My Army Base Is Goddamn Wack Too

[Superspleen]

I know what you're thinking.

What's the US Army doing in India? Well, some people in very fancy offices at high levels of both DC and New Delhi thought it would be a good idea to strengthen ties between America and India in the wake of Xi Jinping's behavior. These very same people with fancy offices, impressive titles, and way bigger bank accounts than mine decided that one way of doing this was putting a US military installation right near an Indian one on the outskirts of New Delhi.

And no, I am in no way jealous of the fact that these people have much more money than I do and I will fight anyone who argues the contrary.

Anyway, I just finished boot and thought I'd be sent to some stateside base for my tour of duty, maybe to Europe or the Middle East. Imagine my surprise when my unit is told we're going to make history. Our company is one of units chosen to man Fort Kingston, the first US base in India and the first foreign military base ever put on India's soil since independence.

Which mean's there's a shit-ton of reading to do about local customs, Hindu, Muslim, Sikh, you get the idea. Everybody got a guidebook that's about as thick as a triple decker sandwich with all the fixings but it makes sense. We're not just supposed to be professionals. We're test cases. How we act is gonna reflect on the US and impact public perception about forming closer ties with America. We can't give Modi a reason to demand we get kicked out of India.

Haven't met any of the locals yet. Only been here two days. We're meeting up the with troops at the Indian base tomorrow. Meet and greet, buffet, the works. The capital city's very close. Excursions are going to be one of the rewards for us behaving ourselves. Promised my family I'd take a lot of photos while I was here. Our post has the 'new base smell' you could say. No buildings in immediate need of repair, everything looks shipshape. No etchings on the restroom stalls either.

Things are pretty much perfect. Well, almost.

Last night I was trying to sleep but I could faintly hear someone whispering in my ear. Sounded like a woman. Couldn't understand her.

 

[Superspleen]

I have no one to blame but myself.

I thought I knew spicy. I was the only guy in my family who really liked the hot stuff, savored that burn.

I am now learning that, in fact, I don't know jack shit about spicy. The cooks over at the Indian base are teaching us that ver well. And I'm relishing it to be honest. Next time I get a cold, I'm getting ahold of some laal maans. That cold isn't gonna get cured, it's gonna get erased. There's also this yogurt drink called lassi that I really need to learn how to make in my spare time.

I'm walking near some brush trying to work off some of what I ate and I can see something that looks like a weird white rock. I move a little closer before noticing that it's not just the color that's off but the shape. It's too, I dunno, neat to be natural. I look if there's any animals nearby, snakes and whatnot. I notice something that seems to be on top of the rock. A spike about at big as my thumb. Looking to the side, I can see something that looks attached to the side and I tense up a little.

A grey strap, made out of cord or rope.

This isn't a rock, it's a helmet. Not one I'd ever seen anyone in real life wear but I feel like I've seen one before.

I carefully remove it from the brush and carry it back to the tables where everyone is eating. I ask one of the guys from my base if he knows what it is but one of the Indian soldiers goes stiff when he sees it. He looks at me and elbows one of his friends who turns to look at what I'm holding. He says something a bit hard to understand but it takes me a few seconds to figure out the word.

"Breetain ka." Britain.

"This is a British helmet?" I ask. One of the Indians nods.

"Old," he says. "Very old."

"What should I do with it?" I ask. The Indian soldier shrugs.

"Yours." I look at the helmet. It's not the right size for me but at least it'll make for an interesting conversation starter. I put it in my bag and spent the rest of the afternoon letting loose. I did wonder if picking up that helmet was gonna backfire somehow. Then I just brushed it off. What, was I gonna be haunted by the ghost of some prissy, tea drinking British officer with terrible teeth?

Like that was gonna scare me.

 

[Superspleen]

Embrace the suck. That's a little nugget of wisdom from DS Lambert from back when I was at boot.

And I'm doing my best to do so right now. What makes this a little less painful is that I really did get what was coming to me in a sense. Pig out on Indian food without some sort of repercussions? Sorry, not happening.

It's 11 at night. I'm in the grips of gastro-intestinal Ragnarok. I'm all alone in the bathroom.

After another excruciating movement, I look down to see that I may not be as alone as I thought. There's two black boots in front of the stall. They don't look like any of the sort we've got on base. But I'm too busy praying at the porcelain alter to really think too much of it.

"Yo," I say. "Occupied." Nothing. Not even a twitch.

"Dude, there's other stalls." Still nothing. After I feel like the worst is over, I groan.

