all tracks that may jeopardize exposing us. By day, I was a soldier, and night, I kept busy at the T.O.C supporting the cause of exposing the truth. Although it seemed like we were finding out so much and exposing information made no difference. I was becoming more and more frustrated daily.
4/17/2008
Ft. Hood Motor pool
16:30 close out meeting
I was closing up my tool box while the others were chaining theirs to the designated tool box area. Shelton and Jacks were joking around with Bernal and Noorak. Everyone else was heading to the barracks or to the dfac to eat. Specialist Shelton and Specialist Jacks, transferring from previous units, were the last two additions to our unit before we left Iraq. They were both tall African American male soldiers from Texas.
Jacks was six feet three, darker than me with a little more weight with curly hair and a slow look on his face all the time. He kind of reminds me Patrick from Sponge Bob. Half brainless, but only cause he chose to be, I can recall some deep intellectual conversations we had in the past.
Shelton was six feet two and darker skinned. He’s the kind of guy that stayed in the gym and has the build to prove it. He was no stranger to any of the clubs here in Killeen, or any of the women that stepped foot in any one of them.
They all stare at me and laugh under their breath.
I pay them no mind. I just tote my box over to the tool box area and lock it to the rusted iron chain. They continue to laugh, so I walk over and ask them, “What’s so funny!?”
The group continues to smile. Noorak, who is now red in the face, yells out from a short distance, “Nothing at all, Sergeant Thomas!” The small crowd bursts into a small laughter.
“Sergeant Thomas? Where’d that come from?” I asked closing the gap in space.
Shelton answered in his Texan accent, “We all know you’re fast tracking up the rank and you already have your specialist promotable status, so you might as well put your points in and get ya stripes, Sergeant Thomas.”
They all laugh again.
I had to laugh myself this time. I always knew they had faith in me, but I never thought I could give orders to these guys, we went through the hard times together equally.
“I can’t see myself doing that, I just want to E.T.S out and live that beautiful civilian life and get my rights back,” I said.
“You say that now but come the first of next month, we’ll just be privates. It’s cool though, Sarge, we’re used to it,” Noorak said, causing the others to laugh out again. A door slams and echoes through the motor pool.
“Specialist Thomas!” A voice of dominancy calls for me. The others get quiet and start to walk away from the voice, quickly heading to the nearest exit. A broad figure in uniform walks towards me with a fast pace, as though a sense of purpose is driving him. It’s Sergeant First Class Pummel. He was bigger than Shelton and Jacks combined, twice as dark and ten times as ugly. We called him Green Mile due to the uncanny resemblance of the movie’s innocent prisoner.
If I was thinking, I most likely would have evacuated the area before he saw me just like the others did, but it was too late, he was already locked on to me.
“Specialist Thomas, when I call your name all I want to hear is ‘Here, Sergeant, moving, Sergeant’!” he said loudly, with his usual authoritative voice.
I run over stopping three feet in front of him and snap to parade rest. He always saw himself as Old Testament I guess, but anytime I see him I look at his right arm and see no unit deployment patch. Reminding me he’s been in the military seventeen plus years like he always tells us, but does everything in his power not to see the combat zone. He looked good on paper to the higher ups so he never had to deal with the ordeal of leaving the U.S. In our eyes, he’s what we call and forever will be a, “Paper Soldier.” He peers down at me with half closed, “could care-less
4/17/2008
Ft. Hood Motor pool
16:30 close out meeting
I was closing up my tool box while the others were chaining theirs to the designated tool box area. Shelton and Jacks were joking around with Bernal and Noorak. Everyone else was heading to the barracks or to the dfac to eat. Specialist Shelton and Specialist Jacks, transferring from previous units, were the last two additions to our unit before we left Iraq. They were both tall African American male soldiers from Texas.
Jacks was six feet three, darker than me with a little more weight with curly hair and a slow look on his face all the time. He kind of reminds me Patrick from Sponge Bob. Half brainless, but only cause he chose to be, I can recall some deep intellectual conversations we had in the past.
Shelton was six feet two and darker skinned. He’s the kind of guy that stayed in the gym and has the build to prove it. He was no stranger to any of the clubs here in Killeen, or any of the women that stepped foot in any one of them.
They all stare at me and laugh under their breath.
I pay them no mind. I just tote my box over to the tool box area and lock it to the rusted iron chain. They continue to laugh, so I walk over and ask them, “What’s so funny!?”
The group continues to smile. Noorak, who is now red in the face, yells out from a short distance, “Nothing at all, Sergeant Thomas!” The small crowd bursts into a small laughter.
“Sergeant Thomas? Where’d that come from?” I asked closing the gap in space.
Shelton answered in his Texan accent, “We all know you’re fast tracking up the rank and you already have your specialist promotable status, so you might as well put your points in and get ya stripes, Sergeant Thomas.”
They all laugh again.
I had to laugh myself this time. I always knew they had faith in me, but I never thought I could give orders to these guys, we went through the hard times together equally.
“I can’t see myself doing that, I just want to E.T.S out and live that beautiful civilian life and get my rights back,” I said.
“You say that now but come the first of next month, we’ll just be privates. It’s cool though, Sarge, we’re used to it,” Noorak said, causing the others to laugh out again. A door slams and echoes through the motor pool.
“Specialist Thomas!” A voice of dominancy calls for me. The others get quiet and start to walk away from the voice, quickly heading to the nearest exit. A broad figure in uniform walks towards me with a fast pace, as though a sense of purpose is driving him. It’s Sergeant First Class Pummel. He was bigger than Shelton and Jacks combined, twice as dark and ten times as ugly. We called him Green Mile due to the uncanny resemblance of the movie’s innocent prisoner.
If I was thinking, I most likely would have evacuated the area before he saw me just like the others did, but it was too late, he was already locked on to me.
“Specialist Thomas, when I call your name all I want to hear is ‘Here, Sergeant, moving, Sergeant’!” he said loudly, with his usual authoritative voice.
I run over stopping three feet in front of him and snap to parade rest. He always saw himself as Old Testament I guess, but anytime I see him I look at his right arm and see no unit deployment patch. Reminding me he’s been in the military seventeen plus years like he always tells us, but does everything in his power not to see the combat zone. He looked good on paper to the higher ups so he never had to deal with the ordeal of leaving the U.S. In our eyes, he’s what we call and forever will be a, “Paper Soldier.” He peers down at me with half closed, “could care-less
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