I was blessed to survive my time in the war in Afghanistan uninjured and without serious PTSD challenges. Yet, I still face some problems that can manifest in unexpected ways.
On a hot day, my wife suggested a movie in the cool, dark theater. “That Twisters movie looks good.” Faithful reader, this is not a review of the current tornado disaster adventure movie. You might like it. But I won’t be watching it, because I was burned out on the 1996 film Twister during my time in Afghanistan.
Upon our arrival in the country in 2004, my unit dispatched a few squads to live in a rented Afghan residential compound in the city of Farah while Afghan workers constructed our military compound outside of the city. Before we had armored Humvees or heavy machine guns, the Army issued us a TV, PlayStation, DVD player, and about four movies on disc. Before our base was complete, our accommodations were primitive, and it was a miracle, or a curse, that the constant blowing desert grit didn’t break down that equipment.
Instead, the movies continued playing. And playing. And playing …
Kids today, with the technology to stream or download almost any movie or TV show instantly, might not understand what it was like to have only a few movies to watch. Every line is memorized. Every bit of suspense or surprise is bled out of the film so that something once good is ruined. As the tour progressed, it became an unspoken rule that that handful of movies couldn’t be screened on the main TV in our chow hall/rec center.
Sometimes, a new soldier would play one of the forbidden few films, such as the 2003 Al Pacino and Colin Farrell CIA action thriller The Recruit. The guys were oh-so-considerate. “Is this the part where the guy gets kidnapped, thrown in a van, and then beat up by men he thinks are terrorists, but it turns out they are CIA guys, and this is all a training exercise, but he breaks because he’s worried about his girlfriend also being tortured?”
“Come on!” the new guy would say. “Don’t ruin this for me.”
“Yeah, no problem,” we’d answer. “We definitely won’t tell you Al Pacino is secretly the bad guy and it’s all an elaborate double-agent setup.” Army humor is often crude and merciless. By that time, there were plenty of official release DVD movies and pirated copies around the base. New Guy could watch something else.
One afternoon, I sat down in the chow hall and sighed. Someone had put on Twister. I couldn’t handle it again. I went to the TV and muted the volume. They could watch the torn trees and flying cows, but at least I wouldn’t have to listen to the over-familiar dialogue.
“Hey, Cpl. Reedy. I was watching that. Can you turn the volume back up?”
It was Jase. He was one of the Tactical Human Intelligence guys I told you about a few years ago, reclassed from other Army jobs to play spy. They wore civilian clothes, grew their beards, wore no rank, went by first name only, and were terrible at their jobs. Nobody respected them.
I looked at the guy. “Well, Jase, I guess you could order me to restore the sound, but if you did that, you’d be revealing that you outrank me. It’s up to you. Leave the sound off, or blow part of your cover by ordering me to turn it up.”
I was only an E-4. Jase almost certainly outranked me, and if so, my disrespect and insubordination merited punishment. But THT jokers took their spy games very seriously, so Jase only grumbled. I ate in peace, saved from being subjected to that movie for the 247th time that year.
Enjoy Twisters if you wish, but if you do, please remember the ordeals veterans have endured. Not all scars are visible.
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Trent Reedy, author of several books including Enduring Freedom, served as a combat engineer in the Iowa National Guard from 1999 to 2005, including a tour of duty in Afghanistan.
*Some names and call signs in this story may have been changed due to operational security or privacy concerns.