Date: Thu, 09 Oct 2003 21:05:00 +0000
From: Guy Jameson <guyjameson@hotmail.com>
Subject: The Sons of JJ Jameson Chapter 21  The Pink Marine

You'll notice the date in the heading of this chapter.  I
hope I don't have to tell you what is going on!

 There are some graphic scenes of sex between men in this
chapter.  Not a lot of sex, but some.  But if you shouldn't
be reading this, don't.  I'm sure you're not supposed to
read for some very good reason which may be only known to
your parents, spouse, city or state.  And we have to respect
their wishes, Right?  Wrong!  Well, maybe Wrong!

This collection of stories is my property and may not be
reproduced in any form outside of nifty.org without my
permission.  And I have to let nifty.org know too.  It's
copyrighted according to the terms set down by nifty.org.
Oh, it is OK to print the story for your own use.

                   THE SONS OF JJ JAMESON
                   CHAPTER 21:PINK MARINE

                            2003


     There were four men standing along each side of my
bunk. Dad and Guy were standing on opposite sides of the bed
closest to my head.  Next to them were my four brothers in
order of age-Jason, Ron, Rob and David.  There were two men
I didn't recognize except by description.  Charley was
standing next to Ron and Cherokee next to Jason.  All of
them were naked stroking their hard cocks.  There were tears
in their eyes.  Dad appeared to have been crying for a long
time.  He sighed often as if he were having difficulty
breathing.  He'd then exhale heavily.  I could barely see my
brothers but it was obvious from the sounds their breathing
was also labored.

     I was also naked as lay between these men I loved.

     Then there was a ninth man-standing at the foot of the
bed.  He was tall, thin, regal looking, a Black man.  He was
holding a spear in one hand and a tall shield of hide in the
other.  He resembled the National Geographic pictures of a
Masai Warrior.  The Black man looked at me.  He rose into
the air and floated over me.  From a steer's horn suspended
from the belt around his waist, he poured blood over my
body.

     "This is the blood I sacrificed for you.  I gave my
life that you should live.  It is not time for you to die.
You will live."

     Then he floated down and was absorbed into my body.

     Dad placed his rigid cock into my mouth as he
ejaculated.

     "The cock that delivered the seed which grew into being
you.  Drink, my son, and live."

     The others around my bed ejaculated along my body,
saying, "This is the essence of life.  Take it, brother, and
live."


     I woke slowly, not sure where I was or why I was there.
As I began to turn onto my side, pain in my right shoulder
sent a shock wave through my chest and neck and forced me
fully awake.  I lay back down and moving only my head began
to look around me.  The space was not quite dark, there were
lights on but it wasn't a bright light.  I was in a large
room with bunks lined against both walls.  I could hear
someone moaning softly and voices trying to be quiet coming
from people standing just a few feet away from me.

     "Looks like he's waking up."

     "Well it's about time.  He's been out a lot longer than
I expected him to be."

     One of the figures moved slowly toward me.

     "Sergeant?  Are you beginning to wake up?  You've been
out for quite awhile.  Do you know where you are?"

     As my eyes focused I could tell the man who was
speaking was wearing a white coat, white shirt and white
trousers and he was addressing me from the foot of my bunk.
He walked toward my head.  The man sat down on a stool he
had pulled up from the side of where I was lying.

     "Sergeant, can you see me?"

     I nodded my head.

     "Where am I? I asked not yet fully aware of my
surroundings.

     "You're in field hospital.  You were wounded three days
ago."

     I tried to jerk myself into a sitting position, but the
man, placing a strong arm against my left shoulder, pushed
me back down.

     "Don't try to get up just yet.  I know you Marines
think nothing can happen to you, but you've been wounded and
need to stay still for a little while.  Do you remember
anything?"

     Slowly my head began to clear.  I was in a truck.
There was a man beside me.  He was driving us along a desert
road.  The men in my platoon were behind us in the bed of
truck.  Then I remembered the explosion.  Before
consciousness left me I remembered thinking, `We've hit a
mine'.  Then there was nothing.  But that was enough.  I
knew what I had been doing and where we were going.

     "My platoon, where are my men?  Was anyone hurt?"

     "Your truck hit a mine in the road, Sergeant.  No one
was killed but two of the men nearest the front of the truck
and your driver were injured, but they're going to be OK.
Apparently the front tire on your side of the truck rolled
over a mine but the truck absorbed most of the explosion.
You were hurt the worst and it looks like you're going to
live."

     I attempted to move my legs, but another pain shot
through my whole body.

     "How bad am I?"

     "You could be a lot worse.  You're right leg was
broken, but we've cast it for now.  You're shoulder is
broken and you have several cracked ribs.  You've also
suffered some burns and a concussion.  They'll finish
patching you up when we get you to the hospital ship.

     "My leg, will I . . ."

     "Your leg will be fine.  It'll just take some time.  If
you hadn't tried walking around the truck with a broken shin
to pull your driver out, it would be a lot better but in
time it should be OK.  Now just lie back.  I'm going to give
you a shot to kill the pain.  In the morning you'll be
boarded on a copter and taken to a navy hospital ship.
You'll be going home in a couple of weeks."

     "How long . . .?"

