Breath of a Tigress: She Kept Him Alive in Vietnam

By David Ware

I can honestly say that I’ve never met a man quite like my fellow North Louisiana “cousin” - David Ware. Then again, and to be even more honest, I can say that I’ve never actually met David - not in person, anyway - only talked with him on the phone.
I’ve been interviewing service veterans for a few newspapers for which I write. David’s name was given to me by Johnny Malone, an old family friend who said, “Give this guy and call. He’s from my hometown of Homer, Louisiana and he’s got some great stories about his time in Vietnam.”
After our interview, David’s sent me his manuscript for “Breath of a Tigress.” My first reaction was that a first-time novelist could never write this well. And not only was it well-written; I literally couldn’t put it down.
Without stealing the author’s thunder, “Breath” is a story of a high school student who, after graduation, enlists in the service and finds himself in combat in Vietnam – just like David Ware did.
The lead character is named Tom Wade. But make no mistake about it, with all due respect to the muse and common use of literary license, Tom Wade and David Ware are one and the same. And the characters in his book are all loosely based on people he knew growing up or fought with in Vietnam.
I’ll leave it to David Ware to tell you the rest.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Lulu.com
• Release date: Feb 14, 2022
• ISBN: 9781678022495

David Ware

From the Author David Maurice Ware Sr. was born in Detroit, Michigan in 1968. He is currently residing in the Atlanta Metro Area. He grew up in and overcame the mean ghetto streets of Detroit and now writes entertaining Urban fictional tales, (With a message to the maddness). His first book titled A True Thug Willsin Shot up the charts from #4000 to the top 10 in under three months, setting a record and receiving very high praises. View some of the comments for yourself. http://authonomy.com/books/40607/a-true-thug-willsin/ contact me at [e-mail]

Book preview

BREATH OF A TIGRESS

BREATH OF A TIGRESS

by

David Ware

EDITOR AND PUBLICIST

RANDY ROGERS

Contents

Foreword..................................................................................1

Prologue...................................................................................................2

Starting a New Life in Holden, Louisiana..........................................8

Louisiana Hot.......................................................................................34

The Tears of Katie McBride...............................................................39

Sammy and the Caper..........................................................................64

Raise your right hand...........................................................................86

Into the Bush........................................................................................88

This is the NVA...................................................................................98

Back at the Base.................................................................................103

I Think I’ll Call Him Tiger...............................................................111

The Senses of a Cat...........................................................................125

The Orphanage..................................................................................212

Buddha Hill.........................................................................................237

Losing Sammy....................................................................................292

The Medal...........................................................................................295

Back in the Nam................................................................................342

Ringo Six, We’ve Got Contact!.......................................................360

Nothing, just a Snake........................................................................377

Going Back to Louisiana..................................................................426

Living in Sandy’s World...................................................................490

Acknowledgment..............................................................................518

FOREWORD

I can honestly say that I’ve never met a man quite like my fellow North Louisiana cousin - David Ware. Then again, and to be even more honest, I can say that I’ve never actually met David - not in person, anyway - only talked with him on the phone.

I’ve been interviewing service veterans for a few news papers for which I write. David’s name was given to me by Johnny Malone, an old family friend who said, Give this guy and call.  He’s from my hometown of Homer, Louisiana and he’s got some great stories about his time in Vietnam.   

After our interview, David’s sent me his manuscript for Breath of a Tigress.  My first reaction was that a first-time novelist could never write this well. And not only was it well-written; I literally couldn’t put it down.

Without stealing the author’s thunder, Breath is a story of a high school student who, after graduation, enlists in the service and finds himself in combat in Vietnam – just like David Ware did. 

The lead character is named Tom Wade.  But make no mistake about it, with all due respect to the muse and common use of literary license, Tom Wade and David Ware are one and the same.  And the characters in his book are all loosely based on people he knew growing up or fought with in Vietnam.

I’ll leave it to David Ware to tell you the rest.

Randy Rogers

PROLOGUE

The mixture of smoke and morning mist obscured some of the landscape as the pilot of the USAF L-19 Birddog observation aircraft shook his head in awe at the visible carnage he saw below him. It was surreal, a hell on earth. The bright morning sun highlighted the torn terrain. Air Force fighters had dropped load after load of napalm and 500 pounders of heavy iron ordnance on the NVA complex.

In his mind, there was nothing that could have survived. This worried him, as he knew there had been an LRRP team (Long Range Recon Patrol) in the area and he prayed that they had not been caught in friendly fire or overrun by the NVA before the airstrike. As to their fate, he did not know, but prior to the strike, the team was running for their lives as dozens of North Vietnamese troops enveloped them. God help the poor bastards.

He hoped they were still vertical, moving and fighting their way to a Landing Zone where they could be extracted by the Army helicopters. He saw nothing but smoke, fog, and a jungle ripped apart. Pressing his mic button, he kept trying to raise them on his radio. No voice, no squelch; nothing.

He looked at his fuel and knew he had about 10 mikes (minutes) on station before he was bingo fuel and would RTB (return to base). Orbiting at a safe altitude, straining his eyes, looking for any sign of the LRRP team, his radio remained silent as he switched to the CC (Command and Control) Army chopper and advised he was RTB. The Army would have to find their team and extract them if they were still alive. Two F-100s out of Bien Hoa and another Bird Dog were en route to provide additional air support and would loiter in the area, monitoring their radios.

The loud crack and shudder of his aircraft ignited every nerve in his body. He was hit, ground fire, but where is the hit? He quickly scanned his wings, looking for damage. He must have taken a round beneath the fuselage; it sounded like it was near the aircraft nose. His hands shaking and his heart racing, he banked back east towards Bien Hoa; talking to the relief bird that was coming on station.

Ready One One, Ready One One…Cobb two, Cobb Two. I have taken a hit, still turning, and burning. Headed back to the Chicken House. You Copy?

