(“Sittin on the dock of the bay, watching the tide roll away. Sittin on the dock of the bay, wasting time”)…Otis Redding

For Tuyet, Katrina, KaSandra, and Luc

my inspiration

"THE MIGRANT"

Chapter Twelve

Republic of Viet Nam, 7, December, 1968

1:30am

“I’ll see your half a buck and raise you a fiver, jack, what do you think about that, huh,” said Lance Corporal Larry Polen, slapping a ‘low five’ to his table neighbor, Corpsman Tony Yamamoka. They toasted his bold move by downing jelly-jar shots of JD, Larry managing to spill most of it into his lap. Knowing him, I was inclined to believe that the act was more deliberate than accidental; he really was kind of a weenie [Mental note here, ‘weenie’ as an adjective was not a candidate for ‘the list’, unless of course it was meant as an insult!]. Now five dollars was a pretty hefty bet for this group, it wasn’t like we were the Rockefellers playing at some posh club or anything close to that. No, we were just a rag tag gaggle of bored out of our mind jar-heads killing time, idly filling in the hours before the next bout of insanity.

“What are you so proud of Larry, you got nothing on top and I know you ain’t got nothing underneath. Hell half of Saigon knows that, you know how women talk boy,” snarled Lt. JG Aaron Walker, one of the five Medi-Vac pilots assigned to this FSSB (force service support group) unit. He wasn’t exactly the poster boy example of military esprit de corps. Tall for a chopper pilot, too tall if you stayed close to the rules, always out of uniform, trade mark colored shades, hair over the collar, and an ever-present five o’clock shadow. To say the least he was a tad unconventional, to say the most he was a royal pain in the keester for the CO. He glared at Cpl. Polen from over the top of his rectangle cut, rose colored shades, rocking back and forth on the Coca-Cola crate he was sitting on, watching to see if he flinched. Larry Polen, the polar opposite of the man across from him did not twitch a muscle, barely drew breath from what I could see, drummed the fingers of his right hand on his three down cards.

“You in or out.” He asked cool, calm, and collected?

Now I had seen this act a hundred times since arriving at this duty station a month ago, but I had to admit it never ceased to amaze me how this mouse of a man ALWAYS bested this self-centered lout. Apparently common sense was an option on the Walker model, which came standard with beauty, brawn and bravado.

“Ah man, he’s not bluffing, he has to have trips under there, I’m out,” said Lt. Walker as he shoved his hand towards the center, letting out an audible sigh of frustration. “Your play Ethan, maybe you can pull a couple more hearts from down under to go with the three you have topside and flush this weasel out!”

“Aaron, you folded with a pair of kings and queens showing, Polen doesn’t have squat, are ya completely daft man,” I hollered at the Lieutenant Junior Grade!

“You tell him Irish,” yelled 2nd Lt. Carla Cardinale, one of the surgical nurses and a regular at these card games. “What an ‘maroon’ Walker,” Carla said, borrowing a line from Bugs Bunny.

“And you have the nerve to bag on poor Larry about his tiny stones, gimme a break,” she laughed!

“Up yours dishwater,” LT Walker snapped back, weakly taking aim at her hair color.

“In your dreams buddy, you should be so lucky,” Carla shot back as she peeked at her hole cards one more time.

“Come on Ethan, its your bet, are you in or out,” she said, skillfully shielding her slightly bent hole cards with her right hand?

I stared at the pair of eight’s that I had showing, laying unimpressively next to a duce of hearts, a ten of diamonds, and the ace of clubs. Now I knew that my pair of eight’s had another sibling underneath and that three of a kind was a pretty darn good hand in seven-card stud. But, Cpl. Polen was awfully confident at this wee hour of the morning sitting on such a seemingly cold hand. And I was suddenly feeling very guilty about questioning Aaron Walker’s instincts! I peeked at my hole cards one more time, shielding them nicely, ala nurse Carla. Nope, looked like my silent prayer had gone unanswered, the water had not changed to wine, and neither of my other two cards had changed into an eight. So I decided to use the sense that the good lord had given me.

“I fold,” I said pushing my cards toward the pile of script in the center of the small table.

“Yeah, well if the altar boy here is nervous than so am I, count me out,” said Tony Yamamoka, tossing his cards, out of turn, into the pile as well.

Tony and I had been flying together with this Evac Squadron since the day we arrived in country six weeks ago. He was a good-natured guy, around my age, a foot shorter than I was but built like a power lifter, which came in handy given the duty we had pulled. Hopping off of helicopters and scampering around the countryside hauling wounded and worse back and forth had been a literal baptism of fire. Having someone like Tony around made the task tolerable. He would crack jokes the whole time we were under fire, carrying litters as fast and as gently as we could to the safety of the chopper and then racing back into the insanity to fetch another poor soul. He was able to keep us focused on what was at our fingertips, helped block out whatever was happening around us. In the process, making our entire world about six meters in diameter during the seven or eight, 2 to 3 minute dashes we performed routinely on each rescue mission. It was a gift he had, that was for true, one that I thanked God for each and every day.

“What is up with you guys, did someone hang a sign out front declaring this a ‘testosterone free zone’ or what,” Carla sighed. She looked at her cards again, she knew she had nothing, but she wanted to still be in when that weenie Larry Polen had to fold. And now he was going to take the biggest pot of the night and there was nothing she could do about it! She was pretty sure that his nothing was bigger than her nothing, so she leaned back against the tent support and pushed her cards into the pot with both hands.

“Take it Larry, looks like you’re the only one at the table with testicles tonight, at least I have a natural excuse,” she said looking disgustedly at Tony and me. Lance Cpl. Polen reached across the table and wrapped his two skinny arms around the pile of script, chits, i.o.u.’s, and losing hands. He pulled them into his personal comfort zone, a big triumphant grin spreading across his thin taut face.

“Pleasure doing business with y’all, I think this will be enough to turn in on tonight gents. Oh, and let’s not forget the generous contribution from the fairer sex as well, thank you kindly nurse Carla,” Larry Polen said slow and sweet, like pouring cold molasses from a mason jar.

“That’s Lt. Cardianle to you stumpy, and I hope you choke on it!”

“Now, now, let’s not get catty ‘lieutenant’ nurse Carla,” Cpl. Polen shot back.

Carla scrunched down low in her folding chair, extended her left leg as far as she could and kicked Larry in the balls under the table.

“Oooooooooo, you bitch,” squealed Cpl. Polen frantically reaching for his groin, spilling his treasures all over the tarpon floor and slamming his forehead onto the table.

“Meeeeooowwwww,” she giggled as she got up and walked towards the door.

“See you ladies in the morning, I’m gonna catch some sack time before reveille. Hope I didn’t scramble those eggs Larry, nitey nite sweet pea!” Lt. JG Aaron Walker hopped up on that cue and trotted after Nurse Carla.

“Good night girls, I think my luck is about to change, don’t wait up,” he said confidently as he went out the door into the dank night air.

