Reyhanlı without the best part

First Antakya and then Reyhanlı.

Reyhanlı is situated about 5 km from the border crossing with Syria which makes it an ideal place to try to meet up with the "resistance" who are fighting the forces of Al-Assad and his supporters.

Not that it is an "ideal" place to meet them given that I've been here a day and managed to give up 10 TL to a seemingly friendly motorcyclist who gave me a ride to his house approximately a football field an a half from the border.  From his house we could here the intermittent "Thud" of a tank or artillery shell.

His name was Said and he picked me out easily on the side of the road as if I was a walking ATM with flashing dollar signs.

He made it mostly clear that the ride was "bedava" which roughly translates to "free, on us, ect..." but changed his tune when we reached the border and cooly asked me for 50 TL whereupon I found the smallest bill in my wallet - a ten - handed it to him in disgust and walked away.

Maybe I could've had some balls and told him to F-off but I thought that it would cover his fuel expenses and the time away from his "job" of doing whatever the hell he does that allows him to own a motorcyle and live in a house which is far better than anything I've ever lived in.

 My fortune changed a bit later when I met a news team comprised of a Syrian, Jordanian and a couple of Japanese reporters named Cho and Fatma (the name she gave me) who are based in Istanbul.  They agreed to give me a ride back to the city but then forgot to tell me that we had passed the city and were about 15 km outside of it on their way back to Antakya.

So, I got out, and hitched a ride with a truck from a melon patch where some men with weathered faces kindly gave me a couple of melons - one sliced! - and sent me on my way.


'No pictures, no comments'

I did manage once back in Reyhanlı to make my way to the State Hospital and was quickly told I couldn't take pictures or visit any of the wards.

I talked to the director who was quite friendly and welcoming despite telling me that he couldn't tell me anything that I didn't already know: "Yes, we have fighters from Syria recuperating in our hospital, no, none of them are foreingers, ect..."

I then made my way back to the city center where I tried to take a nap on the side of the road but was quickly wakened by two boys on a motorcyle - they couldn't have been more than 10 yrs old - asking me for change!  I yelled at them "but you have a motorcyle!!! WTF!!! I want a motorcyle!"

Later, in an actual dusty park, a gang of about 15 children kept crowding around me... I woudn't have been suprised if they started trying to poke me with sticks like they did to the caged bear and ostriches in Dohuk Zoo a couple of years before. 


'Adieu'

Nothing to report.... Istanbul is sounding better every minute I waste here.

Why did you only do three and a half years?

I keep getting this question a lot and there's so much background and context necessary for it to make sense (a lot of people don't know the rank structure, how it works and the significance and "culture" of it in the military).  Therefore, I've posted this short narrative here for all to see.

And for any vets reading this: Yes, I was a shitbag, yes I wasn't a "real" soldier in the context of legend and movies and NO, I didn't see combat.

I was stationed on the former Mukhabarat compound FOB Loyalty in East Baghdad back in the Spring/Summer of 2007.

The following letter was written to recruiters while I was pathetically begging to get back into the military after my failure to adapt to civilian life and live in the context of conflict and return a true man.

And here it is:

‘July 2007’

I was deployed to Iraq during the ‘Surge’ of 2007 and touched down in country on April 1, 2007.  I was assigned to HHC Medics of the 1/504 PIR of the 82^nd Airborne and began by working in the Aid Station on F.O.B Loyalty in the city of Baghdad.

When another medic went on leave I was assigned to A Co and began leaving the FOB on missions.  

Things seemed to be going really well until the 82^nd Airborne Association drive came around.  I didn’t want to pay the ten dollars to the organization and was told that I would receive reprisals if I didn’t.  I didn’t pay on the principle that their means of getting the “donation” amounted to extortion.  I then found myself again and again in front of my Platoon Sergeant and Squad Leader having to explain why I didn’t want to join.  The lack of ethics of the situation became very clear when Sergeant Laurentano brought the Aid Station medics out into the breeze way and told them that my refusal to pay caused me to be passed over on a promotion waiver for E-4.  I had received recommendation for early promotion because of my excellent PT score. 

            On June the 5^th/6^th I left with 1^st Platoon Bravo Company – at that time attached to Delta Company – to go to the Baghdad Hotel Observation Post a.k.a the “Dog House”.  The O.P was located on the Tigris River across from the International Zone and was shared by DynCorp.  I detail the location so that it is understood the circumstances in which the next event I will describe took place. 

On the last night at the Dog House I was on vehicle guard with Specialist Anderson.  The guard shift was enough to wear you down for a good six hours and thoroughly soak your equipment.  It was dark and we were into our third hour of guard duty when one of the rotating squads returned from their evening patrol through a newly built park along the Tigris. 

