This is a work of fiction. Names of characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination and are used fictitiously; any resemblance to any actual persons, living or dead, events, or locations is entirely coincidental.
Copyright © 2015 by Dennis Milholland – All rights reserved. Other than for private, not-for-profit use, no part of this work may be reproduced, transmitted or stored in any form or by any means, other than that intended by the author, without written permission from the copyright holder.
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Farewell, Uncle Ho
by Dennis Milholland
questions and comments are welcome. www.milholland.eu / dennis@milholland.eu
Chapter 27 (Wed., Jan. 11)
We were all pretty much fatigued, hence the name of the uniforms, after getting our gear. There were still some fifteen minutes before Sean and I were to march the guys over for chow. Now, it took all of two days for me, the apprentice 'Ultimate Weapon', not to cringe when I heard the Chinese word, 粻, which means food, and pronounced chow, being tossed about at will. And the only reason I would cringe was that Mother had always thrown a fit, if either Dad or I mixed languages.
Sean was explaining the principle of 'Hurry-Up-and-Wait' to a group of us out front on the cinder formation patch, when one of our guys came hurrying around the corner of the wooden building. When he came closer, it was clear that he'd either been crying or seriously blowing dope to judge by the red eyes. He slammed the door to the bay, then we heard the commotion.
Two others were yelling at him and another was yelling for help. Sean's face blanched, so I took the initiative to move. But he was right beside me as we went into the barracks.
The kid, who'd been the quiet sort until now, was wearing his field jacket, and the name EVANS was on the name tape above the right pocket. Evans was waving a butcher knife with his arm extended out at the two other soldiers. The way he was waving it told me that he didn't have the slightest clue of how to use a knife and that he had no intention of using it, except maybe against himself. Anyone intending to use a weapon against someone else conceals it.
Barking "Halt!" from the diaphragm, the intensity of which I'd used once on Marv, when he couldn't bring himself to cuddle Bat, and once on Lon, when he was brandishing the hand axe. It proved to be distraction enough for me to move in. Not only did this shit get easier the more it happened, Haruki had taught me how to move. I bypassed the knife and grabbed his upper arm, above the elbow and got in very close, turning my back to him by pulling his arm over my shoulder, so that the knife was in front of us and I was between both his hands, so he couldn't switch over, and I could throw him over my hip if he tried something. The poor guy let the butcher knife, that still had the sticky price label from the PX on the handle, drop at once, and he broke into tears.
Combat hardened Sean, grabbed the knife and got the others out of the barracks and into formation. He barked a direct order at Helmstedter to march the troops in formation to and from the mess hall. I had to laugh, when Helmstedter snapped to attention and shouted, "Yes, Drill Specialist."
I turned around and pulled Evans in closer when he sobbed: "Please, don't laugh at me."
"I'm not, Little Brother, it's just that Helmstedter just called Sean 'Drill Specialist'." That even got a chuckle out of Evans through the tears. "Your girlfriend just broke up with you, didn't she?"
He nodded and pulled up snot. I let him go a little so he could get to his newly issued handkerchief. "I went over to use one of the telephones in front of the PX, and she told me that she wasn't gonna wait for me." His blood-shot eyes are now actually looking at me. "And how the Fuck did you know?"
Sean came over to us. "Because you're only the first of many yet to come. That and homesickness are the two major causes of suicide and desertion."
"And how did you know that I wouldn't use the knife?" He looked really embarrassed but somehow relieved.
"I grew up in an apartment building on the border between Chinatown and Little Italy." I laughed, somewhat relieved myself. "And I can tell that you don't know the first fucking thing about knives."
"So, you weren't scared?" I shook my head. "And you're not going to call the MPs?"
"This is a family matter." I assured him. "We settle shit like this among ourselves. Calling in the authorities is just a sign of immaturity, Little Brother."
"Why do you keep calling me that, I'm not even Black." The whine was back and a few tears were accompanying it.
"'Cause that's what you are to us, right now." I took his upper arm and steered him sternly toward the door. "This platoon is our family, for the moment. And we watch out for each other."
Sean added with his sweet tenor: "Let's go see if the mess hall will still feed us."
***
When we arrived at the mess hall and got our trays, containing chopped, creamed beef on toast, known in the military, I'd just found out, as shit on a shingle. But the smell was okay.
Helmstedter, sitting in a group at the back, stood and waved. So, we followed his beckoning. We got to the table as most everybody was finishing up, but they stayed put to hear about what had happened. Helmstedter was first. "So?" He glared at me and then at Evans.
"Our brother, here, was going through a bad patch." I glared back at Helmstedter, who got the message. "But he's okay, now." Then I glared at the rest of them. "And this does not go beyond our platoon family. Understood?"
"Man, I never saw anyone just walk up to a dude with a knife like that." The name tape said that he was Morton, and his big brown eyes expressed amazement. "You're the man." Morton bumped his fist on the top of mine. Then Helmstedter whispered into his ear. Morton looked at Sean and me several times in rapid succession. "You guys are fucking wicked." He laughed and got up to take his tray to the conveyor belt. "See ya outside."
