Chronicles of a Combat Clerk

"War is hell." I'm not sure exactly who said that, but I know it to be
true. I watched "Saving Private Ryan", so I'm a bit of an authority on
that subject. Sometimes, though, peace time can be just as brutal.

I served as a member of the elite Adjutant General's Corp which is made
up of some of the best typists in the Army. Out of every 100 men and

women who desire to wear the AG pin, 3 don't make it. Our
dedication, bravery and ability to file paperwork in the smoldering heat
of an un-airconditioned office is legendary. Even the fabled Green Berets
came to us when they need copies made. We were the backbone of the Army
and were counted on by our superior officers to drive them safely around
in a Humvee. 75% of the time, we successfully drove to our destination
without incident. But, sadly, many brave combat clerks lost their lives
transporting the officers. Most of the casualties were caused by the
clerks dutifully trying to type a DA Form 87 while driving, then losing
control and falling out of the Humvee, hitting their heads on their
giant typewriters and killing themselves. Legend even has it that one heroic
clerk's last task was to type his own death certificate while he lay
dying on the street. The officers would just shake their heads and say,
"Damn. That was one fine combat clerk." Then they would laugh as a show
of respect for our good-natured humor.

One day, I had my own brush with death while driving a Captain and three
2nd Lieutenants. I had just returned to duty after receiving a Purple
Heart for my carpal tunnel syndrome. I was anxious to get back, but I
had become hardened by my injury. No longer was I a "green", wide-eyed
clerk. Now, I was a "green", wide-eyed Private First Class clerk. I had
finally been promoted after three years and I credited my newfound sense
of duty after my wound for my rapid ascent to the top of the enlisted
ranks.

My task that day was to deliver the officers to the post golf course.
Everything was going well until we came to a fork in the road. One
direction had a sign that read "road closed." The other direction was
the detour that we were supposed to take. But, being assigned to an
infantry company whose motto was "Always Forward", I got a little cocky
and decided to take the "road closed" route. I knew from my experience
in typing meritorious service awards for infantrymen, that taking the
road less traveled was the honorable thing to do. So, I ran over the
road block and continued on my way. The captain started screaming at me
to stop. But, I just shouted "always forward, sir!" and drove on. I saw
the golf course clubhouse straight ahead, but to get to it I had to
drive through the outer rough on hole 7. Sadly, I didn't see the water
hazard that came next. I drove the Humvee into the small pond and we
sunk immediately. I yelled "fore!" just before we went down, but it
was too late. The five of us frantically tried to get the radios and
golf clubs out of the water, but in doing so, the Captain accidentally hit
me several times upon the head with his 4 iron. I later was awarded my
2nd Purple Heart because some shrapnel from the club lodged into my
buttocks. I'm still not sure how that happened.

After the incident, I was taken off driving duty. The stress of being a
combat support specialist in the field of personnel administration had
finally gotten to me. I was assigned to permanent latrine duty which I
continued to the end of my enlistment.

War is hell. Tom Hanks showed me that. What he didn't prepare me for was
the horror of serving as a combat clerk. Damn him!

Learn more about this author, Doug Burrell.
Click here to send author comments or questions.

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