Roger, Cobb Two. I am coming on station. Get some altitude and good luck. Stay up this frequency on guard.

Copy, Ready, So far so good. Eyes wide open. Not sure where I took the fire from. Zoomies on station if you need some heavy iron. Call sign…. Trap 6…I repeat, Trap 6.

Trap 6, got it.

Adding throttle, climbing to 3000 feet, he watched his manifold pressure rise and then observed a mist of oil on his windscreen canopy. Battle damage under the engine cowling; losing oil and oil pressure fluctuating and the oil temp rising. He was still 18 nautical miles from the long runway at Bien Hoa. Just keep the prop turning, just a little bit longer.

Dialing up the Bien Hoa approach frequency to apprise them of his situation; easing back on the throttle, he began to look for a forced landing area if the engine puked on him. There was nothing but rice paddies and some narrow roads, but the terrain was flat now that he was out of the mountain range.

He felt confident he could make a dead stick landing but had no idea of what would greet him when he touched down, hoping he would not pitch pole or ground loop the aircraft while trying to make a crash landing. The area also under him was as likely to be under VC control as it was friendly forces.

Bien Hoa advised they had him painted on their radar and gave him a directional steer for a straight-in approach, landing to the east. He would keep his altitude until he was practically over the field and assured he would make the runway. Easing the throttle back he could now see Bien Hoa and the river that bent around the city.

The big airbase was just north of the city as he maneuvered the small tail dragger into a side slip, losing excess altitude, and lining up on the long runway. The engine still purred as he pulled back to almost idle, extending flaps and easing the aircraft onto the wide runway. The fire trucks pursued him as he stuck his hand outside the door window and gave them thumbs up and continued his taxi to the tarmac.

Airman First Class Danny Wilson, his crew chief, greeted him as he shut the engine down at the revetment.

Goddamn, LT. That is a big fucking hole in my airplane.

Easing out of the cockpit and squatting down to look under the engine cowling, he saw a fist-size hole in his airplane. He guessed it was a 50-cal. round; a 37 mm would have ripped the engine completely off its mounts and he would have been in a pile of airplane parts amongst the NVA. Placing his helmet in his helmet bag and signing off his flight log and maintenance log, he walked over to the revetment, sat down in the shade of the revetment, and dug a cigarette out of his flight suit; just another fucking day in Vietnam.

Sergeant Tom Wade opened his eyes, slowly focusing on a large wood beetle lying on its back, trying frantically to turn himself over.  Seconds of confusion passed before reality struck Wade.  Feeling akin to the beetle’s plight, he watched the beetle struggle to survive.  There was no feeling below Wade’s waist as he looked at his bare feet; confused.

What happened to his boots?  His head ached with a sharp, mind-numbing pain that radiated down the back of his neck; his right arm useless and unresponsive as he lay limp on the jungle turf, struggling with labored breaths, his heart pumping rapidly; his ears throbbing as if he were underwater. 

Pulling his good hand up to his head and neck, he felt wet tissue as his fingers gently probed and explored torn flesh. Painfully pulling his fatigue blouse to the side, he reached into a large fabric tear; feeling and exploring his chest and shoulder, a mass of blood and dirt, bubbles of air pushing through the hole in his chest. 

Knowing his lung would soon collapse or was already collapsed, he needed to seal the wound as he slowly turned his head and searched for his gear and first aid four by four bandages. It was futile as he looked about; his gear was gone, including his weapon, combat harness, and boots.  His morphine was gone, and he realized there would be no relief of his pain short of unconsciousness or death.  His body had been looted by the enemy soldiers, leaving him for dead.  In a desperate act of solace, reaching for his dog tag chain, he could feel the small chain, slick with blood and stuck lightly to the back of his neck.

The enemy had not seen it and removed it.  Katie’s pendant was still around his neck, stuck within the torn tissue at his hairline at the base of his neck.  He pulled the Tigress pendant around to his face, slowly and clumsily wiping it clean of blood on his fatigue blouse, the sun reflecting the emerald eyes from the jewel while he plead silently.  He needed Katie, his Guardian.  Katie, where are you?  Had she not promised him?

Wiping additional blood from the pendant, he kissed it and let it fall against his bloody chest and stared at the puffy clouds against the blue serene sky.  It was as if nothing had happened here.  The clouds slowly wisped by the jungle eerily coming in and out of focus, adding to his sense of abandonment and despair.  A jungle crow fluttered overhead, sensing the possibility of food. 

One dog tag had been laced into his now missing boots and no doubt the North Vietnamese Army would have him identified and have a record of his death; Sgt. Thomas David Wade, 5th Special Forces Group, Tay Ninh Province; Killed in Action. The bastards had stripped him of everything other than his fatigues and left him for dead, but he still had Katie’s pendant.  This gave him comfort, his mind seeking refuge from the pain he felt.

Smoke and the stench of burning napalm and cordite still hung over the bunker complex in a twisted maze of the destruction of upturned roots and trees as death reeked in the surrounding jungle.  It was as if some evil force had ravaged and plowed the ground.  U.S. Air Force bombs had hammered the bunker complex and a serene quietness echoed as his hearing returned amid the crackling of small fires in and about the refuse.  Wade tried to focus on his surroundings.  He assumed the surviving NVA had moved out, leaving their dead behind.

The remains of the NVA unit, if there were any, were likely bastioned in the next valley, waiting, digging in within the confines of the deep jungle. The U.S. forces would react, engulfing them like a fire-breathing dragon.  To the NVA, it would be a matter of drawing the Americans in and ripping into them piece by piece and on their turf.  They knew the Americans would come, for they had at least left one of their soldiers in the jungle…maybe more. 

Dead or alive, they would come.  Wade wondered if his team had survived.  Were they dead or severely wounded and awaiting their fate or was it already determined? Would anyone find him or at least recover his remains?