Helmstedter didn't take his eyes off Evans as he came round the table and put his arm across Evans' shoulder. "Girlfriend, huh?" Evans took a deep breath and nodded. "When we get back to the barracks, we'll talk. Mine dumped me the day I left for here." He laughed and ran his hand across my buzz cut. "And that's why I tried to pick a fight with our Ben, here." He laughed again. "Jesus, was that a mistake."
***
On the road in front of the mess hall, Sean told Helmstedter that he'd been ordered to get the platoon over and back. So, Sean and I fell in with the rest and left it to Helmstedter.
"Fall in!" Everybody shuffled for position. "At-ten-huh! Dress right, dress!" We got the distance correct. "Left, FACE!" He made sure that we were all facing the same direction. "Forward, MARCH!" The road guards got traffic stopped ahead. "Double time, march!" Then he started the response cadence: "Two old ladies were layin' in bed."
"Two old ladies were layin' in bed." I knew of two options he had for this Airborne cadence.
"One rolled over to the other and said:"
The response was clear and actually melodic for a group of guys jogging slowly. I was impressed, that they were able to sing the song together rather than in response.
"I
wanna be an Airborne Ranger,
I wanna go to Vietnam,
I wanna
live a life of danger,
I wanna kill some Charlie Cong."
I thought to myself that Helmstedter probably would become an Airborne Ranger, if not a Green Beret, and I hoped beyond hope that he would live to tell the story.
***
He got us back to the barracks in good order, and Sean and I told him so. Helmstedter was the kind of guy who lived for praise, which made him just a little boisterous and outgoing, but he was compassionate, as we'd seem when he offered to talk to Evans.
I was, on the other hand, the kind who avoided spotlight and praise. I found it simply embarrassing, which, as a matter of course, made me the quiet type. Although, I had to admit, zero week was helping me to evolve a little, I was never going to become like Helmstedter.
So it was an effort, when I had to get their attention, that evening, but it had to be done. "Listen up!" I barked; everyone looked up.
"I think everyone knows what happened this afternoon." They mumbled. "There are two things I want all of us to remember. First, none of this ever gets to the outside. Even if the MPs want information, you just don't fucking know anything." That got a couple of applause and a whistle. "And secondly, what happened to our buddy, can happen to any of us, and probably will happen to most of us in some form or another before this training cycle is over." There were nods and a few coughs. "What I want to impress on every swinging dick in this platoon, is that if you notice one of our buddies acting depressed, fucking talk to him, ask him how you can help. He is YOUR responsibility, not Uncle Sam's!" A bunch of thumbs up and a few applause. "And conversely, if you are feeling like shit, know that you can turn to the next guy and ask for help. It's fucking nothing to be ashamed of. Do I make myself clear?"
Of course, it was Helmstedter who yelled from the sidelines, "Yes, Drill Private!" which broke the tension and was a good finish to the pep talk. When I thought about it, Helmstedter and I made a good team.
While about ten of the guys came over to me to compliment me on my courage when 'facing the knife', I had to chuckle to myself. Anybody who knew how people act and could get their eyes off the blade and onto the scared and sad Evans, would have seen the same picture I saw: a very depressed kid screaming for attention the only way he knew how. He wasn't threatening the other soldiers; he was threatening himself.
Over my shoulder, I saw Sean approach. "Good show, Comrade."
I shushed him but had to laugh. This really did remind me of our underground days at City College. "You know, because of your introduction of me, yesterday, Helmstedter thinks that we are CIA agents?" Sean sputtered, so I had to come clean, too. "That and when he asked me how you and I met, I told him that Langley didn't want us to talk about it."
"Well, in some respects, that is true." The levity in Sean's face made him appear years younger. This was once again the guy I'd known and was secretly in love with, while he was with Janet and before I could admit what I was. Was I still in love with him? I didn't know. For the moment, maybe.
"You know," Sean put an arm across my shoulder to whisper more easily. "it's amazing how quickly you can get young Americans applauding Socialism as long as you don't give it a name." He was looking at me as if he were debating whether to ask me something.
"Come on, Sean." I pulled out two cigarettes and gave him one. "There's something on your mind. Out with it."
"Uh," He was hesitating for some reason. "when I ETS next week?" His glance met mine, and we both laughed. "ETS is 'estimated time of separation'. It's when I get out." I nodded that I now understood. "Well, I don't have anywhere to go."
This recognition hit me like a load of bricks. Of course, he didn't. He was an orphan with no other family. That was why the breakup with Janet had been so devastating. Other than the emotional side of it, it had also made him homeless. I could have kicked myself for not having thought of that. "What's our schedule for tomorrow?"
"Dentist, ophthalmologist, vaccinations." He said those horrible words with such hope in his face, that I almost kissed him right here in the barracks. "Why?"
"I have an idea." I thought a little. "Are there telephones anywhere?"
"Yeah," He looked at his watch. "we'll be at the hospital. There are loads of phones." He turned back toward the bay. He blew his whistle, and everything became quiet. "You've got two hours 'til lights out. I'll be back to check that your hands are on top of the blankets."