The rickety wood framed door slammed behind him making a loud slapping noise that woke our newest roommate from his light slumber. Mitchell Rojas had joined the outfit a week before, replacing one of our door gunners, Rollie Lopez, who had been rotated back to the world after fifteen months in Viet Nam. Rollie (his real name was Raul), had been on the ‘short’ list for so long, that he had started to have the local street urchins take the first bite of his candy bars, just in case, what a nerd! Actually it was a well-known fact that the ‘shorter’ you got, the more superstitious you became, it was all relative. That kind of behavior would have really bothered me a lifetime ago, but since my battlefield inauguration, a scant two hours after arriving in country, I had become numb to it all, if not down right callused.

That was a harsh day in my short life to date. Twenty of us, ‘newbies’ they called us, were standing by a transport waiting to board when a loud explosion shook the ground and peppered us with debris and shrapnel. A jeep that was parked across the road from us, jumped straight up into the air, a good fifteen or twenty feet. I had been watching that very jeep the whole time I was standing in line with the others, getting a visual lay of the land so to speak. There had been two soldiers sitting in the front when a kid wearing a Red Sox jacket, a little boy maybe nine or ten years old, walked up to them carrying a puppy dog. I was watching as the driver reached down to pet the animal when the satchel charge strapped to the child went off. It had been concealed under the foul garment. I could remember later thinking callously. I hate the Red Sox! The explosion left a six-foot crater in the ground, the jeep a crumbled mess, and it’s occupants scattered around the perimeter in torn and tattered pieces, the child and puppy vaporized. If that weren’t chaos enough, three of the newbies standing in the very same line as Tony and I had been killed by the shrapnel that sprayed across the road in our direction. They had been in this country for one hundred twenty-seven minutes, just long enough to become a statistic for replay on the six o’clock news back home. My ears rang for days, but I had sustained no other physical injury. But I did learn lesson number one on day number one in country, and that was that nobody was guaranteed a tomorrow! So, as far as Rollie’s superstitions were concerned, I understood all to well.

Mitchell was nothing like his predecessor, he was in fact the exact opposite when it came to personalities. Rollie was robust, full of life, the first in line for whatever the in-crowd was up for, and Mitchell was shy, quiet and unassuming, the kind of guy that wouldn’t say crap if he had a mouthful. At least this was the man that we had come to know over the last eight days. Not exactly what you would expect from someone tasked with blowing the crud out of anything or anyone that got near the Medi-Vac or it’s crew. Now that I think about it, I had wondered right from the start how someone like him drew such hazardous duty. I mean he was not much bigger than the weapon he wielded. And if you added up the stacks of ammo boxes with the 50MM machine gun, the weaponry out weighed him by at least a hundred pounds. If it were not for the fact that he was tied to the airframe when he fired the gun, the chattering weapon would have dragged him around behind it as it recoiled wildly.

“Hey man, what’s with all the noise amigos,” Mitchell asked sleepily, looking in my direction.

“Games just ending Mitch, go back to sleep,” I said.

“Yeah, OK,” he replied, rolling over, turning his back to the room.

“Thanks for the contribution to the Cpl. Polen retirement fund fellow marines,” Larry said while he scooped all of his winnings into his helmet. He tucked the hat under his arm and made his way out of the tent and towards the non-com quarters. Tony threw an open canteen at him, and a stream of water arced across the doorway as the canteen hit the canvas wall.

“EAT ME LARRY,” Tony yelled from his bunk, bending over to unlace his jump boots, getting ready for lights out.

I walked over to my own bunk after I tugged on the chain from the ceiling outlet and cut the juice to the bulb. The new day had officially begun a couple of hours ago, but it sort of ran into the day before, which had sort of run into the week before. Lesson number two in country had come over time, I had discovered during the last six weeks that warfare was ninety-five percent agonizing boredom, accentuated by five percent of sheer terror. Secretly, down deep, I was rooting for boredom to win out over terror in the months to come. I scooted my jump boots underneath my cot, knelt beside it, and genuflected. I prepared to recite the prayer that I had said every night since I was a small boy. My Grandmother had taught it to my mother and she had taught it to Shannon and I. Of course each generation added a little something of their own, but it was basically the same as when Grandmother brought it over from her village in Ireland. I cleared my throat and listened for Tony and Mitchell, they had heard this so often, they had started to whisper along with me a couple of nights ago. I wasn’t sure if they knew that I knew, but no matter, the Lord accepts even the curious converts.


If you hear me Lord, if you have some time
Let me thank you for your blessings so kind
Let me praise you for the grace that you give
Let me share your love wherever I live
God bless Mothers & Fathers & Grandparents too
Aunties and Uncles and friends old and new
Puppy dogs, kitty cats, the whole petting zoo
Father please love us till we come home to you

Amen


I genuflected once more and crawled into my rack.

“Thanks Ethan,” whispered Tony from across the tent.

“Si, gracias ese, gracias la Senor,” yawned a weary Mitchell Rojas.

“No worries bunkies,” I said, pulling the heavy wool blanket up to my chin so I could sweat myself to sleep.


3:30am   WOOSH, THUMP, THUMP, THUMP…The tent was suddenly illuminated with brilliant white light as the flares exploded high overhead. We all hit the floor and rolled under our cots, pulling our helmets onto our heads as quickly as we could. Holding our breath we waited for the mortar rounds to start falling in and around the camp. One minute, two minutes, three than five, no sound, the light beginning to fade as the flares burned out. We continued to wait for the all clear signal, you never knew about these things. Sometimes Charlie just likes to mess your our minds. Another few minutes still nothing, finally it was pitch black out and then one by one, lights began to flicker on around the camp. Yep, Mr. Charlie was just messin with us again, but better messed with than messed up I thought. We got back into bed without saying a word to one another, sadly these kinds of shows had become routine.


6:30am

Reveille came a little later here than back at boot camp. There was no rush lately, we hadn’t had any casualties to speak of for a couple of weeks, thank God! Once the PA system finished its announcement I turned onto by back and stared at the ceiling for a second. I had kicked off the wool blanket in my sleep trying to escape the home made sauna and lay there in my government-issue skivvies, bathed in sweat. My tongue felt like it was wrapped in bacon and I made that smacking noise everyone does when they first wake up. Jack Daniel’s was not as smooth as Jameson was, but then good whiskey was always better than fair bourbon Uncle Chuck would say. I swung my legs out over the edge of my cot and let my bare feet come in contact with the canvas floor. Tony and Mitchell were already back from the latrine and showers and were lacing up their boots.

“Get enough rest there buzz,” Tony said sarcastically.

Apparently I may have been snoring ever so slightly, a trait I picked up from my mother oddly enough? My mother loved to sleep, and she could sleep through an earthquake I reckoned. But the woman would snore softly on her back and drool slightly on her stomach. Da used to say he would have to buy stock in Sears Roebuck with all the pillowcases he bought each year. The only way she slept peacefully and without incident was tucked snuggly onto my father’s shoulder. That was the best way to fall asleep with a woman my Da once told me. But sonny he said, after a while the blood settles in your arm and it’s the pins and needle treatment for ye. Oh Ethan, the tingling so intense it could drive a person daft enough to chew his own arm off. Not that I’d ever need the advise personally, but I stored it away to share with others should the opportunity ever present itself!

“Slept like a baby Yama-lama-ding-dong,” I teased back. He wasn’t amused and patted his sidearm to let me know. Sometimes you could joke with Tony and sometimes it was dangerous, he definitely had a chip on his shoulder from way back somewhere in life?

