Boys Kill, Men Die

By Walter D. Petrovic

As a kid you can always run away from a war.
As a man, there is no running away, from yourself.
Bobby Gillums tried. He tried.

In the final days of the war there was one last special mission.
The boys did not know the war was coming to a close and that America would be withdrawing. No questions were asked and only orders were part of a soldier’s duty to carry-out.

However, as in all war, the toll is taken. Even the bravest and most patriotic get to a point where they have had enough. Survival was choice: kill or die, or run away, but how does one run away without deserting?

Then the idea – just go Missing In Action!

• Language: English
• Publisher: Walter D. Petrovic
• Release date: Mar 2, 2016
• ISBN: 9781310270284

Walter D. Petrovic

I was born in Moose Jaw, Saskatchewan on March 28, 1960.Moved to Kitchener, Ontario in June 1970 with the Family and for a number of summers spent my time in the former Yugoslavia.I completed the Film Production course at Conestoga College of Applied Arts and Tech in April 1981 but had issues which prevented me from working in the business. I have, however, continued to write.In my latter years I attended Everest College, in Kitchener, where I obtained a Diploma for Legal Administrative Assistant and the college was kind enough to give me free time in taking the Security and Investigative portion of their Police Services course. Due to this I obtain my Ontario Security License and have worked as a Security Guard ever since. Currently I am afternoon Concierge at a commercial building in Kitchener.

Book preview

Boys Kill, Men Die

By Walter D. Petrovic

Published by Walter D. Petrovic at Smashwords

Copyright 2016 Walter D. Petrovic

BOYS KILL, MEN DIE

Copyright 2016 Walter D. Petrovic

Published by Walter D. Petrovic at Smashwords

Smashwords Edition License Notes

This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook 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 enjoyment only, then please return to Smashwords.com or your favorite retailer and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of

this author ISBN:

ISBN-13: 9781310270284

DEDICATION

For My Father

The characters, events and some places within this story are purely fictional. Any resemblance in anything presented, living or dead is accidental and unintentional.

Walter D. Petrovic

CONTENTS

INTRODUCTION

1. GOOD-BYE YELLOW BRICK ROAD

2. THE BOYS IN SQUAD 11

3. VISIT TO CHARLIE’S NURSERY

4. KILL, OR DIE

5. REMOVING THE BURBS

6. RIVER RATS

7. THE CHANGE

8. RUNNING AWAY

STORY

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

BOOKS BY AUTHOR

INTRODUCTION

I wrote this book back in 1983.

Boys Kill, Men Die was the third novel I penned and now that I am 56, I am finally embarking on the publication of my material.

Scorched Earth and Life In A Thrashing Machine have been available for free download for close to two decades, on Manybooks.net, with many not liking them for various reasons. On the same site I have a collection of my early poetry entitled Progressions.

I have read these books again since they were first placed there and you can tell that a kid wrote them with no professional help to spit and polish them for publication. Then again, how many kids of that day had three completed novels by the time they were twenty-three?

Anyway, I will rewrite them into much better material, while working on something new, as well.

I very much wish to see how my earlier stories would fare today.

Walter D. Petrovic

1. GOOD-BYE YELLOW BRICK ROAD

APRIL 24, 1975 - 17:00 HOURS.

Saigon was known for how hot it could get.

Bobby Gillums knew that well. He felt it as he lay nude on the bed, in the hotel where he was taking full advantage of his two-day pass.

He was staring up at the ceiling that looked as if someone had urinated across it.

Various-sized bugs raced around, in and out of the cracks and holes, chased by small lizards, called Geckos. Sometimes the geckos would take-on insects larger than them and Bobby listened to the crunching noise as the bugs were devoured.

What he was watching was just like this war he was thrust into. Standard rules did not apply, even to the observer. He didn’t know what put him off the most; the fact the he hated bugs, or that he hated the geckos more for eating them.

There were many GIs that felt as he did, now, but towards the people of this country. They cared less for either side.

Through the mosquito netting he watched one bug disappear into a little crevice where a fan was bolted, overhead. The fan was moving very slowly, and was more for show than for use. The room was relatively cooler, however. This was one of the hotels that had electric air conditioning units, chained to the framework of the window. The unit worked well-enough.

It was around five o’clock in the afternoon. Bobby had guessed the time from the increased volume of the noise trying to make its way into the room from the outside.

He was becoming impatient for Susie, and he thought that maybe she had been caught in a traffic jam. They had always occurred, at this time, every day. He was already with her, once, this morning but she had to leave to tend to her other clientele who had made appointments with her; sometimes, days and weeks in advance.

Bobby had made his appointments, too. He was to get her again, this time for the entire night, and most of the next morning.

He got out of bed, pushing apart the mosquito netting that hanged down from the ceiling and he butted-out his cigarette into an ashtray, on the night able.

He went over to the large French-style windows that faces one of the main streets of Saigon, and pushed it open. The hot and very humid air hit his face, almost taking his breath away and the sudden burst of noise was also unpleasant. Almost immediately he broke-out into a sweat from the heat, even though he stood right beside the air conditioning unit. He could no longer hear the unit’s drone from the honks and roars of the cars and large trucks below.

