The Circle of Wounded Souls, Book Two

By Jim Ricca

This is no sugary sweet romance story. It is the second of four books full of hilarious and heartbreaking events that will have you laughing, and crying out loud. It recounts the gut wrenching violence of the Vietnam War and the terrible impact it had, not only on those who fought there, but also their loved ones back home. The series also includes incredible acts of tenderness, love, miracles and redemption. Those who have read it claim it is the most amazing, enjoyable and unpredictable roller coaster of a ride they’ve ever read.
This story opens when Jim, the main male character’s future is thrown in doubt after he is sent to fight in Vietnam. His two loves are left to live their lives filled with despair. Rachel is unable to cope with her loneliness and fear for Jim after he leaves for his overseas assignment. Mary, has been imprisoned forever by her greedy parents, and hopes against all hope that her lover will somehow find and free her, completely unaware of her lover’s military service.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Jim Ricca
• Release date: Jun 5, 2012
• ISBN: 9781476447278

Jim Ricca

Jim was born and raised in Philadelphia, and lived there until drafted into the Army in 1971. He served a total of 18 years between the active Army and reserves as a Military Policeman, Artillery forward observer and in the Mechanized Infantry. He attended college on the GI bill and earned a B.A. in Political Science, International Relations from LaSalle University. He held middle and senior level management positions in the transportation, printing/publishing industries and plastics manufacturing field. Jim also served several years as a Special Agent/Special Investigator for a Federal agency. Jim is the author of the four book, Circle of Wounded Souls series, in addition to, Legacies; an American Journey, Hunting and Hunted in Alaska, The four book Alien's Reward series with Journey to Another Earth. In addition to, Der Schatten Teufel, The Shadow Devil, and Running Down Terror has been released along with: The Replacement Priest, and Escape from the Asylum. Jim resides in Maryland's Eastern Shore where he divides his time between writing and fishing the Chesapeake Bay and surf fishing along the shore..

Book preview

The Circle of Wounded Souls

Book Two

The continuing story of four emotionally crippled people;

their loves, conflicts, the Vietnam War, loss and redemption

By

Jim Ricca

Smashwords Edition

Copyright 2016 Jim Ricca

Updated 2017

Smashwords Edition, License Notes

This e-book is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This e-book may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to Smashwords.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

This book is a work of fiction and any resemblance to persons, living or dead, or places, events or locales is purely coincidental. The characters are productions of the author’s imagination and used fictitiously.

This book is available in print at most online retailers

Discover other titles by Jim Ricca

The Circle of Wounded Souls, Book One

The Circle of Wounded Souls, The Circle of Survivors, Book Three

The Circle of Wounded Souls, The Broken Circle Book Four

Legacies: an American Journey

Kathryn’s Summer

The Alien's Reward

The Alien's Reward II, The Alliance

The Alien's Reward III, Insurrection

Alaskan Paybacks, Hunter and Hunted

The Replacement Priests

Der Schattenteuful: The Shadow Devil

Preface

This is the second book of The Circle of Wounded Souls series. Hopefully, you’ve read the first book in the series, and if you did, you obviously liked it enough to come back for more. (I am truly humbled) If you have not read the first part, it would help a great deal if you did before starting book two of the series since you’ll need to have the full background on all the characters in order to make sense of this book.

Go ahead and get a copy; I’ll gladly wait till you’re done reading it.

The main character, Jim Richards, like too many of his fellow baby boomers, grew up without the love and affection of his family, and suffered the long term and emotionally debilitating affects. As with many of his male cohorts, he developed an attraction to the muscle cars of the era, and substituted the exciting raw power and speed of V-8 engines for the emotional bonds he was incapable of forming.

The Vietnam War, now widely unpopular and obviously a losing proposition for all involved, except the military industrial complex, was still consuming incredible amounts of our nation’s wealth and blood. And like so many of his generation, the war came knocking on his door one cold winter’s day. Contrary to current beliefs, not all draftees were willing, able or even capable of avoiding the draft. Those cowards that were able to dodge the draft did so; but only due to their privileged lives. Running to Canada, Sweden or other countries required money; lots of money. And perpetuation of a college draft deferment for over eight years, as the mastermind of our war in Iraq, Dick Cheney managed to accomplish, also required a great deal of money. Poor and working class boys had no such options. They served or went to prison, and damn few saw any benefit in wasting away for two years in a federal prison.

It’s ironic when one considers that Cheney, an admitted draft dodger, claimed that military service was not in his plans. But he felt perfectly justified in orchestrating the deaths of over 5,000 Americans and untold thousands of Iraqi lives. And it was all based on lies, just like the Vietnam War. It is incredibly sad; that we as a people never learn from our past mistakes.

Many of the returning servicemen from the Vietnam War experienced horrific psychological problems due to the stress of combat. The failure of the military and veteran’s administration to foresee and treat their issues in spite of the volumes of data and psychological studies from WWII and Korean War was a major crime. Our main character, like the real vets, experiences severe instances of PTSD along with instances of vicious harassment and blatant discrimination by many members of our society. We were denied jobs, schooling and even our veteran’s benefits. It was a dark chapter in our history, and it should not be swept under the rug to be forgotten.

CHAPTER 1

May you live an interesting life!

Bob came to the house early to join us for breakfast and then drive me to the airport. Rachel told me the day before that she’d be crying too hard to drive home after seeing me off at the airport. She would really prefer to say goodbye at the house, so she could do her crying in private then pack and leave for her father’s house shortly after I left with my brother.

Although I would have liked to have those last few minutes together; at least I would have time to dry my eyes and appear relatively normal before I arrived at the airport. Nothing is more embarrassing, or looks worse than a soldier crying in an airport departure lounge.

