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 29 (Thurs., Jan. 12)

I got up at my usual 0400 and woke Sean at his own request. He thought he'd better go look at PFC Debuncan, and treat his wounds, if he had any. From the top of the stairs, we saw Gerry Helmstedter waiting under the thirty-watt bulb on the stoop. Evidently he was a clean-cut kid, hadn't seen him smoke, hadn't smelled booze.

"Good morning, Gerry." For some reason, I was in a good mood.

"Good morning, Drill Private." "And he was in an even better one.

The skies had cleared and it was definitely above freezing. And along with the clear skies, we had fresh air, rather than concentrated coal smog. We ran our usual path along the cinder training fields, and when we reached the end, we headed back without stopping. Back in front of our building, neither of us were winded. "Wanna go again?" was my question, and we didn't even stop for a break. But we did stop at the other end.

"Let's walk back." Gerry was holding his side.

"Okay," I shook my tension off. "how'd it go last night?"

"Don't know what you're talking about." He grinned pretending innocence.

"Good." This guy was reliable. "Um, tell me if it's none of my business, but I get the feeling that you and Morton already knew each other, or was it coincidence that you both had ROTC?"

"Morton and I went to school together on the Upper East Side." he related with his usual smile.

"You're from Manhattan?" He nodded. "I had you pegged as from somewhere north of Albany."

He stopped in his tracks and let go of his side. "Thanks a lot, Drill Private." His laugh was infectious.

"Sorry, Gerry," I snickered. "so are you're from Yorkville or the Lower East Side?"

"Aw, come on Ben," He was still laughing. "my name is Gerhard Helmstedter, where the Fuck else would I be from, but Yorkville." He laughed again, bordering on silly giggles. "That's like asking if you're from Chinatown."

"You could be from Little Germany, down next to Chinatown." But I gave it some thought and I thought it was weird that he didn't seem to know it. "But I don't think very many Germans are still there." He nodded but looked confused. "So, you went to school with Morton?" I tried to get off the topic of anything near Chinatown.

"Yeah," Gerry nodded again, grinning. "his family moved into our building way back when. His parents are scientists, and Langley doesn't let them talk about it." He giggled and looked at me to judge my reaction. When there was none, he continued. "Anyway, they were the first, and for a long time the only Negros to move in, so my mother called them the 'von Mortons'."

"So, do you both speak some German?" Again I was hoping beyond hope that they'd be sent to Germany and not Vietnam.

"Yeah, actually Morton's German is pretty good." He now turned serious. "He's going to take the language placement tests to see if he can get the advanced courses at the Defense Language School in Washington. The Army considers me a native speaker. So, do you speak some Chinese?"

"Yeah, you could say that." I focused my attention on Sean, who was standing out on the stoop, smoking, both literally and figuratively. "Problems?"

"The little son of a bitch won't get out of bed." He said in a low voice, trying to keep his anger at bay.

An awful thought occurred to me. "He isn't dead, is he?" That defused the situation, since Sean first snorted and then laughed with Gerry. I was glad that my naivety lightened things up.

Sean smiled at me and winked. "No, but he'll wish he was, when the First Sergeant and the CO get finished with him." He looked at his watch. "Top won't be in the Orderly Room until after reveille at 0600 hours, so let's go see if we can get some coffee at the mess hall."

"Do you want me to stay to get them out for reveille?" Gerry offered.

"No, I want you as a witness." Sean lit another non-spiked cigarette. "I asked Morton to wake them up."

***

Over a mug of coffee at the mess hall, Sean informed us about the use of Article 15 of the Uniform Code of Military Justice, also called non-judicial punishment. I was paying particular attention, since I would be going to legal-clerk school, if things worked out as I wished. But then again, the Army worked in wondrous ways.

We arrived at the Orderly Room right at 0600 hours, and had to salute, for all I knew in direction of Mecca, at reveille. The First Sergeant was at his desk, watching us. The man, who was probably just short of retirement and whose once excellent physique had been spoiled by a desk job, smiled broadly, when Sean said: "Good morning, Top."

"Hey, Sean, what can I do for you?" The pleasant demeanor oddly wasn't spoiled by the scar down the left side of his face. "Uh, before I forget it, did that NG get over to you last night?"

