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 101 (Tuesday, July 25 - Wednesday, July 26, 1967)

During the lengthy interrogation of the major, it came to light that both Captains Duvet had wanted to negotiate with the People's Liberation Army Ground Force the use of the Ho Chi Minh Trail to transport tons of heroine and other opium products from Laos into South Vietnam. Major Zhao had come to this meeting with the Special Forces’ officers to inform them that the People's Liberation Army Ground Force had no interest in allowing massive drug trafficking along the Trail, for fear of addiction amongst their own troops and those of the People's Republic of Vietnam, despite the considerable profits, they'd been offered.

He was not a prisoner of war, nor was he a deserter, rather a negotiator, or, in this case, a messenger. That was, of course, until the Special Forces' Captain had changed his mind and demanded engineering details of the Trail.

At about 1830 hours, the head of the CID unit ordered MPs from the 560th MP Company from Pleiku to arrest the Lawyer Captain and proceed to search and seize drugs at this location. Luckily, they found what they were looking for in the officers' billets and didn’t search ours. They'd seized one hundred kilos of No. 4, which was powdered, injectable heroin, and fifty kilos of No. 5, heroin for smoking, packed into individual plastic bags, contained in wooden ammunition crates. We were then confined to the immediate area. Our departure had, in fact, been delayed, once again.

Dave and I were sitting at one of the folding tables in the improvised mess hall, with people turning my shooting Madman Duvet into a legend, here in my presence. Dave remarked that I was very quiet. And when the interrogation lieutenant asked how I felt after having shot the commanding officer in the forehead at point-blank range, spraying chunks of his grey matter all over Biddell and the whitewashed wall, I noticed that my reaction was, by no means, appropriate.

I yawned. “I’m bored out of my mind with it all.“

The whispering started. I heard mention of the Foreign Legion, from the other end of the large tent. Voiced awe of anyone with my prowess was expressed quietly. When the topic got to speculation of what the Army was going to do with me, I got up and left the mess tent, that had started to smell of rancid, oil-based waterproofing. Without saying anything, Dave came with me. I picked up my C-ration rubbish, pocketing the treats pack and muffin.

***

Dave and I were walking toward the taxiway for fixed-wing aircraft, but headed back in direction of the Orderly Room, when Major Zhao Jiaxiang appeared, being escorted by two MPs toward the river. We caught up with them at just about the end of the concrete parking slabs. They had the major in handcuffs.

I accosted the nearest MP. “What’s the deal with the cuffs?” I didn’t trust cops, regardless of which side, they might be on.

“Oh, shit!” the other MP shouted and fumbled with his very stable key chain, which was anchored to his black utilities belt and produced a small key and removed the shiny, metal restraints.

The major smiled, rubbing his wrists. “Was wondering how I was going to get those off.”

“Where are they taking you?” I squinted at the horizon into the bright light of the setting sun to see if someone had set up an execution post.

“To the river.” He smiled. “My transportation is waiting.” Major Zhao Jiaxiang stopped after another twenty meters. “Please, turn back. They will open fire, if you come any further.”

He smiled at the MPs and said in English, “Thank you. Please, go back, now." then to me in Chinese, as I handed him the tinned blueberry muffin from the C-rations, along with the P-38 can opener and treats pack: “I do appreciate that you care, but get out of the Army, illegally if you must. You are much too intelligent to waste your life and your sanity in this senseless war, which the Americans can never win. They should have learned that in Korea."

“May I ask one last question, Uncle?” He nodded. “Why did you come here unarmed and alone to this meeting?” I couldn’t imagine that the People's Liberation Army would be so careless.

His face lit up, and he giggled like a young child. “When the unit, that guards the perimeter at this outpost, were in the process of changing the guard and were distracted with military drill and ceremony, instead of guarding the place, my people infiltrated this post through tunnels made by our Vietnamese comrades years ago, when they were fighting the French, and we bugged the place. You’ll find microphones, under the tables in all three of the concrete buildings and in the officers' quarters.

“By the way, I do know what a polygraph is and what it is used for, but it interferes with the listening devices’ transmission.” The good major squeezed my shoulder, turned and made his way down the embankment, yelling his identification code to the soldiers, waiting upstream.

***

The MPs hurried back to the Orderly Room, and Dave offered me a cigarette, which I waved off. “Here’s something a lot more soothing.” I pulled the wrinkled soft pack of Park Lane out of my shirt pocket. There were two left; I still had three packs in the hooch.

He took a deep drag, and released it slowly. "Fuckin' nice."

“Yeah, almost as good as sex.” I laughed, but Dave didn’t. Of a sudden, my stomach knotted.

He took another hit off his Park Lane. “Have you ever…”

Instinctively, I knew what he was trying to build up enough courage to ask. “… had sex with another guy?”

His eyes searched mine, probably wondering, if he could trust me. He nodded.

I nodded. “Was going to ask you to fuck me, tonight.” I chuckled at his surprised expression. “And yeah,” I whispered. “I have some more dope in the hooch.”

***

Since I hadn’t brought the enema bag with me, I lubed two fingers and opened myself up, to make sure that smoking Park Lane, which contained opium, had been sufficient to solidify and retain any remnant of the fecal column. I didn’t want Dave to get shit on his dick, due to the fact that I had to take anti-malaria medication, which could have ruined, what I assumed to be, his first time.