     "Three days, sergeant.  Some of your men have been in
to check on you.  Two of your men have already been
evacuated and the other men who were wounded will be going
to the hospital ship with you.  The rest are back on the
line.  For now all you need to do is lie there.  This shot
will take care of the pain."

     With that, the corpsman pulled the sheet up from the
side exposing my bare ass and inserted the needle.  Almost
immediately I began to drift back into a cloud.

     When I woke again, the lights in the hospital tent were
on full force.  There was some activity along the space
between the bunks.  A corpsman walked over to me.  He looked
like the same man I had seen before.

     "How are you feeling, sergeant?"

     "I'm not feeling much of anything at the moment, Doc.
That shot you gave me last night really is taking care of
the pain.  Can I get up now?  I really feel like I need to
piss."

     The corpsman laughed softly.

     "I don't think so, sergeant.  You're hooked up to a
catheter.  Just relax and everything will come out by
itself."

     "Awwwwwww, shit."

     "Just relax.  I'm going to clean you up.  I'm going to
remove the catheter and if you can piss on your own, you'll
be leaving us today."

     The corpsman closed a curtain around my bunk, pulled
the sheet down, put on a pair of rubber gloves and picked up
my penis to remove the tube and clean me up.  He was
obviously experienced with what he was doing and not
anywhere as embarrassed about handling my cock as I was
having him "play" with me.  I could feel myself begin to
harden as he went about his job.

     God, but his hands felt good down there.  I thought.
It's been a long haul since I've taken care of myself.  But
to get a hard on now?  That was not the way a rough and
tumble Marine should react, especially if he wanted to stay
in the Corps.

     The corpsman removed the catheter, pulled back the
ample foreskin on my cock and began to clean around the
glans.  The more the Doc cleaned my dick, the harder it grew
until it had reached a full stage hard on.

     "Well, that part of you works well", the Doc said.
"I'm going to leave the catheter out for now.  We'll see if
you're able to use a pisser."

     He placed a pisser next to my bunk within my reach and
covered my naked body with the sheet.

     "I'll be back in a few minutes to give you a bath," he
said walking through the curtain, leaving it conveniently
(or purposely) closed.

     I was still hard.  The corpsman's hands had felt so
good down there and it had been so long since I'd had a
chance to get off.  I hoped I wasn't going to completely
embarrass myself when he came back for my bath.

     I guess I'd better take care of this monster before he
gets back, I thought.
I reached my hand under the sheet and began to stroke my
cock.  It was so hard and felt so big.  The first image that
came to mind was Mac, a sailor I'd met on the helicopter
carrier where I'd spent the last two months of life before
being landed in Kuwait.
Mac was a big man, wide shoulders, narrow waist, at least
six foot tall. He was the blackest man I'd ever seen.   Now
one doesn't often meet a black man named Mac and I found the
name out of place.  When I'd come to know him better, I
discovered his full name was Michael McDougal.  That was a
surprise!  No wonder he just went by Mac.

     We met in the ship's PT room, which was fully equipped
with all the latest work out equipment.  During the week it
took to sail from Guam to the Persian Gulf, we'd gotten to
know each other fairly well, giving advice on what exercises
were better to develop the part of the physique we were
going to work on that day.  Both of our bodies reflected
hard, effective exercise.

     Usually the PT room had several men working out, but on
this particular occasion we were alone.  We were both
wearing only shorts and shoes-naked from the waist up.  It
became increasingly difficult for me to concentrate on what
we were supposed to be doing.

     Mac was spotting for me on the free weights, standing
just behind my head, legs slightly spread to better balance
himself against the slight roll of the ship and to be better
able to handle the weights.  I was just completing a set of
bench presses when I noticed a decided swelling in his
shorts, pushing open the leg just enough so that I noticed
he was ONLY wearing that pair of shorts.  I can't say that
shocked me because I had long ago stopped wearing the issued
skivvies and disliked the confinement of a jock strap.  So
we were equally dressed.

     As I replaced the weights on the rack, Mac reached down
and pinched my left nipple, rubbing it between his thumb and
forefinger.  A big smile split his face as he saw the
results of his action in my shorts.

     "Come on big fellow," he said.  "Don't you want some of
this."

     He groped himself causing his cock to swell even more.
It was huge.  It took about half a second for me to be off
the bench and on my knees in front of him.  I jerked his
shorts off his expanding tool and took all nine inches into
my mouth at once.  His cock not only tasted great it smelled
great.  He'd obviously showered that day, but the weather
was hot and he'd collected the smell of sweat in his crotch.
Taste and smell sent my head reeling.

      God, I love to suck cock, especially a nice big juicy
uncut piece like Mac's.  And when he shot down my gullet it
was like taking a gallon all at once.  I'd thought he was
never going to quit.  His dick didn't even get soft after
he'd cum. He just kept fucking my face until he let go a
second round.  As he shot off his second load, I shot mine
onto the deck without so much as touching myself.

     After landing in Kuwait, I hadn't so much as jacked
off.  The Marines are firm believers in "don't ask, don't
tell" and I'd long ago decided my fellows in green were off
limits if I was going to make my twenty years.  Sailors were
usually pretty safe, though, I thought and I'd always had
pretty good luck finding one that was willing to get sucked
or get fucked.  As much as I loved sucking cock I liked the
feel of sliding my dick inside a man's warm ass hole just as
much.   It'd been forever since I'd taken one up my backside
though.  That would have been pure nirvana.

