Face Raped

            “Oh yeah, I see poison or venom in the middle there,” one medic said.

            “The dark shit in the middle? I see it alright,” another medic announced.

            “So how do you fix it?” I asked.

            “Just don’t touch it. Yeah, just don’t touch it.”

            “You don’t have anything, to help me out?”

            “Let us know if it gets worse?”

            “Wow.”

            In late February of 2007, White platoon was preparing to move from F.O.B. Falcon to F.O.B. Union III in central Baghdad.  Temperatures were in the glorious 80’s as we moved our equipment.  Between runs to our new home we had a few hours to eat and sleep so I crashed on the shrapnel proof matted and dusty floor of a Stryker.  I bundled up some camouflage netting to use as a pillow.

            A few hours later I woke and utilized the latrine.  As I was washing my face, I noticed two tiny white dots right above my chin.  They were very close together and I assumed they were new pimples, so I popped them both and rolled out.  While dropping off some wounded locals to medical facilities we picked up on the way, I kept asking Shmiddie the same question.

            “What’s the temperature?” I asked.

            “For the hundredth fuckin’ time food stamp, I don’t know. What’s wrong with you today?” he bickered back.

            “I got the shakes man.”

            “There’s no way you should be cold.”

            “I’m freezing.”

            All the way back to Falcon I was shaking in the gunner’s hatch.  I had no idea what was wrong with me.  We parked our vehicles for a couple more hours of rest.

            “What’s on your face, Vance? Herpes of the mouth?” Puppet asked.

            “Huh?” I responded quivering.

            “There’s a big ass red thing on your chin.”

            The two little pimples joined forces and started to swell.  I felt a pulse on my own damn chin and it started to burn.  What the hell.  I hadn’t missed a single mission to injury or maintenance, so I just manned up and got ready to roll out again.  White got set to roll for a third time that day by lining up at the gate and test firing our weapons.  I had trouble seeing, my hands locked up like I had carpal tunnel and every single joint in my body began to ache.  Standing up in the gunners hatch became an issue.

            “Shmiddie, he’s fucked!” our medic, Bullis, yelled from the inside of our Stryker while looking up at me.

            “I’m good,” I pathetically argued as I mean mugged Bullis.

            “Vance I don’t even recognize your voice. Sometimes you just have to sit one out. We’re dropping you off and you’re going to go rest,” Shmiddie ordered.

            “Roger.”

            I went back to my room, hit the mattress resting on a cot, bundled up and passed out.  I didn’t even hear White come back.  I woke up 11 hours later thinking I had pissed my pants.  It was sweat.  I completely sweated thru the mattress.  Disgusting.  The good news was the fever broke and I started feeling better.

            “We’ll get you checked out at Union III,” Shmiddie affirmed as we prepped for a morning convoy north.

            Half of my chin had been covered in this scab-looking crater with an extremely dark color in the shape of a cartoonish lightening bolt in the center.  With the exception of the superhero symbol center, it resembled a nasty fever blister, or as Puppet dubbed it, herpes of the mouth.  To this day, I still have a zigzag scar just above the right side of my chin where the dark center was.  We tried to find out how I got it when the light bulb went on above my head.  That camouflage netting I used as a pillow!  We always found critters hiding in that thing.  Some nasty spider crawled on my face and took a bite.  I hope it crawled in my mouth and I ate it in my slumber.  Lesson learned.  Bastard.