"Yup, and he's the reason we're here." Sean pointed to Gerry and me. "He refused to follow several direct orders and cussed me up one side and down the other. Think we've got an Article 15."

"Sounds more like a Summary to me." He took notes and looked at Gerry and me. "And these are your witnesses?"

While he was taking notes, I noticed a Captain opening the front door so, I barked: "Ah-ten-hut!"

Wow, everyone sprang into action. The company clerk, the First Sergeant, Gerry, Sean all jumped to attention. I already had my zombie stare on. The First Sergeant greeted the Captain cordially. Haruki was right; this shit worked. Even after the Captain had said: "At ease." I was still frozen with awe.

The First Sergeant looked at me with a glare that would have burned holes in civilian clothes. "God damn, Trainee, that was good." He took out a form. There had to be one for everything. This one must have been for jotting down a mental note. "What's your name, Son?"

The praise had made me feel euphoric. "Private Ben Loughery, First Sergeant." I reported slowly coming down off my At-ten-hut rush, when the First Sergeant bounced off his chair and came around the counter top.

"You're the one?" His voice boomed. I looked at Sean. I was on the verge of panic not knowing what being 'the one' entailed. "You're the one who took that knife away from Sad Sack." I glared at Sean. "No, Specialist McGrady did not give me the soldier's name, he just reported the incident."

"That's a relief, Top. I told the kid that it would stay off the record." I was able to smile again, no longer feeling betrayed.

"Are you trained to do that?" The man seemed to be really concerned for my safety.

"Yes, Fir--"

"--you can stop the formality, Ben." Top grinned, nodded approval and shook my hand. "Where did you get your training?"

"Well, I started as a kid at a tong in Manhattan's Chinatown." Eyebrows were starting to lift up. "Then, I took some martial arts courses for civilians at the Brooklyn Navy Yard." Eyebrows were rising steadily. "And finally, with the French Foreign Legion." Eyebrows went off the charts.

The booming base of Top was somehow comforting. "You were in the fucking French Foreign Legion?"

"No, no." I knew that was going to backfire, the second I'd said it, so I hurried to explain what I meant. "No, it was a course for students. You see, I was doing my PhD at the University of Paris, and--"

Again, the soothing boom: "--you have a PhD?" His breath was peppermint sweet, and I was tempted to kiss him, but my brain kicked back in, when he asked: "In what?"

"Chinese and French, Top." This was, of course, normal for me, but for those in the Orderly Room, now including the Captain, it must have been as if I'd just said that I were actually a Martian wearing a Fu-Manchu mask.

The Captain had to first clear his voice, probably to get up his courage. « Parlez-vous français ? »

« Bien sûr, c'est pourquoi j'ai pu étudier à Paris. » came my rapid-fire response informing him that that was why I'd been able to study in Paris.

The Captain grinned. "Sure sounded good to me." He went back into his office and closed the door.

The First Sergeant refocused. "And what do you intend to take as an MOS?"

"97Bravo." Since Haruki had told me what to say, even I could now play gotcha with the Army. "That's Counterintelligence Agent."

And as St. Haruki had prophesied, I could tell by the expression on First Sergeant's face that he was going to ask that question of all questions: "You're not going for a commission?" And he actually did sound surprised.

"No, Top," Haruki had given me the ultimate answer, and I glanced at the Captain's door just to be on the safe side. "I intend to work for a living."

***

Since the Captain had opted for a Summary Court Martial rather than the less severe non-judicial punishment, Sean, Gerry and I hurried back to the barracks in time to lead the Military Police into the bay. Morton had the troops in formation on the cinder patch, ready to go to breakfast.

Obviously, Debucan had never learned to cut his losses and give up. He was still in bed with his head covered up when we arrived. One of the MPs put his fingers to his lips. "Private, get out of bed, now!"

From under the cover came: "I told ya go fuck yerself, ya Yankee Prick!"

The Policeman grinned. "Oh, this is so sweet so early in the morning." He yanked off the blanket. "You, Private Debucan, are under arrest."