     After drinking Mac's second load, the fucker still
wasn't satisfied. Neither was I, if the truth been told.  I
rose from my knees as he pulled up on my arms forced my
shorts to my ankles and then over my shoes.  He
unceremoniously tossed them on the mat covering the deck.
He pinched my nipples then bent down to suck, tonguing his
way down to my cock.  As he took me in his mouth, he
inserted all of one finger up my ass.  He was in no mood for
foreplay.  Mac knew what he wanted and I wanted the same
thing.  A second finger pushed into my hole quickly followed
by a third.  His hands were so big, just his fingers felt
like a normal sized fist had been shoved into my rectum and
all the while he was sucking my cock.

     "OK, big guy," I said.  "Are you going to fuck me or
just play around?"

     "Bend over, Marine.  Let me at your sweet fuck hole."

     I climbed back onto the bench in doggy position, head
down, ass totally exposed.  He pulled my cheeks apart and
forced his fingers back into me.  I heard a rip as he tore
open a condom packet and then there was the sweet ecstasy as
he forced his gloved cock into me.

     Fortunately I'd had some experience with big men and
could open up to receive him as fast as he wanted to enter.
Mac was out for a quick fuck and pounded me from the very
beginning.  There was no gentleness in his love making for
sure.  Every stroke of his big cock pressed against my
prostate and I could tell that neither of us was in for the
long haul.  His sweat was dripping onto me and running down
my sides mixing with my own before running onto the bench,
forming large spots of moisture on the plastic covered pad.

     After just a couple of minutes, even though we'd each
already shot pretty good loads, his body spasmed and he
filled the rubber buried deep in my ass.  As I felt the
rubber fill, my own cock erupted in large shots of cum one
after the other.  Someone would have one hell of a time
cleaning up that mess, I thought, as Mac relaxed his body
against mine forcing us both onto the bench lying in the
mixture of cum and sweat we had created.

     That image did it.  My body jerked shooting bolts of
pain through my wounded body as I jacked the last of my cum
onto my flat hairy stomach and chest.

     `Sheeeeeit', I thought.  `What am I going to do now.
The doc will be here any minute and I have this coating of
cum in my hair.  Should of thought of that before I started
this, I guess.'  I looked quickly around but saw nothing to
use to clean myself just as Doc walked through the curtain.

     The sheet was still pushed down below my still
partially hard cock, exposing without question, what I'd
just been doing.

     "Well, Marine, I see you've found someway to amuse
yourself while I was gone," he said with a devilish looking
grin.  It was impossible to miss the twinkle in his eyes.

     "If you'd waited a few minutes, maybe I could have
helped."

     "Whoa, Doc, it's not what you're thinking.  I just
needed to get off before you started washing.  I wouldn't
want you to get the wrong ideas about me."

     "Would it have been the wrong idea, Sergeant?"

     "What?  Do you think I'm queer or something?"

     "Never mind, Marine, this falls into the doctor patient
confidentiality category.  Don't get your ass in an uproar."

     He laughed and began the process of giving me a sponge
bath.  He had pulled in a cart with a basin of water, soap,
towels-all the stuff he'd need to give a man a bath.  I was
expecting a quick wash up.  That was not what I was about to
receive.

     The corpsman pulled off his jacket exposing his body
encased in a tight white tee shirt that fit snuggly over
what was obviously a very hard and well-developed chest.
The cotton material was so thin every hair on his chest and
around his nipples was quite visible.  He was at least as
hairy as I.  The doc's shoulders were broad, his waist
incredibly narrow.  There was not the least bit of excess
fat anywhere on his torso.  With that vision in place, it
was no wonder I began to feel my cock begin to fill with
blood again.  There was nothing I could think of that would
stop its progress to a full-blown hard on.  And what Doc was
doing wasn't helping one little bit.

     Oh, well, I thought, with my leg in as bad shape as I
feared it might be I probably couldn't count on making my
twenty, much less thirty years anyway.

     Doc began to wash my feet, carefully massaging them as
he applied a thick layer of soap.  Washing between my toes
before taking a warm towel to rinse off the soap and moving
to the calf that was not in a cast, then my thighs-getting
dangerously close to what should be but was no longer lying
peacefully between them.  By the time Doc had washed my
knees and lower thighs, my cock was lying fully hard across
my abs.  He walked around to one side of the bunk, washing
the inner portion of my upper thighs, then pushed my scrotum
aside to wash under it into my ass crack.  God, I felt as if
I was about to shoot a second load all over myself.

     When Doc started washing my stomach, taking great care
to clean the load of dried cum from my pubic hair and the
mass of hair that lay on my stomach, he looked at my face
and gave me a shit-eating grin.  He seemed to like what he
was seeing.  He continued to wash me, very noticeably
ignoring my hard dick.  When he started on my chest, he
washed particularly hard against my nipples.  I was certain
he was toying with me.

     "Raise your arms over your head", he ordered.

     As I tried to comply, the pain in my shoulder reminded
me that such motion was virtually impossible.

