Challenge the Death Angel

By Thomas E. Jaynes

At Kadena Air Force Base on Okinawa, Angus and sixty-two other young Marines stand at the tail of the huge airplane, a Hercules, that will take them on the last leg of their journey to Southeast Asia. The flight has been held up for about twenty minutes for a late arrival. When the man finally shows up, Angus is startled by his appearance.

He's wearing faded, frayed fatigues, carrying an old green canvas bag in one hand, and a long, leather case in the other. He wears a strip of camouflaged cloth tied around his head, and pulled down level with the top of his eyebrows. His hair is long, almost reaching his shoulders.

While Angus stands there gawking, all the young Marines walk up the ramp past him. Before Angus realizes it, he is standing there alone, the last passenger to climb aboard. There were a few vacant seats left, but he decides to sit next to this late arriver. It might prove to be interesting.

Next stop, Viet-Nam.

• Language: English
• Publisher: iUniverse
• Release date: Dec 17, 1999
• ISBN: 9781462079612

Book preview

Contents

DEDICATION

Authors Note

Chapter Two

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

CHAPTER ELEVEN

CHAPTER TWELVE

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

AUTHOR’S BIO

DEDICATION

For Carolyn and Greg.

Authors Note

This novel is set in a matrix of fact: certain aspects and events of the conflict between the United States and North Viet-Nam in the mid-sixties. Actual military and political leaders are sometimes used and are also part of the background against which this fictional drama is played.

Challenge The Death Angel is, however, entirely a novel—a fictional account of the fictional Angus Thurston, Junior Tidwell, Doris Freeman, and a man named Cody. They, too, are wholly imaginary, as are their conversations with real persons. These fictional dialogues, ideas and actions were created out of my imagination in order to enhance the novel’s plot and authenticity.

Tom Jaynes—

March 8, 1965—

President Johnson sent thirty five hundred U.S. Marines to VietNam with the sole mission ofprotecting our air base at Da-Nang. Two days later, two Marine battalions—1500 men—landed in Viet-Nam.

Three weeks later the VC bombed the U.S. embassy in Saigon, killing two and injuring more than two hundred Americans and South Vietnamese. Within two days, LBJ made the Marines available for combat support for the first time, upgrading the role of America’s soldiers from advisors to combatants.

By the end of 1965 there were more than 180,000 American soldiers in South Viet-Nam. By then the military draft was in high gear, trying to keep up with the demanding troop escalation in Viet-Nam. The draft, however, was heavily weighted to one side—favoring the more affluent.

Deferments were made to those who could show that they were full-time students and were making satisfactory progress toward a degree. This policy insured that a high percentage of those who were drafted came from families who could least afford to send their children to college.

The exemplar was set:

•     Sons of high income families went to college.

•     Sons of low income families went to Viet-Nam.

* * *

Orrville Mill Village-June 1967-Angus Thurston and Junior Tidwell sat on the curb in front of Angus’ house. They had graduated high school the week before, and were now faced with the inevitable—the draft and Viet-Nam.

Junior said, We don’t really have to go in the Army or the Navy or none of the rest of them, if we don’t want to.

What’s that supposed to mean, Angus asked sarcastically.

Junior spit in the sand between his bare feet. Still looking down, he said, We can go to Canada. Lots of guys are doing that. I saw it on TV last night. We could do that.

Junior, going to Canada won’t help anything. We would be deserters. We couldn’t ever come back home; not even after the war in Viet-Nam. We could be arrested if we ever showed up here again. Deserters in a time of war can be hanged, Angus said.

Then what are we going to do? Junior said.

Last night I thought of something—a plan, Angus said.

What’s the plan? Junior never raised his head, leaving his chin on his arms, watching his toes wiggle in the warm sand.

Well, you know how Mama is always telling me I should get away from the cotton mill. ‘Get yourself a good job somewhere else. A job where you can be somebody.’ So that’s just what I’m going to do. I’m going be somebody. Come Monday morning I’m joining the Marine Corps. That’s being somebody, ain’t it?"

Marines go to Viet-Nam, too, Angus. Junior chuckled, and looked up for a second.

Junior, we may as well face facts. We’re going to Viet-Nam, no matter what. So I’ve decided I’m going as a Marine. Who knows, I might like the Marine Corps and never come back, even after the Viet-Nam war is over. Oh, I’d visit Mama once in awhile, but that’s all.

