Chapters 18.19.:"Paging, Mr. Medic!"

18
At the Division Detention Barracks, 1965



The day was “not a bang but a whimper.” It had begun with a bang, of course, but ended up at a gaol. Immediately after the morning roll call, HQ Section Personnel Major Sergeant Bong announced with pride a company feast at the mountain valley of Hyeon someplace, Whatsisname County, one mile away from the company. "It will be a grand feast of porks and soju," the sergeant said. Under the command guidelines of Regiment Commander Colonel Kim, the medical company of the Nth Regiment of the ROK Nth Army Division raised pigs which would be consumed for a sort of nutritional supplementation. And it was the very day set for the whole company to enjoy a taste of the cooked pork and to allow its members the freedom of soju.

The air of the autumnal sky was crisp. The valley was long and deep whose creek bed was almost dry. Regiment Army Surgeon cum Company Commander Lt. Han got off the ambulance, with Administrating Officer Pang and his men attending to the surgeon leaving the passenger seat. The troops from the company kitchen helped erect a large cast iron pot to cook the pork and prepare the gourmet lunch. Major Sergeant Bong attended to the company commander and Sergeant so-and-so arranged the rest of the company troops to take their seats on the grass.

But hardly had the company troops made a first pick of the delicious meat dishes with their chopsticks with gusto when an army wireless phone beeped and paged the company commander, who relayed an urgent message that an emergency drill was issued by the division commander. On Sunday of all the days. Medic Corporal Dano that had been me and another medic Hoon, who had once been a ssirum wrestler, were ordered to go down to the 2nd Battalion HQ.

They did go wearing a medic armband and equipped with the first-aid kit but they did not join the roll call on the exercise gathering. They did it one better: The vulnerable innards of the two soldiers subsequently succumbed to the influence of soju and were actually knocked out with sound sleep on the barracks room of the HQ company. Finding the two medics deployed to the battalion drill knocked out on the barracks room, the battalion commander was enraged. "Lock 'em up in the division detention house," he yelled at the medical company commander via army telephone.

The two medics, Hoon and me, were roughly awoken by a battalion cadre by whom a summons order from the medical company commander was relayed to them. They found out belatedly that they had slept themselves through the drill on the barracks room. Seeing them racing up toward the medical company, the administrative officer told them in not so loud but in subdued voice to appear in the company ground in full combat gear.

They did. They carried backpacks, but they did not carry rifles because the army medics had not been armed. The officer then delivered the order from the commander to the effect that the two negligent soldiers would be punished by the division commander on the grounds of the army service regulations.

Hoon and me had to go through two stages of disciplines. The first stage of punishment would be carried out immediately and in our own camp ground, and the other in the division compound in the form of one week's detention for the culprits' behavior modification and correctional purposes. We had first of all to do punitively jogging ten rounds of the regiment camp ground far down the company, and in full combat gear, of course. "On what counts?" the officer replied, "On charges of the disobedience to the commanding order."

With the discipline of the two taking a ground run, Sergeant Song, one of the five sergeant majors of the company, made sure that the two poor corporals would be ready to go to the Nth Military Police Headquarters under the jurisdiction of the Army Nth Division. He might have felt he had turned out a cattle farmer who would have to push his cattle to a slaughterhouse. So miserable. With the delivery procedure of the disciplined soldiers to the M.P. office done, Song got up from the seat. Turning around to Hoon and me, Sergeant Song said, "Sorry! I'll see ya soon." "Not at all, sir!" Hoon and me Dano snapped to attention to salute.

The schedules of the detention house were nothing more than Hoon and Dano could stand. The seven arrivals before them were not harsh on the two new arrivals. They didn't act cold nor tough as rumored around the barracks. "Don't worry," one said, smiling. "Don't be afraid of anything," the other soothed them. They didn't try any initiation ceremony on them, which was unexpected and for which the two new detainees were appreciative to a great degree. "You are supposed to keep things in memory, though" the one who looked to be the oldest and the highest-ranking said, pointing to the directives and notices posted on the wall. It was time for attention, for memory, and of reckoning.

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It was not the first time that Dano had experienced the police probe. Dano had been to the police station not long after from his high school graduation. Disappointed at the delay that his son should have been appointed as teacher, Don had shown casual discomfiture despite himself. The delayed notification of Dano's appointment was owing to his own poor school performance, of course, by which he had barely graduated at the bottom of his classmates. Not getting over the pressures, on one late spring afternoon, Dano had taken off, leaving his home on the sly, hitching a train ride at Euiseong Railroad Station to Busan.

