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.

Careful! This is a work of fiction containing graphic descriptions of sex between males and critiques of religion and governments. And last but not least, Nifty would like your donations.

Farewell, Uncle Ho

by Dennis Milholland

questions and comments are welcome. www.milholland.eu / dennis@milholland.eu

Chapter 100 (Tuesday, July 25, 1967)

According to my Timex, it was 0430 hours and my usual time for getting up, when on duty. Fortunately, with an abundance of foresight, I’d locked the hooch's door. From the outside, no one could really see into the interior through the screen walls covered by wooden-slat louvers, affixed to the outside at a forty-five degree angle and coated in the decorators’ favorite color of olive drab, as long as there was no light coming from in here. There was certainly no light coming from outside. Cloud was hanging low. We were likely inside the cloud, which existed mostly of water. There were no sounds of rain, only those of drops, falling from the eaves and louver slats.

I leaned in closely to smell his scent. It was the scent of the battle field. Who knew what David McAlester, from Clarendon, Arkansas, had been through in the past few days. Whatever it had been, though, had left its traces in his manly smell, mixed with tobacco smoke and morning breath. The relaxed face of sleep, appeared too worn to be angelic and much too young to be ruggedly handsome.

His eyes fluttered, as he tried to focus. “Wanna trade hand jobs, Ben?” The soft whisper rose with the smell of stale-tobacco breath. He coughed slightly and cleared his sinuses. I couldn’t resist. I kissed him. And he returned the kiss.

I broke the kiss before it got out of hand. “Sure.” I retracted his skin and slipped my hood over the head of his nicely proportioned, rock-hard cock, pulling his foreskin then over mine. It was nicely snug against the cold, and our heads were exchanging spit like our tongues.

My warm hand, running up and down our combined skins, plus the novelty of each slick head, rubbing against the other’s, and the feel of my slightly spread ass cheeks’ straddling his hips, letting the hair on his balls tickle my hole, made both of us cum in less than a minute. The deluge of cum, leaking out of our inflated skins, made the sound of a juicy fart. Both of us laughed and relaxed as I dropped onto his chest to cuddle for a minute as we came down from the rush. Neither of us made any attempt to kiss. As our respective breathing slowed, we were slowly returning to our usual role playing, demanded by the military, required by society.

***

During breakfast, we were advised that we might have to stay overnight again, due to visibility and weather issues. Dave seemed to enjoy the thought of another night together.

But as fate would have it, the cloud and wet cleared during my hard work of interpreting the interrogation of a clearly well educated, Chinese Army engineer by a macho-posturing clown of an American Army Captain, full of self-importance.

“Now, you’re gonna take this-here gun,” He whipped out the same sidearm, which had been in play, yesterday. "An' hold it up to his head, like this," He held the gun up to my temple, again, just like yesterday. And I took it away from him, just like yesterday.

“I am not going to hold any weapon up to any prisoner’s head.”

“Yes, you will.” He growled but got himself under control, Probably because we had people, watching. “And that's an order!” I still had the gun, and the only thing he had must have been a lapsed memory.

“And an illegal one at that, Sir.” I moved a step closer to him, placing the muzzle of the M1911A1 up to his right temple. “How does it feel, now, Sir?” I took the safety off. He heard the click; we all heard the click. “This better? And with all due respect, Sir, don’t think for a moment, that I won't use it. On you. But I am not going to use it to intimidate or threaten a prisoner. That is illegal. Do you understand what I am saying.”

“Nobody pays attention anymore to that-there Geneva shit, Boy." He tried to grab the sidearm; I fired it once into the ceiling and grabbed the back of his neck to return it to his temple. The muzzle must have been warm, since he flinched.

“I do, Sir.” He tried to weasel free, but I had him at close quarters, too close to go anywhere. “And let your ringing ears and the smell of gun smoke remind you that ithat was number one, Sir. Number two goes through your skull. I am going to protect this prisoner, even if you won’t.”