     "Sorry, I meant for to raise just your left arm."

     I could easily follow that order.  Doc moved over to
the other side of the bunk, allowing his fingers to tease my
right nipple, neck and cheek as he moved around my head.
After he had repositioned himself along my left side, he
looked admiringly at the thick thatch of black hair in my
armpit, leaned over and buried his nose, and mouth into my
underarm.  His tongue worked magic in there, eating away the
sweat and stench that I had acquired.  He moaned softly.

     "Tastes good like a Marine should", he whispered.

     I was surprised at how brazen his actions were but I
was not about to complain.  My cock jerked several times.
He placed one hand around my cock and continued to lick into
my armpit, pulling the hair with his teeth.  The hand around
my cock began to pull up and down, jacking me, smearing the
precum that had formed over the glans of my penis.

     I caught his head under my left arm and pulled it
tighter into my pit.  He pushed it away and went onto my
nipple, biting it softly and teasing it with his tongue.

     "Tell me when you're ready, Sergeant.  I don't want you
to make a mess down there that I'll just have to clean up."

     Immediately, I said, "OK, Doc, I'M READY!"

     I gave several involuntary jerks of my body as he
covered my cock with his mouth and drank the milk as quickly
as several strong bursts of cum spewed out of me.
When our breathing returned to normal, the corpsman finished
my sponge bath, collected his equipment and left without
saying a word.  He left the curtain closed and the sheet
still pulled down around my ankles.

     Not being comfortable in this exposed and vulnerable
state, I attempted to sit up enough to reach the sheet.  But
found the pain in my chest and shoulders would not allow
that much movement.  I was surprised at the pain.  Surely I
had moved around a lot more as the Doc had been taking care
of me.  I must have just been so absorbed with his
ministrations no amount of pain was felt.

     I lay back and soon drifted off to sleep.


     Some time later Doc and another corpsman, rolling a
gurney into my curtained cubicle, awakened me.  I was still
naked-except for my feet, which were covered by the sheet.
The unfamiliar corpsman was a black man, thin, wiry with
very sharp features.  He was dressed in trousers and a white
tee, just as Doc was.  They made a damn good-looking pair.
(I really have to quit looking at the medical personnel this
way, I thought.  Someone in the Corps is going to get the
right impression and boot my ass back to being a civilian.)

     The black corpsman, who introduced himself as
Nicodemus, scanned my naked body, looked at my face and gave
a big smile, exposing a perfect set of remarkably white
teeth.  He pulled the sheet up from the foot of the bunk and
began tucking it under me for the transfer to the gurney.
The two men slowly turned me over onto my good side and
slipped a rubber sheet under me. It was then used to slide
me onto the gurney.  Nicodemus then pushed the gurney and me
out of the sickbay and out to the waiting ambulance.


     I was loaded, carefully, as if I weighed next to
nothing.  The two corpsmen entered the ambulance and we were
off.  The three of us were alone, except for the driver of
course.

     The drive to the port at Al Basra and the waiting
hospital ship took almost two hours, during which time the
two corpsmen discussed my case, shared cigarettes with me
and swapped jokes about George W. and Saddam.  Both men
seemed to feel about W's war about the same as I did-which
was not very favorable.  But they, like me had followed the
orders of our superiors and had done our jobs.

     Nicodemus was a part of the staff of the ship and took
me aboard.  He told me I would have to have surgery on board
the ship and it would probably be two or three weeks before
we set sail.  In the meantime, I would have time to
recuperate and should be able to move about, in a wheel
chair, at least, in about a week.

     The next morning I was taken to x-ray.  After the
pictures were developed Nicodemus, who informed me to simply
call him Nick and not Doc, which was the honorific applied
in the Marines to all corpsmen, told me the leg was in
better shape than they first believed.  They were simply
going to bind the bone with pins.  I hadn't cut any tendons
or nerves so my foot and leg would eventually return to
normal operation.  I might not even be cut loose on a
medical.  The surgeons believed that eventually I could be
restored to duty.  That was the best news I'd heard in a
long time.  I would be given rehab, sent home to Tulsa and
wait for new orders.  My career in the Corps might yet be
saved.

     The surgery was completed as promised.  A couple of
days later, Nick came to me and told me I needed to get up
for a while.  He helped me out of bed, supporting my weight
as I stood.  He held me under my arms very close to his
body-a little closer than was probably necessary, I thought.
I could feel his cock hardening under his uniform whites.
It was pretty obvious he was free balling.  My head began to
swim and I swayed, almost falling on my face.  But he held
me up until my head cleared.

     I tried taking a step and almost fell on my face.  I
would have if Nick hadn't caught me.  He was surprisingly
strong for such a wiry man.

     "Thanks," I said.  "How are we going to work this?"

     "You only have to take a few steps for now," Nick said.
"So just shuffle your good leg and let me support you."

     With Nick's help, I was able to shuffle a few steps to
the chair.  He eased me down into a reasonably comfortable
position.  Mission accomplished.  Beach head taken.

     "We don't want to have you a in wheel chair any more
than necessary, but you have to be out of the bed now as
much as you can.  I'll be back later to check on you, but if
you need anything before that . . . "

     "I'll let you know."


