The Schizophrenic And The Knock-Off La Quinta

No Shit, There I Was…. Commanding the Battalion HHC and the Rear D for a handful of Company sized units that were deployed. Part of the job was policing up soldiers who were sent home for medical, getting discharged, ETS, etc. Most of the time the paperwork had already been done downrange so all they needed to do was get signatures and clear CIF. Well not one special guy.

He was sent back because of vague “mental health issues”. No paperwork, no counseling packet, no medical records, just a plane ticket home. Downrange unit was really tight lipped about it and wouldn’t tell us anything, other than that he needed a mental eval. OK, no problem. Off to mental health he goes.

Doc calls about 15 minutes after his appointment is scheduled. This kid is/was on some MAJOR medications for schizophrenia since he hit puberty. Should have never been allowed in the Army. Should have NEVER been allowed to deploy! Whatever, he’s my soldier now and we’re going to ride him out on a Chapter 5-17 (Other Designated Physical or Mental Conditions) so he doesn’t get fucked over by the VA or in the civilian world.

Turns out he’s not a bad soldier. He’s OK when he’s on his meds. Works in the orderly room, puts in 100% for PT, totally respectful and grateful that he’s catching a break. Goes to all his appointments and always is in contact with his squad leader and battle buddy. Some days he gets a little stressed out and we cut him loose early. Should he be in the Army? No. But not a shit bag and I actually feel bad for him because this is a legit medical mental health issue and he’s working through it.

One day the 1SG hands me a local leave form. For the schizophrenic. For four days, in a hotel right outside the gate. Holy shit.

Turns out there’s a girl from back home who wants to come out and see him. And he ain’t going to sneak her into the barracks, hell no. He’s going to treat her right and pound that pussy in a jacuzzi at the knock off La Quinta. I sign that shit without hesitation. Good for him! He might be a full blown schizophrenic, but he’s a better soldier than half my shitbags and now he’s going to ram some farm-fresh vagina to celebrate the legacy of The Reverend Doctor Martin Luther King, Junior. God bless America.

Friday night, I get the call.

Turns out he didn’t want the farm-fresh vagina to see him popping his pills every hour, so he decided to stop taking them. So the voices start.

He goes out and buys a handgun (lol Texas), goes to his Squad Leader’s off-post apartment and takes him hostage. Police show up. He demands that the CIA stop reading his mind. Police are not amused. Soldier decides to make a break for it and carjacks a woman in the parking lot. Drives the car right into a telephone pole. Takes off on foot. Police unleash the K-9, which runs him down and literally bites him in the ass.

So now I’ve got a squad leader being interviewed by the cops, a soldier under arrest in the ER with a dog bite to the ass, AND the fucking reception desk at the airport has a young woman who just so happens to know the unit of her boyfriend who was supposed to pick her up a few hours ago. FUCK!


We spring the soldier from the local lockup and get him to the mental health ward, farm-fresh vagina spends a luxurious weekend by herself at the knock-off La Quinta, tell the squad leader not to show up for the rest of the week. And I think the dog was OK.