I wish she would have held back on her tears until after I left, but Rachel turned on the faucet as soon as I stood in front of her with my arms out for her. We stood there by the front door, sobbing in each others arms as our tears intermingled on our faces.

I miss you already, Jimmy Richards, she bawled as I tried to kiss away her tears.

Please don’t cry, lover, I sobbed, You’re making me feel even worse than I already do.

I would have shot the damn radio if I’d had a weapon with me, because it started playing the Peter, Paul and Mary song, Leaving on a Jet Plane. The song filled the room and severely accentuated our already burgeoning sorrow.

She frantically held my face with both of her hands and tried to recite her litany, but broke down less than halfway through. I held her beautiful, tear streaked face and recited mine through an enormous lump in my throat, which made me sound as if I was strangling on the words.

Bob was outside waiting and we had precious little time to spare, so I gave her a passionate kiss, my tongue leading hers to the moment of departure. Then I walked her to the couch, sat her down, kissed her lightly on the lips, told her I loved her and to be extra careful. She lowered her face into her hands, sobbing hard; I used that moment to leave, quietly closing the door behind me.

I ran to the car and as I climbed in, I saw several of the kids standing on the far curb, all waving goodbye to me. Teddy was standing at attention with a salute, which I returned. Then Jenny came running out of her house with tears in her eyes. She threw herself against me and sobbed into my shoulder.

Betty was walking across the street to say goodbye, and when she saw Jenny. She smiled and shook her head then helped to extricate me from her arms. I gave Jenny a quick kiss on the cheek, told her to be sure to write, and exchanged a quick hug with Betty before jumping into the car. Bob backed out of the drive and when I glanced up at the house, I saw Rachel standing in front of the picture window, tears streaming down her face.

I’d asked Betty to sit with Rachel until she was ready to leave for her fathers. She agreed, and as we drove down the street Jenny could be seen through the rear view mirror, running down the street after us with Teddy hot on her heels.

Jesus Christ, Jim, Bob exclaimed, I didn’t think we’d ever get the hell away with you saying goodbye to everybody and their uncle.

Yeah, I know, Bob; but I couldn’t just tell Rachel, see ya later kid, and bolt out the door.

We rode in silence for a while but he turned to me while we were stopped at a light, slapped my knee and said, Jimmy, you’re about to embark on the adventure of a lifetime. You’re leaving everything familiar to you and heading out for a place totally different from what you’ve known. So look at it for what it is; a chance to experience things you’ve never done before, see things you’ve never seen before and probably will never see again. Cheer up, buddy; your life is about to make a tremendous change for the better.

I guess you’re right, Bob; but I just wish I didn’t have to leave Rachel behind. I’m going to be so damn lonely and homesick for her, and you too, buddy.

Jimmy, you have to keep busy; as busy as hell, and try not to think about her too much if you can. When I was in Vietnam, I was preoccupied with Terri; that bitch I was engaged to, and it damn near got me killed because I’d be daydreaming about her when I should have been paying attention to what was going on around me.

Things shouldn’t be that deadly in Alaska, Bob, I replied, but you’re probably right. Maybe the time will go by faster too if I can stay busy.

Bob was lost in his memories for a moment, then he snapped out back to the present, I’ll tell you Jim; when she wrote me that dear John letter, it just about blew my mind, but a buddy helped me get through it, and then after I got over it, I was able to function the way I was supposed to and damn if the time didn’t go by faster.

That must have been a real bummer, man. You were over there getting your ass shot off and the simple bitch writes to tell you she can’t take it anymore. You were better off without that idiot.

We drove on in silence for a bit more before I remembered, I left my extra uniforms that Rachel had made for me in the closet at the house. I didn’t want to be lugging all that shit with me all the way up there, so I’d appreciate it if you’d ship it to me once I get settled in.

He agreed that it wouldn’t be a problem, and if I needed anything else, just let him know. He also told me that Ed hadn’t touched a dime of my stash, so if I needed any money, he’d have it wire transferred to me once I set up a bank account. Bob said he’d be seeing a lot of Ed and Rachel for help with his medical courses, and he’d be sure to keep an eye on Rachel for me.

Bob was going to park the car then walk me into the terminal, but there wasn’t enough time, so we said goodbye at the departures entrance. I stood there and watched him drive off and as his GTO disappeared into traffic I had a sudden, sickening feeling that things were going to go very wrong, very soon, and wished that I’d stayed in the car with him.

Flying military standby was a gamble if you had tight deadlines, but I allowed myself 2 days to get to Ft. Lewis, Washington, where my orders said I’d be transshipped to Ft. Richardson Alaska. I was the last person to board the flight and had to sit next to a speed freak, high on Meth. The fucking asshole wouldn’t shut up. He rattled on about everything under the sun until we landed in Chicago. I was about to choke the fucker to death when he said he was also going to Seattle, but he was flying a different airline, so I let him live.

Chicago’s O’Hare was huge and I was glad I’d made all those long, fast-marches during my training, because I barely made my next flight; a 747 to Seattle. The damn plane was huge and I swore the big bastard would never get off the ground while I was being escorted to a first class seat by a very cute stewardess.

She was almost as short as Mary, and she had a heart of gold. She said she liked to put GIs in first class if there was space available because she knew where we were going wasn’t going to be very comfortable. I didn’t expect it, but I was even treated like a full-fair paying, first class customer, which made me feel just great.

The weather was perfect for flying; blue skies, no turbulence and friendly, attentive stewardesses. The in-flight music played a few songs that will always remind me of that flight, but one in particular was Roberta Flack’s Killing Me Softly.

We landed at Sea-Tac where the nice stewardess gave me a hug and kiss on the cheek then told me to keep safe. She said she hoped to see me on my way home, and gave me her card to remember her by. I asked her if she wanted to write. She agreed that would be fun, but she traveled a great deal in her job so her responses would be few and far between.

