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 66 (Fri., March 31, Mon., Apr. 3)

We smoothly settled into our AIT unit and were sharing a bunk, Gerry was on top. Just like at the Reception Company, the barracks were World-War-II vintage, perched on brick pillars. The only exception, that I could see, was the hard-wood floor instead of worn, battle-ship-grey linoleum.

On the first day of Clerk-Typist school, Gerry and I learned a new and important lesson. You should never volunteer any information about any of your abilities. We'd informed the Sergeant in charge of instruction that we could both type. Of course, the Sergeant sat us down with something to type and he timed us. He also paid close attention to the fact that we were using all ten fingers correctly.

When the timer rang, we'd passed with flying colors. The instructor congratulated us and told us to return to our unit. We did as instructed, feeling good about ourselves.

Standing next to the supply building, First Sergeant told us how impressed he was that somebody could already type, as he handed each of us a gunny sack and a rake. "Go and change into fatigues." He explained, giving us a sarcastic smirk. "Then I want you to check under the barracks for rattlers."

I was far from enthused about this prospect, but surprisingly, Gerry was pleased. He happily took charge of the rakes and gunny sacks. He led us back to our barracks to change from our Class A uniforms into fatigues, without speaking. In front of our lockers, he smiled and ran the back of his free hand across my dour face. "Don't look so scared, Ben. It's a snipe hunt." I was still about to declare him insane, when he continued. "First Sergeant is sending us on a wild goose chase. Both the timber rattlesnake and the copperhead, probably the only venomous snakes around here, still have a good month to hibernate. Top is just trying to see if we're courageous enough to be good soldiers."

"And why are you so sure of this? This question wasn't emphatic, and could really have been taken to be a joke, since I trusted Gerry with my life. But I was curious.

"Remember, I took ROTC and know the ploy. Besides, majoring in German at Columbia, I minored in Biology with an interest in Herpetology." Gerry grinned. "I know my snakes."

I grinned back. "This, mein Schatz, promises to be fun."

***

When we would return for evening formation, soiled from crawling under buildings all day but without snakes, First Sergeant started barking about how he should have known better than to send two city-born, college-boy Yankees out to find snakes. This was the first time I'd ever experienced someone overtly proud of being an uneducated hick. Every day that we came back empty handed, he would go off on his daily tirade, which always increased in intensity.

Gerry and I agreed every day: he was right that kids from New York City were totally inept at finding rattlesnakes. But the more we agreed with him, the more the pressure would increase.

"You're right, for Fuck's sake. What else do you want to hear?" I snapped.

He got into my face. "I don't wanna hear anything. I wanna see you get them fucking snakes out from under my barracks, you stupid Gook! Or, I'll give your Chink ass a blanket party!"

Luckily, this sadistic tirade, just before our first weekend since arriving at Fort Knox, threatened physical violence, if I didn't come up with rattlesnakes. And it was at evening formation, thus having witnesses. So, after chow, Gerry cooked up a plan in our desperation to keep this foul-mouthed, uneducated, towheaded, redneck asshole with the funny name from the mountains of Tennessee off our case. But we had to move fast; we only had one day, since the serpent handlers used all day Sunday to drink poison, speak in tongues, and dance a modified Irish reel with venomous snakes hanging off them.

Apparently, Harriet, Gerry's ex-girlfriend, had a spinster aunt, Madelyn, her mother's sister, who'd taken up with snakes as a part of her religious life at the Apostolic Holiness Pentecostal Church of God with Signs Following, pursuant to the gospel of Mark, chapter 16, verses 15 through 18. Although he'd met her several times in New York, she lived in Eastern Kentucky, whence cameth Harriet's family. So, on our first weekend, we purchased two round-trip bus tickets from Fort Knox to Harlan, not far from the Tennessee border, and home to the Apostolic Holiness Pentecostal Church of God with Signs Following, where Pastor Maddox was in charge, and who had promised us over the telephone a timber rattlesnake in return for a fifty dollar donation to the church, since Gerry knew Aunt Madelyn.

When we got to Pineville , we had to change to the Bristol Jenkins Bus service to travel on to Harlan, the county seat of Harlan County. The countryside reminded me of upstate New York, with its lush vegetation and low-hanging cloud in the mountains, through which the bus actually drove as it worked its way over dirt and gravel roads along Cumberland River, weaving through a chain of coal-mining towns. the likes of which I'd never seen. I'd seen poverty in New York City but not this kind of abject misery, thanks to the horribly low pay by the coal mining and energy companies, which all, without exception, belonged to the oil industry.

For the first time, the lyrics of Ernie Ford's Sixteen Tons made sense. Gerry, who'd never been outside of New York State after arriving in America, was awestruck. "This reminds me of pictures we used to see in grade school of Soviet peasants, when they kept telling us how lucky we were to live in the United States."

***

Arriving in Harlan, we were met at the bus by a gentleman, holding a burlap bag. Identifying himself as Pastor Maddox, he readily accepted the fifty dollars and gave us the rather heavy bag. "Now, y'all be careful with Ezekiel. Ya hear?" His Southern accent reminded me of that of a plantation owner, as portrayed by Big Daddy in Cat on a Hot Tin Roof. "Hain't been fed, today."

