The Army Drafted Me
Pvt. Tamburro had numerous Article 15 punishment clauses in his personnel file.
“He’s a bad soldier, don’t follow in his footsteps,” Sgt. Greer instructed as he handed me my green wool blanket and bed sheets the night I was checked into 141 Signal Battalion in Ansbach.
It seemed unfair to be put in a room with a troublemaker, but he was cute and seemed harmless to me.
“I’m from Pittsburg,” the scruffy looking enlistee said while shaking my hand.
“I’m from Pennsylvania too,” I said while trying not to develop a friendship with someone with a bad Army reputation.
“Do you wanna grab a few brewskies?”
“No thanks. I’m tired from the flight and need some rest,” I declined.
The big barracks room was silent and spooky. During my intake briefing, I was informed that Barton Barracks were constructed during World War II and housed Nazi troops during the dismal days of the pre-cold war. I didn’t like being there alone and tossed and turned restlessly wishing my roommate would return.
I awoke to a squeaking sound from across the room. My roommate had returned with a German girl he picked up from a local pub and they were going at it in our room right in front of me.
She wanted some water, she explained in broken English.
“I can’t get caught with you in here,” Tamburro explained, “but I’ll sneak you down the hallway to the water fountain.”
I wondered how he got her inside the barracks past the guard at the front desk. I learned the next day that they climbed up the fire escape.
What an eyeful that was in the dark room—they looked like a swastika, legs were flying everywhere—I couldn’t see everything, there wasn’t enough light.
She asked him to stop.
The room was silent for at least two minutes.
Perhaps she needed more water.
She laughed and said, “Oh, it’s little now.”
“Yes, it’s little now, it’s not hard anymore,” my Amy buddy whispered to the German girl.
He seemed pissed and helped her to find her clothing and get dressed in the dark and escorted her back to the fire escape and set her free again.
When he returned to the room, I laughed out loud.
“What’s so funny?”
“It’s what she said.”
“Oh, what whore. Can you believe that broad?”
“I didn’t mean to laugh,” I said while licking my lips, thirsty for water too.
“He’s a bad soldier, don’t follow in his footsteps,” Sgt. Greer instructed as he handed me my green wool blanket and bed sheets the night I was checked into 141 Signal Battalion in Ansbach.
It seemed unfair to be put in a room with a troublemaker, but he was cute and seemed harmless to me.
“I’m from Pittsburg,” the scruffy looking enlistee said while shaking my hand.
“I’m from Pennsylvania too,” I said while trying not to develop a friendship with someone with a bad Army reputation.
“Do you wanna grab a few brewskies?”
“No thanks. I’m tired from the flight and need some rest,” I declined.
The big barracks room was silent and spooky. During my intake briefing, I was informed that Barton Barracks were constructed during World War II and housed Nazi troops during the dismal days of the pre-cold war. I didn’t like being there alone and tossed and turned restlessly wishing my roommate would return.
I awoke to a squeaking sound from across the room. My roommate had returned with a German girl he picked up from a local pub and they were going at it in our room right in front of me.
She wanted some water, she explained in broken English.
“I can’t get caught with you in here,” Tamburro explained, “but I’ll sneak you down the hallway to the water fountain.”
I wondered how he got her inside the barracks past the guard at the front desk. I learned the next day that they climbed up the fire escape.
What an eyeful that was in the dark room—they looked like a swastika, legs were flying everywhere—I couldn’t see everything, there wasn’t enough light.
She asked him to stop.
The room was silent for at least two minutes.
Perhaps she needed more water.
She laughed and said, “Oh, it’s little now.”
“Yes, it’s little now, it’s not hard anymore,” my Amy buddy whispered to the German girl.
He seemed pissed and helped her to find her clothing and get dressed in the dark and escorted her back to the fire escape and set her free again.
When he returned to the room, I laughed out loud.
“What’s so funny?”
“It’s what she said.”
“Oh, what whore. Can you believe that broad?”
“I didn’t mean to laugh,” I said while licking my lips, thirsty for water too.
posted by Charles George Taylor at
4:03 PM
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