Carrying my AWOL bag with me on the flight, I just needed to pick up my duffel bag from baggage claim. When I arrived, there were two MPs and a GI bus driver calling for all GIs going to Ft. Lewis to form a line at the door after they picked up their bags. The MPs were checking everyone’s ID cards and orders. When I presented mine, they told me to toss my bags in the trunk of their sedan so I could ride with them.

There was another MP I’d never met before riding with us. The driver, an E-5 asked if we wanted to stop for something to eat, which we agreed to on the condition that we could eat inside the restaurant. He replied that you never wear your uniform in a civilian restaurant in Seattle, unless you’re looking for a fight.

I’d heard about all the shit GIs were catching from the hippies, but until now, I’d never had any come my way, and I was in no mood to get into trouble now. Mickey D’s would have to do, and we didn’t even stay there to eat; the driver pulled into a vacant lot where we could eat in peace. He filled us in on regular MP duty and what it took to get by then he drove us to the reception station.

An E-6 staff sergeant took my orders and before he even read them, told me to get a haircut next door as soon as we were finished. Then he looked at my orders, coughed and told me to sit down and get a hold of myself.

Son, I have some bad news for you, he said with a dead pan face, Your orders say you’re supposed to be stationed in Alaska, but I have an overriding order from the department of the Army for all MPs. He leafed through some papers mounted on a clipboard as my stomach did a nose dive into my scrotum. He grunted and handed me the clipboard and pointed to an underlined paragraph, typed in capital letters.

ALL PERSONNEL HOLDING PRIMARY AND/OR SECONDARY MOS 95B ARE HEREBY ADVISED THAT ANY CURRENT TRAVEL ORDERS TO AREAS OTHER THAN RVN ARE CANCELLED AND ARE IMMEDIATELY REASSIGNED TO RVN. MILITARY POLICE PERSONNEL ARE TO BE PROVIDED PRIORTY TRANSPORTATION VIA MACV TO USA, RVN, TAN SON NHUT FOR RE-ASSIGNMENT TO PRIORTY MILITARY POLICE UNITS AS NEEDED."

RVN meant Republic of Viet Nam, and the damn orders meant that I was truly fucked.

The SSgt looked at me sympathetically and remarked, Son; you’ve been Shanghaied. From what I heard, a couple of MP units took some heavy casualties and they need school trained MPs real bad. It’s a shame you didn’t get here the day before yesterday or you’d be in Alaska right now, but that’s the way the eagle shits.

My entire life flashed in front of my eyes before I thought of Rachel, and how she was going to take the bad news. I shook my head and stared at the floor for a long moment. The NCO reminded me to go get my haircut, have some chow at the mess hall and then come back and pick up my bags. He said he’d keep them behind his desk until I returned then he’d show me where the transit barracks were.

As I staggered across the parking lot, I saw a bank of pay phones. I thought it best to let Bob know right away, and then call Rachel.

Bob picked up the phone on the second ring.

Bob, I got some really bad news, brother. I croaked into the mouthpiece.

Don’t tell me, Jimmy; you missed your plane.

I wish I did, buddy; I just had my orders changed by some directive from the Pentagon. I’ve been reassigned to Vietnam, because the MPs there have been taking a lot of casualties.

Mother fucker! he shouted into the phone, How the hell can they pull that shit! Jimmy, see if you can get off the base and hide out somewhere until I can buy you a ticket home.

I heard Nancy’s voice in the background and then Bob shouting I’d been screwed and was being sent to Vietnam. Nancy gasped a response and snatched the phone away from Bob.

Jimmy, do you know what this news will do to Rachel? Do you have any idea how this is going to affect her? She shouted at me accusingly.

Nancy, do you have any idea of what can happen to me! You sound as if I had a decision in sending me to that fucking place. For once in your life, why not try to see who the real victim is here.

Bob took the phone back and told me to call again tomorrow at the same time if I could, then we’d coordinate my travel back to Philly.

That issue is out of the question; I’d take what I had coming and do my best to survive. Tell Nancy I'm going to call Rachel in one hour, and if she is that concerned about her, she’d be there for her.

Jimmy, you take care of yourself, you son of a bitch; I don’t want to have to bury another brother. He hung up without another word.

The barber gave me a buzz cut, per my instructions. There was no reason for me to be concerned about my appearance; there probably wouldn’t be any women where I was going. Besides that, it was going to be hotter than hell, and I didn’t want bugs crawling through my hair. The mess hall was almost empty but I wasn’t too hungry so I had a piece of pie, a glass of milk and coffee.

When I called Rachel’s house, Ed answered and was surprised to hear my voice.

Ed, I don’t want you to get Rachel right away; I have some bad news she isn’t going to like.

What happened, Jimmy? He said softly, I can tell her for you if you want me to.

Ed, I’ve been reassigned to Vietnam because of the heavy casualties the MPs there have been taking.

Mother of God, no! he swore, Jimmy, that’s the worst thing we could possibly hear right now, especially since you had orders to Alaska. My God, Rachel is upstairs right now, crying her eyes out because you left for Alaska. I can’t imagine what this is going to do to her.

I’d better tell her myself, Ed. If you tell her, she’ll think I didn’t care enough to do it, but you’d better be standing by just in case.

I heard Ed shouting for Rachel to pick up her extension. There was an audible click and Rachel’s strained voice said hello.

Rachel, sweetheart, it’s me, I groaned, my heart breaking at the sound of her voice.

Hi, lover, she answered, her voice brightening, it’s so good to hear your voice. I miss you so much!

The sound of a phone being hung up by Ed came through the line. I asked her how she was feeling.