“Chow time homeboys, let’s go see what the mess sergeant backed over for breakfast,” Mitchell said, distracting our tense roommate. Tony smiled at Mitchell’s joke mostly because it was unusual for Mitchell to speak at all.

“OK Mitchy boy, let’s eat,” he replied as he finished tying his bootlace.

“You coming Ethan?”

“I’ll be right along, need to brush this rug off of my tongue and take a cool shower, save me some road kill you guys!”

I grabbed my shaving kit, my towel and some fresh underwear and followed my two friends out of the tent. They went east to the mess tent and I went west to the showers, it was already hot out, this would be my first Christmas away from home, my first Christmas without snow, this whole Viet Nam experience would be a series of firsts and lasts I reckoned.


8:30am

After some fairly decent chow in the breakfast mess, we went about our daily chores. We took about twenty minutes to square away our quarters and then went over to the chopper to check our gear. Tony and I sorted through the first aid kits and took inventory, making sure none of the meds or any other essentials had grown legs in the night and found their way into some junkie’s locker box. Occasionally Mr. Charlie himself would sneak in and walk off with whatever they could, they had people suffering as well, it was hard to blame them. Mitchell uncovered and cleaned his weapon, sitting cross-legged in the chopper; he broke down the gun and cleaned it like he was bathing his child. It always amazed me how beautiful fine machinery could be, and how ugly a purpose it could have. Being an objector I did not carry a weapon, but I understood the necessity for them in man’s world.

“This is one bad ass gun Ethan,” Mitchell said to me as he oiled the barrel of the weapon. “I can grease dozens of dinks with this mutha ese! It’s a beautiful thing man, a beautiful thing.”

“Come on Mitch, you know it bothers me when you talk like that,” I said preaching.

“It’s not really you, those are just words you heard from someone else, I can see it on your face that you’re not comfortable saying them.”

“Leave him be Ethan, we need him sharp and dangerous man, you don’t want to screw up his aim do you,” Tony scolded me!

“That’s not what I meant to do,” I started to reply.

“YEAH, BUT YOU ARE FUCKING WITH HIS HEAD, SO KNOCK IT OFF,” Tony said getting right in my face.

Lesson number three in country, war is war and peace is peace, and never the twain shall meet. I had pushed his fear button and I knew it, so I quietly backed down and continued inventorying the meds bag. Tony stood there watching me, waiting for me to kick this up a notch, I had more sense than that. We needed to be tight as a unit and fighting amongst ourselves wasn’t a good tactic in that regard.

“Sorry guys, I’ll try and leave the preaching for Sunday’s after I get my collar,” I said. “And hopefully before I get my wings,” I added trying to get Tony to ease up a bit.

“Man, how did you end up here anyway,” Tony said disgustedly, shoving me playfully as he walked past me heading aft to check the stokes?

“I was drafted, just like you!”

“Hey Ethan,” Mitchell said in a loud whisper. I looked over his way.

“Yeah?”

“I’m sorry amigo, but he’s right ya know. I gotta keep my head in the game, for all of us. I want to get home and see my Louisa and my little boy Miguel, ya know?”

“I know Mitch, forgive me, bad habit of mine. I feel like I can read people, it’s weird.

Sometimes I feel as though I can see right into a person’s heart, know just what they are feeling. I don’t know if its intuition or wishful thinking, but whatever it is, it’s very real.” Mitchell nodded and looked out the door to see where Tony was.

“It’s funny Mitchell, I have had this sense all of my life. I knew that my father was going to die, I knew that I would be coming here, and I know that I will be going home. These weren’t hunches, I KNEW THEM, like reading tomorrow’s newspaper?” I looked at my friend and I could see he was looking at me strangely.

“Sorry Mitch, maybe it’s the road kill from breakfast talking, don’t pay any attention to me, I’m just rambling,” I said getting back to my work.

“No ese, I too believe that God works through people, I’ve seen this myself, I have. Madre Dios Ethan, it was a miracle, we all saw it. I watched Him save my Miguel with the heart of another child. I watched while my woman, my Louisa held our dead baby in her arms and sobbed. I watched this tiny nina, maybe only a couple years older than my son, come to her and bring him back with a kiss and a smile. I saw this Ethan, I saw this myself,” he said in a low voice, his eyes moist and glassy. Mitchell sniffled and wiped his eyes and face with his shirtsleeve. He stood up and placed the butt of the big gun on the floor of the chopper and pulled hard on the breech several times quickly, working the oil into the weapon. “I know that story sounds weird, maybe even silly. But its true ese, it really happened to us. One day maybe you’ll come see us after we get back to the world, when you become ‘Father Kelly’ you’ll come and bless my home and my family, OK?”

“Sure Mitch, sure, it’ll be my pleasure buddy,” I replied, watching him re-cover the machine gun and jump out of the aircraft.

“I’m hittin the head homey,” Mitchell said, slapping my shoulder as he passed by. I nodded in acknowledgement and zipped the meds bag closed.

“Let’s go to the drugstore Tony, inventory says that we’re light three morphine set ups and some liquid stitches (super glue).



8, December: 11:45am     I can barely stand the humidity, just breathing starts the sweat glands into overdrive! It would be almost bearable if there were just a hint of a breeze, but no such luck, the air hung dank and dead calm. At least Mr. Charlie had sense enough to stay underground safe in the cool womb of mother earth. While we interlopers’ sweltered topside, the elements working on draining the might from our fight so to speak. Tony was reading a stack of Fantastic Four comics in his underwear on his bunk. He had a green sweat towel over his head under his Orioles baseball cap. Mitchell was lying on his bunk fully dressed, both his arms crossed over his face cat napping. He didn’t look near as uncomfortable as the rest of us, barely sweating at all.

“Hey Mitchell, how do you do that man,” I asked, hoping he was still awake?

“It’s not hard amigo, I learned this as a child working in the lettuce fields. You just wear an undershirt beneath a long sleeved shirt, a bandana around your neck, and keep your head and eyes covered. You will sweat like everyone else, but the layer of clothing underneath stays nice and damp, keeping your body temperature from rising and your energy and strength from escaping into the air.”

“Gracias man!”

“Por nada homey.”

“Chow time boys,” Tony said as he pulled on his pants.

“How can you eat in heat like this,” I asked?

They didn’t call him Tony Baloney for nothing; the man had a stomach made of cast iron! I think that he would have been a fine addition to the eating machines I left back in Albany. I do believe that Paulie and Kenny would have been proud of this character!

“I can eat anything, anywhere, anytime, as long as there is gravy or Tabasco at the table, then whatever they’re serving is one of my favorites!” Tony said with more than a little pride.

Tony slipped on his unlaced boots and grabbed a shirt from the clothesline we had running down the center of the tent. You had to keep the line inside because it rained at least three times a day around here. He gave the shirt a quick sniff. As long as it didn’t smell like vomit, it was wearable. The rules of etiquette were slightly different in the forward areas. Mitch and I trudged slowly after him. I wonder what the mess sergeant had run over for lunch?