The poor hitchrider was nabbed while hiding at a train lavatory at Soo Yeong, short of Busan, by a security officer on the train and taken to the Soo Yeong Police Station. "What a wrong time!" a middle-aged officer at the police station mildly rebuked Dano for his ill-timed travel, taking a reproachful glance at him. The officer pointed to the slogans hanging on the walls of street buildings. "Down with the Gangsters!" a slogan said of the necessity of eliminating the street hoodlums. "Long Live the Revolution!" another slogan expressed its support for the May 16th Coup, 1961 masterminded by Major General Park Jung Hee. "Free riders of the transit system could be mistaken for vagrants, who could be put into hard labor," he said, handing down a decision on the reckless juvenile delinquent to "pay the default fees of the punitive charges to the Euiseong Police Station."

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Two "revolutions" had taken place during and after Dano's school years at the interval of no more than one year. The initial revolution, the April 19 Revolution, had erupted on April 19, 1960, with high school students taking to the streets in the two southern parts of South Korea, Masan and Daegu, protesting against the ruling party's illegal voting practices of stuffing the ballot boxes for Candidate Syngman Rhee and with the university students and their professors organizing the mass demonstrations in the national capital. The May 16, 1961 Revolution, which had been so named by the military itself, had taken place on the heels of the Students' Revolution, to remedy the anarchic chaos caused by the free-wheeling and irresponsible politicos.

Hardly had the students in Seoul succeeded in driving out the corrupt and dictatorial government and taken control of the street order when the students in provincial districts were running amok on the streets and their school grounds. The belatedly irate crowd of Andong mobbed the mansion of then Congressman Kim somebody of the Liberal Party and set it on fire, destroying it.

The students of Andong Normal School went further. On a late spring day the class monitors convoked the school ground assembly, by alarming each other "Let's gather on the school ground!" A solemn atmosphere took over. Student Body President Tiang Huon presided over the entire session in which all the students of 600 played jurors. He took a stand below the pulpit and, alas, was questioning the poor principal. School Principal Oh on the pulpit responded to the insulting questions in an awkward and clumsy manner. In that public students' interrogation proceeded in a question- and- answer session, Principal Oh was "indicted and convicted." Mr. Oh, after a guilty plea, said, "People, I'll leave the school!"

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Dano was notified of his late appointment on an autumn day of September, 1961, whereas his peer graduates with good marks had earlier been appointed in March that year. Dano's initial service at Nakdong Elementary School, Sangju County, at age 19, as a teacher was not impressive. He was greatly impressed by the locals, by their convivialities, hospitalities and by the students' gaiety,

The locals were extremely gentle. Many parents of the students dropped by the school whenever they came to the local bazaar and said hellos to the young teacher, most of them handing "a piece of their mind" out to me Dano, in which a bottle of apple cider and a pack of rice cake was enveloped. Some locals, of whom the descendants of the Hanyang Cho clan were special, went to great lengths to invite the entire teaching staff, treating them to feasts. The senior teachers, of whom almost all the teachers were natives, were especially friendly, but me Dano wasn't friendly in kind. The ending-pitched Sangju accent was good to hear and the riverscape of Nakjong river ferry was dreamlike, too. but his classroom performances were not impressive, mostly clumsy and ineffective. He was a misfit, after all.

Despite his oft-repeated defaults on his boarding charges at Mr. Baik's and on the school text book fares for the following year which had resulted in the discomforts of the school children themselves, the encounter with Spear Handle was a great windfall during his young days. She was a sixth year student of the school who was medium height, slender, pretty and amiable.

Dano found her especially charming, so charming that he thought she would turn out to be a great woman companion befitting a great gentleman of an era. What had made her look so special was that she had not cried at the commencement ceremony that the rest of the girls had. She had rather been patting the backs of the peer students who had been crying, whispering soothing words to their ears. She had been the one and the only girl who had not acted according to the conventional idea that the graduating girls are supposed to cry, impressing and inspiring him enormously. But Spear Handle had remained another default on his own amorous journey.

