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 72 (Fri., Apr. 28)

The place was called Fortville. It had a Main Street, divided by the railway tracks into North and South Main Street. Pendleton Pike had suddenly become Broadway, divided by Main Street into West and East Broadway. And that was the way it had to be, according to Earl. You could tell that he was ex-military. His mind still required regimented clarity.

Gerry and I checked in and we paid for the four nights, which came to forty dollars. So, we thought that, at ten dollars a night for both of us, we'd go ahead and pay the seven hundred dollars for the ten weeks we'd be stationed here. That way, we'd have a mailing address, rather than using our unit's. We talked to June and Earl about it, and they agreed that five hundred would be more than enough, and if we didn't get permission to live off post, they'd settle for even less, but they did tell me that I'd have to go to the bank over on South Main to get the travelers' checks cashed.

When we got up for our 0400 hrs jog, we saw plenty of lights outside. Earl was opening his filling station. He waved us over. "Mornin' Guys. You're out for a run?" We told him that we were, and he suggested the road that ran right about fifty yards behind our cottage. "It's N 300 W," We must have looked confused. "Uh, it's a county road and is used only by the people who have business down there, uh, residents and farmers. There'll be a lot less hassle than on the Pike with all this fog around. Besides, it's still dark, and I surely wouldn't want either of you ending up as hood ornaments." He chuckled as he switched on the bulbs over the vintage, as in predating the green dinosaur, round Sinclair sign with the white HC in a red circle and a green surround, advertising Sinclair Gasoline, and unlocked the pumps.

After running our three miles and back in our cottage, I pulled Gerry's sweatshirt off. I loved licking his perspiration, and he loved letting me. We got under the shower without dillydallying, and before the natural lube could get rinsed off his dick, I had it up my ass. He screwed me slowly, enjoying the closeness, as much as I was. His orgasm made him purr. After he rinsed off his cock, Gerry sank to his knees to give me head. Not in any rush, he sucked me until I was empty. Noticing that the water was going cold, we quickly soaped up and rinsed off.

We dried one another, and got dressed. We had things to do, like going to the post barbershop, locating the commissary and Class VI store, to buy easy-to-prepare food, Dutch or German beer and Scotsch to stock our kitchen for this weekend, at least. Gerry also suggested getting flashlights at the PX, so any potential drivers, even on County Road N 300 W, could see us when jogging.

Of course, before we left for Fort Harrison, we wanted to check with Earl to see if he or June needed something from the commissary or PX. June was at school, and Earl was puttering around in the office of his filling station. I noticed that he was wiping his right hand on an oil rag, neither of which was oily. And even though the door was open, I got a whiff of something familiar, when I walked in. Although he did look a little flushed, his breathing didn't seem to be heavy. And when I asked if he needed anything from base, he laughed a little stiffly, and told me that he still had PX and commissary privileges, since he'd retired and hadn't just been discharged.

***

"You look like the canary, who ate the cat." Gerry was looking at my insufficiently suppressed grin, as I got into the Mustang.

I started the car before I answered. "I think I just walked in on Earl jacking off."

"Did he let you join in?" He kidded me, starting to laugh.

I shook my head, pulling out into the westbound lane as soon as a couple of cars passed. "I just didn't think that married guys jacked off."

"Aren't you the one, who got caught by the wife, while fucking the married guy in their kitchen?" Gerry snickered, then took one look at my bewildered face and burst out laughing.

***

When we got to the barbershop at Fort Ben, as many of the people seemed to call it, there was already a heated discussion in progress. "And just what the Fuck do you mean that it's not his war?"

"He's a brother, and it's a white man's colonial war, killin' all them sorry-ass Gooks over there in--" The staff-sergeant stopped abruptly as I followed Gerry in, and he then mumbled something as he walked by me, slamming the door on his way out.

"Wow, shall I come back later when things are a little more Gook-friendly?" I spouted, and Gerry was the only one of the approximately ten people in the barbershop to laugh.

"Ya here for a haircut?" One of the three barbers asked.

"Naw, just thought I'd juggle some punji sticks and then maybe you'd let me spit-shine your boots before you kick me." I chuckled a bit too forcefully, since I actually did feel like punching a redneck, and at this very moment, any of those present would do. But instead, I sat down, and took a deep breath. "What got that guy so out of whack?"

"Aw, he got all hot and bothered that Joe, there," He nodded to one of the other barbers. "said that they should put Cassius Clay in front of a firing squad."

So, I turned my attention to Joe. "And why do you want to put Muhammad Ali in front of a firing squad?"

"Because the fuckin' Nigger's refusin' to serve this country." Joe spoke through gritted teeth and glared at me. And the more I glared back, the redder his face and presumably his neck got.

"C'mon, Ben." Gerry slapped my knee and got up. "Somehow, I get the feeling that we walked in on a Klan meeting."

