Prompts Too - Another Collection of Stories

By Tank Gunner

"Prompts Too - another collection of stories" is the sequel to "Prompts - a collection of stories" and continues with a mix of fiction from creative writing prompts and war stories based on personalities, events, and locations. A retired, decorated combat cavalry trooper, Tank Gunner is a top-notch storyteller. We recognize real people in his down-to-earth style. Tank's mastery of descriptive dialogue is the hallmark of his creative brilliance. Graphic scenes bring tears of sadness and joy at the predicaments of Tank's characters. You'll love Tank's heroes, volunteer with Early Benson's squad, root for Pepper and Lola who find lust, warn Raintree of Fanachetti's steal of a deal, realize the toil of a talent making a TV ad, laugh at Buddy and Roscoe's impasse, adore Willy and Joe, pay Patsy's price for a ride, share the faith of a father, trust Web, champion a technical foul, remember a pass in Las Vegas, mourn Twig, and wait with Steven for a signal from Lisabeth.

• Language: English
• Publisher: BookBaby
• Release date: Sep 12, 2016
• ISBN: 9781483580036

Book preview

PROMPTS

(from slips of paper drawn out of a paper sack)

MONKEY HONORS

Sergeant Randall Pepper's concern mounted the nearer he got to his Troop Commander's Command Post.

Specialist Vannoy, the Troop clerk, had brought the directive for the Lieutenant and the Sergeant to report on the double.

Lieutenant Versailles had raised his eyebrows when he told his scout leader that Captain Thompson had issued a summons.

Captain wants you and me to report to him at the CP, on the double, Randall. What's going on? What did you do?

I don't know, Lieutenant. I didn't do nothing. That I know of. That I can think of. That I can remember.

Sergeant Pepper conducted a replay of his life and activities over the last two days. He came up short on reasons why he should be in trouble. It was niggling.

Well, you musta done something for the Captain to send Vannoy.

After tapping on the six-by-six stud that supported the entranceway and entering the fortified bunker, Sergeant Pepper pressed heels together and saluted his CO. His eyes drifted from his Commanding Officer to the gorgeous, shapely brunette. Even in loose jungle fatigues, it was easy for Randall to figure out it was a woman wearing a First Lieutenant silver bar and a Nurse Corps branch insignia standing next to his Cavalry Commander.

Sergeant Pepper reporting to the Troop Commander, as ordered, Sir.

Captain Thompson returned Lieutenant Versailles and Sergeant Pepper's salute.

Reassured by Captain Thompson's smile, the scout leader knew that whatever trouble he was in, it wasn't serious.

Stand at ease, Randall.

Thank you, Sir. Sergeant Pepper assumed the professional posture of Parade Rest. He kept his mouth shut, for the moment. He waited for the revelation of an accusation, or accusations.

Lieutenant Lola Toy, may I introduce Lieutenant Alex Versailles, Second Platoon Leader, and Sergeant Randall Pepper, Second Platoon Scout Squad Leader.

Since Captain Thompson was senior officer present, protocol did not require Sergeant Pepper to stand at attention and salute the Lieutenant. But he did anyway. With his eyes glued on her, he couldn't help it. The instant he did it, he realized that by doing it he fucked up. But a quick glance at his CO's grin told him he was excused. A dumbass, but excused.

Lieutenant Toy returned Sergeant Pepper's salute and smiled.

Her perfect teeth, her full, inviting, russet-shaded lips, and dark tan eyes drew in the non-commissioned officer's gaze. Sergeant Pepper was both mesmerized and perplexed. He had never seen a woman so elegant, so poised, so…well, just so.

Lieutenant Toy met his gaze and measured the man facing her. She was attracted to the rugged looking NCO gaping at her. He was stocky, muscular, shorter, but that didn't matter. Lola was intrigued. A tingling excitement flowed through her breasts, down her abdomen, and into her inner thighs. The rhythmic thumps of her heart came closer together, more brisk. She felt warmth in her cheeks.