2:30pm     “Any mail today Lt. Walker,” Mitchell and I asked in unison as we passed his quarters? Aaron Walker was sitting out front in on a lawn chair in a swimsuit and a surfer tee shirt, you know, the kind the Beach Boys wore, wide red and white horizontal stripes. He looked more like he was on vacation in Malibu then flying Hueys in Viet damn Nam, pardon my French, now there's another entry for the list! I had already added at least five pages since arriving. Why, by the end of my tour there may be multiple volumes! I decided then and there all future entries would be mental only.

“Sorry girls, your momma didn’t send no cookies this week Kelly. Oh yeah, and she didn’t send any tacos either Rojas,” Lt. Walker said acidly! We must have disturbed his beauty nap so we apologized.

“Sorry dude, didn’t mean to frazzle your karma, like wow man,” we chimed in together, running the rest of the way in case Aaron had a rock nearby. We slowed down as we reached the tent and looked back over our shoulders to see if he was following, nope, safe!

“Now what do you want to do, it won’t be suppertime for another couple of hours,” Mitchell asked.

These slow periods between actions were murder, oh not actual murder that came with the actions, but no less deadly to the general morale of the unit. We had finished a days work in about three hours this morning and we didn’t want to get too far ahead or we’d have nothing to do tomorrow. I looked through the screen window over at Tony who was sitting on my locker box.

“Hey, three flies up?”

“Yeah, I’m in,” he replied.

“What’s that,” Mitchell asked?

“Baseball my Spanish friend, that’s baseball!”

“I’m Mexican, and don’t you need bases and a field and a whole bunch of other guys to play this game?”

“Ahhh, that’s the beauty of this game. It’s so simple, you can adjust it to fit any situation. It is quite possibly the most perfect game God ever created, aside from foot races of course, but those are no fun, nothing to swing a bat at,” I explained.

Tony came out of the tent with our gloves (I had two, Da’s and mine), a couple of balls and our only bat, a 34 that I had bought at the PX in Da Nang. We headed toward the other side of the camp just past the mess tent and the post-op area. And as we passed by the nurses quarters Lt. Carla jumped out of her bunk and ran after us.

“I’m playing too,” she yelled.

“Oh wait a sec, lemme get my Dodger cap,” she hollered, stopping quickly to lean back inside of her tent and lift her baseball cap from its perch over the door.

“OK, now I’m ready!”

“You’re killing me Nurse Carla, I mean the Dodgers, really? Oh well, praise God it wasn’t a RedSox cap you went back for, cause then there would be trouble for sure!”

“In your ear Kelly, you Yankee fans are all the same, the Babe’s been dead for years, and Mantle was over rated, ya big Irish goofball,” she taunted back. I ignored her insults and looked over at Mitchell.

“You see Mitchy my boy, only baseball could breathe the life back into a day as dull as this. Stay close to me son, and I’ll be teaching about a whole new world,” I said to him as I put my arm around his shoulder and blathered on about Yogi, DiMaggio and Mantle.

5:00 pm    

   The game had ended in a tie, not because each side had scored an equal number of runs, but because Tony had pulled his .45 automatic and threatened to shoot the next batter that scored during our last inning rally. The game was called in the name of pacifism or sheer cowardice, you choose, never the less nobody was killed so everyone won, seemed like the right call given the circumstances. I guess you could say Tony was a sore loser, a good thing in wartime, a not so good thing in peacetime; hopefully he would outgrow it by the time we rotated home! We tossed all of the gear into the tent as we passed by, and then went to the latrine to wash up for supper. I wonder what the mess sergeant had run over for dinner tonight?

7:30pm

I rolled over onto my stomach in my bunk and continued writing my letter to my little sister.

“So, like I said, I really like the picture of you and mom sitting on the front porch steps at home, thanks for sending it to me. And no, I have not seen any rats the size of small dogs over here. But as long as the subject of dogs has come up. Yes it is true, some of the local people raise dogs for food. I was kind of grossed out by it at first, but then it’s not like there is a supermarket just around the corner over here either. People do what they need to in order to survive and provide for their families. I learned real quickly that families are the same everywhere. They may look different, dress different, talk different, and eat different foods, but they all act the same. The kids all giggle the same way as you and I did, and the parents all smile the same way that Mom and Da do. I mean did, oh, I’m sorry Shannon, sometimes I still think Da is here with us.

Don’t say anything to Mom or Uncle Liam, but sometimes I talk with Da. When its dark and quiet, and I’m pretty sure everyone is sleeping or occupied, I kind of chat with him. I don’t actually hear him answer me at least not with words that I can actually hear, but I swear girl, I can sometimes feel an answer inside of me. I mean I feel all warm and I shudder like someone has walked right through me, and it makes me smile, makes me feel like I’ve just been hugged. I wish I was home with all of you right now, I wish I could hug you and tuck you in like I did before all of this. But don’t worry ye wee chiseller, I’ll be home soon enough and I’ll make up for all of the nights I’ve missed. Keep up with your studies sis, and help Mom as best you can, at least try not to drive her completely mad! Kiss and hug everyone for me, and tell Mom there is a letter for her on the way as well.


Merry Christmas, XOXOXOXO, your loving brother Ethan”


I blew on the ink a little to make sure it was dry enough to fold and place into an envelope. After reading it through once more I folded it neatly as was my custom, and then slipped it into the pre-addressed envelope. I gave the mail a little kiss and then placed it on top of my locker box so I would remember to give it to Cpl. Polen when he came over for the nightly card game. Looking at my watch I saw that the gang would start arriving within the hour, I decided I had time for a short catnap, maybe it would improve my luck.

9:30pm     Sleepily I swiped at my face, something was tickling my nose. I opened my eyes but there was something covering them. Reaching up I pulled off the obstruction, it was one of Tony’s scummy sweat socks, beautiful, I had slept through the start of the game, and been poisoned at the same time! I tossed the sock at Tony who was busy looking at the five cards in his hand.

“Look what the cat dragged in,” Tony said ducking in time for the sock to fly past him and onto Mitchell’s cot.

“Smooth Yamamoka, now I’ve got the tweener seat,” I whined!

“You snooze, you loose, you know the house rules Ethan,” Larry Polen said smugly.

The tweener seat was the chair between Nurse Carla and Aaron Walker.Whoever sat there was subjected to all of his grab ass thrusts and her less than lady like parries. It was a constant battle with them and pointless really, as she always ended up with him at the conclusion of the night. In the mean time I would be pinched and jabbed black and blue, talked through and kissed over the entire game. I looked at Aaron and decided my plea would fall onto deaf ears with him, so, I turned Carla’s way.

“Hey Lieutenant, would you mind changing seats with me tonight? I mean we both know you two are gonna leave here together anyway, can’t we just dispense with the Passion play this once, please,” I begged, wearing my most convincing altar boy expression? She looked at me for a long time, holding up the game.

“Hey Carla, are you in or out,” snapped Cpl. Polen?

She ignored him and continued to look at me, rocking her head from shoulder to shoulder like a puppy. She put her cards down and then placed both her hands on my face and kissed me softly on my mouth.

“Nope,” she said pulling away from me.

“He cheats when I sit next to him. He keeps trying to look at my whole cards while he tries to cop a feel,” she added.

“OK Larrykins, I’m in, whatcha got there sweet pea?” Larry showed his trips and Carla showed him the finger, it was going to be a long night!