I’m so sad that you’re so far away, and knowing that it’s going to be a long time before I see you again, makes it that much harder.

Honey, I hate to tell you this, but I thought it would be better for you to hear it from me than from your dad or anyone else. I arrived at Ft. Lewis, and as soon as I handed them my orders, I was told all MPs were being reassigned to Vietnam. I don’t know if it’s permanent or a temporary thing, but I had no choice in it.

I heard her gasp; Oh my God; No! then the phone was dropped to the floor.

Ed’s voice came on and told me to take care of myself, and either call or write as soon as I could. He also told me not to worry about Rachel; she’d be OK once she came to grips with the fact I had been reassigned. He said they would be going to mass and praying for me every day before he hung up.

The next three days were spent doing paperwork, getting shots and a new issue of lightweight, poplin jungle fatigues, along with lightweight khakis and jungle boots. My nightly calls to Rachel were extremely painful for both of us, and I wished I didn’t have to make them, but there were no other choices for me if I wanted to help save her sanity.

On the fourth day, we were rousted out of our bunks at 04:30, fed a quick breakfast, issued our individual orders then put us on a bus for a short ride to McChord AFB. We were loaded onto a civilian 707, chartered by the department of defense to fly us to Vietnam, with a refueling stop in Okinawa.

I was lucky the seat next to me was occupied by a guy I went through MP school with, who was also redirected to the Nam from his original assignment to Okinawa. There wasn’t a hell of a lot to talk about, and we spent the entire time either sleeping or bitching about our rotten luck. To make matter worse, the airline was not serving drinks and the stewardesses were even uglier than I was.

After endless hours hanging in the air, the pilot announced we were now over Vietnam and would be landing at Tan Son Nhut in 15 minutes. 10 minutes later, he put the plane into a steep spiraling dive. He announced we were making a tactical landing to avoid being shot down by anti-aircraft missiles or ground fire. No sooner than he leveled the wings, than he slammed the aircraft onto the runway, threw on the reverse thrusters and made a sharp turn onto a taxiway, narrowly avoiding two heavily armed F-4 Phantoms waiting to take off.

The plane came to screeching halt, the front door was thrown open, and a GI came on board yelling for us to get the fuck off the plane, right now! When I stepped out onto the mobile stairway, the heat hit me like a brick. It felt as if someone opened the door to a steam oven. By the time I got to the hangar where we were directed, less than 100 feet away, I was completely soaked with sweat. After a short wait in the stifling heat, our bags were brought into the hangar and dumped on the concrete floor.

During in-processing, we had our records reviewed and it was discovered my shot records were incorrectly completed and I had to retake all the shots I’d received at Ft. Lewis. Then we were directed to see one of the personnel specialists for assignment.

A hand came up out of the sea of desks and clerks, and I walked over, took a chair next to his desk only to find a friend from basic training was manning his position.

"Pete, you son of a bitch, how the hell did you get here before me?’

My buddy was from South Philly and a member of my squad in basic training. He had a great sense of humor; along with an innate ability to able to learn how to manipulate the system in a real hurry.

Hey Jimbo! he said as he offered me his hand, Fancy meeting you here, dude. Are you still seeing that beauty with the red Ferrari?

I brought him up to date on Rachel and how my orders had been changed, along with the Army’s offer to attend West Point. He leafed through my 201 file and whistled, Man, who would have thunk a punk off the streets of Philly would find a home in the Army.

No one is more surprised than I am, Pete. But you still didn’t answer my question.

My AIT was only 6 weeks long, Jim; so I only got here 2 weeks ago, and with my MOS as a clerk typist in high demand here, these guys changed my orders once I was in-processed.

What’s going on with the MPs?

We were told all MPs are to be assigned to the 95th MP battalion, up north in I-Corps. They had a couple of convoys get ambushed real bad; so they’re down to less than 50% strength and they need people in a hurry.

Fuck me, Pete, I replied, I guess I’m thoroughly screwed.

Pete held up his hand for me to shut up, then leafed through a stack of papers, pulled out one, smiled at me and said, You ain’t going to buy the farm if I can help it, buddy.

What have you got, dude, I asked.

I have a personnel requisition here from the 18th MP brigade, 95th MP Battalion, 557th MP Company at Long Binh, which is about as safe a place as you can get in-country; besides here. Let me pencil whip your orders and I’ll have you on your way to the Long Binh jail by lunch time.

I was relieved to know just how good a buddy he was, and asked if there was anything I could do in return for his saving my life.

He just looked at me and said, Don’t bust me would be a good start, Jim. He laughed as he retyped my orders then told me we would be living pretty close and hoped we’d be able to get together once in a while.

He finished his machine-gun fast typing, picked up the phone and told someone their new MP was here. Then he had me sign a few forms, walked me outside to show me where to wait for my ride, where we shook hands, hugged then he returned to his desk leaving me to bake in the hot sun.

About thirty minutes later, an E-4 MP walked up to me and asked if I was going to the 557th MPs. He was wearing jungle fatigues with an olive drab and black MP brassard on his left arm, a .45 on his hip and an M-16 slung over his shoulder.

I told him yeah, I’m his FNG.

He introduced himself as Joey Bagadonuts, or just Joey Bags. His name tag indicated that his name was really Bogdonovitch, but then he told me I’d be given a nickname soon enough, so there was no sense in bothering with real names.

We’d be hitching a ride on a chopper to get to LBJ, as everyone called it; short for Long Binh Jail, since it was also the largest stockade in Vietnam. Joey related they’d had numerous race riots between the inmates, who were primarily Blacks and Hispanics. But Joe said I’d probably be assigned to do something else. He filled me in on the base, NVA activity, drugs, booze, women and the lifers as we walked down the flight line to our Huey, which was in the process of being repaired by a couple of heavily sweating and loudly swearing mechanics.

