Trouble in Texas

By John Mayer

Weather in San Antonio can be anywhere from nasty to fantastic, but this day was better than fantastic as Johnny Devreau walked toward the cattle barns. The weather reminded him of some nice days he had seen in Hawaii, only cooler. He was at the Joe Freeman Coliseum for the San Antonio Livestock Show and Rodeo, an annual ten-day affair. It seemed everyone, male and female, young and old, was wearing the same thingLevis, cowboy boots, and a western-style shirtand most had a western-style hat. This was standard everyday wear for Devreau.
The Saturday rodeo matinee was just over, and the standing room crowd was spilling out of the coliseum in every which direction, or so it seemed. It made getting to where Devreau wanted to be slowgoing.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Xlibris US
• Release date: Feb 24, 2012
• ISBN: 9781469160009

John Mayer

John E. Mayer is an author and award-winning screenwriter with 10 scripts to his credit, a film producer, film consultant and has done assignment work as a consultant on crime/violence and psychological elements for studios/producers. John teaches writing at a major international university. In his 'day job' John is an internationally acclaimed clinical psychologist specializing in abnormal behaviors in young people. (Violence, crime, substance abuse, serial killers, etc.) Mayer is also the creator and host of the popular podcast, Anxiety's a B!tch!

Book preview

Chapter 1

Weather in San Antonio can be anywhere from nasty to fantastic, but this day was better than fantastic as Johnny Devreau walked toward the cattle barns. The weather reminded him of some nice days he had seen in Hawaii, only cooler. He was at the Joe Freeman Coliseum for the San Antonio Livestock Show and Rodeo, an annual ten-day affair. It seemed everyone, male and female, young and old, was wearing the same thing—Levi’s, cowboy boots, and a western-style shirt—and most had a western-style hat. This was standard everyday wear for Devreau.

The Saturday rodeo matinee was just over, and the standing room crowd was spilling out of the coliseum in every which direction, or so it seemed. It made getting to where Devreau wanted to be slowgoing.

Out of the crowd came a loud voice, saying, Lieutenant! Lieutenant! Devreau instantly stopped, and someone behind bumped into him. Devreau apologized and stepped aside, still looking for the source of the voice. To his right, some fifty feet away and out of the way of the moving crowd, he could see a young man looking straight at him and waving his right hand.

Devreau smiled as he instantly recognized the face under the western hat and maneuvered his way toward the man. Standing with this man was a couple who appeared to Devreau to be in their middle age and a very pretty young woman wearing well-fitting Levi’s and a tight-fitting western shirt, but no hat. The older woman was wearing the same thing, and to Devreau’s mind, she also did justice to the Levi’s and western shirt. The older man was dressed as were Devreau and the younger man.

As Devreau walked up, he stuck out his right hand and said, Billy Boy McCabe. How’re you doing? It’s been a while.

Bill McCabe responded with a smile, but Devreau could see a strain in McCabe’s smile. As they shook hands, Billy responded, Lieutenant, it’s been a while. It’s good to see you. I want you to meet my parents, Bud and Martha McCabe, and my wife, Janice. This is Johnny Devreau—we call him Lieutenant.

Devreau shook hands first with Bud McCabe, then with the two women as they extended their hands, making small talk with each of them. He looked at Bill; then said, I’d heard you got married to a real nice girl from Uvalde. I can see the reports were correct. Janice smiled, but Bill looked startled.

He then looked at Bud McCabe and said, I think we met in Lawyer Jeb Vollenkamp’s office about six months ago. As I remember, I was leavin’ just as you were goin’ in. But I didn’t make the connection with Billy.

