In the Company of Wolves

A U.S. Army company is billeted only half a mile away and invited some of us over for a barbecue.  Real barbecued chicken.  Cold beer.  The works.  Several of the nurses went, of course, when we got off duty.

We didn't last long.  Two of America's finest decided it was time to display their knife throwing skills after proudly telling us that these knives were for "killing Haitians" -- as though there were not enough dead ones to last 'til eternity.

One of these fine young men had speakers hooked up to his laptop, and invited any of his comrades to put some music on.  The offer lasted until a Cuban-American G.I. put on a salsa CD, at which point our Great White Father in Training shouted at him to 'get that greaser crap out of my computer'!

It did not make me proud of my country.  It made me sad that the trust and love and honor the Haitian people bestow on us so freely gets sullied and squandered.

We went home without our barbecued chicken.  And were happy to be gone.