He lit another cigarette. Its smell mingled with the odors of flowers and diesel exhaust, rising up to him, from the city street.

Bobby still couldn’t get over his first impressions of Saigon.

He had been in this city since Christmas, and in these past four months, he still couldn’t believe that this city was in a country, that was bitterly at war with itself.

Saigon had the feeling of a European city. It must have been the French influence, when it had Indochina as one of its colonies, before they were thrown out in 1954. Saigon was even regarded as The Paris of the East. Some Americans still called it that, though more as a joke, since the people of Saigon didn’t look at all like they were French.

It was now the American’s turn. Already they had pumped their culture, as well as millions of green-backs into this city, in one form or another.

Many GI’s had bought electronic merchandise that was, somehow, brought into Saigon to be sold on the Black Market. At times, there were radio systems that reached a thousand dollars in price—whereas gold would go for some ridiculously low amount. It was all one GI’s attempt to attain a higher status than another.

Bobby didn’t care much. He had bought a standard AM transistor radio. It sat there, on the night table, between the bed and the air conditioner. He reached over and turned it on. A Hollies tune crackled over the tinny speaker and it soon faded into a popular Janis Joplin song. The Armed Forces network was trying its best to make things as, ‘at home’, as they could for the boys, over here. It just made Bobby hate ‘Nam, all the more.

He sometimes wished that he was still assigned to the NATO base in Germany. He was sorry for being stupid enough to give his commanding officer the excuse to volunteer him to the other side of the world. He should never have made fun of that officer’s inept ability.

One would never have believed that Saigon was in a country suffering through a state of war. People were everywhere, rushing around and doing business. Taxis, cars, motorcycles and Trishaws jammed up the street, making it hardly possible for pedestrians or cyclists. Horns blared, bells rang-out and sometimes the loud voices of angered Vietnamese could be heard. Swearing was universal, thought Bobby. If he learned anything here, it was to say a few Vietnamese swear words. It came-in very handy when he put those little holes into the V.C., when out on mission.

Where was Susie? The question kept pounding at his brain. He flicked his cigarette butt out of the window while he rested the palm of his left hand over his swollen member. He was getting eager, and seeing some of these pretty little Vietnamese women, outside, made him feel even more anxious.

Slowly, he wiped some sweat off his forehead. The heat was terrible. It must have been well over a hundred degrees and it was only spring. Bobby was glad that he would be home and away from here by the summer. Saigon wasn’t very far from the equator. It was about ten degrees north of it, and the summers proved that fact by being those of the blistering variety. The humidity was great, too. It often reached a hundred percent. Cloth and other spongy materials would usually have a damp, sticky feeling. His pubic hair was also somewhat damp and sticky from the sweat, humidity and from lack of a recent wash.

Below, everybody seemed to be in a hurry. However, Saigon was like this, throughout the entire day and even the nights. There was a seven o’clock curfew in the city, but it was not seriously observed by anyone, including those who had instated it. The Saigonese were just too independent to adhere to a curfew. The military police even had a difficult time enforcing the mandatory midnight to four a.m. curfew.

It was some war. Bobby wished that he had a dollar for every time someone thought that.

The Vietnamese people were chronically good-humored, intelligent and very affectionate. They were always smiling and giggling, and joking. It wasn’t difficult for a GI to find himself becoming quite friendly with these people. If only there wasn’t the constant fear of being shot or knifed by one of those—at a later time—stuck in the deep recesses of the mind.

In short, Saigon had a fairly relaxed attitude all around. You would never know that a bloody conflict was happening all around, except for an occasional reminder of military patrols and vehicles, passing through the city.

It was growing dimmer out. Night came almost suddenly to this part of the world.

Across the street, a Coca-Cola sign was lit up, to lure Americans for business, and a reasonably-priced good time with a very young lady.

Without a knock or any other warning, Susie burst into Bobby’s room. He became cold very quickly. For a moment he envisioned a Viet Cong throwing in a hand grenade, to do him in. He had calmed, though, when he realized that it was only his sweet Susie.

She was dressed in a clean, tight-fitting ao dai ‘how zai’, which she seemed to have off of her body before the door had a chance to close. She didn’t wear anything underneath. It may have been because of the heat, but it was most likely because of good business sense, on her part. It saved time, and she knew that ‘time was money’, to the Americans.

Susie, as she called herself, didn’t appear to be your average Saigonese prostitute. She was educated and could speak several languages reasonably well.

Bobby had believed her to be the daughter, or maybe the wife, of some high city official. She looked like she only catered to officers and high-paying gentlemen, but she must’ve liked Bobby to some degree. She came to charging him only about 600 piastres—which was over five dollars—and they’d be together, sometimes for an entire day or night. A regular street-girl could be bought to about 200 piastres, or a large hamburger and a coke, but these girls split after fifteen minutes.

Bobby met Susie in a bookstore, not far from the hotel. It was a small reading gallery run by a couple of French homosexuals that never did leave Vietnam when the rest of their countrymen were being expelled. Bobby had gone into the store to buy American books, which he hoped would help to take his mind off of this country. He thought that the SACKETTS or MIKE HAMMER would do the trick, but when he saw Susie, he forgot all about the books, and about the war.

She was sitting in a little nook, away from the front window, reading some book that looked like it