11:30pm   The game broke up early tonight, Cpl. Polen’s lucky streak was still on and when three of the four cards he drew were aces to go with the one he was holding, Tony decided he had to be cheating. It didn’t matter that Tony had been dealing, he was sure that Larry was just sneaky enough to pull it off. So before Tony could find his sidearm and permanently even the odds at the game, Nurse Carla, in a rare showing of compassion, leaped across the table and dragged the protesting Corporal out of the tent and off to the safety of anywhere but here! Actually, by the look on Larry’s face, I believe that he may have been more frightened of Lt. Carla than Tony. After all, Tony was mostly talk when it came to idle threats, and Carla, well? Aaron was right behind the two of them, and so the game was officially cancelled, there was no way he and Carla would be leaving her tent before reveille! Tony switched out the light and hopped onto his cot, “Goodnight girls!”

“Night Tony, night Ethan,” Mitchell said pulling his blanket up to his chin.

“G’night all,” I answered.

“Hey Ethan, don’t forget the prayer ese,” Mitchell said in the dark.

“I won’t Mitchy, in a minute OK?”

“OK, hey Ethan, are you really going to be a priest when you get back to the world?”

“Yeah, think so, why do you ask?”

“Well, that’s just it. Why do you want to be one of those guys?” I suddenly realized that nobody had ever asked me that before, “Good question Mitchy, I’ve wondered why myself many times.”

“It sort of comes to this. My whole life I have been taught that God is in my life. As I grew up I began to actually feel that he was, and didn’t need to be told as often. And now, at this point in my life, I can really feel Him here with me.”

“There is a purpose for me, and I can’t say for certain that as a priest it will be revealed, but it’s where my faith seems to be leading me.”

“So to answer your question, yeah, I really am going to be a priest when I get back to the world, when we all get back to the world.”

“Horale Father Kelly, horale.”

“Hey Kelly, you know, I don’t think that you can pitch in the majors if you’re in the clergy, too many Sunday games,” Tony teased.

“You’re right about that Tony, but I didn’t really have a decent curveball anyway.”

“That’s right, and your fastball was weak too ya noodle armed geek,” he said.

“Love you too Tony boy,” I teased back weakly, I thought my fastball was pretty good!

“Ethan, will you add my family to the prayer tonight,” Mitchell asked?

“Sure, you know I will.”

“Hey Mitchell, tell me more about the time your boy was revived?”

“He wasn’t revived ese, he was returned Ethan, returned from the dead, no doctors, no treatment, he was returned to us by la Senor!”

“I felt Him there with us Ethan. Just like you said you could feel him in your life now. He was in that little girl that day, I think that he is still with her.”

I started the nightly prayer and was sure to add a request to bless and keep Mitchell’s family in the Lords good graces. The fellas prayed along with me, reciting the parts that they remembered, and I wondered when we were through about the things that Mitchell had talked about. I made a mental note to find some time tomorrow to chat with him more about it. Like as not, we were in for yet another ho- hum day. I held my arm up to the screened window and squinted trying to make out the time. It was 11:55pm, lights out at the end of this day; I wonder what the mess sergeant will run over for breakfast tomorrow?

("Tell me over and over and over again my friend, you don’t believe, we’re on the eve of destruction”)…Barry McGuire

For Tuyet, Katrina, KaSandra, and Luc

my inspiration

"THE MIGRANT"

Chapter Eleven

An Hoa, Republic of Viet Nam, November, 1968...Somewhere near Dodge City

They had been out humping the bush since daybreak after dropping in at the LZ about four or five clicks from the area known as Dodge City. It was a 36 square kilometer area south of DaNang and about twenty or so kilometers from where they had started from in An Hoa. The NVA and Mr. Charlie were thought to be thick in this place and the brass had decided that the Marines would be cleaning house big-time here. They had seen nothing but water buffalo, bugs, and skeeters all day, and then the daily downpour came at sunset. The rain would fall in big fat drops so thick that you could not see but a foot or two in any direction. And with the humidity, you actually were sweating as well. It was no wonder that the chicks here had such beautiful skin. If someone were to bottle this place, they’d make a fortune selling the world’s greatest moisturizer.

“Just like back home in Biloxi, Mississippi,” JoJo Cole would say in his smart-ass tone. He was a real pain, but usually he was more funny than irritating, and that was a nice diversion from the steady diet of fear and boredom. It was shortly after the rain stopped and the night fell that things got interesting, not the first encounter for most of them, but the last for some of them.

Junior lay very still in the tall elephant grass. He stared up at the night sky, a pitch-black backdrop freckled brilliantly by a million twinkling stars. It was the most beautiful sight he had ever seen. You would never get a chance to see something like this in east LA he thought. The corners of his mouth began to pull his face up into a smile. It was the kind of smile that he usually saved for his kid sisters (Sonja and Leticia), his Mom and Grand-pop, his Tia Irma’s homemade tamales, and of course, the current Playmate of the Month.

He lay there, quiet and still, sweating bullets in the heat of the night, watching the stars blink back at him. A shooting star suddenly passed by quickly, falling from the sky like a ripe apple from a tree. The giggle that was about to escape his lips was stifled, as a large hand slapped over his mouth. Junior’s eyes snapped wide open almost bugging out of his head with the fear that he was about to be wasted by a VC ‘crawler’. He sighed, a loud exhale through his nose as he recognized Hightower.

The huge Texan’s face was grotesquely camouflaged with alternating stripes of olive green and black paint, and was one inch from his daydreaming friend’s. Hightower didn’t speak, but Junior understood his meaning by the look in his eyes. He was to be very quiet, make no sound. Obviously they were not alone! Junior blinked an affirmative to his buddy’s silent warning, placing one hand over Hightower’s and reaching for his M16 with the other. Wesley Hightower had been sent out on a solo recon detail after the firefight about a half-hour earlier. He let go of Junior’s face and rolled to his right, crawling quickly to where Gunny and D-Day the unit's current radio operator (aka Dave Davis) were hunkered.

“What you got for me boy?” Sgt. Marquette whispered loudly.

Hightower slid in close beside the two men and removed his helmet. He took the sweat towel from around his neck, dried the top of his head and replaced his cover back onto his head.

“We’re in deep shit Gunny! Charlie's crawling all around us, I had to grease one just to get back here,” he said still trying to catch is breath.

“I don’t know where that dip shit butter bar was trying to lead us, but he damn sure fucked things up real good this time!” Sergeant Marquette looked back at the frustrated grunt and scowled at him. He was about to reprimand him when a sing-song voice broke the hushed silence.

“Hell white boy, show some respect for the dead, he’s one of you ain’t he? All that pretty blond hair, crying shame, that’s what that is, mother fuckin cryin shame,” said PFC Joseph Cole from the other side of the muddy ditch.

“CAN IT JoJo, you trying to draw fire down on this position boy!” Gunny spat back at the soldier in a harsh whisper, his teeth clenched tightly.

“Son, that kind of talk ain’t gonna get us outta this jam now is it?”

“I know your momma didn’t teach you none of them words.”

