Navy Guantanamo Bay Part III

No matter how hard you try, you just can't beat physics. Do the math and if the math doesn't work, then the thing won't work. The End.

For example, if a length of nylon line is stretched to the limit of it's ability to stretch, one of two things will happen. The line may break whereupon the remainder will swing in an arc pivoting on it's last connection point. Very, very bad things will happen to any non-metallic structures (e.g., humans) that might be in the way of that swinging arc. Please reference any of a number of horror movies for a graphic example.

The other possibility is that the slack will 'surge' from the part of the line not under strain to ease the tension of the part under strain. We've all heard the noises a rope makes when it's under a strain. It's kind of a creaking, rubbing, stretching sort of noise. Like this:

\\https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=X2FBzFY5R-U

Well, the nylon line the three of us held in our hands that day was making noises no one on Earth had heard before. Scary noises, spine-chilling, intimidating, brain-freezing noises. These were 'forget your orders and run for your life' noises. 

So as it surged, spinning through the figure-eight pattern on the bollard burning off the paint, we dropped the line to make that last dash for our lives and two of us made it.

The ungainly goon in the back was struck by another phenomenon of physics called a wave pulse. You may have exercised this peculiarity of wave motion when you whipped a garden hose or a jump rope. With a little wrist motion, you can send a wave down the hose or jump rope or in this instance, a 2-inch nylon line.   

The math for this action can be seen in this simple Fourier Transform.

In other words, the surge had sent a wave pulse down the line and while passing by, it struck me (the aforementioned goon) in the palm of my right hand. 

The impact of the wave pulse burst open said palm much like you see here in this over-ripe pomegranate. 

Sorry, if that's a little graphic, but you should have seen it in real life. (!) 

The action exploded the head of my second metacarpal (the knuckle of my index finger) into tiny fragments. The index finger itself was almost entirely severed, hanging on only by the skin on the back of my hand. 

The impact had sent my arm flying and had spun me around spraying blood in a Fibonacci pattern that would have kept Dexter busy for a week. When I brought my hand up, I discovered that it makes you very uncomfortable to be able to look inside your own body. Again with the blood everywhere, but there seemed to be even more this time. Not quite like that Monty Python sketch, but darn near. 

I'm told I let out quite a stream of curses at this juncture. I don't recall, but those legends you hear about 'cursing like a sailor' are fact-based. In the Navy I was introduced to curses you just don't hear in the civilized, civilian world. At this point, I may have used them all.

The major part of the wound was Y-shaped with one opening running from between the index and middle fingers almost to the wrist and the second running off perpendicularly separating the thumb from the index finger. 

This little drawing I've done only conveys the shape of the wound, not the ragged, discolored, exploded horror I was goggling at. The movie 'Alien' wouldn't be released for another ten years, but it still looked like a little alien had burst out of my hand. Oddly enough, I felt little pain and was clear-headed. You never know how you'll react under a bit of pressure. 

Briskly, I teleported myself to sick bay where the jovial corpsman told me, "Well, I could sew it up for you, but maybe we should have a doctor look at it." All things considered, I found that to be good advice. 

I wish I had a photo of what I looked like at this point. I was covered in blood and it was like a preview of another as-yet unreleased movie, 'Carrie'. I've wondered what my shipmates thought as they saw me strolling along. 'Well, just another day on the Greene.'

I don't suppose Brian de Palma and Ridley Scott were hanging around Guantanamo Bay in 1967. I can only speculate that they may have been following me around to pick up some dreadful ideas. It would have provided a treasure trove for them.

So the corpsman somehow stole a jeep from somewhere and drove me to the Guantanamo Bay Naval Hospital which would be my home for a while.