Bud replied, I remember that, and I meant to ask Jeb and Bill about you, but I got sidetracked somehow and never asked the question. Suddenly, Bud’s eyes lit up, and he said, I remember now. You’re from Ladder Ranch over in Guerrero County, and it’s run by a Swede by the name of Swenson. At another meetin’ with Jeb, he told me I needed to meet this Swenson and see if we had any mutual interests to maybe doin’ some business together. I do some other things besides ranching, and Jeb speaks highly of Swenson. And you served with Bill in Vietnam. If I remember correctly, you were Bill’s commanding officer. And you’re a writer. You write books, a lot of western stuff. I think I’ve read most of them. I like them. Funny how I never put all that together before.

Devreau smiled again. Thanks for likin’ the books. I try to make a livin’ at it. The other is all correct, and Jeb is right about Axel Swenson. If Jeb recommended you to Axel, then Jeb has great respect for you and your abilities. Jeb doesn’t make those recommendations lightly. We’ve been using Jeb as our lawyer for about twelve or thirteen years, and we’ve no cause to regret it. I’d take it as a personal favor if you’d call Axel and strike up a conversation. Or I’ll ask Axel to call you. Take your choice.

I’ll call Swenson, Bud responded. But answer me one question. I thought you owned Ladder Ranch. What’s the deal with Axel Swenson?

Mr. McCabe, I just own Ladder Ranch and live there. Axel runs it. You could take six guys like me, and together, we couldn’t run Ladder as well as Axel does. No offense to you, but he’s the best there is. Every day, I thank God Axel is there. About the only thing I ever worry about on that ranch is that somebody’ll come along and talk him into leavin’ Ladder. I’m thirty-one years old, and he’s been there since I was nineteen. Because Jeb recommended you, I’ll tell you something else. We’ve been fortunate enough to accumulate some other business interests because of Axel, and Axel runs all that, too. Do yourself a favor and get to know Axel.

Consider it done. You’ve made me anxious to meet Swenson.

Devreau then looked at Janice McCabe. When I first met Billy Boy a few years ago in the wrong part of this world, he didn’t look like a William or a Will or a Bill or a Billy. He had a baby face then, so we named him Billy Boy. I hope you don’t mind.

We’ve always called him Bill, but as long as you sent him back to me alive, I don’t care what you call him. Janice smiled broadly, but strangely at Devreau.

Devreau then looked at Martha McCabe. Mrs. McCabe, I don’t want to embarrass you or Janice, but I do enjoy lookin’ at good-lookin’ women. The both of you do justice to those Levi’s, and I for one love it.

Martha McCabe looked startled for just an instant, but then broke out in a huge smile. Johnny, I hope I can call you ‘Johnny.’ I have enough ego and woman in me to love men to compliment me. Thank you very much. I’ve read some of your westerns and your big book. I loved them all.

Devreau looked at Billy and then turned to Janice. Do you mind if I talk to Billy Boy in private for a couple of minutes? We’ve got some old ground to plow.

Devreau grabbed Bill by the arm and took him off into an out-of-the-way place about thirty feet away.

Devreau turned so his back was to the other three McCabes and looked Billy straight in the eyes. In a low but hard voice, Devreau said, When you left Indochina four plus years ago, I gave you one final order to carry out! I’m not used to havin’ my orders disobeyed! Devreau refused to call Vietnam anything but Indochina.

Bill McCabe was stunned and stumbled back a couple of steps. He remembered that hard voice, and it scared him again, just as it had in that gut-wrenching year in Vietnam. He tried to force back the fear that came into him. I don’t know what you’re talking about, sir.

Corporal McCabe, you know exactly what I’m talkin’ about. I can see it in your eyes, and I can see it in your wife’s eyes. She’s got lines in her face that shouldn’t be there, especially at her age. And your folks looked strained. It’s my business to read faces.

Instantly, Bill McCabe knew what Devreau was talking about, and fear gripped him even harder. He tried to walk around Devreau back to his wife and parents, but Devreau stood in his way.

