He looked pissed, like there was no excuse for my behavior. I said that I needed to go to medical. For a few seconds, our eyes, only inches away from each other, locked. His eyes, a hard blue, bore into mine like diamond drills excavating to find an inner truth hidden deep beneath the surface. I stared back with equal force. Coles, like all drill instructors, was scary. I mean, this guy was like a shaved gorilla. He was not used to anybody (military or civilian) eyeballing him, but I did not back down. The truth was on my side.
I detected a flicker of confusion in his eyes. Coles was not used to anybody challenging him. From the very beginning, we troops instinctively kept our eyes forward. The few who didn’t quickly learned the consequences. Meeting a superior’s gaze was a reason to fight and an invitation for abuse. It was a challenge to their power, and they would immediately end the threat and maintain their dominance. But I wasn’t afraid. I was past that.
The fact this “sizing up” was happening at all was good. It suggested that the CO didn’t know what my problem was. He hadn’t been involved last night.
I could feel my gaze going in and out of focus. Apparently, I passed his scrutiny as well.
“Private, I order you to go to medical!” he barked, as if it were his idea.
“Sir! Yes, Sir!” I shouted back, trying to give him the respect he deserved.
I staggered off toward the hospital ward. I saw a number of the guys around me looking at each other nervously, worried about what I might say, or what the doctors would discover.
Good, I thought. Let them sweat it out.
–––––
As I waited for the nurses to look at me, I wondered, Should I tell them everything? Maybe I should leave out the rape part. That would be easier. It would be easier on me, and on my dad.
I thought about that. How embarrassing would that be for him? And for me? Once I became a “whistle blower,” that was it. That would be all I was, and all I would ever be in the military. I could never get beyond that. No matter what I did or how successful I was in life, I would never be remembered for anything else. The crime was just too sensational.
“Sensational.” That was a term often used to describe the media. Oh God. The media. Could you imagine what would happen if they got a hold of the story? I’d be the poster boy for what was wrong with the military. They’d jump all over the story, especially at a time when the American public really wanted change and the war was becoming “increasingly unpopular,” as they put it.
I’d be known nationwide as a rape victim. Or a “whistle blower.” Or a traitor by many Americans who think that unquestioning support of the president and the military is patriotic, and anything less is cowardly and treasonous.
A victim and a whistleblower. I didn’t want to be famous, not for that. Who knows how the military might try to shut me up to prevent the story from getting leaked? Either way, if I said anything, I was screwed.
Yes, it would definitely be easier to just go on as if nothing had ever happened – easier for me, and easier for the guys who did it. That’s where I stopped. I might be able to hide this from my family, and myself, but I was not going to let those criminals go unpunished. I suddenly sympathized with every college girl who ever claimed she was raped on campus. Unlike those women though, someday, I would be holding a machine gun and have the opportunity to mow down the men who did this to me. I could get them all at once.
I smiled. As good as that sounded, there were problems with that plan. For one, I might not get everyone involved (and I didn’t want to miss anyone), and two: I might kill innocent people, and I didn’t want to do that. But I had to do something. I just didn’t know what.
4
The doctor and medical staff looked at me suspiciously, as if I were some junkie trying to get prescription drugs. They took chest X-rays. I had
I detected a flicker of confusion in his eyes. Coles was not used to anybody challenging him. From the very beginning, we troops instinctively kept our eyes forward. The few who didn’t quickly learned the consequences. Meeting a superior’s gaze was a reason to fight and an invitation for abuse. It was a challenge to their power, and they would immediately end the threat and maintain their dominance. But I wasn’t afraid. I was past that.
The fact this “sizing up” was happening at all was good. It suggested that the CO didn’t know what my problem was. He hadn’t been involved last night.
I could feel my gaze going in and out of focus. Apparently, I passed his scrutiny as well.
“Private, I order you to go to medical!” he barked, as if it were his idea.
“Sir! Yes, Sir!” I shouted back, trying to give him the respect he deserved.
I staggered off toward the hospital ward. I saw a number of the guys around me looking at each other nervously, worried about what I might say, or what the doctors would discover.
Good, I thought. Let them sweat it out.
–––––
As I waited for the nurses to look at me, I wondered, Should I tell them everything? Maybe I should leave out the rape part. That would be easier. It would be easier on me, and on my dad.
I thought about that. How embarrassing would that be for him? And for me? Once I became a “whistle blower,” that was it. That would be all I was, and all I would ever be in the military. I could never get beyond that. No matter what I did or how successful I was in life, I would never be remembered for anything else. The crime was just too sensational.
“Sensational.” That was a term often used to describe the media. Oh God. The media. Could you imagine what would happen if they got a hold of the story? I’d be the poster boy for what was wrong with the military. They’d jump all over the story, especially at a time when the American public really wanted change and the war was becoming “increasingly unpopular,” as they put it.
I’d be known nationwide as a rape victim. Or a “whistle blower.” Or a traitor by many Americans who think that unquestioning support of the president and the military is patriotic, and anything less is cowardly and treasonous.
A victim and a whistleblower. I didn’t want to be famous, not for that. Who knows how the military might try to shut me up to prevent the story from getting leaked? Either way, if I said anything, I was screwed.
Yes, it would definitely be easier to just go on as if nothing had ever happened – easier for me, and easier for the guys who did it. That’s where I stopped. I might be able to hide this from my family, and myself, but I was not going to let those criminals go unpunished. I suddenly sympathized with every college girl who ever claimed she was raped on campus. Unlike those women though, someday, I would be holding a machine gun and have the opportunity to mow down the men who did this to me. I could get them all at once.
I smiled. As good as that sounded, there were problems with that plan. For one, I might not get everyone involved (and I didn’t want to miss anyone), and two: I might kill innocent people, and I didn’t want to do that. But I had to do something. I just didn’t know what.
4
The doctor and medical staff looked at me suspiciously, as if I were some junkie trying to get prescription drugs. They took chest X-rays. I had
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