Once upon a time, there was a U.S. Army outpost outside the city of Farah in western Afghanistan. Army life there was progressing well. The soldiers knew their jobs, were accustomed to the country, and had a manageable routine that would see them through the end of their tour. Then, the Army stationed Pfc. Shawna Rogers on the base, and everything went crazy.
I served among those soldiers and witnessed the insanity.
Rogers was a fine soldier; as an MP, she was as close to combat as women were allowed to get back in 2005. With her new stories and fresh perspective, she was also nice to talk to. She didn’t cause any problems. The problems came from the other soldiers.
We were an all-male infantry platoon serving in a country where women were kept hidden behind walls and under burqas. When the 19-year-old Rogers arrived, with her warm smile and kind eyes, the guys… well, they lost their minds. Soon, the base was like one of those nature shows in which a bunch of male animals compete to impress the females.
Learning that Rogers liked Raisin Bran cereal, one soldier left a bowl, spoon, little cereal box, and milk outside her door one morning. Guys offered to wash her Humvee after she returned from a mission.
“Hey, Spc. Jenkins,” Pfc. Robinson said one day. “Want to spar?”
“You guys never had karate fights before,” I said. “Is this because Rogers is out there working on that truck?”
“No!” Robinson said. “But that might be a good area for our match.”
One of them almost broke his toe. Our commanders ordered no more karate.
The guys resorted to taking off their shirts and tossing the football when Rogers came around. The intensity of their efforts to sit near her for meals was matched only by the futility of their attempts to hide their desperation.
Rogers admitted she enjoyed dancing. It was as though she’d deployed some kind of mind control device. The Farah base dance craze had begun! Jenkins worked on his dance moves when off duty. Robinson tried to learn hip-hop dancing by practicing with a black infantryman in his 30s. The older guy had rhythm. Robinson didn’t.
We were serving in a forward area in a war zone, and because a female soldier had once mentioned dancing, at least half a dozen young soldiers were putting aside their rifles and machine guns to practice everything from the step-touch to the fox trot.
The madness reached its climax when our team leader, Sgt. Paulsen, caught Jenkins and Rogers behind closed doors in the seclusion of the guard tower. Jenkins was supposed to be doing his job, watching his sector for the enemy. Instead, he was waltzing with Rogers.
Jenkins’s physical punishment — pushups, situps, flutter kicks, and more — began right after evening chow. I was almost asleep, hours later, when he returned to our room, panting and drenched in sweat.
“Bet nobody will be talking to Rogers again,” said Robinson.
“I will,” I said. “Just not off alone with her. She’s pretty cool.”
Jenkins spun to face me, his sweaty, red face twisted in fury. “I just got smoked for three hours because of her! She’s terrible!”
I had to admire Paulsen. Jenkins was young and fit, not easy to break, and yet, Jenkins’s conversion was as complete as Winston Smith’s at the end of 1984, when, after torture, Winston finally screams that his former lover is the one who should be punished. “Do it to her!”
That was how the insanity over Rogers finally ended. Life returned to what counted as normal on an Army deployment. We eventually cycled home. Rogers stayed to serve with honor and finish her tour. I haven’t talked to her in a long time, but I’ll never forget Rogers, nor the weirdness she stirred up in the guys around her.
Trent Reedy served as a combat engineer in the Iowa National Guard from 1999 to 2005, including a tour of duty in Afghanistan.
*Some names and call signs in this story may have been changed due to operational security or privacy concerns.