Billy Boy, you know what you’ve got to do. You’re making life hell for you, and I can tell your wife is livin’ in a nightmare with you. She doesn’t deserve it. She comes, I know, from a fine old Texican family in Uvalde. I can bet everyone in your family and all your old friends stay away from you as much as possible. I can also bet that neither Janice nor your folks know what the hell to do with you. The look on his face told Devreau he was hitting home.

As hard as he could make his voice, Devreau said, I told you then, and I’ll tell you again. You have got to sit down with Janice and maybe your folks and spill your guts to them! You’ve got to do it! You’ve got to remember every bad experience over there and tell them about it. You have to tell it over and over until it doesn’t burn you anymore. I can promise that you won’t forget those bad times, but you’ll be able to live with them. Your war’s not over ’til you do it. Devreau paused for effect.

It’ll be the hardest thing you’ve ever done, but you’ve got to do it, over and over and over. You’ll probably cry like a baby. I don’t know if it’s one bad time or twenty, but do it, on all of them. Billy Boy, young men don’t like to admit they can die or be scared shitless or cry in front of their women, but your life is just goin’ to get worse it you don’t. Do it for Janice and your parents. Hell, do it for yourself. They’ll understand. They won’t leave you.

Bill McCabe looked pleadingly at Devreau and in a breaking voice said, I can’t do it, Major.

Devreau looked at Bill McCabe. You’ve got twenty-four hours, Corporal McCabe. If I don’t hear something positive from you by this time tomorrow, I’m gonna have you recalled to active duty and have you temporarily assigned to me. You and I’ll get to the end of this. When I’m through, you can go back home. One way or another, it’s going to get done, Corporal McCabe, whether you like it or not.

Bill McCabe mumbled back to Devreau, You can’t do that. I’ve served my time.

Corporal McCabe, I can get you called up before any lawyer can do anything about it, and I can hide you and move you all over this country in places no lawyer would ever find. Do the job, Billy Boy, or your ass is mine. You got twenty-four hours.

Devreau immediately turned, walked over to the other three McCabes, smiled, made his good-byes, shook hands, and made his exit, heading once again toward the cattle barns. All three had looked at him strangely. They could see the look of agony on Bill McCabe’s face, and they could not understand why. They knew it came from whatever Devreau had told Bill, which must have been bad. Devreau seemed like a nice man, so they were perplexed.

Bud McCabe was the first to get control of his senses, and he guided Martha and Janice over to where the stunned Bill McCabe stood, looking like someone who had just come out on the wrong end of a bad fight, although there was not a mark on his face.

Bud McCabe asked, Bill, what the hell was that all about? I assumed you and Devreau were something of friends, but you look like the mule just kicked you in your privates.

Bill McCabe looked white as a sheet, all the color having drained from his face. He could only croak out, Let’s get to the car. Everyone was as quiet as a church mouse on the way to the parking lot and their car. Bill McCabe led the way, but the other three were afraid he was not going to make it because he just dragged his feet and stumbled along, acting as if he was drunk and about to fall on his face. Janice McCabe had the look of terror on her face, and Martha and Bud McCabe were afraid as only parents can be when a child of theirs is seemingly collapsing in front of their eyes. As they got near the car, Bud McCabe ran ahead and opened up the Buick Limited. Bill McCabe practically fell into the back seat with the fearful Janice right behind him.

Janice tried to put her arms around Bill, but he shrugged her off. He looked sorrowfully at her, mumbled an apology to her, and turned to look out the car window.

The sun had set, but there was still light as Bud McCabe swung the car on to Commerce Street to follow the old route of Highway 90 through San Antonio and on west to Uvalde and their ranch north of Uvalde.

Bud McCabe did not know what to say or do, so he decided to keep quiet. Martha touched Bud to get his attention and looked questioningly at him. Bud gave her an I-don’t-know look, and Martha looked as if she were about to cry. She moved closer to Bud and tightly held his hand. Bud looked into the rearview mirror and saw poor Janice fighting back the tears and fighting to keep her composure. In an instant, Bud McCabe was very proud that Janice was his daughter-in-law. She was very gutsy, and she had taken more from Bill than anybody had a right to ask. Bud’s expression was that she was tough as a good boot. Bud figured that most women he knew would have come unglued by now, and Janice was not the problem. Bill was the problem, and most women would have left Bill by now.