After most of the squad passed a dark figure walked up with a cigarette glowing in his hand.  The darkness made it impossible to identify him as I was relatively new to the unit. He began by going over the details of the patrol when he began boasting about pointing his weapon in the face of an Iraqi at the park.  He then went on to say how he enjoyed seeing the Iraqi Police ruff up the Iraqi men as they corralled them out of the park.  He then went on to brag about “beating up this homeless dude in downtown Fayetteville”.  We were in the military, and roughing up civilians is just part of getting the job done sometimes.  However, bragging about beating up homeless people is something else entirely so I confronted him.  At this point I didn’t know who he was or his corresponding rank. 

He then told me to address him as Sergeant.  Not believing that someone of that rank would be so immature in his behavior I continued to question him.  Upon stepping forward to further identify him, I recognized him as Sergeant Armentrout.

He then went on making me perform push-ups and flutter kicks and other calisthenics with all of my gear on – body armor, helmet, weapon, medical equipment – on the checkpoint of our O.P in the middle of Baghdad.  It was at least ninety degrees outside at the time.  We went on with this for about ten minutes until I started counting out loud in cadence “1, 2, 3, 1, 2, 3”.   He then stepped over me and yelled, “Don’t fuck with me, don’t fuck with me” at the top of his lungs.  He then promised a counseling statement an UCMJ action. 

‘Back at F.O.B Loyalty’

The next day we returned in the mid-afternoon.  Tired I went to back to my bunk in the Scout Section to cool down and drink water.  SGT. Smith then came in the Scout Section and began throwing my equipment everywhere.  Confused at this behavior after a mission I had just returned from I stood there not knowing what to expect.  He then gave me a list of tasks so long and arbitrary I only remember one of them: Hospital corners on my bunk.  I then set about the task when he came in five minutes later and demanded me to explain my incompetence.  In his yelling he continued with “You want to fuck with NCO’s, then I will fuck with you!”  I was then told to perform calisthenics  – push-ups, flutter kicks – as he sat in a chair with his computer to write a counseling statement.   He said he was going to take away my “time and money with UCMJ”.  I told him that being in the Army and being deployed as a medic was not about money or my personal time.  I just wanted to do my job to the best of my ability and if possible exceed the expectations of those around me.  I was angry at the time that so much effort and energy was wasted on so many futile little things that were so easy to resolve. 

‘HHC Meeting’

When Sgt. Smith told me to stand at parade rest I told him “where’s the parade?”  He then took me to see the commander CPT. Schnable and platoon sergeant PSG Meaux. My commander, upon questioning me told me that I explain the situation to him.  I told him that I didn’t want to discuss anything without a legal representative given the proposed UCMJ proceedings.  CPT. Schnable then said “I’m going to put these NCO’s out of this room and put your head through a wall.  I’m fucking livid, and when I get fucking livid you don’t even want to know.”  I then said, “Go for it, I probably need to get some sense knocked into me”.  It was at that point that I would rather be beaten and have it over with and return to my platoon than deal with paperwork and more wasted time.

CPT Schnabel then had me removed from his office where I was put in isolation with SSG. Murphy standing guard.  At this point I started working out to release some of the pressure of the situation.  SSG Murphy during one of my sets then approached me and said that some would consider what I was doing to be “psychotic”. 

‘Going away’

I was then instructed by SSG. Murphy to disassemble my equipment.  When I asked why he told me to keep my mouth shut.  I was then flex-cuffed and told again to wait until the leadership had figured out what they were going to do. 

They brought in CPT. Torres, the unit Chaplain and then Lt. Makone.  I had a lot of respect for Lt. Makone and he told me to “not make anything harder than it already was”. 

I was then taken to the Aid Station where I was restrained to a casualty litter and given what I think was a shot of Diazepam, a muscle relaxant.  Five hours later I was put on a Blackhawk and taken to the International Zone where I was transferred to the Combat Support Hospital.  I was immediately released from restraints when the staff and doctors realized that I was a threat to no one. 

After three days I was transferred to Germany and then on to D.C and then back to Ft. Bragg for observation and release. 

‘Discharge’

A year later I was awaiting reconsideration for my discharge.  I had been working full time at the Womack Army Medical Center Emergency Department as an ER Tech and was awaiting decision on my discharge.  I had assembled references and the Commander made it clear that I was going to be reconsidered for discharge.  I then went on Emergency Leave for my father as he was ill at the time and needed my help dealing with the legal and financial difficulties regarding himself and my brother.  Because of a booking error I wasn’t able to fly back to North Carolina for two days without paying thousands of more dollars necessary for my flight.  My commander believed the delay was deliberate and denied overturning my Chapter Packet and then proceeded with the Discharge.  I was Honorably Discharged on November 1, 2009. 

‘Post-Army’

Since that time I have been attending college earning core credits towards my Associate’s Degree to attend a four-year college.  I am currently still EMT-B certified and intend to advance my medical EMS certifications.

Regarding my actions, I didn’t have the patience and discipline necessary to take stock of my situation and act accordingly to be where I wanted to be.  I acted selfishly and foolishly and I now understand that I let down my peers, my organization and ultimately myself. 

I’ve grown up since then.  I’ve had the fortunate consul of close friends and mentors who have allowed me to understand my mistakes and how to act honorably in the future.

Regards,

O.