It had been months since she had an urge for a man, and the powerful one she now felt for him was a deep pleasurable sensation. She felt like taking Randall into her arms, smothering him with hot kisses, ripping his jungle fatigues off, and making passionate love to him here in the sandbagged bunker, on the hard-metal PSP flooring.

I'm pleased to meet you, Sergeant Pepper. Captain Thompson has told me a lot about you.

Her smile turned into a broad, charming grin. She shoved her hand toward him. Something about leeches. I was impressed.

He took her hand. It felt soft and warm, tantalizing. The scout leader's heart fluttered, banged, and bumped against his left breast. Veins in his neck pulsed, pounded. A rapid rushing ringing resonance rose in both his ears. His lips felt dry. He flashed his tongue across both, moistening them. It was hard for him to swallow the lump stuck in his craw. He knew, he just knew, he saw twinkles in her stunning eyes. He felt lightheaded. His brain seemed awash, in a swirl. In the Cavalry Troop CP, Sergeant Randall Pepper had fallen in love at first sight. He wanted to be with this Army Nurse who stood a head taller than he did. God, he thought, she is fine looking.

"Sergeant Pepper. Randall? Randall."

Yes, Captain. Yes, Sir, Captain. Beg pardon, Sir. My mind wandered.

Yes, I see it did, Sergeant. Lieutenant Toy needs our help. Lola, please explain the situation to Sergeant Pepper.

"1968 is the Year of the Monkey in Vietnam. A celebration planned for Saturday, here in Tuy Hoa, is now in turmoil. One hundred monkeys put aboard four trucks three days ago in Saigon have not arrived. They left Bien Hoa with no escort. Everyone thought it would be a safe journey for the four trucks to travel in a train alone for the two hundred-fifty kilometers.

"The intended route was up QL1A, the South China Sea coastal highway, instead of the inland route along QL14. We expected the arrival of the train, the convoy, yesterday.

This morning we received word a farmer found the vehicles and primates at a truck stop thirty kilometers south of here, at Ga Hao Son. Vietnamese drivers were not there, they'd vanished. The four trucks and one hundred monkeys were abandoned.

That's where the power generation station is, Lieutenant Versailles. At Ga Hao Son. There's a pullover spot just off the highway. Transportation drivers use it as a rest stop when they're in an extended train. It's like a truck stop, when they're in a convoy, Sir.

Yes, I remember it, Sergeant Pepper. Just north of the station is a creek that feeds the Sea. We've been down there many times to secure that bridge across the creek. And north of the creek, Captain, is a double bend in the road.

Yes, Alex, I remember. That's where Sergeant Akin captured a flock of ducks a couple of months ago.

Yes, Captain, that's the place. Sergeant Pepper and Akin had a hell of a time rounding them up too.

About my mammals, Captain. They've been without food or water for three days. They are probably dehydrated and sick. We need to go there as soon as possible. Confined in a wire cage, in the backs of deuce and a half trucks covered by canvas tarp, they must be in desperate straits. If we're not in time, they may perish in the heat.

South, beyond the Ba River Bridge, Captain, is bandit country. There are no VC or NVA Regiments down that way, but roadside bandits stop traffic and employ snipers. They confiscate loads of rubber and rice, or whatever is on civilian trucks going to market.

I know, Alex. Maybe the bandits already have the monkeys. They'll ransom them or eat them.

Captain, please. The local Chiefs are in anguish. The fate of the monkeys is worrisome. There will be a feeling of alienation if Saigon, Cam Ranh, Phan Rang, Nha Trang, Quy Nhon, Da Nang, and Hue throw a big to-do, and Tuy Hoa can't, to celebrate the Year of the Monkey. The populace here is in an uproar, fearing something terrible happened to their animals. Without the primates and celebration, it will create a sense of emotional isolation for the people of Tuy Hoa.

I understand, Lola. I appreciate the situation.