Bill had been a problem since he had returned from Vietnam four-and-a-half years ago. Sometimes he would be the old Bill, good to be around, hardworking, and just an all-around young man. Then from out of nowhere, he would nastily turn on everyone, including Bud, Martha, and Janice. Janice and Bill had gotten married shortly after Bill had gotten out of the army. They had started dating in high school and went together all through college, and Janice had sweated out Bill’s year in Vietnam with the rest of the family. They all blamed it on the war, and at first, they believed this was just a phase that Bill had to get out of his system. But things had steadily gotten worse, and four years was a long time to put up with this mess.

It was not that Bill would beat his wife or start fights. He just became ill-mannered, loud, surly, and wanted to be by himself. He also drank too much, which only made things worse. Usually, he drank until he passed out. For days after a bad drinking bout, he seemed to move around in a daze. Then he would be better for a few days before it again started over. The good days were getting fewer and fewer.

Bud had served almost three years in the army during World War II and had come out just as surly for a short time. He and Martha were already married at the time and had three sons. But Martha lovingly worked with Bud, and they quickly whipped it and got on with their lives. Bill was their third child and was the result of a short leave Bud had gotten from a shrapnel wound during the war. Bud had always believed that the war was harder on Martha than on him, and then she had to put up with him getting his head back on straight after the war was over. When Bill went to Vietnam, Bud fully realized that those that stayed and waited at home might well have a harder time of it, and Bud loved Martha and Janice all the more for it. He just could not figure out the hole Bill had gotten himself into, much less how to help him get out of that hole. Bill absolutely refused to talk about any of his experiences in Vietnam. He would only comment that they were best forgotten.

The problem with Bill had been distracting Bud from his ranch and other business. Bud was putting more and more of the responsibilities of the operations on his eldest son, Jim, but Jim was not ready for the responsibilities. He just did not have the experience to handle everything cold turkey, and as a consequence, nothing was coming up to par. Jim was trying hard, but he knew he was not ready, and it was making his life and his family miserable. Bud suspected that Jim did not want the job that Bud was putting on him, but he had never told him that. But his second son, Don, had already voiced to him that he did not want the job or any part of it.

As Bud drove through San Antonio, he was feeling a little desperate. He and Martha and Janice had talked Bill into going to the rodeo today with some distant hope that maybe it would open him up some. It seemed to do just that until that chance meeting of this man, Johnny Devreau. As of this minute, the day that started and went so well was ending in a major disaster.

Suddenly, they could all hear Bill start to sob softly. Janice reached for Bill, and again he tried to shrug her off. But this time, Janice would not be denied. She took Bill’s hat off and shoved it on the car floor. With all the strength she could muster, she put her arms around Bill’s head and pulled it down onto her shoulder, much as a woman would cradle a crying child. Bill tried to fight Janice, but his strength seemed to fail him, and he allowed himself to be pulled down to his wife’s shoulder. The sobs became louder, and the tears flowed and flowed.

Bud turned his rearview mirror to get a better view of Bill and Janice. He could not see Bill’s face well, but the expression on Janice’s face was an astonishment to him. It was an expression all at the same time of great love and great fear, a look he had never seen any time in his life. Again, he decided to keep quiet. As he looked out of the corner of his eye, he could see tears flowing down Martha’s face, and he could also see the fear of a mother that did not know how to help her child that was in trouble. It didn’t matter that the child was twenty-seven years old.

Bud wondered what the hell it was that Devreau had told Bill. Devreau had pushed his kid over the edge, and he was disintegrating in front of their eyes. I’ll be damned, thought Bud. I had better get some good answers soon, or I’m going after Devreau. Bud’s thoughts of Devreau were getting blacker and blacker.