     Hospital ships, like anywhere else in the military,
offer little privacy.  But having several men in the same
ward at least provides plenty of company.  Over an extended
period of time we began to get to know the guys in our ward
pretty well.

     The man who occupied the bunk to my left was called
Hank, on my right was Juan.  We'd get to talking among
ourselves and passed the time playing cards or, when
possible, Juan and I played chess.

     Hank was a Marine Brat.  His dad was a career Marine
and retired as a Master Gunnery Sergeant shortly after Hank
enlisted.  Hank thought he knew all there was to know about
the Marine Corps and its traditions.  Unfortunately I don't
think he really knew as much as he thought.  At times he
could be a real ass-hole.  Hank knew how to play cards,
loved football and hated chess-too much of a sissy game for
him.

     Juan, on the other hand, was born in Mexico and came to
the USA as a baby. In Mexico, his parents held fairly good
white collar jobs, but after coming to the US, they'd ended
up holding a variety of manual labor jobs, farm work,
domestic servants, that sort of thing.  He'd learned the
value of hard work by seeing it in action.  His parents
never became rich but they had a pretty good life and wanted
to see their only son advance as far as possible.  To that
end they'd applied for and received US citizenship.  Juan
saw the Marines as a way to advance himself.  He was
intelligent, well read and had a friendly spirit.  And he
loved to play chess.

     Guy and Dad were chess players and saw to it that each
of us had the opportunity to play as often as possible.  I
was a fair player but never considered myself to be any kind
of expert.  Juan was much better at the game than I but he
took the time to teach me techniques and strategies I'd
never taken the time to learn at home.

     Juan also liked cards and beat both Hank and me
frequently.  Fortunately we had agreed early on to never
play for very high stakes.  If we had, I think Juan could
have paid his way through Harvard with what he could have
won from us.

     Basically Hank didn't like Juan.  He hated the fact
that Blacks and Hispanics were so numerous in the Corps and
made no bones about complaining over the loss of an all
White, All-American service.  He ribbed Juan often about
everything-his background mostly.  Juan took it good-
naturedly and never let Hank get his goat.  He'd get his
revenge by beating us both at another game of Poker.

     We had a few visitors.  There were three chaplains
assigned to our ship-Catholic, Protestant and Jewish.  Being
Episcopalian, I seemed to qualify as both Protestant and
Catholic and received blessing from both Christian
chaplains.  I enjoyed their visits.  Hank of course was
visited regularly by the Protestant Chaplain, Juan by the
Catholic.  I think it was an afterthought that either
stopped by my bunk.  But at least they stopped and helped
fill the long days.

     Mail call was always a big event.  I received at least
one letter every couple of days from either Dad, Guy or one
of the brothers.  They were usually long and newsy.  Once I
was able to get around a little on my own-using a wheel
chair pushed along by Juan or Hank or some other good
Samaritan-I took advantage of one of the couple of computers
available for e-mail and sometimes found on line books to
read.

     So the days passed as we waited to be taken stateside
and, in my case, at least, a little time at home.

     But the nights became bad!

     The nights became VERY bad!

     The nights became HELL!

     The dreams began the night we had another visitor.  He
was a Marine Captain.  He went down the ward, talking to the
men, awarding many of us the Purple Heart for our injuries.
After he completed his initial rounds, he came back to me.
I was sitting in a wheel chair.  I'd had the surgery on my
right leg and the doctors said it would heal well-with time.
So I spent a lot of time in the wheel chair.

     "Sergeant, I need to talk to you.  Is there someplace a
little more private?"

     "I don't know of anyplace, Sir, unless it would be in
the lounge.  There are some small areas set up for cards and
talking that are kind of private."

     "Do you mind going there?"

     "No Sir.  That would be fine."

     The Captain took my chair and we headed for the lounge.
There weren't' many men in the lounge at that time so we
were able to find a quiet corner in which to talk.

     "Sergeant," he began, "I need to ask you a few
questions about the incident that landed you here."

     "You mean why I enlisted, Sir?"  I asked trying to
lighten the rather mysterious mood that was beginning to
envelop me.

     The Captain was not amused.

     "No, Sergeant.  I mean the circumstances of your
getting wounded."

     "There's not much to tell, Captain.  Our troop carrier
ran over an Iraqi land mine.  I guess our front right tire
rolled over it, it exploded and I was banged up a little.
Not much else to say as far as I know."

     "Can you give me little a more detail, Sergeant?"

     "OK, Sir.  My unit was in the second line in the
advance.  The front line was moving very smoothly and
quickly toward Baghdad.  We were following by troop carrier
as a reserve.  We were moving pretty fast.  As I said, we
hit a mine in the road.  There was an explosion and that's
the last I remember until I woke up in the field hospital
three days later."

     "You don't remember anything else?"

     "No, Sir.  Is there anything important for me to
remember?"

     "That's what I've been assigned to find out, Sergeant.
Think about it and I'll be back in a few days."

     "Aye, Aye, Sir.  But I don't really think there is
anything to tell."

     The Captain left me in the lounge.  About that time
Hank walked in with Juan.  We played a couple of hands of
Five-Card Draw-with Juan winning most of our available
money.  Then we returned to the sick bay for chow.  All very
straightforward and innocent.

