Chapter 6

Private First Class David Diegert reported to his support squad where he was immediately treated like the Fucking New Guy and given the shittiest jobs of this unique MOS. Led by Lieutenant Alvin Prescott this group of enlisted general service soldiers supported the operations of a Special Forces unit referred to as, the Syringes.

Opium is to Afghanistan as corn is to Iowa. Right away Diegert became aware of the squad’s role in the effort to sustain the progress that had been made in Afghanistan. The squad ran ten tons of opium a month. They moved it onto base, packed it in mislabeled crates and smuggled it to the U.S. on return flights of supply planes privately contracted to the Department of Defense. The organization went right up the chain of command, although none of the activities would ever appear in an official report. Little green men like Diegert and the rest of the enlisted just followed orders. Hush money kept their mouths shut, while all the cargo was being transferred to private contractors. The flights didn’t return to military bases, but to corporate fulfillment centers where the illicit contraband found its way to market.

The Special Forces guys, in spite of all their combat capacity, realized you can’t build peace if you keep shooting people. So they set up the opium network to appease the local tribal leaders. The opium gets to market, the locals get paid and the Syringes make money as the middle men. The Afghans who are helped become allies. The illicit trade keeps the peace, which is the main objective of the entire mission. The rise of heroin on American streets should surprise no one.

For Diegert the whole thing was such a disappointment. All the training in the Army focused on mission as defined by combat objectives and enemies overtaken. This was illegal bullshit, appeasing the enemy rather than defeating them. He hated his role as drug mule supplying opium to the U.S. which would end up as heroin being sold by dealers like his brother Jake! As Diegert contemplated this dissonance of purpose he heard his name.

“Hey Diegert,” shouted Lieutenant Alvin Prescott.

Diegert stopped packing a crate with burlap bags of fresh opium to see his jerk of a superior officer standing by the entrance of the hangar in which they processed the Afghan’s most important export. Prescott motioned for Diegert to come over to him.

“Yes Sir?”

“I just got done inspecting your weapon.”

“I’m not due for inspection for two more days.”

“Shut up, I can inspect anything at any time and your weapon was insufficiently cleaned and lubricated.”

“That’s Bullshit.”

Stepping forward and looking up at Diegert, Prescottt emphasized his point.

“Don’t you get insolent with me or the shit you’re in will just get deeper. I’m fining you $3000.”

Diegert couldn’t believe his ears. This little idiotic officer was using his power to make up for his shortcomings as a person. His latest gambit was to extract outrageous fines from his soldiers’ drug hush money for infractions of military protocol. Mixing the ‘business’ and the military was totally wrong, but his greed knew no bounds. Several guys had paid the fines and this emboldened the hollow leader to expand his extortions.

“You can’t do that,” replied Diegert.

“You want to make it $5000? I know exactly how much money you’ve got and if you can’t meet minimum Army Strong standards then a monetary sanction will get your attention.”

Diegert stuck his finger into Prescott’s thin chest saying, “You can’t mix the business with the Army.”

Slapping Diegert’s hand aside Prescott launched into a tirade, “You do not speak to me like that and how dare you touch me? I’ll have you in the stockade so fast you’d think one of those sandstorms sucked you into your cell. I’m your superior officer and you will submit to my orders and abide by my discipline.”

Diegert’s boiling temper was not extinguished by Prescott’s salivary spray. He pushed Prescott’s chest with both hands forcing the surprised lieutenant to stumble. Diegert grabbed the man by the front of his shirt and punched him twice in the face as he swung the lieutenant’s body and tossed him to the ground. Prescott’s torso skidded to a stop in the sand and he struggled to rise. “Hey you can’t …” Diegert didn’t wait for the rest of the statement before he front kicked him in the chest sprawling him onto his back. Grabbing him again by his shirt Diegert hauled him up off the ground. Prescott swung his fist striking Diegert in the head with such little force it stunned Diegert that this man was so weak. Diegert spun Prescott around, kicked his legs out from under him and slammed his face into the sandy ground. A group of soldiers started to gather. Diegert brought his face down to Prescott’s and growled, “You are a prick and I will not take your shit.”

Standing up and walking away Diegert was tackled by four MPs who cuffed him and took him immediately to the stockade. Prescott stood up and brushed himself off while limping to medical. None of the soldiers under his command stepped up to help him.

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Captain Dylan Reeves from the Judge Advocate General’s Corp was assigned to serve as Diegert’s lawyer. He conducted the requisite defendant interview in Diegert’s stockade cell.

“So reading this report doesn’t reveal much for me to use in your defense. You wanna tell me why you beat the shit out of your commanding officer?”

Diegert looked at the clean cut Captain but the tone of the question made him feel like he was not talking to someone who was on his side. Diegert knew that ratting on the opium operation was not an option. If he spoke against them, the Syringes would see to it that he was KIA in a couple of days. That’s what happened to Emmitt Stilchus; the guy he replaced. The official report listed his death as the result of an Improvised Explosive Device, which was true but the Syringes set up that IED when Stilchus stupidly told everyone he was going to blow the whistle if he didn’t get more money.