The mayor of Tuy Hoa approached our MASH Commander and requested help. Colonel Ferry called on your Brigade Commander, Colonel Tyson. Colonel Tyson agreed to conduct a search and rescue operation. He called Colonel Bates, your Squadron Commander. Colonel Bates said he'd leave it to your discretion. If you wanted to do it, you could take the rescue mission. It's flowed downhill. Now it's on your shoulders. Please take the mission. Save my monkeys. She left it there, a pronounced pause. No one spoke.

Sergeant Pepper looked at Lieutenant Versailles first, then at Captain Thompson. Now he understood what the fuck was going on. He grasped the reason why his Commander summoned him. He dreaded what was going to be next, but kept his mouth shut -- with a great deal of difficulty. His gut rumbled. A howling laughter and a screaming NO WAY tried to bubble up and erupt out of his mouth. He held his breath. He knew damned well what the next words from his Commanding Officer would be.

The Troop Commander stepped forward and placed his hand on Sergeant Pepper's shoulder. Your scout squad will go after the monkeys, Randall. Take possession of the trucks and bring them to Tuy Hoa in time for the 1968 Lunar New Year celebration.

Sir. Captain. Lieutenant Toy. Scuse me sayin. It's four trucks full of monkeys.

Yes, Sergeant Pepper, it is.

You want me to find four trucks and a hundred monkeys? And bring them here?

Well, finding them is not a problem. We know where they are. At Ga Hao Son.

You want me to go get em. Captain, Sir, please….

…That's your mission, Randall. Cavalry scouts to the rescue.

But…. But, Captain. It's just…Captain, it's just monkeys. You know the Vietnamese people eat monkeys. The villagers may already have had a big feast. Or, the bandits. Like Lieutenant Versailles said.

"You're right, Sergeant Pepper. Either way those little creatures are in danger. It's as Lieutenant Toy said, maybe without food or water the monkeys could be sick and dehydrated. Or, they could be dead and devoured.

Alex, have a truck and driver go with Randall. Pick four soldiers to ride in the truck going down with him.

Okay, Capn.

Those four boys will drive the four trucks and monkeys back here.

Yes, Sir.

Lieutenant Toy stepped forward and clasped Sergeant Pepper's left bicep.

"My emergency response team will go with you, Sergeant Pepper. If we get to the monkeys in time, we can save them. It will be a great public relations coup. It will go far in General Westmoreland's Winning of the Hearts and Minds. I will go, too. I will be by your side, Randall."

The scout squad leader wanted to reach out, take Lola in his arms, kiss her, and make love to her right there in the Captain's office. He smiled as the refrain from a popular song played in his head: Whatever Lola wants, Lola gets.

In that case, Lieutenant Toy, I'd be honored for you to ride with me as I rescue your monkeys and bring them home to Tuy Hoa.

Okay, Alex. Get it organized while Lieutenant Toy and Sergeant Pepper form up their rescue teams. Let's get crackin. Let's get it done.

Yes, Sir, Captain. We'll take care of business. Lieutenant Versailles saluted his Troop Commander then playfully tapped his scout leader on a shoulder.

You'll be decorated as a hero, Randall. I can see it now. As General Westmoreland drapes the medal around your neck, the Adjutant General will read the citation and announce your award of Cavalry Rescue First Class with Monkey Honors.

PROMPT

Character word and action tags

A FRIENDSHIP LOST

Carey was eight. David and I were eleven.

Carey lived with his parents and older sister, Martene, next door to David.

A chain-linked fence separated the two properties. Both houses sat on a sloping incline, 200 feet up from the main road. Both front yards had three dozen, tall, East Texas pines. Lush, green, thick Saint Augustine grass covered the grounds.

David's Dad owned the local Cadillac dealership and was well enough off to afford employing a landscaper. David was my only classmate with a black and white television. Carey's Dad was a dentist so his family also had a TV. Another sat in the front window of Watson's Appliances because nobody could afford to buy it.