I want us to go in together, Junior. If you sign on with a buddy, they guarantee you’ll stay together if you want to. I’ve made up my mind, and I’m going. I don’t want to leave you here, but if I have to, I will. Angus smiled to himself and waited for Junior to come around to his way of thinking.

A few seconds later, Junior asked, Where is Viet Nam?

Shit, Junior, I don’t know. It’s overseas somewhere, all right?

Just thought you’d know, that’s all.

Junior leaned forward a bit and spit on a red ant dragging a grasshopper across the sand. The ant dropped its grasshopper and ran around in tiny circles. Junior got to his feet and brushed off the seat of his pants.

Okay, let’s do it, Junior said.

The Marine Corps? Angus stood up.

Hell, yes, the Marine Corps, Junior said. Ain’t that what we’ve been talking about? Junior feigned a right cross to Angus’ jaw.

There is one thing still undone, Angus said. I still have to tell Doris, and I don’t look forward to that. Angus had gone with Doris Freeman since they were in sixth grade, and he loved her more than anybody in the world.

* * *

An hour or so later, Angus sat talking with Doris on her front porch. He had made some small talk for a few minutes, and then went quiet again.

Doris couldn’t stand that any longer. She knew instinctively that Angus had something serious to say. After all the years they have been together, Doris could almost read his mind.

Spit it out, she told him. You’re dying to say something. What?

It has to do with Viet-Nam, he said. If I don’t do anything, I’ll be drafted into the Army by the end of the month if I haven’t enlisted into one of the other branches of service. You know, like the Air Force, or the Navy, or something. Doris crossed her arms on her chest.

Angus, are you going to tell me or not? Is it important or just some foolish idea of yours. Angus took a deep breath.

It’s important, Hon. I’m going to join the Marine Corps Monday morning. Me and Junior both. So this weekend will be our last one together for quite awhile—ten weeks. Angus was sure she paled a little as she sat motionless now.

Doris, did you hear what I said? She looked at him, but it appeared to Angus that she was looking through him, and not at him.

We still have the weekend to be with each other, Angus told her. We’ll go the lake so we’ll be alone. You know how quiet it is out there late at night. What do you say? Want to go?

She nodded her head, then wiped a tear that was about to trickle down her cheek.

I’ll make this an unforgettable night for both of us, she told him. I’ll give myself to you until you can’t get your breath. Then I’ll demand to have you one more time. She looked at Angus rather strangely, and what she said didn’t sound like the Doris he knew. That is not to say that he didn’t like it.

* * *

That night at the lake, they spread a blanket on the roof of the Freeman’s boathouse and made love. Angus gently raised himself off Doris, and put his arm under her shoulders. She snuggled up to him with her head on his chest. It was the second time they made love in the last hour.

What a beautiful night, Angus. Doris was on her back staring into the heavens. Angus turned over on his stomach and looked down on her nude body, illuminated only by the stars and a half-moon.

God, you’re beautiful, Angus said. She raised her head until their lips touched, and slid her tongue into Angus’ mouth and slowly parted her legs, inviting him to take her for the third time.

Parris Island, SC-June 11, 1967

When the bus came to a stop, a Drill Instructor immediately came onboard, and training was off and running.

My name is Gunnery Sergeant Philip S. Decker, United States Marine Corps, and I am your senior Drill Instructor. This island will be your home for the next ten weeks. Forget the people you left at home because they don’t count for shit on My Island! They no longer exist! You will not need any of them in my beloved Marine Corps because the Marine Corps takes care of its own. I am now your mother, father, brother, sister, wife, girlfriend, and savior.

As Angus listened, he knew there would be no Welcome to the Marine Corps speech today. Maybe never.

Anything and everything you need while you are on my island, you will get from me. Are you listening to me? The stunned recruits cut their eyes around at one another, not knowing what was expected of them.

You will speak when spoken to, maggots, and I have just spoken to you! You will answer by saying, ‘Sir, yes, Sir!’

Sir, yes, Sir, the recruits answered quietly.

Again! I can’t hear you! Decker yelled. His face reddened and blood vessels swelled in his neck.

Sir, yes, Sir! They yelled.

"I will teach you everything a Marine needs to know! I don’t want you to know anything about my Marine Corps yet. I want young recruits with empty heads.

"No matter how hard I work, some of you will not last ten weeks; some of you may not last two weeks. On graduation day, only the very best of you will still be here.

All right, enough of that. We’ve got things to do. Decker pointed out the bus window. "See those yellow footprints on the pavement? Get your asses out there and stand on a pair of them.

