Read Online Mass Casualties: A Young Medic's True Story of Death, Deception, and Dishonor in Iraq by Michael Anthony - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Michael Anthony
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hundred hours? And after you tell everyone you can go back to your room and have the rest of the day off . Take a break, here's my pager. If there's an emergency I'll get in touch with you.”
I know I am not dreaming. I tell everyone to be in at 1500 hours.
1505 HOURS, OR
Gagney is talking to us:
“I know that things haven't been easy this past month. I know that I may have been hard on a few of you, but after talking to the chief ward masters and seeing how easily Hudge was able to make that schedule, I realize that I may need to back off a little bit and become more of a reasonable and approachable leader. So if you guys have any further complaints, bring them up to me first. There's no need to go over my head to the chief ward masters. In fact, and I shouldn't even have to order this, but you are not allowed to go directly to the chief ward masters. You can talk to them and complain about me to them, but you are ordered to come to me first,” says Gagney.
Gagney finishes and leaves. We all know that he can't stop us from contacting the chief ward masters and that we don't have to tell him, but it's not worth getting into.
WEEK 2, DAY 1, IRAQ
1600 HOURS, MY ROOM
“You're not going to believe this!” Denti yells as he barges into my room. We're supposed to go to the gym but not for another ten minutes.
“Ah, what the hell, man. Knock next time.” I'm naked and changing into my clothes.
“It happened in the southern hospital.”
I put my underwear on as quickly as possible.
“This thing is huge.”
I'm looking around the room for clean socks.
Here's what he was telling me:
“When our unit went to Iraq, we split up. Half of the people went to run our hospital and half of our people went to run another hospital in the southern part of Iraq.
“Staff Sergeant North was on mailroom duty and it was slow, so he decides for fun to open up someone's mail and start reading it. He's just sitting there reading somebody else's mail, and the next thing you know the guy whose mail he's reading actually walks in and catches him.
“The guy starts yelling at North for reading his mail, and North just turns white as a ghost. He realizes that this guy is only a specialist, though, so North says that he shouldn't be talking to a superior officer that way.
“The guy then goes to his chain of command and tries to file a complaint against our unit and North. His commanders are outraged. But since the soldier and the rest of his unit are all leaving in two weeks, the commanders don't want to waste their time with complaints. They just want to go home. The soldier then talks to the unit that's replacing his, and they don't want to file a complaint against a unit either, bad politics and all.
“So this guy wants to file a complaint but no one will do it for him. No one wants to cause trouble. Eventually the guy decides to go to the IG (inspector general) himself.
“It then comes out that we have more complaints against us than any other unit in Iraq. I guess a bunch of people from our unit and other units complained about us when we were in Wisconsin and since we've been in Iraq.
“So the Good Ol' Boys hear about the complaint and they're livid.”
Okay, the Good Ol' Boys (GOBs for short):
They're a degenerate group of colonels and generals who, while in Wisconsin we ate rotten food, they ate at fancy restaurants and joked with each other, saying, “Let them eat cake.” These are the men who slept in two-man rooms while we slept in thirty-man bays. They get chauffeured around base while we walk everywhere. They also allow people in our unit to do whatever they want as long as they don't get caught. They're going to lead us into battle.
Colonel Tucker is the leader of the gang. The only way to describe him would be: a mad Russian scientist, without the charisma. Tucker's main lackey is our unit command sergeant major, Command Sergeant Major (CSM) Ridge. Ridge is the man in charge of the enlisted section of our
I know I am not dreaming. I tell everyone to be in at 1500 hours.
1505 HOURS, OR
Gagney is talking to us:
“I know that things haven't been easy this past month. I know that I may have been hard on a few of you, but after talking to the chief ward masters and seeing how easily Hudge was able to make that schedule, I realize that I may need to back off a little bit and become more of a reasonable and approachable leader. So if you guys have any further complaints, bring them up to me first. There's no need to go over my head to the chief ward masters. In fact, and I shouldn't even have to order this, but you are not allowed to go directly to the chief ward masters. You can talk to them and complain about me to them, but you are ordered to come to me first,” says Gagney.
Gagney finishes and leaves. We all know that he can't stop us from contacting the chief ward masters and that we don't have to tell him, but it's not worth getting into.
WEEK 2, DAY 1, IRAQ
1600 HOURS, MY ROOM
“You're not going to believe this!” Denti yells as he barges into my room. We're supposed to go to the gym but not for another ten minutes.
“Ah, what the hell, man. Knock next time.” I'm naked and changing into my clothes.
“It happened in the southern hospital.”
I put my underwear on as quickly as possible.
“This thing is huge.”
I'm looking around the room for clean socks.
Here's what he was telling me:
“When our unit went to Iraq, we split up. Half of the people went to run our hospital and half of our people went to run another hospital in the southern part of Iraq.
“Staff Sergeant North was on mailroom duty and it was slow, so he decides for fun to open up someone's mail and start reading it. He's just sitting there reading somebody else's mail, and the next thing you know the guy whose mail he's reading actually walks in and catches him.
“The guy starts yelling at North for reading his mail, and North just turns white as a ghost. He realizes that this guy is only a specialist, though, so North says that he shouldn't be talking to a superior officer that way.
“The guy then goes to his chain of command and tries to file a complaint against our unit and North. His commanders are outraged. But since the soldier and the rest of his unit are all leaving in two weeks, the commanders don't want to waste their time with complaints. They just want to go home. The soldier then talks to the unit that's replacing his, and they don't want to file a complaint against a unit either, bad politics and all.
“So this guy wants to file a complaint but no one will do it for him. No one wants to cause trouble. Eventually the guy decides to go to the IG (inspector general) himself.
“It then comes out that we have more complaints against us than any other unit in Iraq. I guess a bunch of people from our unit and other units complained about us when we were in Wisconsin and since we've been in Iraq.
“So the Good Ol' Boys hear about the complaint and they're livid.”
Okay, the Good Ol' Boys (GOBs for short):
They're a degenerate group of colonels and generals who, while in Wisconsin we ate rotten food, they ate at fancy restaurants and joked with each other, saying, “Let them eat cake.” These are the men who slept in two-man rooms while we slept in thirty-man bays. They get chauffeured around base while we walk everywhere. They also allow people in our unit to do whatever they want as long as they don't get caught. They're going to lead us into battle.
Colonel Tucker is the leader of the gang. The only way to describe him would be: a mad Russian scientist, without the charisma. Tucker's main lackey is our unit command sergeant major, Command Sergeant Major (CSM) Ridge. Ridge is the man in charge of the enlisted section of our
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