***

We got back to the motor court a little after noon, and I was still coming down off my rage. Gerry suggested using my instant hypnosis, but I didn't think it was a good idea to hypnotize myself while driving. Anyway, after putting things away, we found Earl in his office eating a big sandwich, which made Gerry's stomach growl. "Gotta feed your Buddy, there, Ben." Earl laughed. "He can't save your life, if he's hungry. How'r'ya Guys doing?"

"Don't know, to tell you the truth." I looked at Earl, trying to assess his tolerance level. So, I took a gamble. "When we arrived at the post barbershop, they were talking about killing Gooks." I waited for Earl's reaction. He looked troubled, so I continued. "Then one of the barbers started talking about executing Muhammad Ali for refusing to be called up. So, we left."

Earl shook his head. "Well, after all, you were on an Army base." He chuckled.

That took the wind out of my sails. "Yeah, guess you're right." Gerry was grinning and draped a hand over my shoulder. "Gotta barber here in Fortville who can give us regulation haircuts?"

***

"Gotta hand it to the boy, though. He's got principles, alright." Jay, one of the two barbers in the Main-Street shop, philosophized while trimming my hair into a regulation cut. "They're taking away his boxing titles."

"Yeah, to take a stand like that takes more balls than I had." I did actually believe what I was saying to be true. "I just went along with the crowd and reported for suicide duty in a senseless war, that can't be won in the first place." And once again, I'd killed the conversation. The Midwest and I weren't getting along very well.

After handing over my buck and a quarter for the haircut, Earl, Gerry and I moseyed, as one did in these parts, down North Main and had to wait at the New York Central tracks for a freight train to pass, before crossing over onto South Main. I still had to get to the bank to cash the five hundred in travelers' checks needed for the rent.

Everyone waved and shouted at Earl and smiled at us as soon as we entered the bank. It felt like acceptance by association. After having given Earl the rent, we still had five hundred in checks and enough in cash, plus our pay, to get us comfortably through the ten weeks. Our plan was to use our last cash military pay for the three week's leave at home in New York and arrive in Saigon with only five hundred in travelers' checks and what we had left in cash, since word had it that we'd have to change all our cash into scrip but not the checks.

***

Gerry and I both thought that the sirens were a civil defense exercise, but when they kept going, I went to find Earl, just as June was driving in. I waved at her and saw Earl going from cottage to cottage opening the windows a little. She came over to me with the wind picking up. There was sort of a greenish tinge to the sky.

"Go get Gerry and open the windows and inch or two to equalize the pressure." Her voice had an urgency in it, so I did as I was told.

I opened the sash window in the bathroom a couple of inches, as I'd seen Earl do, grabbed my field jacket when passing the opened suitcase and started filling the pockets with cool beer cans and took the six-pack off the counter. Gerry had opened the windows in the living and bed rooms, and was holding the door.

Earl was coming our way, saw the beer, grinned, and waved us toward the back of the cottages. June was standing in the doorway to the bunker. "C'mon Guys, hurry it."

Once we got inside the large concrete room, which had ten military style bunks to accommodate twenty and enough tinned food for a couple of weeks. Earl sealed the door. Gerry couldn't contain his sarcasm. "And are the Russians coming?"

"Not this time." June giggled. "It's a tornado warning."

Earl switched on the transistor radio, which was on the table next to the ashtray. Feeling slightly nervous, since this was, after all, a new experience, I offered my cigarettes around. June and Earl fumbled with theirs, appearing to be even more jittery than Gerry and I were. My Guy looked concerned as he lit ours, then pointed to the left breast pocket of my field jacket . "Did you get our passports?" I nodded affirmation.

"Passports?" Earl smirked, and June raised her eyebrows.

I handed around the cans of Schultheiss beer, unsnapped the pocket and extracted the passports and gave them to Earl and June. "Relax. Enjoy the beer. This is a yarn, that's going to take awhile."

***

June nodded and got a little nostalgic as she drained her first can of beer. "You'll love Saigon." She looked at us and decided that she should explain. "When Earl was stationed there, I worked as an English teacher at the American community School, and our landlady, Yvette, was the French teacher. Or, to tell the truth, we were overpaid room monitors, who handed out to and collected correspondence-course booklets from arrogant, smug children of smug and arrogant diplomats. But we were finished each day by noon but got paid for a full day's work." She set the can on the table and handed me back the passports. "Here, don't lose these."

I put them back into my pocket. "Where exactly was your apartment? And from how Earl just described it, It sounds like just what we need."

Earl, as were Gerry and I, was already on his third can. "Directly at the intersection of Nguyen Hue and Lê Loi Boulevards." Of course, he realized that the address said nothing to us. "So." He arranged the empty beer cans. "Let's say that this was our apartment building. And here is Nguyen Hue Boulevard." He placed another empty across the imaginary street. "And here's the Staff Judge Advocate's Office. Depending on traffic, it's less than a minute away."

As we were pondering this, the all clear sounded. "Anyway, we'll give you all the important addresses, including Yvette's. She's a lot of fun and knows absolutely everyone in the French community." June started collecting everything, and we helped her take the rubbish out. From the looks of things, it had been a false alarm. But you never knew when something was actually going to hit.