They drove on out of San Antonio heading west as the last light of a beautiful, but disastrous day faded into dark. As time passed slowly, Bill’s sobs seemed to ease somewhat. Some fifty miles out of San Antonio, Bill asked Janice to let him up, which she did reluctantly. As Bill sat up straight, she put her arms around his chest in such a way that she appeared to be hanging on for dear life.

Bill finally said, I’ve got something to tell y’all, and I don’t want to do it, but if I don’t, the Lieutenant will jerk me back into the army, and I’d die if I had to leave Janice, and you, Mom and Dad, and go back to Nam. I can’t go through it again! I’d kill myself before I went back!

Bud and Martha both felt as if they had been hit by a baseball bat. Bill’s tone of voice was such that they believed him when he said he would kill himself. They could not imagine the kind of hold that Devreau had on their son, a hold so terrible and frightening to Bill that he would kill himself.

Bud managed to get his composure back some and said, Go ahead and tell us, Bill. We’ll listen and be quiet.

Bill struggled again with himself and finally said, I was in Nam only a little while—I was already at the outfit I was assigned to—when we got into a big fight. Bill stopped and sighed and choked up and the tears came back. "Y’all need to understand that it’s bullshit, I’m sorry, Mom, that we can whip up on anybody. There were maybe four hundred or so of us, and they had fifteen hundred or two thousand or more, and they were out to kill us all. Nobody can beat those odds.

I was so scared. Gunships were everywhere, but they couldn’t get all of them. Hell, they couldn’t see them in the dark. They kept coming on. We kept flares going off so we could see. When we finally saw them, all hell broke loose. The Lieutenant had put me in one of the rear positions since I was new. I was so scared I couldn’t fire. All I could think of was that I was going to die. Bill broke up again and sobbed.

Nobody said a word, waiting for Bill to say something, anything. Martha started to turn in her seat to look at Bill, but Bud stopped her. Bud could see Janice holding on to Bill with her head on Bill’s shoulder. Bill finally stopped sobbing.

The Lieutenant jumped into my foxhole and told me to fire. I guess I just stared at him—he slapped me a couple of times, and I remember him smiling. He told me we were going to whip this bunch. I came out of it and started firing. I don’t know if I hit anybody. Then some broke through. It’s all crazy. I must have killed some because there were bodies in front of me, but they kept coming. They were everywhere. Then Bill started crying again.

Bud was starting to realize that Bill was suffering from demons, and the demons were the enemy that almost killed him. Bud thought a hundred nightmares all at once could not be worse for Bill.

After another twenty minutes, Bill started again. Four jumped me and I got one. One missed me with a bayonet, but then the other two grabbed me to hold while the other one stuck me. I don’t know what happened, but I knew I was going to die, and my guts totally let go. I shit, I’m sorry, Mom, but I shit right in my pants, everything. Then the Lieutenant was there and took out all three. I don’t even remember how he did it, only that he did it. He was smiling at me and told me to pick up my weapon, that they needed me. He yelled something, and then Mike Garcia was with me and the Lieutenant was gone. Bill stopped talking and choked up again. Another thirty minutes passed.

By this time, Bud had driven through Uvalde and headed north to the ranch. He drove up to Bill and Janice’s home, some five miles from the ranch headquarters where Bud and Martha lived. Bud cut off the car’s ignition, but nobody made a move to get out. Bud, Martha, and Janice waited for Bill, and he started up again.

They kept coming and coming. It was sometimes hand-to-hand and I held my own ’til two jumped me. I knew I was going to die and my guts let go again. I tried to shit again, I’m sorry, Mom, but there wasn’t anything there. Mike Garcia peeled those two off me. I could hear the Lieutenant yelling, then Garcia yelled something, and Curly and Ira, two black guys, were on either side of me and Mike was gone. Once again, Bill began crying and doubled up as if he was suffering from indescribable pain, but Bud knew the pain was not of the body, but of the mind. And Janice held on to Bill for dear life. After a while, Bill again straightened up and went on.