     That night I went to sleep quickly.  In bed by myself,
I never had trouble getting to sleep.

     I was in the front seat of the truck.  The driver to my
left.  My platoon was in the back.  The truck bed was
covered against the sun.  Those guys must have been hot as
hell.  Little breeze, wearing heavy combat gear.  But maybe
it was better than being directly exposed to the hot sun.

     There was an explosion.  The truck veered and rolled
over onto its side.  Blood, blood is everywhere.  Screams of
fear and pain.

     I hear myself screaming as someone shakes me awake.

     "Hold on, Sergeant.  You're OK."

     I opened my eyes and saw and felt Nick holding me.
Actually hugging me, cradling me in his arms like a baby.

     "You must have had a pretty bad night-mare, Sergeant.
Would you like me to get a sleeping pill?"

     "No, Doc.  I don't think so.  I hate taking pills when
it's not absolutely necessary. Besides, I'm not some kid
that needs his mommy to tuck him in.  I'm OK."

     "That's fine, Sergeant.  But there ain't no shame in
taking a pill to sleep.  I already know what a bad ass
Marine you are . . . You don't have to prove to me how macho
you are."

     I thought, Nick may be getting too close to the truth.
I need to be more careful with the machismo shit.  You know,
he who protests too much.  I knew I had to maintain a
balance in my attitudes and actions or I would become
"suspect".   And in the Marines, there's no room for a slip.
Hell the Navy doesn't care half as much as we do about us
Marines in Pink.

     I finally got back to sleep but only after trying to
remember what had happened in the dream.

     The next night was no better.  In fact it was worse.
There was more blood, more screaming from the wounded.  Men
lying on the road, some were dead.  I still wasn't any
further in seeing what happened.  I was told only a couple
of men were wounded.  No one killed but my dreams were not
following that story.  I woke again, screaming, in a cold
sweat.  Again it was Nick on duty.  He insisted that I take
a pill to knock me out.

     Each night for the rest of the week, the dreams were
more vivid.  The corpsman on duty when it was time for
lights out, told me the doctor had prescribed a sleeping
pill.  And I WOULD take it.  My nightly screams were
upsetting the whole bay.

     The same Captain showed up at the end of the week.  He
had more questions; no answers.  I didn't know what he
wanted and I couldn't remember the details he was looking
for.

     At the end of the week, I was sent to the ship's
psychiatrist.

     "Come in, Sergeant.  Are you comfortable or would you
prefer to sit in a chair."

     "This wheeled vehicle is fine with me, Sir.  I don't
think I will be staying long."

     "Sergeant, I get to decide how long you're here.  I
understand you are having a lot of difficulty with dreams
and we need to figure out what is going on with you . . .
And just for your information Captain Stewart was here to
see me.  He wants some information from you and you seem to
be uncooperative.  Is that true?"

     "Captain Stewart, Sir?. .Oh, that's his name.  I've
told him all I can remember."

     "Have you told him about the dreams?"

     "No, Sir.  I don't see there's any relevance there."

     "Do you know enough about the situation  to determine
the relevance?"

     "Probably not, Sir.  But he hasn't told me what he
wants."

     "He wants several things, Sergeant.  But that's not our
concern.  What we need to do is try to find out what's
behind the dreams."

     "Aye, Aye, Sir.  I'll do what I can."

     "Good, so tell me about the dreams."

     "They're basically the same.  I'm in the truck.  My men
are in the back.  We're racing down the road to back up the
front line.  There's an explosion.  The truck turns over.
Then the blood.  Blood is everywhere.  Men are screaming but
I'm not sure why."

     "Are you seeing the blood in color?  Or is the dream in
black and white?"

     "Everything is black and white except the blood.  The
blood is red and coats everything."

     "Hmm . . .Go on"

     "That's all there is, Sir.  I wake up screaming."

     "Are you sure?  What do you see yourself doing?"

     "Nothing.  I don't see myself at all."

     "Really."

     "How are your physical injuries healing?"

     "According to the doctors I'm doing fine.  I do feel
stronger and the pain is not as intense."

     "Tell me about your family, Sergeant."

     "I don't have a mother and I don't hate my father," I
answered with a bristle in my tone.

     "OK, but that's not what I meant.  Tell me about your
father."

     I had no idea where the doc was going with this line of
question.  What in the hell could my family have to do with
my dreams?  And . . . of course, there was the question of
how much I could say and stay in the Corps.  So I just gave
him the facts.

     Dad was Marine.  He married a girl from his hometown.
There are 5 sons.

     "What happened with your mother"?

     "We don't know, Sir.  After she had my youngest
brother, she cut out.  We don't have any idea where she went
or what she's doing."

     "How long ago was that?"

     "Well David is sixteen.  So it was sixteen years ago."

     "When did you join the Marines?"

     "1997, Sir.  Right after I graduated from high school.
I'm in my second tour."

     "Do you like it?"

     "Yes, Sir.  What's not to like?  We have great food,
good times, friends.  Just like living," I chuckled.  The
doctor didn't.

     "Well, Sergeant, I think we've covered all we can
today.  I'll see you at the same time tomorrow."

     "Sir, do you think there's any reason for that?  I
can't see where you're heading with your questions."