They stared back at the bloody remains of Lieutenant Daniel Sheridan, their recently deceased platoon leader. He had been the latest in a string of 90-day wonders that routinely showed up in country. These young officers were commonly referred to as ‘butter bars’ because of the cloth rank insignia on their uniforms (shiny gold lieutenant bars weren’t a very good idea in the field). However among the combat vets the term was used more sarcastically, depicting the fact that these newbies didn’t know shit, and that meant they were a danger to whoever had to follow them. Typically you saluted and yes sir’d these guys but took direction from your platoon sergeant, the seasoned leadership in the field.

“Sorry Sergeant Percy. I didn’t mean nothin by it,” JoJo said flatly.

“Boy don’t you get familiar with me, I ain’t no kin to you. Refer to me as sergeant or gunny, do not call me by my Christian name, you hear!”

“Yes sergeant, loud and clear,” JoJo replied, getting up onto one knee and looking more alert.

“Wesley, get your redneck Texas ass over here and give me some details son,” Gunny said still glaring at JoJo.

Junior watched and listened to all of this while trying to be aware of every noise and movement around him. It was these times when all of your senses were heightened, when you could hear centipede’s footsteps, or a mouse fart. Still lying on his back, he released the safety with his right index finger and held the M16 a little tighter. Maybe not the wisest maneuver given these close quarters, but better ready and steady, than cautious and nauseous he decided. Junior smiled remembering the cadence drill from boot camp, “this my rifle, this is my gun, this ones for business, this ones for fun,” they would chant over and over while marching around the barracks in their skivvies one hand shouldering their M16 and the other holding their johnson. Tonight Junior and the rest of the platoon kept both hands on the business end of their M16’s. He turned his head to the right and could see Gunny talking into the radio handset, Hightower, Davis and Cole kneeling around him, each of them scanning the bush looking for signs of Mr. Charlie.

He set his gaze on the body of Lieutenant Sheridan and studied the stillness of it; it was almost like looking at a painting, like it wasn’t real. He turned his head to the left and suddenly everything was real again. Only five feet from where he rested in the muddy grass was another body. This one wasn’t in quite so peaceful a position as the lieutenant’s had been. This one was all turned and twisted, badly bruised, missing a part or two here and there, gizzards and giblets hanging from it’s middle and such, like a turkey freshly slaughtered for the feast. This one, not even an hour before, had been telling Junior a joke about the Easter Bunny, Cupid and the Tooth Fairy standing at the urinal in the officer's latrine. He couldn’t remember the punch-line, all he could remember was that he had been walking through this muck right next to this one when the mortar round slammed into the ground directly in front of them.

All he could remember was the ringing in his ears and the searing pain in his head as he rolled from side to side trying to make it stop. Seeing the tracers light up the night, whizzing by him, brilliant green and red streaks of light, it was almost beautiful. He could not hear the incoming rounds or the screams of the guys around him, the urgent directions hollered by his platoon sergeant, or the thump thump thump of tree-line mortar rounds as they rained deadly razor sharp fleshettes onto the ground and into the mud or bodies of the targets they found. All he could remember was that this twisted mass of flesh and bone lying near him had been his friend since day one at boot camp.

The guy had been with him through thick and thin, had carried his drunken behind out of many a tight spot, held him by the collar while he puked into his locker-box, and studied with him late after taps to help him get ready for his GED test. All he could remember was that this one was his friend, Angel Martinez. Junior, Angel, and Hightower were tight, the three amigos baby. Junior turned his head away and looked at the night sky again. Somehow it wasn’t as beautiful anymore. Someone was going to pay for this alright, oh yeah, someone was going to pay. Junior pulled back the lever on his weapon putting a round into the chamber, and set the switch to automatic. Most definitely, there was going to be some payback tonight!

The Huey banked to the left slightly and then leveled out flying at one hundred and fifteen knots, about one hundred meters above the trees below. It was a clear morning, not a cloud in the sky and nothing much happening below either from what the Air Cavalry Captain could see from his jockey seat. He adjusted the frequency on the radio located in the center of the control console and put a hand to his ear. They usually flew with the side doors open and so there was always a lot of racket to talk over.

“Foxhunt leader to posse, we’re getting close girls, we’ll circle once and drop in two at a time for extraction, Medi-Vacs first as usual,” Captain Wallace barked into the headset microphone.

“Lock and load, and try not to grease any of the good guys y’all. I don’t want to have to write any more FF letters home, OK?” he pleaded.

FF letters were sent to families explaining that their loved one had been killed or wounded by friendly fire. Captain Wallace wondered if any of these letters were ever actually mailed, as they had to be cleared by the brass first, and given the current popularity of the war, well, it wouldn't surprise me if those letters were lost on purpose.

“Roger that boss man, we have removed the blindfold from Corporal Parrish as instructed, that should help, but we aren’t responsible for those crossed eyes of his,” joked the last of the eight Huey pilots to check in.

“Real funny Garvey, that’ll cost you a Bud or two when we get back, over,” Captain Wallace replied. The sun was rising fast and high behind the squadron of Huey helicopters as they raced above the tree line toward the battle weary marines just a few minutes ahead. The shadows of the helicopters stretched long and lean across the countryside as they flew in formation, like a small pack of wild ‘mechanical’ ducks heading south for the winter. Small arms fire began peppering the sky around the Hueys and they climbed another hundred meters to a safer altitude.

“Foxhunt leader to Recon leader, pop some smoke Gunny, we’re getting close, over,” Captain Wallace said into his com-set. No reply, he repeated his order.

“Foxhunt leader to Recon leader, I say again, blow some smoke, do you copy, over?” There was a little loud crackling in his ear, but the Huey pilot could hear a response coming.

“Recon leader, to Foxhunt leader, little busy down here, this will be a hot LZ, I repeat, this will be a hot LZ, over,” came the voice of Sergeant Percy Marquette.

“Roger that Gunny, what’s the current situation, over.”

“Charlie has us pinned in a rice paddy about 300 yards from the original LZ, you’ll have to hover, too wet to land. Got two KIA’s, five badly wounded, and fifteen of Uncle Sam’s nephews keeping the dinks off of their buddies, they’re cold, hungry, and anxious, me included, over,” Percy said into the radio, the sound of automatic weapons blaring in the background.

“Roger that Gunny, keep your heads down, we’re coming in with the mini guns first and spraying the perimeter, do you copy, over?”

“Aye-aye Captain, give em hell sir, out!”

Captain Wallace looked over at his co-pilot and nodded, he then looked back over his shoulder at the door-gunner on the M60 gun that was side-mounted in the belly of the helicopter. A twenty year-old Private smiled at him chewing nervously on a thick wad of bubble gum and gave him the thumbs up sign. The Huey pilot turned back around in his seat and looked straight ahead at the hilly countryside, knowing that they were about to clear those hills and descend into a hornets nest of live fire and confusion. He held his breath a second and prayed for mercy for all, and for forgiveness for the lives he would take this day.

“Foxhunt leader to posse, you all heard the man, we got ants at the picnic.”

“Butch, Duke, Sundance, stay on my six and follow me in over the rise and over to the area around the red smoke yonder, copy?”