Ira shoved my rifle back in my hands and said, ‘Keep fighting, soldier. We need you.’ Later I ran out of ammo at the wrong time—a Charlie had me in his sights. Curly fired and shoved me at the same time. Curly took one in the arm that was meant for me. I thought he was dead, but he pulled up and smiled at me. All I could think was that somebody else damn near, I’m sorry, Mom, but I damn near got somebody killed because of me, and it made me more sick. I tried to throw up, but Ira grabbed me, handed me more ammo, and told me to get after it. Bill began softly crying again. And Janice held on.

The tears were flowing freely from Martha’s eyes, but she never made a sound. She would look at Bud momentarily and then would stare out the windshield of the car into the moonless, dark night, but she was seeing nothing. Bud mostly looked at Martha but occasionally looked into the rearview mirror at Bill and Janice, but he did not want Bill to catch him looking.

Bud could not push back the feeling of total helplessness. Damn it, he thought, what is it about this damn war that was different from his war. True, he had been in fights, but nothing like this. He had many near misses and was wounded by shrapnel. He remembered he had told Martha of many of his near misses and it helped. Were we just tougher? But Bud could not believe that. He had a young man that worked on his Circle MC Ranch, the one they called Cowboy, and he had spent a year in Vietnam, but he had not seen this behavior in Cowboy. True, Cowboy liked to fight, whenever and wherever he could, and Cowboy liked to brag he was the meanest and toughest son of a bitch in five counties. Bud early on had told Cowboy to keep his fights clean and off the ranch, and Cowboy had complied. If Cowboy had not been such a top hand, Bud would probably have run him off long ago. Bud had to admit to himself that he liked the steel in Cowboy and the otherwise fun personality in him. He was always good for a laugh, and Lord knows, they needed some laughs.

Bud thought that maybe Bill was just not as tough as he should be. Whatever, Bud resolved to see his son through this mess, whatever it was, and hopefully bring him back to the land of living. It was for certain that Bill had not been worth much since he had come back from Vietnam. Bud thought he did have to give Bill credit for being smart enough to marry Janice, although Janice, it appeared, had bought her way into a bad deal with Bill. Hell, Bud thought, nobody needs this kind of trouble, but Bill was his son, and he would not give up on him. He somehow knew Janice would die before she would give up on Bill.

Bill settled down some and went on. The fight went on for a hundred years. I wanted to roll over and die, but Ira and Curly wouldn’t let me. Ira and Curly peeled three or four off me at different times. The noise, you couldn’t hear anything, at least I couldn’t. I think Ira and Curly somehow could because they kept yelling out something every so often, maybe they were answering the Lieutenant, I don’t know.

Finally, they fell back. I couldn’t believe it. They were going, and I was still alive. I heard some yelling, and Ira and Curly were pulling me out the foxhole. We were going to go after them. I couldn’t believe it. I had just been born again, and I was now gonna get killed. When the Lieutenant ran by and smiled at me, I could have killed him. The worthless bastard, I’m sorry, Mom, had helped me live, and now he wanted me to die. He started crying again, and they all waited on him, not saying a word. Janice continued to cling to him.

Ira and Curly kept dragging me on, yelling at me to kill the slant-eyed bastards, I’m sorry, Mom. I started firing and kept running. I think I was just trying to keep from hitting our own men. We must have chased them a thousand yards or more, way over a half mile. I got so tired I didn’t think I could run anymore. We stopped, got down, and kept firing. Then I could see them start to come at us again. It seemed everybody was yelling and screaming. Then Curly and Ira grabbed me and told me to run. Everybody was running back to our base. I was so scared! Again he started crying and sobbing.

