In those, now, distant days, the winters were different in Augsburg, Germany, than I was used to in St. Paul, Minnesota, but similar in that it was cold in Augsburg and there was snow on the ground. It may be hard to believe, but believe it anyway, because it is true. Tonight it was snowing and I was inside my guard hut, at the entrance to the military complex, called Reese. There was Chris’s car across the street, his 1970 Green Mustang, with the letters CS on the side of the car, for Chris Steward. It puzzled me at first, but it had German license plates and it was on a public street, and we, as American soldiers in Germany, had already given that part of the country over to the Germans, for a long time. we had jurisdiction over such matters. I left my guardhouse to inspect the car from a distance, knowing there was a concern of sabotage to US military bases, and I was part of the Military Security Force. It was just before Christmas, and there was turkey and all the side dishes in the dining room, and they would send me a dinner, so I was looking forward to it. It was around 7:00 p.m. M. My shift ended at 8:00 p.m. M. I walked down the street to see who was in the car, it was a lady and it looked like my new girlfriend, who I was dating for a month. now.
Around us in our military complex was the city, and its old towers, and busy streets and across a highway was the US Military PX, and in front of that, a boarding house that I used to prescribe. Directly across the street from the guardhouse, there were some four-story buildings, and next to it was a big vacant lot that had German festivals, in fact they had them all over the city, all year round and in every little town. town out of town. Limits. Across the street from the guardhouse, or cabin, was the office, Sergeant Daily, a second-hand sergeant, sort of a foreman-type sergeant, was packing some items into his little truck and was saying goodbye to Sergeant from Chamblee 1st class, he was the main man, the boss. He was sitting giving instructions to Corporal Hanson; I was a Private First Class (Chick Evens). Hanson stood up and pushed his chair away from the wall; Hanson and I were best friends, and Hanson was Chamblee’s best friend, nobody liked Sergeant Buck. He had pushed back his chair to say goodbye to the two sergeants for the night.
Corporal Hanson was tall, thin, with short messy dark hair, thick lips, sad eyes, hands always shaking, fearful of the boss. Sergeant First Class Chamblee was even an inch taller than Hanson, a paternal image, or so he tried to show, dumber than a one-legged duck, but kind and understanding. And Hanson could have been her genetic son. Sergeant Buck was short, slim, handsome, smart, and was always thinking of a way to make fun of his eyes. He was the only married of the four soldiers.
Sergeant Chamblee carried a Bible in his pocket at all times, and if something was wrong with someone, he had the treatment for the symptoms in the Bible, right there at hand, and most of the time he could quote what the Bible said. before opening. the page of the fall of man and the reason for the dilemma. For the most part, I was always happy, hoping that he wouldn’t discover my faults.
I once asked him why he carried the Bible with him when he memorized it, and he simply replied, “Private First Class Evens, it’s just a memory aid, God forbid, I lose it, and so far I haven’t.” I would have the help. “
Tried to speak the talk, if you know what I mean. And he was quite sensitive about his book, his quotes, and his diagnoses; Embarrassingly but true, I was a yes man to him, for fear of ending up in his platoon from hell.
I once reprimanded him saying, “Sergeant, you really don’t have the credentials to be a minister, do you?”
He replied, it was one afternoon, “Private Evens, I did everything in my power to take you and Hanson under my protection, you are a member of my special security force, I advise you, on behalf of people to the ones he works, to learn not to talk to a superior, and not the way he just did, especially when he’s drunk. “
When I had gone further into the office, he smelled my breath, alcohol and cigarettes stank out of me. The overheated radiator made a lot of noise so he didn’t hear me burp, and Corporal Hanson was there and I heard him say, “Sergeant, you’ve had a hard time, your girlfriend is cheating on you,” and Hanson put his hand on my shoulder.
“Well why didn’t you say that Soldier, now I get it?” Then I looked at Hanson and gave him a little smile, then the Sergeant rasped, “Gentlemen soldiers,” he said, “here are the effects of extravagance, alcohol, cigarettes and women,” looking at me, and I felt him say it with the maximum elegance, but yet to embarrass me.
Anyway, tonight the green car was still there, and I was waiting for my turkey dinner, and I went to see who it was, and it was to my surprise, Chris Steward, she usually drove a Mercedes, her other boyfriend’s . why. Hanson was not lying per se, Chris had two lovers, a German and me, and she used to use her car, but Chris had told me about him, the other boyfriend that he is, and him, me and we agreed on the relationship. , her knowing she could go to Vietnam at any time, get pulled out of the 1/36 Artillery at any time, and be stranded without a boyfriend, God forbid.
“Listen Chick,” Chris said, “I want to go out and get drunk tonight; I got my car out of the shop, they were fixing it.”
At 8:15 pm, we went out to a little guesthouse on the outskirts of town, and guess what, we saw in the back room looking into a movie box, the good old Sergeant Chamblee. It was an article that you looked at, after you put a coin in its side slot, and you rolled it, you let it go and as it unrolled, it showed you naked women, in funny positions; we also have them in Minnesota.
“Sergeant Chamblee,” I said, “what are you doing looking in that box of porn?”
He turned slowly, looked at me as if I were a peeping Tom; Chris was ordering us a table to sit on:
“Private Evens” he said, “it’s funny to see you here, it’s expensive”, then he saw Chris coming towards me, “oh, I see you made up with your girl, but let me inform you, there is nothing wrong with me, or this. This is how men are supposed to be – nothing bad at all. “
“It’s wrong,” I commented, “it’s a sin against cleanliness.”
“No,” said the Sergeant (Chris is now a few feet from me). “It’s a natural thing, and a person should be grateful, you’re too young to understand, of course. But your girlfriend is a few years older than you, I’m sure she understands, right?” He was looking at her now.
“Do what, understand what,” Chris said, and moved to the table, playing dumb, leaving me with the sergeant.
“There is nothing wrong with looking at a woman’s body,” said the sergeant, “right?” he asked me.
This all started as a joke, now he was getting into theology, right and wrong.
“I’m just looking, I’m not consuming a sinful act against a human being. When you talk so foolishly, I don’t mind listening to you,” said the sergeant. “Here, come and take a look at it,” said the sergeant.
“No,” I said, “I told you it’s a sin.”
“But you were joking, right?”
“I thought it was.”
That was around 10:00 pm, that night, earlier.
“So what happened?” I asked Hanson.
“At four o’clock this morning,” Hanson said, “I got a phone message from our kind Sergeant Buck, that Sergeant Chamblee had raped the woman across the hall from her apartment, her husband was in the field, and he mutilated her with a knife, after performing terrible sexual acts. “
“No,” I told Corporal Hanson, “it’s a joke.”
“She can die,” he said.
“Dying,” I said, “is it that bad?”
“She lost a lot of blood!”
“He was always so friendly.”
“Well, we shouldn’t talk about it too much, lest we get into trouble.”
“Somehow that was in the back of my mind when I saw him at the guest house and he was looking at the phonograph box.” I commented.
“You’re too smart for your own good, shut up about this. Everything will work itself out, everything will come out in due time, we don’t need to start rumors,” Hanson said, “by the way, and I ate your turkey dinner it came after That you left “.
3-4-2009