The reality of his situation slowly crept into his mind, and it was now a matter of survival as he lay alone and defenseless, fighting a sense of hopelessness.  He had to fight to survive, but how?  A cold chill came upon his ravaged body and fear began to overwhelm him and his mind flooded with fear…and then anger.  Even if he could extract himself from the jungle floor and somehow leave this hell, would he face life in a wheelchair and be maimed for life?  His survival instinct was strong, but at what price?

Push on, drive on...do not give in…. the Special Forces mantra.  But his legs refused to move, feeling nothing below his waist.  With savage determination, he managed to turn his body using his good arm and hand.  Wade pulled his ravaged body about 20 meters towards what remained of the NVA bunker complex, the fatigue and pain overwhelming him.  Despite his effort, the bunker was still fifty meters away. 

What he would find, if he got there, he did not know, but he had a raging thirst and he needed water.  He had to do something besides fold into himself and await death. Maybe he could find something within the destroyed complex to treat his wounds…salvage some groundwater from the bottom of a bomb crater…find an enemy soldier’s canteen…somehow survive.

Move, don’t quit, and don’t die.  It was one of many steps he would need to ensure his survival, but deep in the recesses of his mind, he felt he was going to die.  His wounds were too grave.  How long would it take for him to reconcile his death, he did not know.  Maybe the better option was to focus on a peaceful death and let it go, but this went against his nature.  But, oh God, the pain...it clouded his willpower.

Facedown, exhausted, and weak, breathing in the damp jungle soil with each labored breath, tasting the dirt in his mouth; he fought the pain and his ebbing strength.  Just go to sleep and wake up and realize this was all a bad nightmare.  Closing his eyes, he once again thought of Katie and the Tigress pendant that hung around his neck.  She said she would be his Guardian and she would keep him safe.  Maybe she wanted him to join her.  It would be so easy.  Just let it go and join his sweet Katie.

He fought to stay focused and looked through the hazy blur of his painful stupor and the scorching sun and watched the wisps of condensation rise from the upturned roots of the damp cool earth as the darkness of unconsciousness edged from the corners of his eyes and closed in on him.  There were more jungle crows now, gathering in a nearby tree that was stripped of all foliage. They were looking and awaiting their opportunity.  They squawked and plucked at their feathers and looked about for danger, still waiting.

He had to rest, his eyes heavy, if only for just a few moments.  His mind wandered to a spring morning in Holden, Louisiana, and walking up the sidewalk of College Avenue.  A young man, starting anew and remembering the day he met Katie. The light faded and then there was darkness…and peace. Maybe it was not such a bad place to die, despite the hungry crows.  He would now join Katie.

Starting a New Life in Holden, Louisiana

It was a little past 7:00 a.m. The sun, shining through the large oaks that lined the sidewalks of College Ave, gave promise to a warm spring day.  Like so many small southern towns, Holden, Louisiana was a quiet, peaceful place where one could withdraw from the world, a place where you had time to think, evaluate your life and future, and hopefully find sanctuary from the recent past.

The uneven sidewalks, buckled and torn by the massive roots of the Spanish oaks, lead up the long hill as daredevil squirrels made mad dashes across the street only to stop and sniff the ground to search for acorns, they had previously buried from the fall harvest.

Tom Wade wondered if they understood the uncertainty of life and what peril they faced as he watched the grey squirrel retrieve an acorn, then make a mad dash across the street, stop short of the curb to examine his prize and then proceed to another part of the lawn to enjoy his breakfast. 

Do squirrels have older, more experienced squirrels, parents to train them, warn them of the hazards of running across the streets with their breakfast in hand?  Watching them gave him a feeling of insecurity and sadness, but he pushed on up the hill of College Ave.

He was beginning high school in the spring quarter as a high school student in a land that was foreign to him in many respects; trying to adapt to life in a small southern town in Louisiana of about five thousand, consisting of whites and blacks who were as separate as East and West Germany.  The school, people, and surroundings administered a culture shock, for they were nothing like his former home, a large U.S. Army garrison in Germany. 

The cracks in the sidewalk would lead him to his new world for the next few years and he hoped in the months that lay ahead, he could make his way as an adult and grow to become a man.  He really had no other choice, and little did he know that once again, within a few years, his life would once more be turned upside down.  He had learned it is natural to dream of your future, but it can be horrifying if you knew your future.  Live in the present, not the past, and don’t try to see too far into the future.

Holden High School was still half a mile away, but he was in no hurry.  Classes started at eight and his pace remained the same.

Commuting students drove up the long-shaded hill on their way to school, giving the occasional glance in his direction as they drove by.  He was surely an oddity in a town where everyone knew everyone, but he saw himself as more like the Special Forces soldiers, he had spent most of his life around, not a hapless teenager, with head bowed and plodding forward. 

Wearing an old Army field jacket, a rucksack hanging from his shoulders, he walked with a purposeful stride and a straight back, keeping his eyes straight ahead.  Determined to make his way and throwing his shoulders into his future and allowing no tears to blur his vision.

Marching past the town recreation center and the public pool, he admired the southern homes adorned with front porches and manicured lawns with early spring flowers. Looking at his watch, he realized he was now slightly behind schedule and picked up his pace, yet thoughts weighed on his mind of his German-born mother and of his dad, who had grown up in Holden as a young boy. 

His parents had fallen in love amidst the carnage of post-war Germany and now they were gone…taken from him. Tom Wade was now in a place and a life that his dad had often spoken of with great joy.  It was not Wade’s first time here and the memories of Holden were pleasant, but often non-eventful and he suspected nothing had changed from his visits as a young child.

His heart was filled with a deep loss and the fear of an uncertain future as he recalled the Army Chaplain sitting him down and telling him the dreadful news of the automobile accident that took the lives of his parents.  His dad’s sister, Katherine Sanders, arrived quickly from the states to pick up the pieces of his shattered life, providing comfort and reassurance. Within a few short months, he was in the U.S. walking the sidewalks up College Avenue.