He blurted out, I had no strength, but somehow I ran and ran. I think Ira and Curly dragged me most of the way. I knew I was going to die. I was going to catch one in the back or get hit in the leg and I would get left and they would kill me.

The tears continued. I ran for a year. I don’t know how I made it. I wouldn’t have, except for Ira and Curly. Just as we hit the base perimeter, the whole area behind us seemed to explode. It was raining fire from the sky. I just stood there gaping and Ira knocked me down. He was beside me, laughing and looking and yelling. He looked at me and pointed and said, it was Puff the Magic Dragon. I didn’t know what he was talking about. Bill began to cry again, only this time it was not so bad.

As time wore on, Bill told them of other fights, but they were mostly of attacking and not being attacked, and none were of the caliber of the first fight.

He told the stories again and again, and he kept telling them of his believing he was going to die. Over and over, the stories were told, each time adding more and more detail until finally a clear story came out. As he retold the first story, his tears and crying and sobbing seemed to subside.

The story in its detail was that Bill learned that he was very lucky to have been assigned to the Lieutenant’s outfit. It meant his chances of staying alive and not being shipped home in a body bag were a lot greater with the Lieutenant.

The Lieutenant took new men assigned to him and worked them until they were in superb, physical condition. They were eventually sent on milk-run type patrols and were gradually sent on tougher and tougher patrols. They were eased into a nasty business, able to slowly grow more mentally tough. The experienced soldiers around the new men would tend to look after them because they had been looked after when they were new and raw. Bill wound up doing the same things for the new men that came in after he had become a tough, combat soldier.

He had learned that everybody, and he meant everybody, was interested only in themselves, the men around them, and how to stay alive. They did their job because they had to and because they firmly believed that doing it the Lieutenant’s way would keep them alive, until their year was up and they could go home.

It came out that Bill was fiercely, unbelievably outraged and mad that anyone could send men into such a hell hole, maybe to die horribly. He could not reconcile that America could do this to him. He could not reconcile that some politician in Hanoi or Washington could send their own people to fight and maybe die for some obscure reason that Bill could not fathom. Bill believed he felt exactly like the other men. All of them seemed to have some degree of rage at their leaders in Washington, although most couldn’t care less about anything or anybody from Hanoi.

He was mad because the war showed him he was going to die, and nobody at twenty-two years of age would believe that he was not going to live forever. It hurt terribly to learn that he was mortal. He was too embarrassed to tell any one of this unbelievable new knowledge that he could die.

What had happened to the Lieutenant’s outfit, according to Bill, was attempted murder on the part of somebody on staff, a Major Arthur, in Intelligence in Saigon. This only strengthened Bill’s hate and rage and disbelief that any American would do anything to get someone killed, namely the Lieutenant, and not care that four hundred of the Lieutenant’s men would also be killed along with the Lieutenant.

Bill’s story was vague, but after the outfit had tended their wounded and bagged up their dead, over fifty, the Lieutenant pieced together the story from his sources that army intelligence knew that a large and widely spread enemy force was moving south, many miles to the west of the area of operations of the Lieutenant’s outfit, but had not notified the Lieutenant, supposedly, by the actions of Major Arthur. The enemy force had suddenly turned due east, consolidated, and headed toward the Lieutenant’s base. The first they knew of the enemy force was when the enemy first got into range of their own outposts.

Bill had learned that the Lieutenant’s operations had pacified its assigned area, and apparently the North Vietnamese wanted to take the Lieutenant’s area back, kill every American in the area, and prove to the Americans that they could take any area they wanted and hold it.

The only thing that had saved their hides was that the Lieutenant and his men had held on till they could get help from Puff the Magic Dragon, an old C-47 transport airplane fitted with a Gatling gun capable of firing thousands of rounds per minute over a large area. When the Puffs, there were three, got there, the enemy was inside the base perimeter and they could not fire lest they kill their own men. If the North Vietnamese had stayed, they would have finally won out. There were just too many of the North Vietnamese, and the odds were too great against the Americans.

