I was struck across the back of my head by a 2x4, knocking me out and putting me in the dispensary for several hours. The board was wielded by an out of control alcoholic Mess sergeant, who was unable to get a drink since we were being bivouacked at Camp A P Hill, April 1965 and it was about 90 miles to the nearest liquor store. The next day the first sergeant and the company commander decided to get rid of me in order to avoid a court martial for the old sarge. I suffered for 47 years unable to rectify the situation or even file a claim. They said your injury has to be incurred on the field of battle or you're not covered. 47 years later they changed the rules and allowed the claim, and now I have proven my case and can receive the benefits I deserve. Except that they are still dragging their feet and giving me little pieces at a time, I guess hoping I'll die soon and they can put the money to a better use. You know like pissing stale beer against the fence at their team building exercises at Disney World. All in all I am grateful for having been able to serve even though, as always when it comes to taking care of us, we are always at the bottom of the barrel.
Rev James W Higgins (Rev Jim Sola Tarsus)
Rockport Texas (firstchurchofthelastchance.com)