Images continued to dance through his head of his mom’s golden hair, enchanting stature and grace and charm; and of the powerful man who wore the U.S. Army Green Beret.  Tom Wade Sr. was a career soldier and the type of man that could strike fear into his enemies. 

He had been an Army Ranger with a chest full of combat medals from WW11 and Korea, a man who was full of life and humor and spent every possible moment with his only son and wife.  He set examples formed by a life of discipline and adventure.  His mom, a gentle and sweet, intelligent woman of remarkable German beauty, shrouded with a strength brought forth by years of war.  She had lost all of her family from the carpet bombing by American bombers on the cities of Germany but survived the horrors of WW2 by sheer fortitude and necessity.

They had met at a sidewalk café of postwar Germany where she worked serving beer and sandwiches in a daily struggle to make a life for herself.  Wade’s dad had a smile that could light up the day and he pursued her as if he was on a special operations mission. 

She readily admitted she never had a chance with his bold advances and purpose as she fell in love with him from the first encounter.  Now they were gone, and Tom Wade Jr. would be living with his Aunt Kat and her husband, Robert; far removed from the life he had known.

The Army death benefits, and the German court findings left him with substantial financial security. The large fuel truck that crossed the center lane of the small country road had stolen the lives he loved and needed, leaving him saddened, frightened, and alone.  The money was a small consolation for a teenager who was now an orphan.

Aunt Kat, much like his dad, has a wonderful sense of humor, is strong-willed, a southern lady, and is quick to speak her mind.  She and Uncle Robert, a Marine vet who survived the Pacific Islands and the battle of Tarawa, were now his official Guardians until his eighteenth birthday.  He vowed to the memory of his parents that he would be the son they expected.  They had no children as Aunt Kat had lost two children due to miscarriages. Tom Wade Jr. was now the son she always wanted.

Fighting the urge to wallow in self-pity, Wade pushed the haunting thoughts from his mind as he saw the white columns of the high school come into sight.  Crossing the street adjacent to the football stadium he walked up the wide sidewalk past the numerous green junipers.  Dozens of students were lounging and talking on the front steps of the school. 

Eyes turned his way as he made his way up the wide marble steps towards the huge double doors. Several students smiled in his direction.  A female student, adorned in a bright red skirt, commented to another student, He must be the new guy.

Making his way through the door and across the tile foyer, he turned into the front office where he observed a short, pleasant-looking lady, standing at a mimeograph machine and smiling in his direction as he stepped to the counter.

I bet you are Tom Wade.

Yes, Ma’am.

Well, welcome Tom.  I am Mrs. Lane.  Come on back and have a seat.  Let’s get your schedule.

She pulled a stack of papers from the counter and quickly thumbed through them as Wade took the opportunity to look about the office, smelling the ink from the mimeograph.  The dark walls reminded him of European architecture with deep wooden wainscot against a lighter brown that led to the recessed ceilings supporting huge, globe lights, emitting a yellow light, not unlike the headquarters building of the German garrison.  Oddly enough, the surroundings eased his tension somewhat and gave him comfort, a small familiarity.

A female student looked in his direction, smiled, stopped her office duties to observe him and then shyly introduced herself.  Hi, I’m Becky. Welcome to Holden. I help out here during the first period class, so if you need anything, let me know.

Tom turned to her and offered his hand, Hi, Becky, thank you.  I am Tom.  She blushed as she gently and lightly touched his hand and shyly returned to her duties.

Mrs. Lane directed her attention towards him.  We have all your paperwork. I understand you were classified as a junior in Germany, but as we told your Aunt Kat, we will have to start you out as a sophomore.  Our class credits are somewhat different, and we feel it would be better for you to take some classes that will get you on the right path to graduate.  I am sure you will love it here and we are excited to have you as a student.  Here, please sit at my desk.

I don’t mind being a sophomore, whatever you think is best.  Maybe there would be benefits of being somewhat older than his classmates. Regardless, it was not going to be an issue.

He took a seat at the cluttered desk as Mrs. Lane retrieved some additional forms that needed completing and began explaining each but was interrupted by the first period bell.

Wade was startled amid the flurry of activity and the chattering of voices as the students made their way to their classes.  It was as if someone had stirred up an ant pile, but within five minutes it was quiet and orderly once again.  He took about twenty minutes with the forms and the briefing before Mrs. Lane escorted him to his 1st period Civics class.  Feeling like a prisoner being escorted to his cell, he walked down the long empty hallway, his footsteps echoing on the hardwood floor and out of tune with the short staccato steps of Mrs. Lane. 

She sharply knocked on a classroom door and opened it simultaneously as all eyes in the room turned in their direction.  Try as he may, he could not look inconspicuous as she loudly introduced him to a big man, Coach Mair.  The Coach shook Wade’s hand firmly and pointed him to a desk at the front of the class next to the door. 

This was the last place he wanted to sit, but his dad had always told him to sit up straight, in the front and pay attention in a classroom environment.  He would soon learn that Coach Mair was the former Holden football coach and an ex-football player who had played for LSU and the Chicago Bears and was now the Asst. Principal. 

Mrs. Lane once again wished him well and departed as quickly as she had arrived.  He sat as directed, while Coach Mair marked him down on his class attendance sheet.  It was as if he was in a fishbowl and all eyes were on his back and he fought the urge to sink into his desk.  The silence was awkward and for a moment he felt as if everyone knew his situation, and all were uncomfortable in his grief.

Good to have you here, Tom, said Coach Mair as he rose from his desk and walked toward him.

For those of you who don’t know, Tom comes to us from Germany and now lives here with his aunt and uncle. Tom, it is my understanding that you lost your parents in a tragic automobile accident and we are all truly sorry and we hope that life will be kinder to you here at Holden.