"We'll take good care of him." Gerry reassured the pastor.

"Y'all know what he eats?" Pastor Maddox called after us, as we were boarding the bus back.

"Yeah, got a load of mice, back home." Gerry lied as we prepared to leave Harlan.

The bus driver looked at us skeptically. "Y'all ain't a transportin' varmint in that there bag, are ye?"

"Naw, it's our new pet weasel." I told him, hoping that Ezekiel wouldn't rattle before he started the loud engine and that pet weasels didn't fall under his definition of varmint. I just didn't need the hassle.

***

After over ten hours on a bus wandering the Cumberland Plateau of Appalachia, we arrived back at Fort Knox just before lights out with one very heavy timber rattler. Gerry signed us in, while I waited with Ezekiel behind the barracks. We stowed the burlap bag under the building, were we'd retrieve it Monday morning.

"Don't you think that somebody might steal him, with the bag just lying there like that?" I was worried about our fifty dollar investment.

"Like they say," Gerry laughed. "if you want to hide something, put it in plain view." He snickered loudly and snorted. "Besides, just imagine the thief's surprise when he reaches into the bag."

***

Sunday, while out behind the barracks having a smoke and checking up on Ezekiel, Gerry told me some things about the timber rattlesnake. The surprising thing was that they're fairly docile and won't rattle or strike unless they feel really threatened, which explained why we didn't hear anything from him during the entire bus trip. They usually stay within a few miles of their den, where they hibernate, therefore are not likely to show up under barracks in a huge military installation full of tanks, noisy machinery and a definite lack of forest or any other of their natural habitats.

"Why do you think that First Sergeant is so obsessed with rattlesnakes?" I wanted to learn more from Gerry.

"Because he's as dumb as Fuck and has probably never even seen a snake, unless he's trying to get a supply chain going for his own church back home." That was not exactly the analysis I'd been hoping for. But Gerry laughed and field stripped his cigarette. He knelt down to check the bulge in the bag - to feel if Ezekiel was still in there. We heard a slight but not sustained rattle. "He must be hungry." My man commented and gave me an evil smile as he stood up.

***

Monday morning came with a serious chill in the air. We did our morning run to the mess hall in formation and returned, doing double time. Despite getting dirty under the barracks, we wanted to get started with our rattlesnake hunt. First Sergeant gave Gerry and me the usual hassle. Although it probably wasn't, but his rant seemed to be excessively long, this morning.

Gerry wanted to get Ezekiel transferred to a government gunny sack with ARMY stenciled on it, as long as he was still lethargic from being out all night in temperatures close to freezing. And sort of like a school teacher, First Sergeant seemed to sense that we were in a hurry and took his time.

When we finally got to him and were able to switch bags, everything went as smooth as silk; he hardly even moved. But two things were certain; he was huge and heavy. But what I noticed was his yellow-brown-black beauty. "Wow, look at that coloring." was my comment and Gerry just smiled and nodded. "Think I can touch him?"

"I wouldn't." Gerry closed the government gunny sack by doubling over the top and tying it with the drawstring . "He's docile right now, but he's also hungry, especially if they fed him regularly back in Harlan. If he thinks you're a threat, he'd inject only a little venom into you, just to teach you a lesson. But if he thinks you're food, he'll give you the whole works. Let's wait and see what he thinks First Sergeant is." We both kept our laughter subdued, as not to attract attention.

***

We showed up in the Orderly Room shortly before afternoon PT formation with our gunny sacks and rakes. First Sergeant was at his desk and the door to the CO's office was open. I looked at the First Sergeant's ribbons, and, no, he hadn't been to Vietnam, so his reaction to an emergency was likely to be faulty, according to Gerry. And our CO was a an OCS butter bar with only a national service ribbon, so his reaction was likely to be hysterical.

"Got something for you, Top." Gerry held up the gunny sack with Ezekiel in it.

First Sergeant gave us an annoyed look, when he looked up from his paperwork. "Think ya gotta rattler? Knowing you two pussies, it's probably a piece of ol' garden hose."

"Probably, we didn't get a good look." Gerry's voice was hoarse, as if he were about to rupture something from restraining laughter.

Without getting up, Top snatched the bag, inadvertently banged it against the side of his grey-metal desk, turned it over and emptied the contents onto the desktop. There he sat, face to face with Ezekiel, coiled and rattling. At first, he was petrified, then he started screaming for help at the top of his lungs. Gerry and I backed off about seven or eight feet, didn't move and controlled our breathing rate.

The minute First Sergeant panicked, Ezekiel surged into action. He was fast and very powerful. His fangs were in First Sergeant's neck just below his collarbone. He flapped around before he went down. The CO was waving his handgun around, trying to get a bead on a snake, which was nowhere in sight. Ultimately, he was just pointing it hysterically at everything and everyone. I let out a sigh of relief, when I noticed that the safety was on.