One afternoon in August, two weeks before school started, David and I played catch with a baseball under these beautiful shade trees. It was a dog day of summer in Texas. It was hot but, in our youth, we ignored the heat.

With repeated practice, we tossed the baseball just below the lower canopy of pine needles. The white, round cowhide, with thick red stitching, sailed up and slid down in a lazy arc. As if we were in center field when a batter hit a high fly ball our way, we positioned ourselves under the projectile to catch it for the third and final out.

Carey came out to watch. His mother stood on their front porch, keeping an eye on her young son who clung to his side of the chain-linked fence. His stubby fingers clasped through the spaces. His mouth hung open, his small tongue extended in the space of an absent front tooth. He stuck his nose through diamond spaced wires. He pressed his tubby body against the barrier. He gently pushed and pulled, swaying the section between two posts. He tried to scale the fence. It was his attempt to attract our attention. He wanted so much to be part of our game, to be part of our twosome.

BD, Carey called out. BD.

David ignored Carey. I held the baseball in my glove and looked at Carey.

Carey's word, or words, puzzled me. What'd he say?

That's how he says my name. BD. He can't say David. He's a mongoloid.

I didn't know what a mongoloid was, then. I joined David in ignoring Carey.

Carey endured Down syndrome.

With some force, Carey shook his section of the fence demanding we look. He wanted our attention and that was the only way he knew worked.

But we snubbed him.

He called again. BD!

He waited. He dropped his head as if in prayer, still clinging to the obstruction.

His mother's voice was gentle, melancholy as she called to her son.

Carey, come in the house now. Leave those boys alone so they can play their game. You can watch Buffalo Bob and Howdy Doody.

BD. Carey's voice became softer, imploring. BD, be my friend. BD?

PROMPT

Write a story with narrative and dialogue

A LITTLE ACTION ON THE BRIDGE

Along QL1A, halfway between Da Nang and Saigon, a gorgeous viaduct once spanned the Ba River. The length had been a little more than one and a half football fields -- 153 meters -- and spacious enough for two M60 tanks to pass each other. On the right side, facing south, was a wide pathway. Beside pedestrians, this ample berth also had accommodated bicycles and pedicabs. On the left side of the structure, parallel with the vehicular passageway, tracks ran over a railway bridge.

Water depth was less than six feet during the dry season. Water could rise eight feet when monsoon rains filled the expanse between the twelve-foot high northern and southern sandy banks. Three kilometers east of the bridge the mouth of the river fed the South China Sea.

This coastal highway connected Hanoi and Saigon. It was a wide-open, high-speed avenue of approach to the Republic of South Vietnam. The two Ba River bridges were precious assets. Both were key strategic and tactical military objectives. Without the capability to cross the river here, on QL1A, all armed forces and the populace travelled 70 kilometers to the west for another bridge.

In 1954, the Viet Minh had blown the road bridge to prevent reinforcements sweeping north to support the beleaguered force at Dien Bien Phu.

Only the railroad bridge structure remained when American combat forces arrived a decade later. US Army engineers placed twelve-foot four-by-twelve planks across the railway frame to permit crossing the expanse. Both South Vietnamese police and US Army military police controlled one-way traffic across the bridge.

It was a singularly vital line of communication requiring a formidable force to secure it. Round the clock, a cavalry platoon babysat the Ba River Bridge and was prepared to defend it to the death.

Come in Sergeant Winkler. Top said you needed to talk with me. In private.

Sergeant Edwin Winkler, Scout Squad Leader, Third Platoon, formally saluted his Troop Commander. Yes, Sir. I asked First Sergeant if I could talk to you. I'm not sure how to say what I gotta say, Capn Thompson.

The Captain smiled. I have never known when you were short of words, Edwin.

This is a touchy subject, Capn. I could be in deep shit about what I want to tell you.

I've known you to be always cautious. You're a combat veteran, Edwin. A DSC, two Silver Stars, and CIB. You killed two bad guys, one with your pistol and the other with your bayonet, at the same damn time, when both had you by the balls.