Yes sir, thank you, Wade quietly answered, hoping the coach could just move on and stop talking about him and just study Civics, whatever that was.

Coach Mair was a direct, no-nonsense man and he insisted Wade stand in front of the lass and tell his classmates of his history. Wade could feel his frustration building, but with effort, he slowly stood up and turned to the class and managed a weak smile as Coach Mair eased up beside him in an obvious effort to make him feel at ease.

Tom, you look like a football player.

I have played football, he added in hope of heading off the inevitable questions.

Coach Mair laughed and said, Well, son, I think Coach Johnson, our football coach, will want to talk to you.  Come on, tell us of yourself.  Don’t be shy.  Everybody knows everything about everybody in this town.  Believe me.  You may as well get used to it. It is a good idea to keep that in mind if you ever feel like doing something stupid.  It keeps most of us on the straight and narrow...right Sammy?

This got a few chuckles from the class and made Wade feel a little less awkward, as attention was directed towards a skinny, redheaded kid slouched in his desk with a smirky grin on his face.

Wade was still very ill at ease, but he stood as if he were at Parade Rest in a formation, as the attention focused back on him away from the kid named Sammy, who seemed not to mind the attention.  Wade briefly told them of his family and his childhood and what it was like to be the son of a professional soldier. 

Without intent or purpose, most of his remarks were directed to a beautiful girl with eyes that seemed to look right through him.  Her eyes were emerald green and his words seemed to gravitate towards her as her eyes met his and she never looked away. 

Her blonde hair was pulled back around her shoulders with a small ribbon and her smile radiated from her dimpled cheeks.  She sat erect and focused, but her body language made her appear approachable.  He could see she was truly interested in him and his words.

He spoke of living in Japan and Hawaii for a short time and his few years at Fort Bragg, North Carolina, but he mostly spoke of Germany.  He explained that the schools at the U.S. compounds were made up of dependents of soldiers and airmen and yes, he told them the dependent students did play football and baseball and soccer. 

Most Holden students had never played soccer, nor knew anything about the game, so the questions inevitably turned toward football.

The beauty with the green eyes remarked that Wade looked like a quarterback, and she took some razzing from a few students. One guy sarcastically asked her what was so special about quarterbacks versus a linebacker such as himself. 

She quickly replied that other than not being smart enough to play quarterback, she had no objections to linebackers, but that Tom Wade looked smart and spoke intelligently and therefore she assumed he was or would be a good quarterback.  This brought more laughter and Wade could see she could handle herself in verbal jousting.

Coach Mair interjected, Miss Katie.  May I remind you that I was a linebacker.

She put her head in her hands and laughed, Sorry, Coach.

Wade was amused and followed up her remarks by telling her he was both a quarterback and a linebacker and had played both positions. This made the class roar with even more laughter.

High school football was a religion in the south and he was sure many of them were sizing him up as a potential player. The emerald eyes dominated the class questions and she asked him if he spoke German and he told her yes, and that he also spoke French and Spanish and even some Japanese. 

This seemed to amaze Coach Mair and the other students, but Wade went on to explain; his dad being in the Army Special Forces, a foreign language was a prerequisite and his dad and mom both insisted he learn as many languages as possible.  He and his mom often conversed in German and learning a different language was not difficult as his family often traveled to Spain and France for holidays; to learn the languages seemed much the norm for him as it was the norm in many European countries. 

As he continued to speak and answer questions, it crossed his mind that maybe he was being perceived as bragging or flaunting his background, yet he could not read their reaction one way or the other and decided it was what it was, and he was not going to worry about it.  Besides, the green-eyed beauty appeared quite impressed with his skills.

The students soon began to bombard him with even more questions, and he began to relax and talk more freely about his experiences.  The entire class time revolved around him, and his background and he yearned to return to his desk. 

When a student asked about driving in Germany, he told them that he had never driven a car, whereas Coach Mair, interjected and informed him he was the Driver Education Instructor and that he would get him in his spring class if he wished. 

Coach Mair went on to explain the State of Louisiana provided Drivers Ed to all students when they reached their fifteenth birthday. 

The local car dealerships provided a new automobile to each school every year, outfitted with dual brakes and a standard shift.  The idea of learning to drive was exciting and Wade had momentary visions of driving a black and silver ’57 Chevy. 

A poster of this dream car had been tacked on the wall in his room in Germany, but he realized it would take some doing to get Aunt Kat and Uncle Robert to entertain the idea of him driving.  They were very protective of him, especially Aunt Kat. The idea of another automobile crash was frightening.

Finally, after using up most of the class time, he was allowed to take his seat, but not before being asked one last question by green eyes.

Katie McBride's eyes twinkled as she stated, Your accent is so James Bond.  It sounds so English?

Not English really.  I did spend some time in England, but more a mixture of German and English. He could see she was flirting with him and the whole class noticed and started teasing her, but she seemed unruffled.  Shortly afterward, the bell rang and he was off to find his English class when he felt his arm being tugged when he stepped into the hall.  Hi, I’m Katie McBride.

Hi Katie, it is nice to meet you.  Wade smiled and asked, Do you always ask so many questions?

If I want to know something and it is a subject, I am interested in.  Did I embarrass you?

No, I am fine. I suppose I am a bit odd compared to your classmates.

He was taken aback by her straightforwardness and wondered inwardly if she was atypical of American girls, but he found it exciting and charming.

I am really sorry about your parents. I can only imagine what it must be like. She continued to hold his arm and said, If you need any help finding your way around or with your schoolwork, I am your girl.

Thank you, maybe you could point me towards my English class…a Mrs. Holcombe.

I am in that class. Come on.