“The situation between Lt. Prescott and I was a personal issue.”

“Were you and your superior officer having an inappropriate sexual relationship?”

“No!” replied Diegert bristling at the accusation within the question.

“If you’re not going to tell me about the incident then how about you tell me a little bit about yourself.”

“Like what?”

“Well I know you’re from Broward County in the northern part of Minnesota, you have a black belt in karate, you were a state champion wrestler and you’ve earned skill level four in Modern Army Combatives. You’re assigned to the First Cavalry Division out of Fort Hood and that back in High School you were referred to as: ‘Tonto’.

Diegert’s annoyed expression suddenly turned more agitated at the use of his hated nickname.

“Back in the day you didn’t like that name did ya? Now you’d beat up anybody who called you that wouldn’t ya?”

Diegert felt the pain of his heritage once again tearing at his heart. His Mother’s mix of white and Native American blood made her an outcast of both the white and Ojibwa cultures of Northern Minnesota. Even though his mother married a white man, making Diegert only a quarter native, he was still referred to as an Ojib-white by the kids in school. They constantly taunted him, reminding him to stay in his place.

Reeves continued, “It’s amazing what you can find out about someone with a web search. How about you tell me a little bit more about your family? What was your Father like?”

Diegert’s contempt was hard to hide as he recalled the fool who was his Father. Tom Diegert was short, fat, bald, perpetually dirty and regularly drunk. He ran a tow truck business in a rural area where everyone had four wheel drives. He treated his wife like shit making worse their mismatched marriage. She was taller than he, lean with long black hair and an exotic face. To Tom Diegert she was the squaw he married so she wouldn’t be homeless in the dead of winter. Tom Diegert had been in the Army as a young man and even though he hadn’t done shit with the rest of his life he was proud of his military service. For Diegert to tell his father that he’d been dishonorably discharged was really going to suck, especially since Tom didn’t even know he was in the Army.

“My Father is a proud military veteran, he’ll be angry with me if I’m dishonorably discharged.”

“I could see that being uncomfortable. What branch of the service was he in?”

“The Army.”

“Where was he stationed?”

“I don’t know.”

“What was his rank?”

“I don’t know that either.”

“So did you and your Dad discuss your commitment to serve?”

“No.”

Reeves sat quietly waiting for more information which Diegert did not provide.

“How about your Mom?”

Diegert’s Mother was the person he admired most in the world the one person he truly loved. She was hardworking, dedicated and thoughtful. She had issues with fear and lack of self-confidence, remnants of growing up in foster homes after her own Mother committed suicide when Denise was 12. In spite of her difficulties she showed David a Mother’s love and made sure the home was a comfortable sanctuary for her second son.

“My Mom is a beautiful, loving woman who always puts others before herself.”

“Sounds lovely. Was the marriage between her and your Father a happy one?”

“Not really.”

Again Reeves let the silence linger but Diegert added nothing.

“You know the process of getting to know someone benefits from explanations that are longer than just two words.”

“Oh really?” was Diegert’s only reply.

Reeves grew impatient, “Any brothers or sisters?”

Jake, his brother was just like his father, short, loud and focused on himself. He played football, which his Dad loved, followed and supported. He too was a half breed but crossed the line and hung with the cool kids by being their drug dealer. At first he sold stolen beer then pot and pills and then heroin and crystal meth out of his lab in the back of the barn. He made sure David’s life remained miserable. Often when Diegert was working at his job at the Mini-Mart Jake and his friends would smash jars and make a mess in an aisle just so they could laugh at him while he cleaned it up.

“My brother Jake is a jerk, I don’t talk to him very often.”

“Sibling rivalry?”

“I don’t desire anything he has.”

“How about growing up was he someone you could trust and confide in?”

“Definitely not.”

“I see. Why did you join the Army?’

“For the college benefits. I want to do my active duty, get out and go to school on the GI Bill.”

“Wouldn’t a student loan be a better idea?”

Diegert tilted his head back and cast an unappreciative look upon his lawyer.

“Anyway – I don’t see a sense of patriotism in you, a desire to serve your country or the motivation to fulfill a family tradition. The Army is simply a means to an end for you and I think you’re now finding that the role of a soldier requires a lot more work and sacrifice than any semester in college. What do you want to study in school?”

“Math. I’m pretty good at math.”

“I’m glad to hear it but I have to tell you your defense is not adding up to an acquittal.”

Reeves held his gaze on Diegert’s face as the statement sank in.

“You will most likely be convicted of this crime and dishonorably discharged. I don’t believe Lieutenant Prescott is pressing any additional charges and the final sentencing is up to the Judge.

“As my lawyer what do you advise me to do?”

Reeves tapped his pencil on the table while contemplating his reply.

“I don’t think you’re committed to the military life,” said Reeves as he slid his papers into his briefcase stood up and placed his JAG Officer’s cap securely on his head. He crossed the small space of Diegert’s cell, looked back as he stood in the doorway to say, “I see your future outside the U.S. Army but I’ll see you at the court martial on Monday.”

Next Chapter: Chapter 7