Everything was fine, so I got onto my hands and knees, doggie style, right above the bullet holes in the floorboards, presenting my hole for his pleasure. When I felt the head of his cock enter me, I clamped down my ass muscles, causing him to gasp in pleasure.

His cock was absolutely perfect for a doggie fuck. It curved downwards and was just long enough to hit my prostate, each time he slammed it home. This kid was proving to be a real connoisseur, in that he was in no hurry. He was long-dicking me. And I was enjoying it. I felt that I was becoming one with what I'd felt, when I killed the captain, and Dave was helping me let go of that evil karma.

I squirted on the bullet holes in the floorboards just seconds before Dave filled my ass with his sap. His rod left me, when he dropped onto my back to recover.

After a minute or two, he patted my right ass cheek and slowly got to his feet, I wasn’t expecting him to kiss me, after he’d filled me with his cum. And he didn't. So, I switched to post-coital, damage-control mode. “Are you okay?”

He chuckled. “Yeah, I feel great.” He got to his trousers and fished out his packet of cigarettes. He offered me one; I took it. “I don't even feel guilty, like I wouldda, if we’d a gone to a whorehouse.” He gave it some more quiet thought. I found it almost funny that he considered my letting him fuck me, as some sort of acceptable alternative, so we didn’t have to deal with the guilt of having visited a brothel. “And how are you?”

“Full.” was my truthful but cautious response, as I moved carefully toward our private latrine.

***

Next morning at 0430 hours, Dave wouldn’t wake up. He was definitely still alive, but he flatly refused to awake fully. “Are you going to sleep all day?”

Groggily, he groaned and smiled. “Yeah.”

“We can have sex and then go to breakfast.” I whispered, painfully aware you could hear almost anything through the screen-mesh walls. The louvers kept out the nosy eyes but not the ears.

Dave was right; there was no earthly reason to get up. We had nothing to do, today, except get put on detail. But since the only permanent party at this outpost, was the guard unit who kept the perimeter safe, and recognizing the fact that the mess facilities were non-existent, having to pull detail wasn’t likely.

Then I remembered that I was basically still on leave, and had to get back to Dalat. So, I went back to sleep next to my cute door gunner, with an indistinct feeling of uneasiness.

***

Of course, after we got up a little after six, and having skipped the C-rations breakfast, there was the usual bureaucratic bullshit about logistics. The Signal Corps lieutenant was saying that he could not sign off on a helicopter lift for me back to Dalat; the best he could do was either Pleiku or Saigon via Pleiku.

Fortunately, I had had a good night’s sleep, and I wasn’t armed. Anyway, I didn't think the flight crew would have had anything against getting hijacked to Dalat. But the lieutenant was refusing to be co-operative, probably because he thought I threatened his authority.

So, I reasoned. “Look, Lieutenant,” I cooled my temper and tempered my voice. “I was called to duty out of leave. I was taking leave because I’d been called out of leave back in the States by General Xav Paulson, so I could interpret a meeting for Secretary of Defense McNamara.”

I was not about to tell him that the meeting hadn't taken place. “So, I was yanked out of leave time, once again, here, to come to interpret for you.”

Now, it was time for the guilt trip. “And need I remind you that you were immobilized, while the drug-dealing fucker, Duvet, was coming at us.

“I shot him, Sir. You didn’t.

“And this is not to mention that I seriously doubt you could have negotiated with Major Zhao, and that you would have found Captain Doofus’ heroin stash without me. Or have I got it all wrong, Sir?”

Now, the time had come for blackmail. “And one of the major questions at the investigation will be why you didn't take out the rogue officer, rather than leaving it to me, an E-4, if I don't say that you had been distracted, at the time. Otherwise, it would look like cowardice in the face of the enemy."

“He wasn’t the enemy. He was an American officer.” The lieutenant’s whine actually became annoying.

“Protect against all enemies, foreign and domestic, Sir.”

***

We’d taken off gently with intermittent, low-hanging cloud and reasonable visibility. The starboard door gunner, Biddell, had been taken back to Pleiku, due to the cheek wound. It had actually been a gaping hole, caused by a small chunk of Captain Crazy’s skull. The medic had been afraid of possible septicemia, so, he was evacuated.

This meant that Dave had to become more mobile, making him put on what he called the monkey harness and attach himself to a cable, which, in turn, was slotted into a track in the floor. This allowed him to operate his M60 machinegun from a bungee cord and actually lean out of the cabin to get better shots.

Watching him do that high above a triple-canopy jungle while flying through wisps of cloud made my balls and pecker twitch and tingle, the same way that the trapeze artists and tightrope performers used to when I was a kid, watching them high above the arena at Madison Square Garden, when the Ringling Brother’s Circus came to town. The visualization of what could happen always made me look away.

But I didn’t dare, this time. I had to be alert, should Dave need my help.

I’ve always admired people with no fear of heights. Apparently, Dave was one of those people, just like the fireman from Hudson, New York, who, in the 20s, purportedly rode his penny-farthing across the high wire at the Circus. I couldn’t have done it, but hats off to all those who could. And I had no intention of ever trying. But Dave appeared happy with his job. And I hoped beyond hope that his life expectancy would be infinitely longer than the five minutes that myth and legend gave door gunners in the Nam.