She had him by the arm and began to lead him down the hallway.  Her soft southern accent and charm were a novelty that he could easily get used to, but he had little or no experience with girls.  His Mom said he should always treat them as a friend if he wanted to find out what they were like. He sensed that Katie would make a good friend. 

A girl will tell a friend things she would never think of telling a boyfriend, so make friends first and keep that foremost in any relationship and then you will make good decisions when it comes to the ladies.  Sometimes his mom’s wit and advice often had many different meanings, and it was not always clear to him what she was saying. She would constantly tease and embarrass him by saying he would be a lady-killer like his dad. 

Tom Wade had his mom’s golden blonde hair and his dad’s features, the athletic build, broad shoulders and large hands, and above-average strength and size for his age, yet he felt like a preschooler as Katie McBride led him down the corridor in and out of fellow students in the hallway.  He was the new guy and she had him in tow and never released his arm. 

She was also a sophomore but looked much older; and he would learn later she was the steady girlfriend of a football player, the linebacker in the Civics class. That explained the teasing from her classmates.  He was not sure about this boyfriend-girlfriend stuff or going steady.  It was all new to him, but this linebacker was a very lucky guy if he had Katie McBride’s eye.

As they made their way down the hallway among the hustling students and the sound of lockers slamming, the short, skinny, red-haired Sammy approached and said, Hey McBride, is that some puppy you got on your leash there. Is he house broken?

She smirked and looked at Wade, thumbed towards the student and said, This clown is Sammy. He has been in love with me since the first grade. It is best to ignore him, or he will become a pest and ruin any reputable morals you may have.

Sammy offered his hand and said, Pay no attention to sugar britches here. She is always flaunting fresh meat in front of me to make me go on a jealous rampage.

Move aside, lover boy.  I have to get this puppy to his kennel, Katie playfully pushed Sammy aside.

It was good to meet you, Wade said jokingly as he was pulled away by his handler.

Be careful, Tom, said Sammy. She ran over the last pet she had.

Sammy spun about and went his way. See ya, Katie

And oh, just so you know, my dog was not hurt seriously. Sammy is such a smart ass sometimes.

He seems like a pretty fun guy to hang with.  I can see you two are good friends.

We are.  He is like an annoying little brother.

Katie still had his arm as he remarked, It is weird being the focus of attention.  I feel like I may be with the wrong girl if I do not wish to draw attention to myself.  Kind of hard to hide when I am escorted by the prettiest girl in school.

Katie smiled, winked and squeezed his arm, and said, Oh really?  I am guessing you have already checked all the other girls out then.  You did not waste any time.

Well, no.  I have only met you and your classmates, but I assumed there could be no one as pretty and lovely as you.

Lovely?  How charming.  That is a word you don’t often hear around here.  Thank you.  You do have that James Bond charm, but don’t go throwing around the ‘lovely and pretty’ too much.  I don’t need the competition.

Wade smiled happily and in his best James Bond voice said, Well, I hand out compliments only to the deserving.

Katie squeezed his arm harder and pulled him into the classroom door. They made their way and Katie found him a desk next to hers by coercing some guy to move.  Wade’s embarrassed protesting seemed to fall on deaf ears as the student scooted over one row to another desk while curiously checking him out.  It seemed Katie Mc Bride was used to getting her way as she began introducing him to a few friends while awaiting the English teacher.

Mrs. Holcombe reminded Wade of many teachers he had known, and he would soon learn she was a typical taskmaster. She was pleasant and welcomed him but went right to the subject matter in a businesslike manner.  Most of the material was not new to him and he had no difficulty picking it up, as much of it was redundant. 

She did warn of some impending book reports and the final exams which were only months away.  As an avid reader, he had previously read some of the books on the list of choices and was well versed.

As the day went on Katie and Wade became separated and he learned his way around by asking other students, which brought on more questions and comments regarding his background.  He was the new guy and his accent lead to the inevitable, Where are you from?

Lunch arrived and the students had about an hour, but the school was small enough that entire grade classes could eat at once.  The cafeteria reminded him of an Army mess hall, and he wondered if the food was better or worse.  He would soon learn that many students went home to eat or to the local hamburger joint or brought sandwiches. 

Standing in line with other less fortunate students at the serving counters, he watched the process and noticed several black ladies were serving and one white lady that seemed to be in charge. 

They noticed the new face and smiled as one of the black ladies said a big guy like Wade needed some extra as she piled on the mashed potatoes.  The food was bland, but he was hungry.  Once again, there were the usual questions while he sat and ate amongst some other students.

  There was no formal school rule in the cafeteria, but the guys and girls generally sat at different tables, and he did not recognize the faces of those he had met previously in class.  The cafeteria crowd was a whole different society; much younger. 

He would find out later that the older students with automobiles would scatter to the wind at the first opportunity to get off campus during lunch period.  The freshman and many of the sophomores were trapped unless they could bum a ride with an upperclassman. 

The very cute freshman and sophomore girls seemed to be very adept at finding a chauffeur to get off campus and Wade began to understand why Drivers Ed was the most popular class and had become a rite of passage for a student of driving age.  If you were a freshman or sophomore guy or just an average looking freshman or sophomore girl, you were pretty much ‘persona non grata’ and isolated to the cafeteria, the school prison. 

Like most teenagers, being somewhat shallow, selfish, and judgmental was a given.  The pecking order of high school was clear...a set of wheels was your lifeline.

Word of the new guy had spread like a wildfire and he was constantly approached by students as he learned his way around.  He was apparently a novelty to most of them and this was uncomfortable at first as they stared and sometimes made comical attempts to mimic his accent, but it was all in good humor and he soon began to ignore it.  The attention was understandable, but he wished for the day to be over and to be alone for a time; yet, he had nowhere to hide, and he was under constant observation, standing out, regardless of his efforts to go unnoticed.