***

I’d kept the sidearm, just like Captain Madman had wished, but I kept it in my hand to kill him, our slightly deranged O-3, should he start up again. But I kept it away from the prisoner. And we waited idly about ten minutes for the interrogator to arrive.

The interrogator, a first lieutenant, from the Signal Corps, who'd just arrived by chopper, was pleasant enough, but kept his eye on the pistol. “Would you please ask the prisoner to tell us his name, rank, and unit.”

I did as requested and thought to myself that it was a relief to have a professional, running things. The major’s name was Zhao Jiaxiang, and he was from the Guangzhou Military Region of the People's Liberation Army Ground Force. Until recently he’d been an advisor, in charge of building the section of the Annamite Range Trail through Kontum. I translated.

“Please, ask him to explain ‘Annamite Range Trail'.” The lieutenant requested of me.

But Captain Gung-Ho had to butt in. “Everyone knows that it’s the Ho Chi Minh Trail."

“Captain, please, do not interrupt us.” The lieutenant spoke through gritted teeth.

“Y’ain’t gonna be tellin’ me what to do.” Captain Megalomaniac spat at the lieutenant and I fired another shot into the ceiling, again letting concrete dust rain down on us.

The lieutenant swerved at me. “Where did you get an officer’s sidearm, Specialist?”

“I took it away from the good captain, this morning, when he threatened me with it after I refused to threaten Major Zhao with it.” I suppressed a grin. “Actually, the first time I had to take it away from him was yesterday evening. Again after he’d threatened me with it, having called me, and I quote, a ‘slimy-ass Chink cocksucker'.”

The lieutenant glared at me, then intensifying his glare, he turned to the Lawyer Captain. "And why haven't you done anything, Sir?” causing the JAG officer to stammer.

So, I volunteered some pertinent information: “He’s the other captain's cousin, as you can see by their white name patch.”

The lieutenant opened the door to the building serving as the interrogation room cum Orderly Room and yelled: “Guards.”

“Y’ain’t gomma find any guards there.” Captain Wayne chuckled.

“You mean to tell me that you are holding a high-ranking POW, without a guard detail?” The lieutenant tittered at the verge of losing it. He spun to look at the Lawyer cousin. “Did you know about any of this?”

“Well, I, uh--"

I added my comment: “He must have. Everyone else did.”

“Specialist Loughery, go get the two door gunners from your flight, Have them bring the weapons from the Huey and guard this room until CID arrives. This room is under immediate lockdown, which means that no one enters or leaves without permission.”

“You cain’t do that.” Captain Beret belted out with the authority, he no longer had.

“Fucking watch me.” The lieutenant growled, unholstering his own sidearm. “Specialist, go get the door gunners. And tell one of the pilots to radio CID for backup.”

***

When I returned with Dave and Biddell, who were armed to the teeth, the lieutenant had his sidearm aimed at Captain Warmonger. There was no reason given. I didn't ask; they didn’t tell.

Of course, both Captains Duvet glared at me with contempt, which said that at least one of them had tried something. And I smiled back, telling them, if they did, again, they would regret it. Major Zhao looked apprehensive.

I glanced over my shoulder at him. “Don’t worry, Major, the lieutenant and I’ll protect you.”

“I know you will. I'm not so sure about the lieutenant.” His voice was calm, although strained a little.

“How can you be so sure about me?” I had to smile at this bold statement. After all, he was a prisoner of war, and I was wearing the uniform of the enemy.

“You’re a young man with absolute integrity.“ He smiled, albeit, with a slight nervous twitch. “And you speak our language with the old Guangzhou lilt. Your love of reason reminds me of Sun Yat-sen.”

“Stop talkin’ that-there fuckin’ Chink shit.” Captain Crazy started toward me, waving a handgun, he’d pulled out of who knew where.

I brought up his own sidearm with both hands, took quick aim and fired. Once. I mumbled: “Against all enemies foreign and domestic, Sir.”