Yessir, Capn. May I sit?

Certainly. We use the water can as a chair.

It's about my new machine gunner, Capn.

Leonard? Lawrence? Lancaster?

Leroy, Sir.

Yes. Leroy.

Yes, Sir. Private Leroy Lancaster.

I remember him. Redheaded kid. Seventeen. Skinny. Green eyes. From Dallas. He was short, too. I think he said he was five-four.

And Lieutenant Carpenter.

Captain Thompson did not speak. The mention of his Third Platoon Leader by name gave caution. He waited for his scout sergeant to continue.

Leroy and Lieutenant Carpenter have a problem, Capn.

What kind of problem?

Leroy and the Lieutenant are queer, Capn.

Queer? You mean strange? Unusual? Weird?

I mean queer, Sir. Leroy and Lieutenant Carpenter are homos, Captain Thompson.

The Commanding Officer shook his head with slight movement. That's serious accusations, Sergeant Winkler. Why do you say that?

Well, there's more, Capn.

More? What the hell are you trying to tell me, Edwin? Come on, now. Tell me what you're trying to tell me. I'm listening.

My scout squad was baby-sittin the north side of the Ba River bridge, Capn. That damn bridge is damn near half mile long, Capn. I sent Leroy down the bridge. I wanted an OP. I wanted him to be able to see Sergeant Pepper's man on the other end. I wanted some coordination, some link. Lancaster was to be my early warning, case shit happened on the south side.

Okay.

A half hour after dark, Lieutenant Carpenter came up and asked where Lancaster was. I told him, and he walked down the bridge where Lancaster went.

Okay.

About twenty minutes later, I took Jarvis down to relieve Lancaster. I couldn't find him or the Lieutenant right away, Capn.

How could you miss them, on a bridge 70 feet above the Ba River?

They was off to the side, against one of the bridge's diagonal support beams. In the faint light, at first, I could make out somebody was standin up. Then, when I squinted, I could make out another person scrunched down. The one scrunched down was in front of the one standin up, Capn. They was about 12, 15 meters away from me and Jarvis. I put a hand on Jarvis's shoulder to stop him. We stopped, watchin.

Go on.

Captain Thompson watched Sergeant Winkler's face, looking into his eyes, searching his soul. He had never known his scout leader to lie. He steeled himself for the rest of an incredible story.

I knew what the fuck was goin on, Capn. Scuse my language, Capn.

Go on, Sergeant Winkler.

Then we moved closer, walked up on them. Their helmets was sittin on the bridge. Lancaster's rifle was leaning against the railing. They never even knew we was there, Capn, within five feet, Capn. Both me and Jarvis turned on our flashlights. Even with a red lens, it was enough light at that distance we could see all of it.

Captain Thompson did not speak. Perhaps it was instinct, a sixth, seventh, or eighth sense, but the Troop Commander prepared himself for what he feared he was about to hear. He felt his heart pound against his chest. Ringing rose up in the Commander's ears, his face felt hot.

Go on, Sergeant Winkler. I'm listening.

"Lieutenant Carpenter was on his knees, Capn. Leroy's arms was stretched out. His hands was holdin the Lieutenant's head. Lancaster's fatigue trousers were down, and his dick was stuck in the Lieutenant's mouth. Jarvis and me surprised the shit out of them, Capn. The Lieutenant jumped up and screamed at us. He was a fuckin officer and a gentleman, Capn. Leroy pulled up his pants and turned his back on us."

Captain Thompson drew in a slow, deep, inhale of humid air. Yes, I suppose so. Jesus.

We was holdin our lights on them. Mine was on the Lieutenant, and Jarvis's was on Leroy. And Jarvis shouts 'what the fuck you goddam fuckin queers doin, you sons of bitches'.

I was not prepared for this, Edwin. I am speechless.