In the 6th-period study hall in the school library, he watched the other students and noticed them attempting to converse without being overheard or seen by the study hall monitor.  The monitor would often look up above her glasses and just stare at the offending students and things would quiet down for a minute, but there was a constant whispering and smiles and students meandering back and forth to the bookshelves or magazine racks. 

With no homework to do, Wade picked up a current copy of Time Magazine.  He tried to look busy as he thumbed through it and read more news of the turmoil in Vietnam.  Reading the article left him believing an impending storm was brewing and he felt intrigued by the ongoing events that went unnoticed by most. 

He had heard his dad mention Vietnam and he began to wonder where it would all lead; not knowing it was a growing monster on the horizon for America, and especially its young men.

During his reading, he noticed a tall man walking toward the study hall monitor and engaging in a conversation with her. Pointing in his direction, the man approached Wade’s table.  Wade’s first thoughts were, what now? The students at his table looked up and shortly everyone in the study hall turned to watch.

You Tom Wade, asked the man as he approached the long wooden table.

Yes, sir.

Get your books and come with me, he ordered.

Wade quickly grabbed his rucksack and threw a book and spiral notebook in it and followed the man out of the library.

I am Coach Johnson, the football coach.  Understand you played football in Germany? he queried as they made their way down the long hallway and down the stairs.

Yes, sir. We had a team and played other military bases and even some German school teams that played American football.

Yeah, that is what your Aunt Kat mentioned. What position did you play?

Quarterback and linebacker, he answered, not knowing where they were headed, but assuming it was the stadium.  He soon realized he had Aunt Kat to thank for this and sighed inwardly.  He dutifully followed as they made their way outside to the parking lot adjacent to the gym and towards the stadium. 

Coach Johnson led him directly into his office and through another door to the equipment room and lockers.  It smelled like all locker rooms and brought back memories of hanging around the barracks with some of his dad’s soldiers.

A student straddling a bench, was polishing some football helmets when Coach Johnson yelled, McDonald, get Wade fitted out for some gear.  Also get him the quarterback shoulder pads we just got in.  Bud is our student manager, said Coach Johnson as he pointed in Bud McDonald’s direction.

Bud, this is Tom Wade, said Coach Johnson as he retreated to his office. Tom, come into my office when Bud gets you squared away and assigns you a locker.

Bud shook hands while asking for shoe and waist sizes and the inevitable where the hell you from when he heard the accent.

A little bit of everywhere, but mostly Germany.

Bud started dragging helmets off a shelf to find one that Wade was comfortable wearing.  Purple and gold were the team colors and Bud stated their uniforms were identical to the LSU Tigers, which was an apparent source of school pride.

Having been around soldiers most of his life, Wade was used to this type of atmosphere and directness, but he could not help but think it odd.  He had not told anyone he was going to play football and here he was being geared up as if he was going to war.  He guessed they drafted you in Holden if they thought you worthy or needed cannon fodder...or maybe it was a favor his Aunt Katherine had cashed in. 

After much trying on of cleats and pads and jokingly throwing an extra small jockstrap, he was assigned a locker and stowed his gear.  Bud Mc Donald always kept one extra small jock to elicit some humor and rebuffs.  The jock strap was marked with a laundry pen and had itty bitty written next to the size small marking. 

Bud was fun to be around and seemed to know a little bit about everything that went on with the football team and the school. He showed obvious pride in his tasks and position.  Despite his humor; Bud took his job to heart.  He said Coach Johnson was alright, gruff, and tough, but his bark was worse than his bite. 

He cautioned that he hoped Wade was in shape because the coaches would work his butt off in spring drills.  He warned Wade he best be ready.  Wade told him he had not done much in a few months, but he was still in pretty good shape as he had often worked out with his dad and the troops. 

The Special Forces soldiers often ran and lifted weights and attacked the obstacle course every week and on occasion, he had even surpassed some of the men.  His dad, as their commander, would give them hell and a few of the enlisted guys would try to get him to ease up by jokingly trying to seduce him with promises of a young German maiden or a night of beer trolling, as they called it.  He looked upon many of the soldiers as big brothers and they treated him as a little brother but admired his tenacity.

Once he got his equipment stowed and Bud was satisfied that he was geared to go, he made his way to the coach’s office.  Coach Johnson’s motioned him to a seat as he entered.

Coach Johnson leaned back in his chair and said, Tom, I assume you love football and that is great.  Football is big around here and a young man of your size, and hopefully talent, is a welcome sight.  We will start practice tomorrow at three-thirty. You will get out of study hall at three, so get your butt over here and be on the field at three-thirty.  Understood?

Yes, sir.  I understand.

Coach Johnson’s face turned serious, and he said, "Listen, son, I am sorry about your parents. I can only imagine how tough it is for you.  Football will help you get on with your young life and give you some focus.  We are a close family here at Holden and you are now in our family. 

We will see what kind of football player you are in the next few weeks.  So I will see you tomorrow.  If you need anything, let me know.  We will get you scheduled for a physical and I need you to get your parents, sorry, Kat and Robert, to sign a few things.  I assume they are your official guardians.  Okay?"

Yes sir, I understand.

Coach Johnson’s slip of the tongue brought forth the memories once again, just when he had a distracted moment, but he had to deal with it. Wade took his leave with the forms in his hands and walked out of the office and onto the sidewalk and started towards his new home.  It still seemed as if he were on a visit as before and he would find his mom and dad sitting around the kitchen table drinking coffee with Aunt Kat and Uncle Robert when he got home. 

His mind was a mush of events, but it helped him forget the reality of what he had faced in the past months.  All of it was challenging and exciting and very scary, but he welcomed the opportunity to show what he could do on the football field, despite Aunt Kat running interference for him.

Football could be the key to opening a new life and if he was going to be a football player, then he would be a good one.  He pondered the events of the last hours, but he was already mentally preparing for the task ahead and hopefully, all the training and discipline he had learned from his dad and his soldiers would pay off. 