We threw my bags in the back of the bird then walked over to the shade in a hangar to wait for the bird to be made airworthy. Joey was on the way back to Long Binh after escorting a prisoner to Tan Son Nhut for transshipment to Ft. Leavenworth prison under guard, to serve a life sentence for murdering his 1st Sgt.

I asked if I was going to be working in the stockade, which I really didn’t want to do. He said that more than likely, I’d be flying around the countryside escorting prisoners, to and from LBJ, and occasionally pulling gate and perimeter duty along with the occasional convoy duty.

You want to get a beer or something while we wait for the grease monkeys to fix our bird? he asked.

I think a big glass of water will do it for now, Joey, I answered, I don’t think it would look too good for me to report for duty smelling of beer; besides that, I’d probably pass out from the heat.

That ain’t a problem, Jim, he replied, The old man and 1st Sgt are pretty cool. You can drink as long as you don’t get drunk, and you can smoke as long as you’re off duty.

Joey called over to the chopper crewmen and asked if they wanted anything to drink and they shouted back for a couple cold cokes. By the time we got back, the bird was ready to go. As soon as we climbed in, the pilot spun the engine up, pulled pitch and we lifted off into the Southeast Asian sky.

I was impressed with how developed the area was; expecting to see mud and thatch huts interspersed in the jungle, the area appeared to be one big suburban sprawl without expressways. Joey handed the cokes to the flight crew and then sat on the far side of the chopper next to the door gunner with his 16 on his lap, staring down at the countryside. The opposite gunner waved me over and shouting at the top of his lungs introduced himself as Monkeyman and shook my hand.

There was no ground fire as we flew along, and Monk explained that we were flying too high to be hit by anything smaller than a .51 caliber but the NVA and VC didn’t have anything that big around here. The flight was uneventful and after landing, a jeep with 2 MPs pulled up to the bird and drove us to our company HQ.

Joey was right about the 1st Sgt and Company Commander. 1st Sgt. Mack McKinney got up from behind his desk, introduced himself, and after hearing my name, welcomed me to the 557th. He then opened a refrigerator, handed me a cold beer and told me to follow him into the COs office where I was greeted by Captain Jake Kapp, a native of Northeast Philly. The two men sat me down and went over the rules with me, which included fire discipline, alcohol and drug use, no saluting Jake, and maintain a relaxed attitude and body posture whenever speaking to anyone of authority; otherwise a sniper would take them out in a heartbeat.

Jake opened my 201 file, sat back and went through it while Mack continued his briefing. Capt. Kapp whistled loudly then told Mack to show me some respect, because I was probably going to be both their boss after I finished West Point. Mack snapped his head at the CO as Kapp held out my letters from the academy.

Holy Shit! Mack exhaled as he read the letter, then quickly leafed through my 201 file, What we got here, Jake; is an up and coming leader of this great green cluster fuck. Both men laughed briefly then stared at me for a second.

I’m just a kid off the streets of Philly, Top, I laughed, This just goes to show how hard-up the Army is going to be for officers in 4 years.

They laughed before the CO asked me the usual questions about where I lived in Philly, and it turned out he grew up less than a mile from me, and even attended the same schools, from elementary through high school. We knew quiet a few people in common and he was friends with some of my older sister’s crowd.

You’re going to be assigned to prisoner transport, so I hope like hell you don’t get airsick, Mack told me, You’ll be spending a lot of time with a partner picking up GIs and POWs then escorting them to LBJ. Then you’ll be escorting them to either DaNang or Tan Son Nhut for transshipment back to the world. When you’re not doing that, you’ll either be on one of the gates, the perimeter, or escorting a convoy.

There was a knock on the office door. Mack waved an SSgt E-6 into the office and introduced me to my new squad leader, Jay Rat Willard; a tall, rangy blonde man with broad shoulders and a crooked grin.

Nice to meet you, PFC Richards, he said with a deep booming voice, Welcome to the Nam and the 557th MP Company. I’m proud to have you in my squad.

Mack piped up, He’s a West Point candidate, Rat, so be nice to him.

Rat looked at the CO, who nodded in agreement with his 1st Sgt. Then he stared at me.

I said, It just goes to show that military intelligence is a contradiction in terms.

Everyone laughed until the Old Man told Rat to get me situated in my hootch before he processed me into the company. Before we left the office, my two company leaders shook hands with me and again, welcomed me to the company.

Sgt. Rat drove me around the base, which was huge, and bordered on one side by a river and the other 3 sides by rows of concertina wire and at least 300 yards of cleared ground to maintain unobstructed fields of fire in the event the NVA or VC tried to overrun the base. I was shown my two guard posts where I’d work when not handling prisoners. Rat took me to the arms room where I was issued my weapons; a standard issue .45 Automatic Colt Pistol and a Shorty M-16, as we called it, or a CAR-15. Rat and the armorer both said it was easier to carry around in a chopper than a regular 16, but it was just as unreliable and inaccurate past 15 yards as the standard M-16. I was really relieved to hear I was being issued the standard shit our military procurement bureau had seen fit to provide to us soldiers whose lives depended on it.

My new quarters was a Hootch which was no more than a plywood and 20 X 40 stick built shack, just like the hundreds I’d seen during my tour of the base. It contained 12 cubicles with one bed in each, separated by a wall of lockers and open to a central corridor.

Rat smiled and said, You have a hootch maid to make your bed, do your laundry and polish your boots for you. She’s pretty good at it too, but make sure you lock up all your personal belongings because we think she’s a thief. Don’t even think about screwing her because most of the maids have the clap, or worse. If you want some grass, or dew as its called here, just let her know you want rolled or loose dew and how much. A lid or an ounce will cost you $2.00 MPC rolled, or $1.00 loose, but be careful, because the shit here is pure grass; really strong in comparison to what you may have smoked back in the world, and it will knock you on your ass.