It might have been a possessive thought that he had held. An obsession that he had to go to the army to get the bad habit of defaults to be done away with. He had not volunteered to serve the army, but he had been enlisted at the exact time of his military conscription. However, the self-inflicted motive was lofty, indeed, and the peer pressure was high that men should and could be reborn through the rigorous lives in the army barracks.

Contrary to his own anticipations, most of M1 rifle bullets on the firing range in the army boot camp of Nonsan had missed the target and he had almost always ended up at the tail of the file when his squadron had staged race competitions. Aside from the inferior performance at the Nonsan army boot camp, his performance ratings at Masan Army Medical School in the summer period of 1963 had been widely rumored to be around top, at the school, or similarly brilliant, but ended up outdone in the deployment assessment board.

I hadn't harbored any pent-up grudges toward the assessment board of the medical school, not envied peer medics their opportunities to serve in the army hospitals, either. Getting on board the truck heading the Third Reinforcement Battalion with the other co-graduates, I had been full of new expectations. In due course, I had been deployed, with the seven other co-enlisted men from Euiseong, at the medical company of the Nth regiment, the Nth Army Division, of whom two had had placements at the company dispensary and pharmacy, whereas I had become a medical squadron member. The barracks life at the front had been so boring to the extent that some higher-ups at the barracks room had had the urges to inflame the idle buttocks of the lower-ranking soldiers who were engaged in reading books or chatting gaily. The outdoor details had comprised the rest of the barracks routines.

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Like a girl in blue "not getting old" in A Beautiful Mind, my boy is not getting old, too. Touting lasting youth, shoving away the approaching age, and always dreaming the virile landmark, the boy materializes so casually in his own old man.

One of the undying landmarks my fatigued soul likes to haunt is the Nakjong Naru, where the tired passengers of the previous bus are waking up with shining eyes, getting on aboard the boat ship which is waiting for the bus that has just arrived from Euisong and Daegu districts.

The Nakjong Naru, one of the river junctions, which were formed along the Nakdong River of 605 kilo meters and its tributaries, was a dreamlike landmark. which carried out the transfer of people and things from the contiguous counties to Sangju. It's been a landmark place I did my transfer to adulthood.

When I arrived at the ferry village from Euiseong by bus, the sun usually was high above my right shoulder and shining its ray on the river far down and wide apart. One of the big boats floating on the river, sensing the bus' arrival, eased its way to the ferry. Then we the passengers aboard the previous bus get on aboard the boat.

It's the moment the land vehicle converted into the passenger, which would leisurely savor the beautiful riverscape unfolding before it, comforting itself for the trouble which had been hitting the rough roads all along. It's also the moment the human passengers would hear the melodious Sangju accents of the local women peddling the peanuts, dried cuttlefish and candies.



19
"Paging, Mr. Medic," 1965

The days needed for the full service as an enlisted army soldier were more than a year away, which had been termed as the 'waning days' up to the discharge. "Why don't you go down to the Anyang Armory Company," said Major Sergeant Bong of the personnel section, handing me the notification of deployment for an independent army unit stationed on the outskirts of Seoul as an on-the-spot medical assistant. "It will be easy and enjoyable," the sergeant said, "to kill the boredom of your last days in the army, getting some fun." I was of half a mind to begin a new shift, in fact, but I had to accept the offer because it was considered a kind of goodwill from a staff sgt.. "I will go, sir!"

A train travel up from Kapyong down to Seoul, not as a green private of a certain army unit, who had been controlled by the chain of command, but as a senior corporal at the final stage of a compulsory service, who became my own man to a great degree, rendered me emotional, giving me a choking sensation. I was able to sit on where I liked, and also able to search back alleys in the perimeter of Cheongnyangni Railroad Station and run into "a woman in red."

In the wide expanse of fields on both sides of a farmland road leading to the company, rice paddies were busy ripening. Farmers were randomly seen idly picking weeds among the paddies. It was getting dark when I negotiated through the farm roads to the ammo company and reported to the company chief.

I was taken aback by the ice-cold stares of the company troops when Company Commander Captain Hanshim introduced me Dano to his soldiers. They looked so evidently hostile. Some riflemen at the rear end of the crowd on the camp ground were heard muttering to each other to the effect that there was no more reason for any medic to stay. With the crowd having been dispersed, I approached a first sergeant who was lingering, looking like talking to me. "Excuse me," I spoke first, "What is it that you guys don't like me so much?"
"We don't dislike you, but we detested your predecessor sergeant," he said.
"Why is that?" I demanded to know.
"He did nothing, nothing at all." he blurted his complaint.
"What do you mean by that, doing nothing at all?" I asked.
"It means just that. It means nothing else. He did virtually nothing at all during his term of service here, idling away all his hours of duty at the civilian places," the sergeant said.