PROMPT

Easy-going 74 year-old woman, naive 65 year-old man, story begins in a doctor's surgery (office), routine blood test shows two family members are not related, a story about stubbornness, character bites off more than s/he can chew

BEST INTENTION AT INTERVENTION

Now I'm pretty easy-going, Doctor Ferdinand. You know that. I've been coming to see you for the past 20 years or so. I'm at my wits end. I need your help.

Yes, Martha Jean, you have. Actually, it's been 32 years, eight months, and 26 days.

This office visit is not about me. It's about my boyfriend, Elmer.

I see. How can I help?

Elmer farts. You know he weighs four twenty-seven and an eighth. All the stuff he shoves down his throat aggravates his flatulence. It's terrible. He's so corpulent.

Elmer is obese, and I've heard him fart in church. Many times.

Yes. He farts, whenever and wherever. It doesn't matter. He doesn't pay attention. He has no idea how embarrassing farting is. He is so naive.

Martha Jean shook her head as tears rose. The lower portion of her eyes seemed to shimmer. She lowered her head and swiped her cheeks to wipe away the liquid hurt slipping down.

I see. You appear upset about this, Martha Jean. Doctor Ferdinand pulled several tissues from a box and handed them to her. He waited.

She took the tissues and dabbed at both cheeks before holding the soft paper on closed eyelids to absorb the despair. I've asked Elmer to control himself, to hold it, or at least to get up and go to the bathroom, or outside, when he feels the urge to pass gas.

How does that work out for Elmer, and for you?

The last occasion was not so good. It was appalling. He's too big, too slow.

I see this is painful for you. What happened?

We were at Peggy Sue and Buddy's house playing Canasta. Elmer had the urge. I know he did. I could see that telltale look on his face. I held my breath. I was so afraid he was going to cut one sitting at the card table. I think I even closed my eyes and lowered my head, prepared for the humiliation.

But he was able to hold it like you had asked him to do?

Oh, no. He placed both hands on the table and half rose up from his chair. He stopped and stooped, bent over, and ripped the loudest, rudest, most horrible rumbling fart that I've ever heard. And, I've heard a lot of farts, Doctor Ferdinand.

I see.

That night his farts were louder, longer, and smellier. I thought he had messed in his pants.

It embarrassed you and your hosts?

Well, it embarrassed me and Peggy Sue.

What about Buddy?

"He rose up out of his chair and imitated Elmer. My god, the stink. The horrendous odor lingered for at least 20 minutes. It was shocking. Both of them howled, laughing like hyenas. I thought Peggy Sue would faint. I spilled my Dr Pepper and Jack Daniels."

Doctor Ferdinand remained poised by gritting his teeth and jamming his tongue against his palette. He forced holding his breath before drawing in a slow inhale through his nose, swelling his stomach, his lungs filling with wonderful, calming oxygen. He held a pause as long as possible before speaking. He knew if he spoke too soon he would not be able to control his own holler of laughter that was about to erupt. Finally, after six seconds passed, which seemed to him like four hours, he relaxed his jaw muscles and let his mouth hang open with caution, testing if it would be safe to leave it ajar.

I see. Uh…. The howl rose in his throat, he swallowed twice to suppress it. Doctor Ferdinand did not exaggerate his headshake. He feared that motion would release the whoops rumbling in his gut. I see. How can I help, Martha Jean?

Give him a pill, Doctor.

A pill? What kind of pill?

To make him stop farting.

You want me to prescribe a medication to help Elmer.

Yes, please. Something to make that stubborn man stop farting. The other night he nearly blew the covers off the bed. I swear I saw the blanket rise up. I had to lay my arms along my body to pin the quilt down to keep the stink from floating out.

Well, you know, Martha Jean, the good Lord did a wonderful job in designing our body. He put a lot of thought into the work and created bodily functions to keep us healthy. Passing gas is a natural process for a good life. It's nothing to be ashamed of. I'm certain, Martha Jean, that you pass gas just like I do.

My goodness, Doctor Ferdinand, I don't know what to say.

Right. Sorry, Martha Jean. I'll talk with Elmer and see what can be done.

And, so he did.