I was shaking my head over the information he was giving me, when he remarked, I don’t mind if you smoke after you pulled your shift, but you don’t smoke before or while you’re on duty or you’ll be humping the boonies with the grunts the very next day. The same thing goes for booze; no drinking before, or while you’re on duty. But I’ll tell you one thing for sure; if I even think you’re using smack, or opium; I’ll put you in the stockade on full charges, and you’ll spend the next 5 years in Leavenworth.

Hey Sarge, all I’ve ever done is smoke a little grass once in a while, but as far as smack; ain’t no way I’m putting that shit in me. I’m more of a beer drinker and I don’t like getting drunk because I always toss my cookies and then pass out, so you won’t have a problem with me.

OK, Jim; why don’t you get your gear stowed then take a walk around the area to get yourself oriented to where everything is. I’ll be back around 16:30 with your partner. Then we’ll go get some chow and I’ll introduce you to the rest of the guys. Oh, and by the way; don’t call me Sarge; everyone calls me Rat, and that’s it.

There was only one empty bunk and it didn’t take me long to put away my uniforms, make the bed and get everything else squared away. The latrine was two buildings up the street, and the showers were opposite the shithouse. It would take some doing to get used to traveling just to take a dump and a shower, but it was better than what the infantry had to endure, so I wasn’t going to complain.

Rat arrived right on time with my partner; a tall and exceptionally bulky MP whose name tag said. Rommel, but was introduced as Knuckles. The guy had hands as big as hams and a grip like a vise. His eyes were an intense blue and he gave me the distinct impression that he was estimating just how many shots to the head I’d take before I went down.

Nice to meet you, Jim, he said with a surprisingly soft spoken voice, Welcome to the Nam, the company and our squad.

Thanks, Knuckles, I replied as I returned his stare and squeezed his big hand as hard as I could, How’d you get the nickname?

He laughed a little then told me he was an amateur heavy weight boxer back home in Michigan’s Upper Peninsula, before he was drafted.

All my bells and whistles went off when I heard where he used to live, but I decided we had plenty of time before I’d ask for his help in locating Mary.

At chow, I sat with Rat and Knuckles, who told me on the way over, to just call him Joe. We were joined by the rest of our squad before we finished our meal of rubber chicken, card board roast beef, plastic string beans and the most god-awful powdered milk I’ve ever had. The coffee stunk of chlorine as did all the water supplied by the army. The local water supply was heavily contaminated with just about every parasite known to man, and the army dosed it heavily with several chemicals to make it potable, but the smell and taste told you otherwise.

Surprised by the friendly reception I received from the men in the squad, especially after I was warned by Bob that I’d probably be shunned, resented, insulted, and then given every dangerous shit detail that came down the pipe because I was new to Nam. Rat explained that MPs need to rely on each other too much to be playing that stupid FNG or Fucking New Guy game like the infantry or other units. MPs take the time and effort to integrate the new guys into the unit as fast as possible.

Joe and Rat told me that I’d be spending about a week going through orientation before I’d start working at my job full time, but if we were hit, I’d best follow Joe or one of the other guys in the squad and do what I’m told; otherwise I could end up in a body bag. It sounded good to me and I asked how often that happened, and was told that it isn’t all that often, especially since Tet, back in 68.

Back in the hootch, my new friends took the time to show me how to make my life a little more comfortable, and also let me know about the mail, where the NCO club and PX was, then strongly advised me NOT to go wandering around outside after dark unless there were at least 4 of us together and then, only if we were all armed.

Do you mean to tell me the VC roams the place at night? I asked incredulous.

No, not the VC, but other GIs out looking to rob people, but usually they don’t just rob you, they also like to kill you, so don’t be screwing around at night unless your on duty and heavily armed. Replied Joe sternly. We set stake-out units every night to catch the fuckers and hardly a night goes by where we don’t catch a few and put them in the jail, but it seems as if two more gangs pop up for every one we bust.

The next 5 days were spent in orientation, and some of what I was taught might even be useful, but a lot of it was aimed at the grunts. It was still good stuff to know so I paid attention.

The PX was very well stocked and the prices for stereos and cameras were exceptionally cheap, so I bought a 35MM, Olympus SLR along with 10 rolls of film. I began taking photographs of everything as soon as I figured out how the damn thing worked. Fortunately, Joey had an identical camera and he took the time to explain how best to use it.

Probably the most surprising thing about the base was the number of locals roaming around on it. I half expected the Army to ban them from the base, but there were a lot of jobs to be done and there were nowhere near enough GIs to do it all. They allegedly vetted all the civilian Vietnamese workers before allowing them to work on the base, but Joe told me about half of them were gathering intelligence for the NVA. He even pointed out a few to me and warned me to be very careful talking around the barbers and waitresses at the club.

Why don’t we start a rumor when they’re within listening distance to give them a run for their money, I remarked as Joe indicated for me to be quiet for a moment as a waitress placed our drinks on the table.

What do you have in mind?

We have a few guys start whispering about a big push coming up somewhere we don’t have any troops, and then have more and more guys get involved in the rumor mill until it’s all over the base.

Joe laughed and remarked, You sound about as crazy as they come, Jimbo; I’ll talk it over with Rat and Top and see what they think.