At the transition meeting of the shift of duty outside the company compound, over a pint of beer, my ex-medic First Sergeant Kang from Chungchong Province expressed to me Dano, with sonorous and slow accent, full of regrets and embarrassments. He ascribed, however, his negligence of duty to the shortage of medical supplies from the original company. He then was curious to know about my package contents. "The first-aid kit is all there is to it, and some essential items what have to be in there," I replied.

"That said it all," he elatedly said, shifting in his seat, as if trying to say that there had been no resources left to improve the condition.

"Don't you think that the deep hostility toward us medics is the problem, Sergeant Kang?" I said, "They say you did nothing, which is what you are not supposed to make excuses for your negligence of duty. You had to do something, sir!" I said.

"I know, I know," he fumbled something to say further, but he stopped short. "I am very sorry, Corporal Dano. I sincerely hope you will make up for my past misdeeds," he got up and held out his hand for a formal farewell..

I, who made an initial survey of the armory men in physical distress on the next day of my deployment, discovered that patients suffering from various categories of diseases had been abandoned for a long time. Of all the damned diseases, hoobalzzi whanzza, or the fusariosis patients topped the list.

Back neck Fusariosis patients, to be exact. I had discovered a lot of hoobalzzi patients among my boot camp troops at Nonsan a few years ago. I had surmised then that the fungi on the beddings, particularly in the dirty blankets and pillows were the cause of the disease, attacking the skins, particularly the necks of the soldiers. Having watched the sick soldiers then, now I had to take care of them.

I had to make a list of sick ammo men based on the triage and selection method. Of all the listed men in trouble, I had to select seven and make a convoy of them. When I reported the immediate personal convoy to the old man he balked at the idea. "You have to go through the channel of the decision-making process from the company to the regiment command," he declared.
“The condition of the patients is severe, sir" I said, "They need immediate care, sir! I'll convoy the men to Soodo Army Hospital myself, sir!"
"It's impossible. I understand that the army patients must be transported by ambulance," Captain Hanshim gave me an annoying look.
"A city bus will do at times, sir!" I did not budge. The captain was finally convinced, saying "O.K. You may go ahead."

My company and me took a walk for Anyang early in the next morning at daybreak. The pedestrian travel to Anyang from the company compound and from there the bus ride on board Inter-city Bus No. 104 to Samchong-dong, Seoul City, took about two and a half hours.

There was a row at the entrance of the army hospital, though, over the army regulations or something whether to accept the convoy of the army patients by an enlisted medic. I excused the remoteness and isolation of an independent unit, and first of all things, the need for the immediate medical treatment of the diseases, for the omission of the inevitable procedures.

A receptionist disappeared into the hospital building and the next thing he knew, an officer and some soldiers materialized from the building to see what was going on. "You are Dano, aren't you?" a soldier shouted from the crowd, dashing toward me. "You are Osam!" I exclaimed with surprise, moving in the direction of a classmate of Andong Normal,"

Osam introduced me to a medical officer, saying "Meet Surgeon Lieutenant Park who I work for. This is my classmate Dano, sir! A maverick, sir!" I saluted the army surgeon. "So nice to meet you, sir!"

"What's so nice for you, medic?" Lt. Park said, beaming.
"Because I know things will be going very smoothly here, sir!" I answered. Lt. Park nodded approvingly. In the meantime, Osam did all the reception paper work for his school friend from afar, and showed me and my ailing foot soldiers inside the army hospital building. Surprisingly, Osam was not the only schoolmate. Five more medics, tipped by Osam, in freshly starched and ironed khaki military uniform and shiny shoes, mobbed around me in no time, greeting simply and touting their army hospital insignias.

A little while later at the waiting room, one patient after another was called into the treating room, with me Dano watching the whole process for his later practice. The doctor made it sure that the patients could be treated from the hubalzzi disease with ease. The surgeon demonstrated a sophisticated dressing for the treatment of the infective part, or, the mass of pus in the neck.

I was astonished at the width and depth with which the skin lesion was developing. A whole length of the lieutenant's index finger was penetrating into the bottom of the lesion and a surprising part was that the young patients did not freak out or scream when the surgeon was draining out the pus golem.