     "Sergeant, I'm the one who gets to decide that.  I'll
see you tomorrow."

     "Aye, Aye, Sir."

     A corpsman came in to wheel me out.  I gave as sharp a
salute as possible with my left hand.  The corpsman,
noticing the sarcasm in my salute, pushed me through the
door.  I wasn't sure I like this shrink and I CERTAINLY
didn't trust him.  I couldn't tell whether he was working to
help me or to further some sort of investigation and I
didn't like the feeling that I was the one being
investigated.

     That night I was given my sleeping pills. The Doc said
I'd been ordered a stronger dose.  This pill should keep me
knocked out all night.  I went to sleep immediately.

     But the dreams returned.  The same as all the nights
before except this time, just before the explosion, I saw
men-maybe half a dozen hiding in the dune along the highway.
In the dream I could see them clearly.  Then the explosion,
the blood, the screams, the men lying on the road.

     Captain Stewart came with breakfast.

     "Anything new, Sergeant?"

     "No, Sir.  Except I saw some men along the road before
the explosion."

     "Who were they?  What were they doing?"

     "I know they were hiding in the dunes.  And I think in
the dream I could identify them, but now I don't remember."

     "Sergeant, there are a number of things about your
incident we don't understand.  We have to find those things
out."

     "Sir, I don't understand why this is so important.  My
platoon was attacked.  I was the most seriously wounded.  By
now everyone else has gone back to duty."

     "Sergeant, have any of your men been to see you since
the incident?"

     "I was told that a couple of the guys came by the field
hospital while I was a coma."

     "But no one since then?"

     "No, Sir."

     "Don't you find that a bit strange?  I'm told you had a
good working relationship with your men.  I'm told they
showed every indication that they respected you."

     "No, Sir.  I don't see anything strange about them not
coming to visit.  We did get along well, but my men have a
job to do.  They're Marines and they'll do their jobs.  I
can understand why no one has been to see me."

     "Sergeant, I don't know who told you all that stuff
about your men being woulnded but you are very wrong."

     "Sir?  Sorry, I don't understand."

     "First of all Sergeant, your personnel carrier did not
hit a land mine.  Second, you were the only survivor.
Everyone else in that truck was killed, including the driver
who was on the opposite side of the truck from the attack.
Third, we are not sure who attacked you."

     He paused waiting for some reaction.  I suddenly felt
like I was going to be sick.  My men were killed?  I was the
only survivor?  How could that be?  And why was told that
lie?

     "Now, Sergeant.  Do you understand why we have to know
the whole story."

     "Sir, who could have attacked us?  Whether it was a
mine or something else, it had to be the Iraqis.  Who else
could it have been?"

     "Sergeant, today you are going to see the psychiatrist.
We've asked him to put you under hypnosis.  There will be a
man from my office present to hear what you have to say.
Now, don't start with any shit about privacy or your civil
rights.  This is way too important for that!  We have to
know the answers and you're the only one who can give them
to us.  Do You Understand, Sergeant?"

     "Yes, Sir.  I understand.  But I don't see . . ."

     "It's not up to you to understand.  At this point we
have to know who was on that sand dune.  Now the Doctor has
some crazy notion about patient-doctor privacy.  He'll do
nothing without your consent. Remember he's Navy and they
operate on a different level than we do.  Here are the
forms.  You need to sign here and here and we'll be all
set."

     "Sir, what happens if I don't sign?"

     "Sergeant, you are a United States Marine.  I am your
superior officer and I'm telling you to sign the form."

     "Yes, Sir.  I understand that.  But what happens if I
don't sign?"

     "Sergeant, are you refusing a direct order?"

     "No, Sir!  I'm asking a question, SIR!"

     "If you sign, you don't have to worry about what
happens if you don't sign.  Right?  So sign . . . Sergeant,
what are you hiding?"

     "Sir I'm not hiding anything," I lied.  "I just don't
like the idea of not being in control of what I say."

     "Do you control your dreams?"

     "No, Sir.  And that's exactly what I'm talking about.
I don't like it."

     "Sergeant, I'm going to leave these forms with you.
When you go to the shrink, take them to him-Signed!  Is that
understood."

     "Yes, Sir.  I understand."

     Captain Stewart left me in the lounge; the papers he
wanted signed were lying on the table in front of me.  But
that was the least of my thoughts.  What had happened to my
men?  Why did the corpsman lie to me?  Why did they tell me
they were only wounded, patched up and sent back to duty?
Why did my men die?

     I sat at the table in a daze.  I didn't feel the
passage of time until Nick came to get me to take me to the
psychiatrist.

     "Nick, I'm not going."

     "What do you mean you're not going?  You have to go.
You're under orders."

     "I don't like my orders, Nick.  They want to put me
under hypnosis.  They want to ask me questions in front of
witnesses.  They're trying to pin something on me to get me
out of the Corps and I'm not going to let them."

     "Joe, (That was the first time Nick had ever called me
anything except Sergeant.)  That's being paranoid.  If you
don't meet your appointment, they'll charge you with
insubordination and find you guilty.  They'll kick you out
of the Corps.  You have to go."

     "Not under these circumstances, Nick.  What if they ask
me about . . . you know?"

     "About being queer?"

     "Maybe."

