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 42 (Tues., Jan. 17)

After breakfast Sean still hadn't put in an appearance. He was either being out processed, or something that I didn't want to think about had happened. And true to form, First Sergeant was again on the prowl before lunch.

When I asked about Sean, First Sergeant looked at his watch. "He's a civilian by now." Then he lowered his voice, when he pulled two armbands out of his pocket. He handed them to me. "I want you to wear the Sergeant's stripes and give Helmstedter the Corporal's insignia." When my face must have looked like a big question mark, he chuckled. "You are now an acting E-5, with all the rank and responsibility, and I am backing you. Not even the Post Commander has the balls to tangle with me. You are the Platoon Sergeant and Helmstedter is your assistant. Any questions?"

"Yes, First Sergeant." I lowered one eyebrow. "For how long?"

"Until you're relieved by your Drill Sergeant." His chocolate face and his peppermint breath got daringly close. "And you don't want to know why?"

"I figure you have your reasons, First Sergeant, and that they are legitimate." Of course, I knew why. Permanent-party cadre was way over extended with one ETS and one suicide in one day. But I thought that it would 'behoove' me, to use the vernacular, to play the unquestioning soldier.

"And you don't even want to know why?" First Sergeant was now pressing me. Once a Drill Sergeant, always a Drill Sergeant. My gaze was going right through him, which was self-preservation to keep myself from kissing him.

"You know, Top," I relaxed my gaze to become just a little less regimented. "I took an oath to follow orders, and that's what I'm doing." First Sergeant glared at me askance from the side. "I was taught to follow orders." Which, again, was bullshit. The private schools I'd attended in Greenwich Village had taught us to question everything.

"What if I ordered you to help me beat someone up, without provocation?" He wasn't as clever as he thought, since Haruki had already informed me about things like this.

"That would be an illegal order, First Sergeant, and I would have to decline." I finally looked at him and smiled.

He stopped one of the guys who was trying to get to his locker. "Excuse me, Private, uh," He read the name tape. "Morales." He got the soldier's attention. "Did Loughery know that PFC Debucan was given a blanket party." Little did Top know that Morales was one of the ones to give me unwavering support during the inquisition by el CID.

He smiled cordially. "Don't know what you're talkin' about, First Sergeant." He looked at Top. "Can I go?"

First Sergeant waved him off and shook his head. "Okay, Sergeant Loughery, you'll hand over to the Drill Sergeant on Thursday at about 0900, and I want you to give me a report tomorrow after lunch on the state of things." I nodded, but he couldn't let it go. "God damn it, Loughery, how in blue Fuck do you do it? How do you get these guys to stick together like they do."

"I didn't do anything." I chuckled. "Most of these kids are away from home for the first time. We had that little incident with the knife, and I told you at the time that we'd settled it amongst ourselves. We had a pep talk how we're family, and we have to stick together and take responsibility for each other. The kid who was involved with the knife has proven to be one of our most outstanding troops."

"God damn!" He didn't know whether to believe me or not. "And how did you get this far."

"First Sergeant," I decided to seal the bond with him. "look at me!

"I'm from Chinatown; we have triads. And white establishment has been trying to infiltrate them for centuries. Morton and Helmstedter are from a neighborhood just a couple of blocks south of East Harlem, and don't tell me that they don't know how to stick together. Same with the Hispanic kids; they are all from el Barrio, East Harlem, without exception. The Italians are from my neck of the woods, just across Canal Street. Our two Jews are from the Lower East Side, from what used to be Little Germany, just across Broadway from Chinatown and Little Italy. And the rest are easy-going rural kids from upstate. Like Moffett, he's from the Adirondacks, ever been there?"

First Sergeant shook his head, intrigued. "Always wanted to go, but never got around to it."

I nodded that I understood. "It redefines rugged. Moffett's been complaining that there aren't any bears to slap around down here in New Jersey."

And then First Sergeant saw the reasoning. "You're all from New York."

"And more importantly," I finished. "we all reported at the same time and came down here on the bus together. You know who I almost had a fight with before we got on the Greyhound bus?"

Top shook his head but hazarded a guess: "Donno, Morton?"

"Why would I have a fight with Morton?" At that he went slightly on the defensive, since he'd probably heard something, but knew nothing specific. "Hell, no. It was Helmstedter."

He was about to call bullshit, when I motioned Gerry over. "Top doesn't believe that we almost had a brawl before the bus arrived." I pointed to the remnant of scab on his cheek and draped demonstratively my arm over his shoulder.

"Damn!" Top shortened his expletive.

"That's how you do it, Top." I took my arm off Gerry's shoulder before I got hard. "You have everybody identify the common denominator, in this case New York, identify the unit, here it's platoon, and establish it as family, that takes care of its own." Of course, I didn't bother to tell him that it's the same principle, which is behind Trade Unions, any Kibbutz, communism and, as it were, the United States Army.