The three Huey pilots all acknowledged receipt of the orders as they followed Captain Wallace over the rise in attack formation. The red smoke that signified a hot LZ could be seen just to the left of their position. The ground-fire was heavy and everyone hoped that Charlie didn't have any RPG’s (rocket propelled grenades). If prayers were really heard then they would only have to deal with small arms weapons thought Captain Wallace, reassuring himself. He angled his helicopter toward the ground, the business side of the Huey ablaze with the action of the murderous fire from the M60 gun, hundreds of shell casings falling to the earth as the deadly projectiles sought out targets on the ground below. In a few minutes he and his crew will have put more minerals into the area than a thousand years of natural evolution. The Hueys circled in and out of the area surrounding the billowing red smoke for about fifteen minutes, cutting down grass, trees, bushes, and whatever or whoever crossed the path of their deadly purpose.

When Captain Wallace decided that the risk was minimal he ordered in the Medi-Vacs. The choppers tasked with providing cover for the pick up circled the area looking for signs of trouble. They darted around the perimeter, in close and then out wide just in case Charlie was trying to set up a mortar attack on the LZ. This morning their luck was good, or more precisely, Captain Wallace’s prayers had been heard.

“Foxhunt leader to Recon leader, how’s it going down there Gunny, over?”

“Going fine Captain, just what the doctor ordered sir!”

“Roger that Gunny, just another day at the office.”

The Huey gun-ships continued to patrol the perimeter while the Medi-vacs hovered near the rice paddy and the grunts carried their dead and wounded to the aircraft. Junior and Hightower were zipping up the body bag that held their buddy Angel, the wind from the helicopter rotors flattening the tall grass all around them. Junior was looking at his hands, they were covered with Angel’s blood after picking up what was left of him and stuffing it all into that heavy rubber bag. He was clenching his fists so tight that the blood oozed up from between his fingers, his body shook violently with frustrated anger, he finally screamed as loud as he could, “Nooooooo!”

Only Hightower could hear the cry, muffled by the racket of the hovering aircraft. Junior fell to his knees sitting back on the heels of his jump-boots, he slumped forward, arms resting on his thighs, and put his face into his bloody hands. He sobbed uncontrollably in that spot as Hightower stood over him, his big paw stroking his friend’s head and neck. The helicopter may have drowned out the sound of Junior’s anguish, but everyone looking out of the transport upon the scene could feel the weight of his frustration and desperation carried through the air in his silent primal scream. This was a life changing moment for everyone, how could it be any less. The memory of this action would haunt each of them, it would make men or monsters, only time would tell. In these few moments they had been exposed to the cruelest of diseases, hatred, a cancer that closed minds and hardened hearts. Cruel given that it was self-inflicted, and came with a cure that was always at hand. Cruel in that the cure was difficult to administer, because it required a change of heart, a willingness to forgive.

“Yo, Hightower, pick up Junior and let’s go man, let the corpsmen take Angel onto the sandman’s sled,” JoJo pleaded with the big Texan. Wesley looked over at JoJo and fought the urge to frag the smart-ass prick.

“Yeah, OK,” he said, and he leaned over to help Junior get to his feet.

“Lets go, lets go, lets go,” yelled the door-gunner, waiving them toward the Medi-Vac nearest them. Junior did not want to leave without Angel, and he struggled a bit with Hightower at first.

"Leave him man, the corpsmen are right behind us, they’ll put him on the transport Junior. You want to get us all slicked you dumb-ass wetback,” JoJo yelled at the distraught marine! Hightower put is beefy arms around his buddy from behind and picked him up off of his feet, kicking and screaming.

“Put me down ya big ape, I’m not leaving Angel here for the dinks!”

“Shut up Junior, look the corpsmen are right here, see!”

“Hold still or I’ll roll you up in a body bag like a burrito you crazy beaner. You can sweat in it all the way back to An Hoa for all I care,” Hightower shouted to his friend over the beating of the chopper’s rotor blades.

“Yeah, damn skippy,” JoJo added sarcastically.

“Shut your trap JoJo, I don’t need any of your jive nigger bullshit right now,” Hightower fired back at his least favorite marine.

“Who you callin nigger JIM, you better watch I don’t bust a cap in your big white behind while you run back to the chopper, that’s right, you heard me,” JoJo sassed back, looking around to see if he had enough witnesses.

“You jerk-offs better be on that transport in ten God damn seconds or I’ll bag and tag each of your sorry asses and write your mommas myself, now MOVE OUT,” shouted Sergeant Marquette as he ran up on the trio of squabbling grunts.

He motioned to the corpsmen to pick up Angel’s body and take him back to the helicopter. He turned to see if the three loud mouths had started for the transport as he ordered, fully prepared to shoot whoever was still standing where he last saw them. They were already at the chopper and Hightower was shoving Junior through the side door. Percy followed the corpsmen back to their ride, about three or four strides behind them. They were about five yards from the waiting chopper when the whole area erupted in small arms fire. Rounds were bouncing off of the helicopters, the trees and audibly ripping through the thick elephant grass making a sound like tearing wrapping paper. Percy let out a holler as he felt the bullet rip into his right hamstring muscle. Stopping dead in his tracks, he collapsed onto his left knee. Turning instinctively he opened fire in the general direction of the enemy. The door-gunner opened fire as well, covering Percy with hundreds of hot shell casings, each of them burning him wherever they made contact with his uncovered skin.

“Oh shit,” he exclaimed rolling to his left to get out of the way of the hot little bastards.

As the corpsmen lifted Angel onto the chopper the man holding the litter on the outside of the helicopter took two rounds in the back. He dropped his end of the litter and then Angel’s lifeless body, was hit by four or five rounds as well, the body bag ripping into tattered pieces. Percy scrambled to his feet, the pain in his leg nearly causing him to pass out. He grabbed the fallen corpsman and pulled him to his feet, shoving him as close to the hovering chopper as he could. The other corpsman and one of Percy’s marines from the platoon, PFC Scotty Jenkins, grabbed the unconscious man and dragged him into the helicopter. Percy turned back around, reloaded his M16 with a fresh clip and continued to return fire.

“Come on Gunny, gimmie your hand man, hey, gimmie your hand,” yelled Jenkins to his wounded platoon sergeant. Percy couldn’t hear him over the rotor noise and his chattering weapon.

“GUNNY, GUNNY!”

Percy looked back over his shoulder, his weapon becoming almost too hot to hold, the smell of cordite filling his nostrils. He tried to blink the sweat from his eyes, not wanting to lift a hand from his M16 and risk being over run by Charlie. The dinks couldn’t be more than a hundred feet from his position now. Looking around he could see that this was the last chopper still on the ground. He could hear Jenkins urging him to get moving, he could hear Mr. Charlie shouting at him as well. He was bleeding badly and he knew the only thing keeping him on his feet was the adrenaline pumping swiftly through his body.

“Gunny, take my hand man,” Jenkins pleaded, one foot on the skid, leaning halfway out of the chopper, clinging to the airframe with one hand.

Percy turned back towards the enemy and squeezed off the last of his clip then dropped his weapon. He turned to reach for the soldier’s hand but the chopper had drifted up, just out of his reach. He tried to stand but the strength was gone from him, his right leg too badly damaged. He was ready to surrender to his fate when the helicopter skid appeared in front of his eyes and a pair of strong hands grabbed onto him. Jenkins pulled with all of his might on his sergeant’s shoulders and dragged him onto the skid below him. The corpsman holding onto his legs raised a hand to the pilot and signaled for him to take off. The young pilot lifted the chopper from the ground gently so as not to drop the precious cargo. As it climbed, Jenkins and the corpsman struggled with the task of pulling Percy into the aircraft. The chopper pitched suddenly to the right, sending everyone sliding toward the open door. The door-gunner slipped from his perch, his weapon tilting skyward, spraying the air with hot lead, mercifully, missing the rotors blades. Finally gaining control, the pilot leveled out the helicopter.