Begin at the far left, and fill in all the spaces."

* * *

Decker went in among the ranks pulling guys out, slipping the taller ones to the left and gradually tapering off until the shortest ended up at the end of the columns.

Sergeant Decker smiled a little tightlipped grin, then took a deep breath. We are Platoon 2077. I know you don’t believe it now, but 2077 will be the baddest of the bad asses. The baddest on the Island. We will kick ass! Believe it! he shouted.

Platoon 2077, Angus repeated to himself. He wasn’t just a misplaced civilian any longer. He was now a part of something. A member of Platoon 2077. Decker spoke again and Angus was back, listening eagerly now.

Now you are going to march—probably for the first time in your life. Remember the position you are in right now. You’ll be expected to be in that exact spot every time we form up. You’ll look like shit until next week when you’ve marched about a hundred miles. For now, do the best you can. By the end of this day, ladies, you might surprise yourself at how much you’ve learned.

All right, Decker said. Everybody hungry?

Sir, yes, Sir! the men yelled.

Then let’s eat. Ten-hut! Far-war, march! Your left, right, left, right, hip-hop, your left, right, left. Decker marched backwards most of the time, always watching his men.

Stay in step back there in the rear! Listen to my voice, Decker yelled. Your other left foot, numb-nuts! Decker was in military mode now.

Get out of there and bring up the rear! Now! Now! Yes, you! And watch you don’t step on the heels of that man back there. He has my permission to kick your ass first chance he gets, and he’ll probably do it, too. He’s a pretty good sized man.

Decker loves this shit, Angus thought, smiling to himself. And Angus kind of liked it, also. He remembered how much he liked to watch the high school band march and play at half-time. Decker had marched the men to the chow hall without a major problem. Now as they stood in ranks before going in, he lectured them.

"You listen to my every word now. I’m here to help you. I don’t want you to look like shit in front of those other DI’s. You see them? Standing there with their hands on their hips and talking to each other? They’re a bunch smart asses! They brought their platoons in early, trying to make us look bad.

They damn sure won’t be first to breakfast tomorrow morning. I guarantee you that. Everything you do while on this island will be in competition with those other platoons you see out here. The last four of my platoons finished with no less than four efficiency banners on their guide-on flag. And you will too, or you’ll die trying!

Inside the mess hall the noon meal wasn’t without its rules and regulations: No talking, face the servers on the food line, eyes straight ahead, side step to the next server … on and on it went, for the length of the steam table. They then stood at attention at the tables until the last man of the platoon arrived.

Platoon, sit! Decker ordered, then added, softly, I’m going to give2077 a one-time permission to talk quietly. Get it out ofyour system. You’ll never be permitted to speak in the mess hall again. Now Eat!

Angus, Junior said, I feel like we’ve made a mistake … the Marine Corps, I mean. Do you feel like that? Angus couldn’t keep from laughing.

Junior, we’ve been in basic training for about thirty minutes. A couple of other guys had heard his comment, and laughed along with Angus. Junior remained stone-faced. It wasn’t funny to him. Eat up. The food’s great. Angus told him, forking a bite ofmeat loaf.

Junior tried the meat loaf, but from the expression on his face, he didn’t think much of it.

Most of the men were really hungry, so all you could hear were forks and spoons meeting stainless steel food trays. After fifteen minutes, Sergeant Decker rose from the DI’s table.

Give me your attention! All platoons! You’ve got five minutes to fall in outside at your platoon assembly area. All platoons have a full schedule this afternoon. Haircuts and clothing issue.

Who needs a haircut? What the hell’s your hair got to do with going to Viet Nam, that’s what I’d like to know.

You ever seen a Marine with long hair? We’ll all get haircuts just like the DI’s wear, Angus told him.

* * *

Outside the mess hall, the men crowded under the airy shade of a few skinny pine trees until the DI’s came out and began barking orders at them.

Platoon 2077 over here, Decker shouted as the other platoons formed up. Do you remember the spot you were in when we marched over here? Well, get back in those same positions and let’s get the hell out of here. Let me have the six men who marched at the front of the platoon. Come on up here.

He placed the six men one behind the other, and told the others to fall in to the left of the man who led them down there. The platoon sauntered off up the street in the midday heat with Decker marching alongside them. He always seemed to leaned back a little as he marched, and he always wore that little tight-lipped grin when he marched.