Howdy even tried to bolt and run. And all I did was to stick out my combat boot. When he landed sliding down the waxed center aisle, the two MPs were on him like a cold sweat. They cuffed him, and led him out in front of formation.

I couldn't believe my ears, when he spat on the ground and yelled: "Fucking Yankees!"

And then came a whiny voice from somewhere out of formation: "Damn right. We want the Dodgers back."

***

Sean had put Morton in charge of moving us to the mess hall under the condition he would not make us do double time. From the stress, this morning, I imagined that his leg was hurting, but he never complained. We fell in, bringing up the rear. Now, Morton was calling cadence, real cadence, much better than I ever could.

Ain't no use in lookin' back,
Jody's got your Cadillac.
Even the response was snappier.

By the time we got to the mess hall, Jody had our girlfriend and our job to go along with the Cadillac, plus we learned to count to four. We fell out and got into the chow line. "Hope Evans didn't listen to the cadence." Sean whispered.

"Naw, he's up there jokin' around with Count Dracula." Helmstedter pointed out.

"You got nicknames for everyone?" Sean wanted to know.

"Yes, Drill Specialist."

***

After breakfast, we marched over to the auditorium for an oral hygiene lecture, which taught us to use a toothbrush and dental floss properly for those of us who hadn't paid attention in Kindergarten. Shortly before the end of the floss hype, my mind threatened to go comatose. Fortunately, the fear of practical dentistry helped me stay alert.

Sean had to lead the march to Walton Army Hospital, even though he was visibly in pain, because none of us knew the way. And as an added bonus, we learned the command 'Route step, march", which means: just walk. How inventive. By the time we were only half-way there, my brain was wallowing in rhetorical questions, like: 'Who thinks this shit up?' or 'If electricity comes from electrons, does morality come from morons?', when we stopped. Sean looked confused.

When he tried to say something, was when he dropped. My brain switched to unemotional emergency mode, just like it did when Lon had the axe. I knelt beside him, checked his mouth for obstruction and then his pulse. He had a pulse. I lifted him onto my shoulder in a fireman's carry, and took off in the Airborne shuffle, as not to jar him too much. Helmstedter was by my side, guiding, and I heard the platoon following. No cadence, just boots. Our goal was the only thing on my mind. We had to get Sean to the hospital, as soon as possible. Charlie was not going to win this one.

An emergency team saw us running up the approach and came wheeling a gurney as fast as they could in our direction. I lowered him carefully off my shoulder into the arms of two medics. One pulled out his tags. The other checked his neck. "Found the pulse. It's weak." At this point, I let myself catch my breath and moved slowly into the hospital.

The next thing I thought was to get to a phone. I zombie walked to the desk. "I need to call the First Sergeant at the Reception Company." The guy behind the desk was about to explain something to me, when I gritted my teeth. "What did you just fail to understand?" He conceded and dialed. That's when I saw that he was a Second Lieutenant. But he handed me the phone without saying a word. "Top, this is Private Loughery. I'm at Walton Emergency and Specialist McGrady has just collapsed. Need instructions." He said that he'd be over in ten. "I'll wait at the door to emergency. Over." Now, I had no idea why I'd said 'over', it had just sounded right. I handed back the phone. "Sorry, Sir." Having overheard the conversation, he just smiled and looked at my right shoulder probably trying to find my last combat unit.

Outside, I heard someone yell: "Ah-ten-hut!" and knew that some officer was about to harass my men. I got out there as fast as I could and found a friendly, unexcited Major asking who was in charge.

"That would be me." I told him still out of breath.

"Alright, Son," This is when I noticed his Medical Corps insignia. "you'll have to clear your troops out of the ambulance entrance."

"We're supposed to report to the Dental Clinic." I waved for Morton and Helmstedter to come over. Morton was still carrying Sean's clipboard. "These two will move the troops." And the good Major explained how to get there. My mind was back on Sean.

Morton and Helmstedter had gotten the troops moving in the right direction. After about three minutes of silence, the Major coughed. I looked at him. "I saw you bringing your buddy up the road." He placed a hand on my shoulder. "You were doing better than most professionals."

"I'm sorry, Sir," I had to fight back tears, and barely managed. "I don't need praise; I need my buddy back."