My tenth day in Nam was my first real working day. Joe and I escorted a convicted murderer to Tan Son Nhut for his flight back to Leavenworth and a life time at hard labor. The prisoner wasn’t all that impressive. He was a short skinny black kid from Boston who got pissed at his squad leader one night, after the NCO woke him up when he was supposed to be awake and on guard duty. He didn’t seem too upset over the fact that he’d be spending the rest of his life in prison. He simply said that it was better than being stuck out in the bush until Charlie killed him.

We had to pick up a prisoner at the holding pen while we were at Tan Son Nhut then bring him back to the jail until his appeals were heard. If his conviction was upheld, which they almost always were, he’d either serve out his sentence at the jail if it was for 6 months or less, or be sent back to Leavenworth to serve out his sentence before he'd be issued a dishonorable discharge and released to the world.

Our prisoners were always handcuffed, but if they might have a tendency to get violent, we’d also shackle their hands to their waist and put them in leg irons. Some of these people either had no fear, or they just didn’t care anymore. They’d do anything to kill an MP or attempt to get away from us. Where they would go once they made a break for it was a mystery to everyone, but there was no way we were about to lose a prisoner.

Joe told me he had one guy, who was heavily shackled. Initially, he was reasonably well behaved, but once the chopper lifted off and climbed up to cruising altitude; about 3,000 feet, he made a lunge right out the open door. He fell into heavy jungle and there was no way they were ever going to find him, especially since he jumped into Indian country. I was put on the shit list for over a month due of the guy’s suicide, and from then on, all prisoners are secured to the chopper’s seat.

The following 3 days were spent on the gate, checking IDs of the locals working on post. Joe was a pro at it, and he knew quite a few of the Vietnamese by name. They greeted him and me in a very friendly and polite manner. They all asked who I was, and Joe introduced me as Jimbo, his new partner. Most shook my hand, welcoming me to their country; a few asked where I was from. I told them I was from Pennsyltuckey, which made Joe laugh, but drew perplexed looks from the Viets. He also introduced me to our hootch-maid, An who looked to be about our age and seemed pleasant enough. She asked how I liked my laundry done. I told her not to starch anything, just wash and hang out to dry, as I knew I’d get a rash from the starch in this heat.

By the end of the 2nd day, I was pretty much operating on my own with Joe keeping a close eye on me. I did my best to be polite to everyone, except a few who either tried to rush past me or were too slow to cooperate when I asked to inspect their possessions. The following four days we were on the evening shift, walking the perimeter and standing guard inside one of the bunkers after it got dark. The bunker we occupied had an M-60 machine gun and a .50 caliber heavy machine gun, but we never had a chance to fire it, which was a relief because it meant we weren’t hit by sappers. We’d sit there and stare off into the distance and watch the firefights up in the hills. It was really spooky to know our people were out there, and either they were caught in an ambush or had ambushed the NVA and were fighting it out with them in a life and death struggle. Sometimes they called in artillery, and we’d hear the boom from one of our tubes firing then wait for the impact. Up to thirty seconds later, there would be another loud boom from either Long Binh or one of the other firebases. Occasionally you’d see the glowing round arcing across the sky then blossom in a fireball upon impact. Once the artillery was adjusted on target, we’d hear multiple rounds being fired and soon afterward see multiple explosions in the target area. Several long seconds later, we’d hear the faint boom of the impact. There were loud shouts of, get some, coming from our perimeter as the artillery rounds impacted.

Joe told me what to do if we get mortared, You don’t get a lot of notice when the rounds come in because they’re small and not breaking the sound barrier like artillery rounds. First you’ll hear a crump-crump-crump. They like to fire three rounds at a time, so when you here them firing, don’t panic, just crouch down a little if you’re standing outside, then tilt your head back a little so you can hear them coming in. It usually takes anywhere from 15 to 30 seconds from the time they fire until the rounds impact, but you have to take into account that sound is traveling at 735 miles an hour and the mortar rounds have a high arc. If you here a shsssss sound, get down and cover up because it’s going to be close. If you’re in the bunker, just get down below the firing port so you don’t catch a face full of shrapnel.

Charlie fired 12 mortar rounds at us the following night. They hit the wire with the first three, then walked them past us and in towards the airstrip. I surprised myself, because I heard the rounds coming in, yelled incoming then crouched down as the rounds exploded about 150 feet in front of us. The next volley landed about 100 feet behind us and the rest went far beyond our bunker. As soon as the rounds hit behind us, I was up and on the .50, watching to see if anyone was trying to get through the wire.

Joe called for illumination and a few seconds later, we had 5 brilliant white flares hanging from their parachutes floating above us.

I guess they just wanted to wake up the guys tonight, Jimbo, Joe chuckled.

They sure as hell woke me up, partner, I replied, wide eyed with excitement.

The chow at the mess hall wasn’t too bad; at least it was better than what we had in basic. Although I expected it, I never got the runs, which were the norm for me whenever I changed mess halls. Very grateful to our mess team for that, I repaid them by never complaining about the chow, even though their grits had the same consistency and flavor as fresh laid asphalt.

I wrote to Rachel every day, reassured her I was in a safe area and had a well experienced partner, who took the time to make sure I knew what I was doing. Bob was sent a letter every other day, along with Jenny. My letters to Bob were as honest as I could make them, but I tried to keep my letters to Jenny nice and cheery; including notes for Teddy, and the adults in the neighborhood, just to let them know I was thinking of them.

It was a full month before I started receiving mail due to the distances involved. Rachel and her father wrote back first and her letter was relief. She stated she’d come to understand why I didn’t try to desert when I had my orders changed. She was doing her best to cope with the terrible loneliness that fell upon her like a dark cloud. Rachel was doing well in med school and by the time fall came, she’d be caught up with the rest of her class. My lover advised her clothing line was beginning to bear fruit. The people at Peter’s studio were cranking out altered variations of her designs, along with the patterns for their buyer’s manufacturers. She thought she’d be turning a hefty profit before the Christmas buying season was over and the spring lines came out, which was when the stores would start selling her clothing designs. Rachel said the business was always three seasons ahead of itself, which meant the buyers would be paying for clothing before the end of summer, so it would be manufactured and ready to sell by January or February.

