Monster Hunter Memoirs: Grunge - eARC by Larry Correia Read Free Book Online Page B

to do with a ’57 Chevy. I kept my eye out for cars that might have been made in 1957. Could it be part of a street address? 57th Street? Maybe?
    At one point in therapy, I thought they were going to give me fifty-seven reps. Could this be it? Was this the moment the sign would appear ?
    But, no, they went from fifty-six to fifty-eight…
    I finally gave up looking. It was just too exhausting. I also never mentioned the vision, dream, near-death-experience or whatever to anyone but priests and then only under the vow of confession. I did begin the process of conversion to the Catholic Church. If I’d met a saint, I figured might as well go with the main church that believed in them. At one point, one of the priests who I was briefing in on the situation pointed out, reluctantly but honestly, that Episcopalians were saint oriented and I could have talked to the first Episcopalian priest about it.
    Eh. Catholic light. Twice the ceremony, half the guilt. I’ll stick with the Holy Mother. Even if it is, occasionally, a Mother.
    I never went back to the 1/8. I’d been permanently transferred to the Detachment of Patients at Quantico. Honeybear and all my gear was transferred up. I didn’t have to have a billet so with the Sherman’s permission I moved into their basement, pulling DC BAQ which was way more than the rent they charged me, while I went through continuing rehab. I had to show up for a formation once a week in uniform. It was always neat as a pin. Hobbling on crutches gave way to using a cane and a major limp.
    My confirmation in the Catholic Church was on the same day as my medical review board. I didn’t have to “stand” the review. It was on paper only. So I confirmed that I wished to be a Catholic, having already been baptized, stood first communion, first confession (that was long) and all the rest. I’d reviewed all the saints that were worth reviewing. I came to the conclusion that although I might or might not have met Saint Peter, I really wasn’t into the whole martyr thing. I liked Pete, don’t get me wrong. But I was a warrior at heart. Not the best approach to Christianity but it was who I was. So I finally settled on Saint Michael the Archangel. Guy who had tossed Satan’s ass in the clink. Flaming sword, kicking ass. Worked for me.
    Had no idea, then, how appropriate the choice would be. I’ve anathemized more demons than Special Agent Franks.
    The results of the medical review board came down a week later. My right thigh bone had basically been put back together with rigger tape and baling wire. There was no way it was going to support the rigors of being a line infantryman. I would have a permanent limp and all sorts of other issues.
    Like, they thought, only seventy percent use of my right arm for life. Hah. When I went in for an eval and they found my right arm stronger and more flexible than my last physical before the bombing they called it “a minor miracle.” Try lots and lots of workouts. After the kappa I had to throw away all my old X-rays lest doctors completely freak out. The kappa was a miracle.
    Anyway, Infantry was out. If I chose, at that time, to re-up for a less strenuous MOS I could continue to be a Marine. But nothing involving direct combat. No tanker, no AMTRAK crewman. Nada. So I started researching MOS.
    The Marine MOS field 5700 referred to Chemical, Biological and Nuclear fields. A sign! I knew I had the brains for it. There was a problem. My ASVAB. It wasn’t that I couldn’t ask to retake some tests. It was that if I suddenly went from a perfect 100 (mediocre, perfect for infantry) to the 150 minimum for some of those fields…It would be pretty clear I’d deliberately boned the first test. Which, by the way, was a Federal Offense.
    So they came back and offered me continuing service on reenlistment, the only fields open were cook and clerk.
    Not a sign. At least not one clear enough for me to sit behind a desk and be a REMF for the next seventeen years.
    At