They were so determined. After the pus draining was done, the disinfection powder was sprayed over and the dressing part got sealed with antiseptic bandages. Finally, a penicillin type shot was given on the poor buttocks, during which time the military surgeon casually recommended hostacillins which could be had at a civilian pharmacy to me if and when I would "handle" the hubalzzi patients at his Anyang Ammunition Camp.

After the whole process of treatment was done, and when they were parting, in memory of the unexpected encounter, the Samaritan medics collected a bagful of medicines, aids for dressing and small-sized medical appliances for me Dano, a small bit each in amount, though. The kind-hearted surgeon went to great lengths to promise future welcomes for later visits for me Dano and to reveal some procedural instructions for the treatment of the cervical plague. Medic Dano's escortees were buoyed both at what they were treated at a nice military medical facility on the highest level with good words of perfect healing from the doctors and in the manner with which their company medic was warmly received with an armful of presents from his friendly medics and medical doctors.

It was a triumphant return. The ammo camp troops sensed the feat of the medic and his party, looking at the expressions of glee on the faces of the returnees from the Soodo Army Hospital. Corporal Dano went to the company commander's office but the captain was not there. The ailing KGIs, who had been treated in no other place than the highest-ranking army hospital located in the capital of the country, on a rare occasion and with sincere care, were busy bragging about "our doc." He was so well connected to each and every department of the high army hospital that he was provided with various medical supplies, that they were and would be treated to their disease without much noise of red tapes. He was really different and would make difference in the future. In an instant, the atmosphere of die-hard hostility in the company barracks rooms shifted to that of warm amicability.

The following morning was the day of sea change. Inflated rumors indicating my finesses might have made rounds through the camp the previous night. which I thought was O.K. An unexpected episode after episode occurred. When I was standing in line for my morning chow, holding my tray in my hand, an ammo private approached me and took it for me. An HQ man took the trouble of arranging a cozy spot near the barracks room fireplace, which had not been in operation, for me to hit the sack.

But you had to get things done, which was what counted. The sick privates were transported to the army hospital and effectively treated. The medics and medical doctors of the army hospital in the capital city were as kind as ever. All the KGIs treated for the hubalzzi were amazed at the speed and completeness with which the ailment was cured. The atmosphere of the whole camp town turned bright.

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Routine messages containing parental cares and brotherly concerns were relayed late to me Dano owing mostly to technicalities of the army postal service, touring places and shifting hands. My brother and sister said in their tardy letters that grandma Mrs. Euiseong Kim had made a grudging move to her eldest son's, which might have rendered his poor mother free of her nagging torments.

I was missing Spear Handle. After chores were done of dressing for treating scars and changing bandages, when I was left alone, with fresh air coming through the open window of the barracks, I was missing Spear Handle. The image of her always smiling and comforting her weeping sixth graders popped without warning.

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Now and then some incidents on barracks humor proportions occurred to the enlisted men of low ranks. The predator in an army cop might have sensed the perfect target prey in sight, who appeared beleaguered. The poor private was given leave of absence, after having been treated for some disease with uncanny attributes, for the purchase of a unit of hostacillin for the last phase injection at a local drug store. (*It could be had at a pharmacy without prescription then.)

An MP vehicle on the routine patrol spotted a vulnerable prey on a leisurely stroll and approached him for a spot check. The ammo man fumbled for excuses, and failed to produce an apt document for his leave. Then the army cop put him on board the baikcha, or the "white car", and gave him a "free tour" of the local county capital for an indefinite span of time.

The poor private, abandoned at dusk on a deserted roadside after an unexplained ride, was pissed off enormously, tossing his medicine box into the air. Taken to task by the squadron chief for his failing to keep punctuality for the evening roll call, and getting scolded for the throwaway by Company Medic me Dano, the poor soldier burst out crying. It was an unlucky day for him, after all.

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It was a windy summer's day. More than once, all at once, it evoked a sentimental journey to the past, to the familiar folks, and to everything. At an instant the chilly noisy air whistled by rattling the barracks window, the company speaker system boomed out a message "paging Mr. Medic!", which sounded urgent. Dano, who had his dressing job done on several ammo men in the healing stage, got up from his seat, came out racing to the HQ office. A young man stranger in civilian clothes was waiting for me. "Come with me, Mr. Doctor!" he said with a quivering voice.