Rachel ended her letter with her litany, and I could see water spots on the last page where she must have shed tears of loneliness. I held her letter to my lips for a second and was rewarded with the scent of her perfume.

Later that week I received a bundle of mail and was surprised almost everyone had written to me on the same day. Ed wrote that Rachel seemed to be doing well and he was making an effort to spend more time with her. Since he was no longer obligated to spend time with the reserves, he made sure he used that time to do things with Rachel if she was not busy with her studies. Ed also reported Bob and Nancy were regular weekend guests now, and he really appreciated having them over. He said Bob was turning into a real character, and he made it a point to keep Rachel entertained, often at the expense of Nancy’s sense of propriety and good taste. Ed also related he was having some 3 and 4 star friends of his, look into having me reassigned out of Vietnam. He expected to hear back from them by the time we wrote again. He made the Army an offer to come back into the reserves if I was stationed at Valley Forge Army hospital or Ft. Dix. It seems the Army medical command was keenly interested in having him back in the OR, since many of the WWII doctors were retiring, and too many of the younger surgeons were pursuing more lucrative careers in civilian practices. There were no guarantees, but it was worth a try as far as he was concerned, but he also warned me not to get my hopes up.

Jenny’s letter, which came the following week, started off bright and cheery, with all kinds of news about the neighborhood, but her last page broke my heart. She told me how much she missed me, and loved me and how she slept with my picture under her pillow. I deeply regretted being so nice to her, now that it was obvious, her feelings were considerably more than a teenage crush. She had to realize Mary and Rachel came first, and at the tender age of 14 she should be dating boys her own age, not pining away for some crusty old GI, almost 6 years her senior.

I wrote back and tried to convince her she should be attending at least one or two dances every weekend, where there were tons of nice boys her age that would jump at the chance to just dance with someone as pretty as she was. Maybe she’d listen and find someone her age to be attracted to. I also asked if she had a certain teacher; Darlene Orsini, who I dated for a short while, and was now teaching at St. Hubert’s where Jenny was a freshman.

Bob’s letters were a little more business-like. He kept advising things I should be doing, and not doing in order to stay alive. Then he’d give me a briefing on Rachel, the progress on finding Mary and how things were going with his summer sessions at U of P. He wrote the judge who sat for the trial, found both scumbags guilty and sentenced the private detective to 20 years to life for his part in the hit and run death of the neighborhood kid, assault and battery, in addition to assaulting Rachel with a deadly weapon, and for interstate flight to avoid prosecution. The weasel faced lawyer was given 10-15 years for aiding and abetting, transporting stolen federal property across state lines, assault and battery on me, along with numerous conspiracy charges. The owners of the detective agency and the law firm that hired them will probably be headed for a federal and state trial within the next year, but he said the law firm was very well connected in Wisconsin and Michigan, so the Attorney General will request a change of venue.

Bob added I shouldn’t worry about Rachel. She has been exceptionally busy with school and her product line, in addition to the extra time she spends now with her dad. His letter also included a couple of nice pictures of him and Nancy. Bob was wearing his Sooperman outfit, with Nancy covering her face with her hands. There was another beautiful picture of Rachel; staring into the camera while sitting in the alcove where we danced that night; the setting sun highlighting her golden tan and beautifully illuminating her enchanting eyes. Bob also included several photos of Mary taken the previous summer. Although she looked absolutely stunning in her bikini; my heart broke at the sight of her smiling face. We were holding each other just as we were about to kiss, with the setting sun in the background.

Bob wrote he’d received the four rolls of film I sent him, and he’d have them developed, send me a set, and keep a set for me in an album he’d bought.

Nancy sent a small box loaded with razor blades, a tin of shoe polish, and packs of instant coffee, creamer and sugar, along with a dozen pictures of Rachel she clipped from various magazines, in addition to several of me escorting the girls at the fashion show. One of the pictures was a killer shot of Rachel in a very skimpy bikini that immediately fired up my libido.

Joe and the rest of the guys in the hootch were impressed with the pictures, especially the ones of Rachel and Mary. Joey asked who the nut was in the Sooperman outfit.

That’s my adopted brother, Bobby, I explained, He used to be a medic in the Big Red 1 and he’s a hell of good dude.

I’d like to meet him someday, Joe replied, He looks like he’s got a hell of a good sense of humor and the letters he writes sound like he’s really worried about you, especially with all the advice he’s been giving about how to survive here.

Joe, he’s the best brother anyone could have. I told him about how I did my best to help him when he had his nightmares.

It sounds like you’re a damn good brother, too, Jimmy, he replied with a smile, I have a brother back home and he’s a cop, but he never had to come here.

I went over to the personnel office and asked a guy I knew from basic if he would laminate the pictures for me. After ogling and drooling over them for a few minutes, he agreed and 30 minutes later I had 20 pictures to adorn my cubicle walls. The CO was pretty lax about the men decorating their quarters, as long as the pictures were in relatively good taste and not pure porno. The guys in my hootch were very appreciative to have something other than family photos and centerfolds to look at, especially the pictures of Rachel. Joe stared at Rachel’s pictures for a while and said he’d seen her before in the magazines his sister and wife bought, and he was very impressed I was engaged to her. I told him she was legally blind and deaf, which explained her attraction to me. While it was nice to have photos of my lovers on the wall; they made me terribly homesick and there were times when I wished I left them in my locker, but they remind me there was another world out there, where someone was waiting for my safe return.

Except for the occasional