The bullet entered his front forehead, between his eyebrows, making his eyes bulge grotesquely. The point of entry was about the size of a quarter. The exit wound was the entire back of his skull. He’d been using illegal hollow-cavity bullets. The amount of blood was not as much as I’d expected. But a bone fragment did wound Private Biddell in his right cheek, which no one saw until the brain matter had been cleared off his face.

***

We were outside, near the fixed-wing strip, watching El CID and backup arrive in four choppers, one of which was from a Dust-Off unit with its medical evacuation team. I had to think of Sean and Greg, the guy he’d loved, who'd been unable to reciprocate.

I was still staring at others kicking into emergency mode, and at the body bag, carrying Special-Forces Captain Duvet off to his final reward, when an arm went round my neck, which pulled me toward warm breath. I recognized the scent, so, I stayed relaxed.

“Ye’re one brave son of an I-don’t-know-what.” Dave planted a very quick kiss on my neck, then pushed me away. "Are you doin’ alright?”

I nodded and took one of his cigarettes. “Thanks. Yeah I’ll be okay.” He lit our cigarettes. I took a look at his lighter. It read: Yea, though i walk through the valley of the shadow of death. I shall fear no evil for I'm the evilest motherfucker in this valley.

We were still laughing, when a staff sergeant, who'd just arrived at the airbase, was double-timing it toward us from the Orderly Room. “You the translator?”

“Interpreter, but yeah.” He looked puzzled, and took a glance at Dave's lighter, which I was still holding, and broke into raucous laughter. I glanced at where he was looking. “It’s his.” I nodded at Dave. “He’s even meaner than me.”

“And you were the one, who shot the captain?” I nodded in affirmation to his question and the staff sergeant shook his head in disbelief, looking at Dave. “You’re wanted in the Orderly Room.”

***

When we got to the interrogation cum Orderly Room, our Signal-Corps lieutenant was trying to coax Major Zhao to take the lie-detector test. The major looked enormously relieved to see me. ”They want to torture me.”

I translated for the lieutenant. He shook his head in disbelief. “Why would he think that Americans do things like that?” The lieutenant’s voice almost made it to a whine.

“Sorry, Sir, don't you remember the guy I shot?” I had a hard time believing that I had to explain this. “And why?”

I tried not to frown and offered the major a cigarette; Dave lit it. I explained the apparatus to the major. “No, it’s not an instrument of torture. It measures your body reactions to questions; it does not electrocute you.”

I told the lieutenant and the CID polygrapher that the major feared that they were going to administer electroshock. "Maybe it would be helpful, if you gave me the lie detector, first.”

“Okay, but we have to get that JAG officer in here, since you shot the captain.” The CID polygrapher said to no one in particular.

“Uh,” I got their attention. “He’s the cousin of the guy I shot.”

“Shit.” was the ultimate answer from the CID.

I decided to insert some good-ol’ Chinese reasoning. “Listen up.” I had to stifle a laugh. “Since our good major, here, is a prisoner of war, he certainly could lie about what happened, in order to confuse us, his enemy.” Both the lieutenant and the staff sergeant nodded in agreement. “However, he would have no reason to fool us. He doesn't have a dog in this fight. He could only profit in his present situation from telling the truth. So, I think it would behoove you to do without the lie detector, instead of making him fear being electrocuted, which could invalidate your polygraph results, anyway."

When they expressed approval, I explained the line of questioning, which the lieutenant and staff-sergeant were going to follow, and why they were not going to use the polygraph, thus letting Major Zhao Jiaxiang, from the Guangzhou Military Region of the People's Liberation Army Ground Force, save face. He sat up straight as a board and nodded to us.

“What did you tell him?” The lieutenant returned the nod, just being polite.

“I explained why you were not going to use the lie detector.” As I spoke, the lieutenant let out an appreciable sigh of uncertainty. “I also told him that you respect him as an officer and gentleman, just as you would an American major.”

As I translated the questions and answers, when the lieutenant said 'Sir' I used the two words, meaning 'Uncle'. I'm sure the major knew that I was doing that, and not the lieutenant. But he did relax and seemed even familiar as soon as the staff sergeant had packed away the polygraph.