"Left, right, left, right, left, yo-ya’ left. Platoon, right turn, harch! All right, all right. Nice execution. Yessir, nice execution, for day-one recruits. I want you to remember how you’re marching right now. Next week you won’t believe the improvement you’ve made.

By then, marching in formation will be a reflex action. You’ll probably dream about marching. We march everywhere we go. March, march, and march. With one exception. Sometimes we run, run, run. Oh, your left, right, left … your left … hip-hop, your left.

They were actually marching, and Angus was having a ball. He could hardly wait till they were good at marching. Maybe the Marine Corps was his destiny, his calling in life.

Platoon, Halt! They stopped in front of the barbershop.

Damn. Junior gasped as he watched the skinned heads coming out. Aw, man, I don’t want to look like that.

When Junior got in the barber chair he sat motionless, j aws locked. The barber stood behind him and reached over with both hands to the front of his hairline, then led the shears back toward himself, cutting a path all the way to the scalp. Nine passes and Junior was bald.

* * *

The heat was nearly unbearable in the clothing issue building, a huge corrugated steel affair with two big exhaust fans going full blast at either end of the building, and they didn’t help a bit.

Single line! Now they were being yelled at by guys who looked to be the same age as Angus. He figured they were recent graduates.

Stay in line back there! All right, let’s get those dirty skivvies and socks off. Take off all your clothes. Now, now! Do it! Throw those old civilian clothes into that bin over there and they’ll be donated to the Seaside Mission in Charleston. If you’ve got some clothes you want to mail home, then keep them with you, and your DI will see that they get mailed home in a few days.

This is your ditty bag, the first man said, handing every man one as he passed. "For the time being, put your billfold, money, and any other valuables you might have, in this bag. It doubles as a shaving kit. There’s a razor, shaving cream, after-shave lotion, toothbrush, toothpaste, and shoe polish already in there.

The Marine Corps looks after its own. Normally, unless your DI permits it, you won’t get to the Post Exchange to buy any of these things till you complete your fourth week. Any questions? He looked over the group. One man had raised his hand.

You got a question?

Yeah, Sarge. How do you get outta this chicken shit outfit?

By now the men of the first squad stood nude, vulnerable, and somewhat embarrassed. Angus tried to act casual as he stood among his naked cohorts. It was impossible for him not to take furtive glances. When he thought about the situation for a minute, he thought the scene was rather comical.

The first man to reach the end of the issue booths was weighed down with clothing. Everything from skivvies to khaki’s. Angus watched as the man just stood there, his dick peeking from under the mound of clothing he carried, and which he was losing. It all came down and made a disorganized pile in front of him, which he promptly began to gather again.

Then he must have thought about how he looked bent over there, rear aglow like a full moon, because he squatted suddenly next to his things rather than bending over. It didn’t help much then. Too late. Hoots and cat-calls went up all over that end of the building.

All right, a corporal ordered. Let’s keep it moving, ladies. Angus moved down one man, and held his arms out.

Here you go, fella. Four pair fatigue pants, size thirty-two; four shirts, medium; combat boots, nine and a half. Next man here. Move it!

Six pair OD (olive drab) undershorts, small; six pair OD socks, one size fits all; six OD skivvy shirts, medium.

When you reach the end of this line, put your clothes on the deck, and put on a pair of skivvies, a pair of socks, and your combat boots. There are no shoestrings in the boots. Do not put shoestrings in them. That’ll come later, back at your barracks.

As Angus casually stepped into a pair of his new OD skivvies, his big toe caught in the fly, causing him to fall face-first onto his pile of clothes on the floor. Aw, shit, he muttered.

Junior applauded. Atta-boy, Angus. What time’s your next act, man? I wanna be sure and catch it.

* * *

Soon the platoon was marching down the street, carrying their loads of clothes in their arms, and wearing nothing but OD skivvies, socks, and flopping combat boots with no laces.

The rest of the afternoon, and on into the night, Decker demonstrated and taught them the Marine Corps way of cleaning the barracks, making up bunks, folding clothing and stowing it properly in a foot locker, everything in its assigned place.

Lastly, in the head, Decker gathered the men around him as he demonstrated the proper way to clean a toilet bowl. He sprinkled an abrasive cleaning powder around inside the bowl, and using a stiff brush, he scrubbed vigorously. He cleaned not only the areas one could see, but also the areas one couldn’t see, like under the lip. He flushed it twice to clear out the soapy water and stood up.