"Seriously, go somewhere else." Not a peep. I get the idea the guy's fucking with me. It's too late for this. I get up off the toilet and start yelling.

"I said fuc-" My words die in my throat when I see what's on the other side of the door. Standing half a foot away from me is a middle aged man my size in a khaki uniform with boots that go almost up to his knees. I've never seen anyone in the US Army wear that kind of uniform.

But that's not what really makes me stop talking. The shirt is drenched with blood. I slowly look up to see that it's coming from the man's face.

When I said that I wasn't afraid of some ghost with bad teeth, I might've spoken too soon. This guy's teeth aren't dirty because of bad oral hygiene.

They're bad because all the skin below the nose has been cut off, showing me juicy red muscle and yellowing teeth. The blood on his shirt is coming from the mouth, dripping downward. His green eyes are bulging with rage.

"Talk back ta yer betters, will ya?" he says in a voice filled with anger. It's a British accent, not posh, but booming and authoritative. There's this weird fluidic quality to it that's stomach churning.

"You cur..." He moves toward me and before I know it, everything goes black.

 

[Superspleen]

When I came to, I wasn't in my own bed. I groaned and sat up, my vision still blurry. There was someone standing near me but I couldn't make out who it was.

I blinked and winced. I pictured that horrible looking man I saw in the bathroom. That cascade of blood down the front of his uniform stuck out in my mind as much as the ripped up mess that was his face. A person walked over to me and I could see a stethoscope on his neck.

Was I in sickbay? The man looked to be in his early thirties and had the last name Pollard on his uniform shirt.

"Good morning, Corporal Esperanza," he said. I just waved my hand in reply.

"Where...where..."

"Sickbay. You've been here most of the night. Private Lawrence found you passed out on the bathroom floor not long before midnight." I looked to my side and saw an IV bag on a stand.

"You passed out from rapid dehydration. You lost enough water to cause a significant electrolyte imbalance." I blinked a little.

"You mean...I shit so much..."

"Something like that." I groaned and put my head in my hands.

"Nothing to be too embarrassed about. I expected something like this would happen to some of the soldiers sooner or later. Unfamiliar cuisine in large quantities can be difficult to process. Expected it to happen in Spring and Summer though." I saw that horrific face again and winced.

"Where's the guy?"

"Private Lawrence?"

"No. There was...a man in there. Another man in the bathroom." Pollard raised an eyebrow.

"Lawrence said you were alone when he found you." I blinked.

"You sure..."

"He confirmed it to both me and your CO. Rapid water loss can cause delirium, might I add. You may have imagined it."

Was I being fucking gaslit right now? I remembered that awful face so vividly.

"I wouldn't advise eating heavy foods for the next week or so if you could avoid it. If one of the Indian soldiers invites you for a meal, tell them you're recovering from stomach flu or something. They shouldn't press you any further."

"Yeah. I'll keep that in mind. Wait, what time is it?"

"Eight fifteen. You're excused from duty for the day. I'll check on you a little later and tell your CO when you might be fit to return to barracks."

I just nodded. Inside I was burning with embarrassment. Great. Did I really hallucinate seeing whatever that guy was? It's...possible I guess. But it was so vivid.

I felt a chill. Somehow, I knew that wasn't a hallucination. I saw it the night I found that British helmet. The accent fits too. I looked to the table near me and saw my phone with its charge nearby. I needed to look up what I could about that uniform.

I didn't want to say it aloud, but I'm starting to think I had a run in with a dead man.

 

[Superspleen]

Nighttime now. I've been in bed for most of the day. Some of my squad mates came in to see if I was alright. Very few jokes, thankfully. I'm either resting or on my phone when I'm alone. I've got an idea of what I'm dealing with.

That helmet, hat, whatever. That's the source of my problem. This could be the fatigue talking, sure. But I did a bit more snooping at and sure enough, guess which military wore that kind of helmet in India?

I feel slightly better knowing where that blood drenched freak came from, but I'm still not entirely free of my fear. Did some digging online and good fucking god, if this guy was part of the British forces in India my money's on him being involved in some horrific shit. Seriously, the stuff I've been reading throughout the day is straight up nightmare fuel*.

Which gives me a bit of a hint of 'who' I'm dealing. I'll bet everything in my commissary account that it wasn't another British guy who fucked up his face that bad. I've got a few ideas for what he could've done to warrant that kind of reaction and that tells me I'm dealing with someone with a serious sadism streak.

Speaking of which, I see 'him' again. Glaring at me from the window on the opposite side of the all from me. Mouth and throat glistening like a side of raw beef, eyes wide and bulging. His teeth look rotted in the moonlight.