Looking back, the bizarre encounter could not have taken place, and I should not have responded to the call. I should have stayed at the barracks room. I did not have to shift place. (I am sorry, sir. I am not a doctor!) If and when a nearby civilian citizen had asked for a medical help, I should have refused to meet him in the first place.

Why? Because I was not a doctor who had been trained to do a serious medical job. In short, I should have realized the professional borderline that I was a mere stretcher guy that had been trained to be a member of auxiliary personnel for the army doctors. But, alas, the ignorant and proud Dano did not say no to the caller, hitting the road for the house of a person alleged to be in trouble who was waiting for his medical aid, with the first-aid pack on his shoulder. Oh, boy!

I got to the place after 10 or so minutes' walk, a small tin-roofed house with the architectural mode of the hangul digut (ㄷ). Getting into the entrance, the escort informed to the room of my arrival. The sarangbang (the room for the men) door opened. The apprehensive-looking folks got up to greet me. Entering, I found a frail-looking young man lying in the middle of the room surrounded by the male families and relatives, looking aimlessly at the ceiling.

"How and where" was what I wanted to know about. An old man sat down and pulled open the covering of a young man under which his groin was bared. But the surprising part was that his testicles were not those of an adult man but those of an ox. My astonishing eyes were asking him about the cause of the weirdry by which the human testicles were swollen to the size of those of a bull.

The old man who looked to be the patriarch of the family introduced himself and "briefed" the situation for the visiting "doctor." The young patient was newly married so much so that the male members of the family, including his older brothers and uncles, got concurrence that he needed a sort of stamina complementation with reptiley nutrition. In due process, he was made to drink duly cooked snake soup, which turned out what it looked like: a disaster.

You would have to take another path, turn around, or detour if the path had been an ill-chosen one. There might be just one way or the other for the human beings to correct their original mistakes or misjudgments. So I had to say to the head of the distressed family to the effect that he was not the one up to the task. Go see the doctor, please.

Even if I had turned and run, there shouldn't have been a person who would dare call me a coward. I nevertheless opted to keep going without hesitation. I opted to ignore any unexpected results or side effects of his action. Such uncertainties did not occur to my mind at all.

Ignorance was surely a bliss. My "medical" assessment at that time was that the venom of the snake was clogging his penile gland or something, so anybody in the room would mind going to get an antidote injection?

While the errand man was pedaling his way to an Anyang pharmacy, I got my syringe sterilized in boiling water and prepared myself for the treatment. To look back, there was a last resort left for me to turn the situation around. It was a very dangerous attempt so I had to stop the treatment because I would be likely to kill a person. It was illegal, too.

I nevertheless went ahead with my own treatment process. In 30 minutes or so, the errand man arrived with the antidote bottle which I gave the patient lying on the room floor a shot in his ugly ass. Reaction was slow to appear.

Suspenseful tension gripped the whole room. In one and a half hours, thick liquid of a small amount came out of the penis, and in two hours drop by drop of yellow liquid was oozing out of the poor organ. The patient, who had been suffering from shortness of breath, was beginning to breathe in normal cadence. In due passage of time, drops turned into the form of urinal shot, and the swollen testicles started shrinking to the original size. At an early night, Medic Corporal Dano returned to the ammo camp, with the remarks of reassurance shared. "Your son will have been all right until tomorrow morning."

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Civilization means division of labor and its specification. In the meantime, savagery, or uncivilization means a state of confusion in which all the elements that could be categorized, defined and specified are mixed up, comprising a mess.

Medicine and pharmacy were mixed up. The division of medicine and pharmacy didn't exist in the 1960s, of course. Their division was materialized at the end of the 1990s in South Korea.

I'm tempted to issue a warning, that is, a grave warning, indeed, to Dano, a tempestuous and reckless young man of me to exercise his proper discretion to the behavior of extremely important dimension.

I'm not in a mood to blame the medic corporal who had hit the road to convoy the army soldiers that had been suffering from illnesses to the highest military hospital by himself, nor in a mood to applaud him. He'd rather consulted the ladders of command.

Above all, the house call was a sheer nonsense. I shouldn't have done that. It shouldn't have taken place. The young man of me had put himself in a very dangerous position to endanger his own reputation and jeopardize the life of an innocent and unsuspecting civilian adult.