     "Come on, man.  Admit it.  I know you're queer.  Doc
Howard told me what you two did."

     "Doc and I didn't do anything, Nick.  He gave me a
sponge bath.  I got a hard on.  He gave me a blowjob.
That's it.  End of story.  That doesn't make me queer."

     "Maybe not if you were a civilian.  Maybe not if you
were a sailor.  But, man you're a Marine.  They'll hang your
ass out on the barn door and shoot you with darts."

     "That's exactly why I can't go through with this.  My
younger brother was busted for being gay.  I can't go
through that."

     "How do you know they'll even ask that, man?  They
don't have any reason to suspect you or to even be
interested in that.  They're trying to find out what
happened to your men!  Doesn't that mean dick-shit to you? .
. . Look, Joe.  You can't remember what happened to your
unit.  You were given some bum story about them being OK.
That's all they're going to be interested in.  That's all
they want.  You owe it to your men."

     "But will I even know what they're asking?  I don't
mind telling about the dreams.  I want to find out what
happened as much as anyone.  But I can't put myself in
jeopardy."

     "Look," said Nick.  "I'm good friends with your
psychiatrist.  I'll go talk to him and make sure this stays
on the up an' up.  OK?  Will you let me do that?"

     "Sure, Nick.  Go for it.  That's all I wanted-just the
security to know they're doing what they say they're doing."

     "Man, no wonder you're such a hot to trot jar head.
You have all the paranoia on earth and I guess that's what
it takes."

     When I reported to the psychiatrist's office, with the
signed forms requested by Captain Stewart, the doc came
close to me and whispered that Nick had been to see him and
that everything was OK.  Then he began the hypnosis.
Neither Captain Stewart, nor I knew that his witness wasn't
the only one to what was said.

     That night Nick came by my bed.

     "Here's your pill, Hero.  But I don't think you're
going to need it."

     "What do you mean, Nick.  What's with the hero shit.  I
just followed orders."

     "OK, man this is what happened.  The Doc had it rigged
so I could hear what was going on-just to protect you, OK?
You remembered everything they wanted to know.  Those men in
the dunes?  They weren't Iraqis.  You said they were
Americans and you saw them purposely fire on your personnel
carrier.  That's why you couldn't remember.  You shut out
the part that would accuse other Americans, maybe Marines,
of attacking you.  That part is all confused.  Even Doc
couldn't explain that one to me, but anyway.  They got you
to describe everything you saw.  The men weren't Americans.
They weren't Iraqis either.  You were able to describe
enough about what you'd seen that the investigators are
pretty sure you were fired on by some outside group that's
not connected with the war we're fighting at all.  Now all
they have to do is decide the best way to go about getting
the guys who attacked your unit."

     "But what happened to my men?"

     "That's where the Hero part comes in.  All the blood
you saw and the screaming was you.  You were out there
pulling your guys out of the burning truck.  They were
bleeding and burnt and all you remembered was the blood.
They were hurt bad.  Really bad.  But you were wounded and
pulling guys out of the way just as fast as you could.  Then
you passed out.  But not until you thought you'd pulled your
men out of harm's way, so to speak.  That Captain Stewart
said something about recommending a commendation.  Not the
CMH, of course.  You'd get that if you'd actually saved
their lives.  But you're up for something anyway."  Nick
laughed to lighten the mood, which was badly needed.  He
didn't succeed.

     "Man, that's COLD.  How can you sit there and tell me I
watched a dozen men die and joke about it."

     "Joe, I see men die everyday.  Some of them are real
Sons-of-bitches.  Most of them are great guys.  I guess I've
gotten used to it.  If I didn't joke around, I'd go crazy."

     "OK, Nick.  I guess you're OK."

     Nick kissed me on the forehead just like Guy would do
when I was a kid.

     "Good night, Joe.  They're going to fly you out of here
in the morning.  Man, you're on your way home!"

     For the first time I could remember in a long time, I
slept the whole night through.  There were no more
dreams-unless you count the dream of going home.

     True to Nick's word, I was on a plane the next morning
headed for the good ol' USA and Tulsa OK--lahoma.


GUY PICKS UP THE STORY

     Joe arrived home last night.  There were no parades, no
cameras, no crowds of reporters to celebrate his return.  We
hadn't told anyone outside the family that he was on his
way.  This was a private celebration, one that only we could
truly understand and appreciate.

     The letter came in the morning mail that Joe had indeed
been recommended for a citation.  What exactly was not
explained.  But that doesn't matter to us.  Our hero is
home.

     Joe is still asleep.  It was a rough trip home and
there's no reason to wake him.  I'm just glad to have all my
boys, my grand boys really, home where they belong.  I know
that Joe will probably have to leave again.  The Naval
doctors say he will heal and heal well enough to complete
his enlistment-maybe to finish out his hoped for twenty
years.



     There is still more to tell.  The story will be
continued.

     I do want to thank all of you guys who have been
reading this story.  I especially appreciate those who have
written to let us know what you think of the saga and the
people you've met.  If you haven't e-mailed us, or even if
you'd like to e-mail us again, we'd love to hear from you.

     My e-mail address is guyjameson@hotmail.com.  If you'd
like to write JJ or one of the boys, I'll act as postmaster
and deliver your message.