I just noticed him by the way, I wasn't ignoring him. I'm nowhere near that level of badass. He'd be standing over me if I did that.

As I stare at him, he walks through the wall. He doesn't move his eyes off me for a second. I'm alone in the room right now. Guess he was waiting for there to be no witnesses. The blood on his shirt is practically shining.

All of a sudden, I get a borderline suicidal idea.

"Took your damn time," I say as he's maybe seven feet from me. He cocks his head. He almost seems, surprised. I'm shocked too. Now sure where this nerve is coming from but best use it while I still got it.

"Oh don't give me that," I reply. "Some soldier of the empire you are, sneaking into a hospital to kill a patient who barely get out bed without getting caught." I shake my head and cross my arms.

"What would the king think of one of his officers pulling something like this?"

"I think he'll be happy ta hear that I corrected some upstart lout who besmirched him," the ghost replied. "A soldier of the empire defends his sovereign's honor even if he must kill ta do it." He's right at the foot of my bed now.

"That's the difference between you and I, cur. I will do what I must to ensure that my nation and sovereign are not insulted with impunity."

"Look, if it's the hat you want back, it's yours," I say. "If you come attached to it, I'd rather not have it anymore." The ghost blinks.

"Surely you jest,"

"You think I like looking at you? If giving it back or burning it or whatever the fuck gets you away from me, I'm cool. I'll do it."

The ghost stared at me.

"And no, I don't care to hear how you ended up that way. The sooner you're out of my life, the better."

The ghost's expression became blank.

"You're no fun, ya know that? I got weeks of fun with the last bunch who found it."

"I'm not waiting that long to be rid of you."

"Fine. Three nights from now?"

"You'll have it then. Now leave me the fuck alone so I can some shuteye."

"Fine. Three nights from now. Forget, and you'll have the devil to pay."



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Author here. When I say Indian history during the colonial period was a nightmare, I'm not being hyperbolic. I'm not Indian myself, but it's pretty clear that there's still a lot of scars left over from when London was dictating what went on in the subcontinent. Estimates of deaths range from 35 to over 100 million including the Bengal famine of 1943. A for the monetary value of what Britain extracted from India, we can only estimate.

 

[Superspleen]

Ever since I told that ghostly prick with the messed up face he'd have his hat back in three days, haven't seen hide or hair of him. I've been surfing the web in my spare time since I left the med bay. My squad has so far refrained from making jokes about me being found passed out in the bathroom. I guess Sergeant Watts told them to keep the humor to themselves. As embarrassing as it is, I'm gonna play along with the 'food poisoning' story. I'm just eating light stuff for the time being and when I got the invite to dinner at the Indian base, I just asked one of the guys to tell them I was still getting used to the food.

It's a bit embarrassing but it's believable.

Anyway, things on base are a bit more tense. There's been some confrontations at the Sino-India border. No shooting, thank god, but the security situation is heating up. One of the officers served at the DMZ and went to the Indian border with China. He says he doesn't have the same feeling of dread that he did when he served in Korea but the air still felt tense.

I'm just marking down the hours till I can give that walking side of beef his helmet back and I can get on with my life. Keeping busy, doing what I can to make time go by faster.

Didn't hear the whispering again when I slept in the bunk room with the rest of the squad though. Eh, guess whoever was talking ran out of stuff to say.

 

[Superspleen]

It's time to say goodbye to that hat. I'm in the pre-agreed place and the pre-agreed time.

My spectral tormentor is slowly 'phasing' into view. Is phasing the right word? What's the opposite of fading?

Anyway, he's here and I've got the hat in my hand.

"Take it," I said. "You seem to give a much bigger shit about it than I do."

"Much obliged," he growls. He reaches out for the item in question and takes it from me. He hasn't touched my hand or anything, but it's still chilling.

He's able to grip the hat by the way. Not sure how, and I'm not going to drive myself nuts trying to figure it out.

"What's your name by the way?" I ask.

"You address Major Jeffrey Talbot of His Majesty's Fifth Northumberland Fusiliers," the ghost replies. "As for how I ended up in the state you see before you, I...brought it upon myself."

The ghost looks way more sullen that I'd ever seen him before. What did he mean by that?

Jeffrey waves his hand.

"Good day, soldier," he says. He fades away and I start walking back to base. But I stop in my tracks when I see a figure nearby.

It's Private Hendricks. He's staring right at me. His eyes look like they're gonna bug out of his skull and his mouth is gaping open.

Then it hits me.

He saw.