Age of Consequence
by
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"What we're going to do here today with the assistance of the three enlisted men you see exiting the chopper, is work on the technique of recovering a wounded comrade, and carrying him to the relative safety of the awaiting transport. We're going to teach you how to stay low, how to recover, and how to move swiftly." McMannis continued by calling out my name. "Pulver, front and center to assist with the demo."
My body snapped at the recognition of my name then moved hurriedly to the front of the class following McMannis's directive. McMannis pointed the toe of his right foot to the front and instructed that each candidate would begin the exercise "at this point." He continued,
"On my command, you will move forward by running your skinny little asses from this point forward to the man lying in the grass wounded."
The role of the enlisted men had been defined. They would be the victims, the wounded soldiers awaiting our rescue.
"Once you arrive at the scene, you will pick up your wounded 'brother' and carry him on your back to the transport."
As McMannis spoke, SSGT Sutter demonstrated the technique for lifting the victim onto your shoulders, then onto your back, where the most strength and stability in carriage is found. The willing victim slumped helplessly over Sutter's back as he carried him to "safety" within the helicopter.
Once the demonstration was concluded McMannis questioned, "Is there anyone in this sorry ass company that does not understand the task before them?" The class remained silent and complicit. "Excellent ladies," he continued. "Then let's proceed. Pulver, you're first."
It looked easy enough. The guy he picked up couldn't weigh over 150 pounds. "This will be a snap," I thought. I was eager for the challenge, and anxious to occupy myself with running the drill. In a strange sort of way it provided relief from standing around in the heat and thinking about how thirsty and tired I was. They were going to make it easy on us in the beginning. We didn't have to tote our M-1's, and we didn't have packs on our backs to deal with. It was just me, the victim, and a twenty-foot carry to the chopper. Like most other drills we practiced, our performance was timed so that our efficiency in running the drill could be approximated. McMannis held a stopwatch in his hand as I toed the start line to begin.
"Alright Pulver," McMannis raised his hand, "Go!"
On his command, I raced to the victim lying in the middle of the high grass. I felt as though I made the sprint in good time, and felt hungry for a good performance. As I reached down to grab the disabled imposter, the victim began shouting at the top of his lungs. He cried out, "My God, my God, Jesus Christ, I'm dying, I'm dying. God damn, help me, help me."
His body rolled and hopped back and forth in a virtual agony as he mimicked convulsions. His body writhed with a snake-like fluidity, and I stared helplessly in disbelief and astonishment. He wasn't supposed to act like this. He was supposed to be calm or unconscious. How in the hell was I supposed to pick this guy up? As I contemplated my predicament, the victim's situation quickly took an apparent turn for the worst, for within seconds his violent contortions quickly stopped, and his arms and legs fell silent upon the tall grass.
As I looked down upon my deceased victim open mouthed with confusion, SSGT Sutter ran up to my right shoulder and grabbed my arm twisting me around to face him.
"You fuckin' asshole. You fuckin' plebe. He's fuckin' dead and you fuckin' killed him."
Sutter shouted his contempt for me at the top of his lungs. He blurted out with such incredible vigor; his spit rained down upon my face, and his grip on my arm tightened to the point that his strength forced me to my knees. As he continued his tirade, the other drill instructors encircled me, and blasted me with an unmerciful barrage of verbal derision. The humiliation continued seemingly without end. But eventually Sutter lifted me awkwardly, and shoved me away in disgust. He then turned around to face the rest of the class. They stood silent and motionless; their eyes wide open and riveted upon the situation unfolding before them.
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About the Book
Danny Pulver was one of millions. He was a "baby boomer" who lived his life in the Baltimore suburbs during the second half of the 20th century and into the new millennium. There was a clamoring for identity among this generation, and each of its members struggled to find purpose in their lives. Danny was no exception.
He lived during an Age of Consequence, and was challenged by tests of spirit, endurance, and character. His reaction to turning points in his life would be ordinary as well as extraordinary. Throughout the years Danny learned from experience, and benefited from the love, support, and moral conscience that his parents provided. He ultimately thrived when his purpose in life became clear. In the end, Danny leaves his indelible footprint as an influential contributor to his generation.
Although there are fictitious characters and events depicted in this story, many episodes in Danny's life are based on actual events. Therefore, after reading this story and contemplating the cumulative contributions of others like Danny, it is hoped that everyone will be reminded of the relevance and importance in seemingly ordinary lives. Become inspired by Danny's example, and experience a renewed recognition of everyone's individuality and worth.
About the Author
Dana Stephen Shillingburg is a lifelong resident of Maryland, and was born in Baltimore in 1954. He was educated at Towson University in Towson, Maryland where he majored in American History, and graduated with a Bachelor of Science degree in 1978. He also attended the Graduate School at George Washington University in Washington D.C. Dana was married to his wife Laurie in 1978 and has a son Daniel who was born in 1987.
Dana currently makes his living in the telecommunications industry, and has traveled extensively throughout the United States and the world. He is also a Navy veteran, an avid Baltimore Oriole baseball fan, and a father whose favorite pastime is watching his son pursue his dreams.