Now that’s a properly cleaned toilet bowl. It is clean, ladies. He nonchalantly took his coffee cup and scooped it half full from the toilet bowl. Then drank every drop of it. Any questions?

Total silence. A couple of the men gagged. The rest stood open-mouthed. Decker knew that whoever was assigned to clean a toilet bowl would be prepared to drink from it.

From somewhere in the back a small voice said, No shit, man. Marines are strange. Angus thought surely Decker had to have heard it, and simply chose to ignore it, He probably heard a similar expression from each new platoon when he gave his toilet-cleaning demonstration.

* * *

Back in the main squad bay, Decker was winding down.

Tomorrow’s going to be a long day. Reveille will be oh-four-hundred hours. That’s four AM, and you’d better hit the deck running! We will be the first platoon in the mess hall. Do you understand me!?

Sir, yes, Sir!

Sleep good, maggots, because by this time tomorrow your asses will be dragging. Oh, yes, one more thing. You will have not one, but two DI’s beginning tomorrow morning. Double trouble! I’ve got the best assistant DI in the Marine Corps, Staff Sergeant Frazier. When Sherman Frazier chews your ass, you’ll know it’s being chewed by the best. Just a hint of a smile worked its way over Decker’s face.

Your first training assignment is to learn the Marine Corps hymn, the Lord’s Prayer, and the Rifleman’s Creed by tomorrow night. I don’t care how you do it, but you damned sure better know them. You will sing the Marine Corps Hymn, recite the Rifleman’s Creed and the Lord’s Prayer each and every night before lights out. Here are handouts with the words to all of them. He placed them on the small table in the center ofthe room. Lights out in ten minutes. Let’s hustle! He then went inside the DI’s office and closed the door.

Well, whatta you think now, Angus? Junior asked. Beloved Marine Corps, my ass!

We’d better haul ass to the shower. We’ve got ten minutes before formation at our bunks. As they came out of the shower, they saw Decker coming out of the DI’s bunk room.

Fall in at the foot of your bunks! On the double!

Prepare to mount! Mount! Everybody hustled into their bunks.

Sing! They sung the Marine Corps Hymn.

Recite! They recited The Rifleman’s Creed.

Pray! They recited the Lord’s Prayer.

Sleep! he ordered."

Sir, yes, Sir!

Angus could hear Decker walking up to the DI’s bunkroom, they heard his door close.

From somewhere out in the darkness a bugler sounded taps. Angus lay there listening, and it was beautiful, the notes drifting across the darkened camp. He’d never heard it played with so much feeling. When the final note faded, there was absolute silence in the barracks. Not one word. Angus was tired, lonely, and already a little homesick. He knew Junior was in the bunk immediately below him, but it didn’t help the feeling of loneliness that had come over him.

Day one … sixty-nine to go.

* * *

All right, ladies, it is oh-four-hundred hours! There was a new voice in the barracks. It’s the middle of the fucking day, and you’re wasting my time!. Hit the deck! Get out of those sacks! Now, now, now! While all the yelling was going on, somebody was at the front of the squad bay clicking the lights on and off.

Angus didn’t recognize the new voice, but it sounded official enough to scare him out of the sack. He bolted upright and in one motion swung his legs over the side, which launched him awkwardly from the top bunk. When he landed he stubbed his big toe really hard on the iron leg of the bunk frame.

Sonofabitch! He drew his foot up and grabbed the injured toe. When he did, he reeled backwards and fell right on top of Junior, still in his bunk.

Hey! Watch it! What the hell are you doing, Angus? Get off me! Angus scrambled off and hopped about on one foot, holding the injured toe. No shit, Angus. Are you going be doing this every morning? Or is this some kind of special day? Junior got up and walked calmly to the foot of his bunk and stood.

Gunny Decker was already working his way toward them, stopping at every bunk with someone still in it and rapping the iron frame sharply with a nightstick.

Get your ass out of that sack! Decker said. This is not a holiday, ladies, so let’s do it! By then Angus had made it to the head of the bunk and was standing at attention beside Junior ad Decker passed, without comment.

The loud, skinny Sergeant was still yelling and cursing when he reached the far end of the barracks.

A certain amount of bitching came from all parts of the barracks, and was probably expected. But since this was the first morning in his new home, Angus wasn’t sure what a normal reveille was like. But the next voice was definitely beyond the norm.

Knock off all the noise down there and turn off them fucking lights! We’re trying to sleep in here! Bad thing to say. Decker came running, and right on his heels ran the skinny staff sergeant.

"Who