The door-gunner unhooked himself from the airframe and grabbed the two body bags before they slipped out the side door. He dragged the Lieutenant Sheridan’s and Angel’s bodies back to the center of the aircraft and then went over to help PFC Jenkins and the corpsman. The chopper continued to climb as the three of them worked on bringing Percy into the hold of the aircraft. Small arms rounds struck the bottom of the helicopter and a few ricocheted around the hold, but no one was hit. Jenkins looked down at his sergeant and the two of them made eye contact. Strangely, Percy noticed that this kid looked a lot like his Aunt Charlotte’s boy Henry. It was funny that he would be thinking like that right this minute, but he did. He smiled up at Jenkins, a big toothy grin. It was a smile that he hadn’t used in a very, very long time. Scotty Jenkins looked back at the Gunnery Sergeant and returned the smile. “What was this big goofy face all about, he wondered, it just seemed so absurd?” Jenkins tried to stay serious, but Gunny just looked so damn funny, and that ‘Buckwheat’ smile was so big, he couldn’t stop the giggles, this was so ridiculous!

“Jesus Christ, Gunny, you are one crazy mutha, you know that,” he said laughing out loud. Looking back over his shoulder while he struggled to get a better grip on Sergeant Marquette, he saw that the other two guys were looking at him kind of strange as well.

“It’s OK fellas, I think that Gunny might have a feather up his non-com ass,” he said, breaking into a deep belly laugh.

PFC Jenkins turned around to get back to the business of hauling Gunny into the chopper, when the round hit him square in the face, his head exploded like a ripe melon hitting the pavement. The corpsman and the door-gunner fell backward, as the weight they were supporting became lighter by half. Gunnery Sergeant Percy Marquette fell back to the earth watching the chopper get smaller and smaller as he waited for impact and the sweet relief of death. He laughed out loud right up until the moment he hit the ground and closed his eyes on this life forever.

Hightower kept looking out the helicopter from over the shoulder of the door-gunner who was tethered to the airframe. He was drawing some irritated looks from the guy so he sat back down on his helmet, pulling his knees close to him. He looked across at Junior and JoJo, they must have made up because Junior was fast asleep on JoJo’s shoulder. He and JoJo made eye contact and acknowledged one another with a nod of the head. Hightower peeked around the center bar and looked into the cockpit of the Huey. The two guys flying the chopper were shaking around in the buffeting turbulence as badly as everyone else, there was no such thing, as ‘first class’ on a bird like this. You were lucky to get off these things with both your kidneys still operating.

“Hey man, did everyone get off the ground back there,” Hightower shouted at the lieutenant in the pilot seat? There was no reply.

“Excuse me sir, did we get everybody?”

The pilot looked back at Hightower and gave him the ‘OK’ sign, touching his thumb and index finger together forming a letter ‘O’ sort of.

“Yeah, I think so,” he shouted his voice half stuttering with all the turbulence. Somehow that response didn’t make Hightower feel any better, there just wasn’t enough smile in his style. He stared back out the open door and watched the countryside whiz by.

“Kinda hard to figure all this shit out, ain’t it,” JoJo said loudly from across the way.

Wesley looked at him and sort of nodded in agreement, he didn’t want to hear any of JoJo’s usual bullshit, but he was much too tired to protest.

“Yeah, one minute we’re in hell, and the next we’re flying back to a warm cot, three squares and all the jack we can drink or weed we can toke, a real vacation, right?”

JoJo looked down at his bleeding arm, he must have taken a little shrapnel during the shit storm back at the hot LZ.

“Lord, will you look at that. Looks like Mr. Charlie has done bought old JoJo some RR in Saigon. Gonna be some mighty fine split-tail there mother fucker, fine, fine, fine, and ole JoJo’s gonna be gettin his groove on baby,” he said closing his tired eyes and smiling broadly.

The door-gunner seemed amused by JoJo’s performance as he laughed out loud. “Fuckin A man, Fuckin A,” he said in agreement. Hightower watched JoJo’s head roll around with the turbulence, thinking to himself how different everyone was and then again, how they were all the same. Back in the world none of these guys would ever have come together, at least not on their own they wouldn’t. In country, the rules were different. In country you made new rules and they were all about survival baby. In country it wasn’t your race, color, or religion that was important. It was a man’s heart, guts, and nerve that they were measured by. The conditions here were equalizing, it made them all the same. Everyone watched after everyone else because everyone had the same thing to lose, their life, and it made brothers of the oddest couples. After all, they were just a bunch of kids tossed together from all walks of life, except maybe the usual privileged few. They were expected to do the unthinkable, the down right unconscionable. These teams of misfits, when idle and inert, were only a danger to themselves really. But when stirred and shaken they came together in an extremely volatile mixture, one that the enemy came to fear. Fear was the catalyst, the motivator, and the glue that held them together. Hightower wondered for a moment if they would carry that closeness back to the world with them. Then he snorted a sigh and shook his head.

“No way,” he said in a loud whisper…“No way!”

“What you lookin at motherfucker, you thinkin about kissin me or something, you big ass gorilla,” JoJo said tiredly from under his tipped helmet.

“Shut up JoJo, don’t you ever give your mouth a rest man, I know my ears could use one right about now?”

“Fuck you Wesley!”

“Fuck you Joseph!”

“Hey, fuck both of you mensas, I’m trying to get some beauty sleep here cabrons, cut me a break OK,” Junior said still resting on JoJo’s shoulder.

“Junior, get your greasy enchilada ass off of me and go sit by your girlfriend over there,” JoJo said pointing over at Hightower!

“Man, JoJo I was just getting comfortable,” Junior whined as he crawled over to Hightower’s side of the chopper.

“Scoot over gordo, I need to crash here next to my carnal,” Junior said to Hightower, pointing to the exhausted marine next to him. He curled up on the space next to the big Texan, tucking his hands between his knees and resting his head on a stack of flack jackets.

“Mitchell, hey, Mitchell, you still alive under that hat baboso?”

Mitchell Rojas peeked out from under his tipped helmet and smiled weakly.

“Yo Junior, I’m still here homeboy,” he said.

“Horale! Hey man, you see Angel get it today?”

“Quiet Junior, leave it be ese, go back to sleep and remember the smiles man, not the bag of parts in the Huey back there,” Mitchell said, pointing over his shoulder with his thumb.

“Amen brother Rojas, Amen to that,” JoJo said from behind his closed tired eyes.

“Nite-nite homeys,” Junior said, closing his eyes and falling quickly back to sleep.

Junior decided to deal with Angel’s death later, they all would, right now, they just wanted to enjoy the relative safety of the moment. Junior’s buddies leaned their heads back against the airframe and followed his lead, choosing slumber for the duration of the bumpy ride back to An Hoa. What they didn’t know about Gunny or Jenkins was a blessing for now. There would be plenty of time to deal with that mess later.