

Then Rodriquez suddenly started screaming in the darkness, "HOLY FUCK! HOLY FUCK! There is some fucking shit eating me! Holy fucking mother of fucking Jesus H. Christ, some fucking shit is eating me! GET IT OFF OF ME!"

John moved cautiously over to him, stumbling a little, and grabbed Rodriquez’ chest. Then he tried to feel down to his leg. He heard the dog snarling somewhere around Rodriguez’s ankle, probably chewing on one his boots. John reached back and then struck down with his bayonet where he calculated the dog to be. He was careful to overcompensate his stab somewhat in order to avoid hitting Rodriguez’s leg, even if that meant only hitting the dog in the butt. To his surprise, his bayonet hit soft flesh and the dog released its grip on Rodriquez and let out a yelp. John reacted quickly and jumped on top of the dog, pinning it underneath him, putting his forearm over its head, forcing it into the ground, and trying his best to hold it there.

"I got it here, Joel! I got the mad dog here, Joel! Get over here and help me kill this fucking mad dog! Get over here, Joel, and help me kill this fucking mad dog now!" John yelled, as he pressed down as hard as he could with his elbow on the animal’s neck to keep it immobile. He had to press down with all of his might as the dog squirmed around violently underneath him. He felt bad about having to press down so forcefully against the dog, he liked dogs, John thought for a moment. But he also liked to survive.

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