***

The rest of the day went without incident. The troops accepted Top's announcement about Gerry and me without any grumbling. The main reason for that was, I thought, that everyone was keyed up with respect to starting basic training. We saw an abundance of boot and brass polishing, even though the 'Uniform, Class A, service, green, winter, 2 sets' had yet to arrive. But all in all, the atmosphere was relaxed. That is until supper time.

Although we had the time, Gerry and I didn't indulge in anything carnal, since we were now in charge of the troops. And they kept us busy with giving them advice, a lot of which just required common-sense answers, but they wanted our take on things, all the same.

On the nationality front, however, Mr. Wilson hadn't wasted any time. First Sergeant arrived with Major Horowitz in tow shortly before supper to help me fill out a form from the US Department of State. And needless to say, this is where the common-sense aspect ceased to exist and the realm of la-la-land took over. When they walked into the bay, First Sergeant yelled "At-ten-hut!", which startled the Major. There was a pause, before Major Horowitz realized that he had to say: "At ease."

First Sergeant didn't accompany us up to our room. Gerry, however, was busy unpacking his stuff and putting it into his wall locker, when we arrived. He closed his locker, greeted the Major and disappeared downstairs.

I motioned for our guest to take a seat at the table and I removed the butt can. The Major took in our meagre surroundings, glared disapprovingly at the unfinished walls, and removed papers from his thin, leather briefcase.

"According to Wilson, Washington needs this information. So let's get through it, and we can go to supper." He waited for me to nod. "Are you a national or citizen of any other country other than the United States?"

I sighed, knowing that this was going to be trying. "Yes."

"If yes, of what country?" He started to write, until I answered something other than France.

"The French Republic." He glared at me and put France in parentheses.

"If yes, did you acquire that citizenship in the foreign country by: Birth; Marriage; Naturalization or registration; if yes, please provide a date; If other, explain." He smiled, probably anticipating that this would be straight forward.

"I didn't acquire that citizenship IN the foreign country. I acquired that citizenship in this country, at birth, by virtue of my father's being French." I pointed out, making the question much more complex than it was at first blush. "However, he did register me at the French Consulate, but also IN this country and not in France."

He entered what I'd said and scowled at me ever so slightly, as he flipped the page. He read, then erupted in laughter. "I'll read it as is, but we have to take this seriously. 'When did you first become aware that you might be a United States citizen (give approximate date)?'"

I acted as if I were giving it serious thought. "Well, let me see. It couldn't have been in the delivery room. I had other things on my mind, just then." I paused for fun. "It musta been back in '52 when I was walking my buddy's beagle, Barney, and he was a pissin' on the ol' hangin' tree, over yonder in Washington Square Park..."

"Point taken. It is stupid." He chuckled. "But we do have to furnish an answer."

"Hold on." I actually did remember some details. "It was during McCarthy's mayhem, and they were talking about deporting my dad, and they couldn't because mom and I are US citizens by birth."

"Okay, when was it?" He looked hopeful.

"It was the same month that they wouldn't let Charlie Chaplin back into the country, September of '52." When I said that, I had the whole flashback of the FBI threatening my father.

He chuckled again. "Here's number three. 'How did you find out that you are a citizen of the United States? (For example, did you always know you were a U.S. citizen?) If not, when did you learn about your citizenship? Did someone tell you that you are a U.S. citizen?)

I tried for humorous. "It must have been the FBI, when they scrutinized my birth certificate." A chill ran from my shoulders to my ass; I shivered. My voice was shaky. "Yeah, definitely the FBI."

"You okay, Ben?" Major Horowitz asked with sincere concern.

I took a deep breath. "Sorry, Sir, just a flashback of the FBI taking Dad away in handcuffs."

"What did he do?" He raised both eyebrows.

"Taught French at the City College of New York." I quipped, then decided to trust the lawyer. "He refused to testify in front of the House Committee on Un-American Activities."

It appeared to me that Major Horowitz was asking out of interest, not out of duty. "What grounds did he give?"

"Since he wasn't an American, Un-American activities didn't concern him." I told him as simply as Dad had told the FBI.

The Major was toying with his ballpoint. His voice went soft. "Did they force him to testify?"

"They did, but he refused to speak English." I could tell that the Major was amused, but couldn't say anything supportive because of his uniform.

"And how do you feel about it?" With this, I had the feeling that it was an official, line-of-duty question. I put my trust on hold.

I looked at him for a while. "To be quite honest, Sir, I own an apartment in Paris, I have a French driver's license, I have family there, and since I had a big fight with my parents, I don't even have an address here. What do you think?"

He straightened his back. "But you took an oath to support the Constitution and the President of the United States."

I laughed sarcastically. "That was hardly voluntary. I was drafted. What would I have gotten, had I refused? Five years in federal prison?" I laughed, increasing the sarcasm. "Tell me, Sir, is that the kind of freedom, you're trying to peddle to the Vietnamese?"