The Facade of Agent Ash
Before the 1993 Don’t Ask, Don’t Tell Policy
Friday, 2 March, 1992
On a remote United States Army post in Ansbach, Germany, an American soldier worried if the proverbial time bomb she had planted in her own secret world had indeed exploded.
Army Specialist Four Cindi Strickland once again spent breakfast alone in her barracks room. She sat on her worn twin bunk in a trance. Her eyes were weary and red, and she was feeling deliriously drained from too many sleepless nights.
The betrayal was beginning to take its toll.
At the time, turning in her former lovers seemed her only option. But now, more than a month later, she deeply regretted it. She was consumed by guilt and it was ripping her apart.
Strickland wanted nothing more than to turn back time, back to her life before Jan. 22. That was the day her love life was used against her as a weapon because she couldn't keep her damn mouth shut. But there is no altering the past. Only in the movies, she sighed, as she imagined herself escaping from this God-forsaken barren room in a time-traveling DeLorean from that Marty McFly movie.
If I could just go back and fix things, Strickland thought for the millionth time. But she was certainly no movie star and this was no movie set. She was stuck with what she had done on that fateful January day.
Before Jan. 22, Spec. Cindi Suzanne Strickland was a proud United States Army soldier; a member of the world’s most powerful and elite fighting force, at least that's what she was taught to believe while growing up in a family of military men. She was born into it. Her grandfather was a WWII Marine veteran. Her deceased father was a retired army sergeant major. Both of her older brothers were Vietnam vets. She was the first woman in the family to join the military.
But this small-town Nebraska girl has unwittingly stumbled into a friendly-fire ambush that is ending her military career on someone else's terms. She now considers herself a disgrace to the Strickland family name and a traitor to her own kind.
But this small-town Nebraska girl has unwittingly stumbled into a friendly-fire ambush that is ending her military career on someone else's terms. She now considers herself a disgrace to the Strickland family name and a traitor to her own kind.
Strickland sighed heavily at that depressing thought and rubbed her bloodshot eyes with skinny fingers. She dreaded the rest of the afternoon as she glanced out of her barracks room window. A light drizzle fell. Spring was just around the corner but there was no hint of it in her bones as she let out a shiver.
This morning, like she did every morning since she had been under barracks arrest, Strickland reported to the commander's office for a list of chores that usually kept her occupied all day and sometimes into the night. But this time, instead of a list, he had picked up a brand new red toothbrush from his desk and thrust it into her hand.
“All female latrines need scoured. All toilets, every sink and whatever else that doesn't fucking shine,” Capt. John Taft snarled. “I expect them to be spotless by the time I leave here tonight, or the only sleep you'll be getting is on the plane.”
I fucking hate you, she thought during his final dishing out of bullshit.
She managed to leave his office without shedding tears or grabbing the scissors off his desk and stabbing him in his cold heart. She didn’t know how much longer she could avoid showing the asshole some visible sign of repugnance. The only thing that kept her sane was that by nightfall tomorrow she would be long gone from here, on her way back to Nebraska to hopefully salvage her miserable life.
Strickland’s stomach growled loudly, though she had lost her appetite a month ago. Her fatigues hung off her shoulders like they were on hangers. Her cheeks were sunken and hollow. She hardly recognized the skinny person that stared back at her when she dared take a glimpse of herself in a mirror.
She ignored her stomach’s plea for food, as she often did these days. Her bowl of instant oatmeal grew cold as she drifted off into deep thought, once again fretting about how she was going to tell her family that she betrayed her own country, if she told them the truth at all. She worried they would cast her out like the Army did. No one in her family knew for sure she was a lesbian, but they will find out soon enough.
Strickland still had a hard time believing the army was
kicking her out. But the red toothbrush, with its firm white bristles
poking out of her camouflaged shirt pocket, was evidence that the end
was indeed near.
She found it practically unbearable that she was going to spend her final hours here on her hands and knees, in a cleaning frenzy, scrubbing toilets with a toothbrush.
She found it practically unbearable that she was going to spend her final hours here on her hands and knees, in a cleaning frenzy, scrubbing toilets with a toothbrush.
January 21, the day before the interrogation
It was just before 1600 hours when Strickland's boss tapped her on the shoulder and signaled for her to follow. She was in the middle of rotating tires on a 5-ton truck in the motor pool garage, so she gestured it would be a minute.
“Strickland, in my office, now,” Staff Sgt. Gary Robinson ordered in a hushed tone.
“Yes, sergeant.”
She quickly pulled off the tire, let it bounce to the floor and followed him into his office. He gestured for her to sit in the cold metal chair next to his desk.
"What's up, Sarge?" she asked.
“Well, the CO wants to see you first thing in the morning,” he said.
“Know what he wants?”
He pretended to ignore her as he rearranged paperwork at his cluttered desk.
“Do you know what he wants?” she repeated.
“Something about a maintenance program. Be in his office first thing in the morning,” he ordered, making sure not to enter into direct eye contact with her. “Skip PT. You need to be there at 0700 hours sharp.”
Robinson picked up a rubber band and nervously played with it, snapping it until it broke. Strickland glanced at the broken fragments. The silence between them suddenly became awkward, which wasn’t totally unusual since Robinson wasn’t much of a talker anyway. She shrugged it off.
“Did you inspect Company A’s Jeep for that leak?” he asked, finally throwing the rubber band into the trash.
“Of course. And it’s already fixed. I took care of it yesterday.”
“Outstanding,” he said through a forced smile. “Well then, since you’re all caught up, why don’t you get out of here while I'm feeling generous.”
“He didn't tell you more than that?” she probed.
“He was very busy. There’s nothing more I can add," he said irritably.
That's weird, she thought.
Robinson gave her a look of annoyance. “Listen, I have a lot of work to do, okay? Just be there.”
“Sure thing,” she mumbled. “Um, what about the tire I'm fixing? Want me to do that first?”
“Don’t worry about it, Strick. You can finish it tomorrow,” he said.
Strickland hesitantly accepted his offer. Quitting time wasn’t for another hour, but what the hell, she thought.
“Well, thanks Sarge. Guess I’ll see ya tomorrow, then,” she uttered before slipping out the side door.
Don’t thank me, Robinson thought. He was relieved to see her go. He couldn’t help but feel like the biggest jerk on earth for intentionally sending one of his own troops to the wolf’s den. He felt guilty for not warning her, but he didn’t dare take that chance, not when he had a family to support.
Robinson hoped he wouldn’t have to face Strickland tomorrow, or any other day for that matter, but he knew damn well she wasn’t going to disappear overnight. It would take time for the discharge paperwork to go through. He figured at least a couple of weeks.
He felt in his gut that what they were doing to her was wrong, but he couldn’t dispute the regulation. Like the commander said, regs are regs. “It clearly states in Article 125 that homosexuals aren't allowed to serve in my Army,” Taft had flatly told him.
“She dug her own grave, Sergeant Robinson," Taft had added when he sensed Robinson's reluctance to comply to the order. "You’re simply following a direct order to send her to me in the morning. Is that clear?”
“Perfectly clear.”
Robinson dreaded what he had to do. He hoped he could keep his composure as he relayed to Strickland the commander’s message. It was a simple one. See the commander first thing in the morning. That was it. Nonetheless, he didn’t agree with the whole damn mess. He didn't care who she fucked. All he cared about was that she was a good worker, and she was.
Now he was going to be one mechanic short.
(To read Chapter 3, go back to the Page Tab on the home page.)
(To read Chapter 3, go back to the Page Tab on the home page.)