But the North Vietnamese commander decided to use a ploy and pull back, believing the Americans would follow them out. Then their larger force could surround the Americans out in the open and slowly kill them off to a man, making a spectacle of the slaughter. The Lieutenant took the bait, but the enemy did not know of the Puffs flying above.

When the Lieutenant’s force got a thousand yards out, they stopped. The North Vietnamese also stopped, resting before they turned to again attack, surround the Americans, and begin the massacre. The Lieutenant’s force retreated immediately and very rapidly, catching the North Vietnamese flatfooted. With the Americans out of the way, all three of the Puffs began to fire their Gatling guns, decimating the enemy. The result was carnage on a huge scale. The Lieutenant cut loose his own small artillery battery of howitzers and mortars. Puffs were coming and going all night and into the morning. Bill was just thankful that it was the enemy and not he or his outfit.

Bill had realized that it was the superb, physical conditioning, the conditioning he did not have, which allowed them to do what they did. And it explained how Sergeants Ira Carey and Curly Harper could drag Bill back to their base, even when Harper had an arm wound. He found out later that Carey and Harper had taken other rounds, but the flak vests had held and probably saved their lives, although the hits must have been painful. Bill could not remember having taken a hit on his flak jacket.

A day after the battle was over, while patrols were out reconnoitering and mopping up, the Lieutenant called for transportation and headed for Saigon. He caught Major Arthur in his office at headquarters and started to beat the hell out of him. There had been bad blood between them before, but Bill did know from what or where.

The Lieutenant would have beaten Arthur to death, but a military police guard took out the Lieutenant with a blow of a rifle butt to his head. The Lieutenant was jailed in the stockade, and the Major was put in the hospital with cuts and broken bones.

The Lieutenant, who was also a Major at the time, was a graduate of Texas A & M, as were Bill and his two older brothers. The Lieutenant had a few friends in high places, including a General Oftmeyer, also a graduate of Texas A & M. Major Arthur was a West Pointer and a career soldier from an old family of career soldiers, and he had plenty of friends in high places.

General Oftmeyer was able to put together enough evidence, mostly circumstantial, that the Lieutenant was telling the truth. The reply to General Oftmeyer was that the Lieutenant should have brought charges on Arthur rather than try to kill him. General Oftmeyer replied that he personally would have shot Arthur and not blooded his hands on the bastard.

In the end, the powers decided that a lot of bad publicity was not wanted or desirable. They were also afraid of the effect on the morale of the troops, many of whom considered the Lieutenant to be one of them even though he was an officer. He worked to keep his men alive, and the troops appreciated only that one thing. The powers that be knew it would all get out to the troops through the grapevine.

Bill had also heard the scuttlebutt that the Lieutenant’s father was a big Democrat and could be counted upon to deliver several counties to the Democrats in any election. And a Democratic president, who personally knew the Lieutenant’s father and simultaneously disliked most West Pointers, was not about to lose any votes nor give Major Arthur’s side comfort by court-martialing the Lieutenant, the son of a loyal Democrat.

Accordingly, Major Arthur was sent home as a wounded and decorated war veteran, and the Lieutenant was sent back to his command with no decoration.

Bill repeated all the stories, especially the big fight, numerous times, each time seeming to gather more and more of his composure. About one-thirty in the morning, he had completely stopped crying, sobbing, and talking. He took his arms and put them around Janice, bent over, and kissed her on her head, and whispered in her ear that he loved her.

They all remained in the car for thirty minutes more, not anyone saying anything or moving. Suddenly, he kissed Janice and told her, Janice, I want to go to sleep. I feel like I haven’t slept in days.

Bill opened the car door, got out, and headed for the front door of their home with Janice beside him, again holding onto him. It startled Bud, but he quickly responded and exited the car to follow Bill and Janice into the house.

By the time Bud got to their bedroom, Bill had already lain down