Polite Dissent

While a physician in the Air Force, I was proud to be the doctor assigned to the 820th RED HORSE squadron. A unit of combat engineers, in peacetime they performed charity missions in various poor countries around the Caribbean and South and Central America. On deployments to nice places, I provided telephone medical support. However, when the squadron was assigned to particularly unpleasant places, I got to go along.

So it was that I found myself deployed to a tent city in a muddy field outside the airport in Cap Haitien, Haiti with 80 RED HORSE personnel and 30 Army MPs. Our mission was to perform major construction and electrical repairs to a local orphanage. The RED HORSE medical team consisted of me and Technical Sergeant K-, an experienced and easy-going medical technician. We had a hospital tent, several crates of supplies, and an ambulance.

On most days, TSgt K- would drive to the job site on the far side of town, while I stayed at camp. However several times a week I would find myself driving the ambulance to and from the job site. Despite the fact that I had free reign to use both the ambulance’s sirens and loudspeaker, I loathed the days I had to drive.

First, the Haitian roads are horrid. Foot by foot they randomly change between pavement, dirt, gravel, or mud. Potholes are extremely common. Not your run of the mill potholes, but ones deep enough and sharp enough to easily blow a tire. As if that weren’t bad enough, the roads were extremely narrow and twisting with rusting cars parked haphazardly and livestock wandering up, down, and across the streets.

Second, I drive a small car. I like small cars. I hate driving large vehicles with a passion, yet here I was driving through the streets of Cap Haitien in a wide bulky ambulance.

All was going well until one fateful afternoon when we were heading back to camp. An Army Humvee was leading the caravan followed by a dump truck, two deuce-and-a-halfs and then me driving the ambulance. A second Humvee brought up the rear.

We left the orphanage and drove through the streets without incident. As we neared the airport, we turned onto a side road leading to our camp. The airport was surrounded by an 8-foot tall chain link fence. We would drive through a gate in the airport fence then take a turn and pass through a fence of concertina wire before entering our camp. At least, that was how it was supposed to go.

I misjudged the airport gate and there was this horrendous metal screech as the passenger door of the ambulance encountered the gatepost in the chain link fence. There was a momentary pause, and then the ambulance surged ahead on its way without slowing. I was embarrassed, but relieved since it appeared that no significant damage had been done. Then I glanced in the rearview mirror and noticed the gunner in the Humvee behind proudly holding up my passenger side mirror over her head like a trophy of war while grinning from ear to ear.

TSgt K- drove the ambulance for the remaining month of the deployment.