Wade thought he was a pretty good football player, or so he was told when he played in Germany, and although the competition was not always that tough, he felt he had the talent to make his mark and he needed a physical challenge; now more than ever.  He needed anything at this point; time to make it hour to hour, day to day; anything but thinking too much.

He had walked a block from the school when a ’58 Olds pulled up. It was Sammy Ryder, all smiles, a cigarette in his hand, and yelling. Hey, Wade, need a ride?

Sure, thanks, answered Wade as he opened the passenger door.  Sammy had a fantastic-looking car.  It was two colors of gray, with one being almost black, with silver chrome and full ‘lake pipe’ exhausts and moon hubcaps that glistened in the afternoon sun.  Wade was impressed.

Sammy saluted mockingly and said, In case you forgot.  I am Sammy, Sammy Ryder, and don’t believe any shit you hear about me, although it may be true.

Wade smiled and returned the salute and continued to check out the car interior. Nice, real nice.  Is it fast?

Faster than most, but it is more of a ‘love mobile,’ if you know what I mean. said an obviously pleased Sammy. You want to check out the local territory of this dead-ass town?

Sure, but I need to go home and let my aunt know what I am doing.  She will expect me home shortly.

That’s no problem. I know where they live.  I guess that is where you live now, huh?

Yeah, I am now a member of this dead-ass town, he answered and once again noticed the huge homes on College Avenue. I still can’t get used to the size of homes in the States. It is so very different from Europe.

Well, I don’t know shit about Europe, but I am glad we got some room to move around.

Sammy accelerated down College Ave and Wade felt a spurt of excitement as the powerful engine roared.

You play football, Wade asked.

Hell no, yelled Sammy over the roar of the rumbling exhausts.  He was enjoying ‘sounding the pipes off’ and it reminded Wade of the big Pratt &Whitney aircraft engines on the USAF transports.

I am a lover, not a fighter or football player be, said Sammy.

I should have noticed, I suppose, Wade retorted.

What? That I am not a football player or a fighter, questioned Sammy.

No, I should have noticed what a great lover you profess to be.

Sammy grinned and said, Yeah, it should be pretty obvious.

You do have the vehicle for your talent. I would love to have a ‘57 Chevy one day, if and when I ever learn to drive. Coach Mair said he would get me in Drivers Ed this spring.

Yeah, you must go through that bullshit, but I can teach you how to drive. We’ll go out to the LSU experimental farm and get you some real training.  There are plenty of good roads and no one’s ass for you to run over.

Sammy pulled into the driveway and Wade invited Sammy in as they made their way into the back kitchen door through the open garage. He was about to introduce Sammy to Aunt Kat when she said, Hi Sammy, how are you? How’s your mom?

I‘m fine, Mrs. Kat.  Mom is fine. She is just trying to keep me on the straight and narrow. You know her, an amused Sammy said.

Well, that is a full-time job. You had best behave,

Aunt Kat offered cokes and some Hostess cupcakes. Sammy and she talked as if they had known each other a long time and it was a respite that Wade was not the topic of conversation for a change.  Aunt Kat reminded Wade that supper would be at six and if he were late, it would be cold and questioned if he had any homework.

No homework, as he sarcastically thanked her for getting him on the football team and she sarcastically replied and smiled and said, You are welcome.

He was finally given his liberty pass for a few hours and Sammy eased the big Olds down Beverly Drive, trying not to draw any unwanted attention from nosey or complaining neighbors. 

Once they hit College Avenue again, he got on it and the exhaust roared. Sammy smiled and they headed downtown towards the town square.  The wind felt good against Wade’s face and pulled him out of any self-pity.

Holden’s town square had a huge white courthouse as the centerpiece and the other businesses seem to surround it like chicks gathered around a mother hen.  There was Ray's Barber shop and the local Five and Dime store and the several clothing stores along with the Holden Bank, hardware store, furniture store, and the local drug store where you could sit at a counter and get the assorted sodas and milkshakes to satisfy your sweet tooth...if you were white.  He had no idea where the black kids went to hang out. He had not seen a half a dozen since he had been here.

Sammy and Wade stopped at the Holden Maid, and he was informed by Sammy it was one of several gathering points for the students.  The parking lot was covered in what appeared to be small strips of old roofing shingles versus concrete, asphalt, or gravel.  It was just one of many things different than Germany. 

The building itself was small, white, and rectangular with two large plate glass windows in the front that were adorned with a neon sign proclaiming, Holden Maid.  Wade followed Sammy to the window that said, White Only and at Sammy’s insistence, ordered his first cherry coke. 

Wade kept looking over at the ‘Colored Only" window to see what the difference was.  There was none that he could see. He only saw one guy and a younger woman serving and wondered what the big difference was over the span of eight feet that separated the two windows.  He assumed the servers served both windows. 

Looking at the White Only sign, he guessed you could get the same drink if you were standing at the Colored Only window and wondered if the drink was of the same quality, but he assumed it was kind of hard to screw up a cherry coke.  Sammy said the ‘niggers,’ as he called them, did not bother anyone and kind of stuck to themselves and he personally did not have any issues with them.

This was the mindset of many of the people in Holden.  Wade thought it may have been a solution the politicians and society had worked out, depending on which side of the fence you were standing. 

Everything seemed to be going just fine in most people’s minds, at least amongst the people he had spoken with.  It did cross his mind to ask a black person their opinion when he had the opportunity, as he was curious as to what they really thought of the system in place.

Sammy never seemed to stop talking and Wade was trying to ingest all the info that was thrown at him.  Sammy covered a multitude of subjects and anointed himself as Wade’s new mentor while seeming to have been shot in the butt with a phonograph needle, but he passed on both valuable and useless information and Wade took it all in for future reference.

His first day ended with Sammy skidding and screeching the car to a stop in Aunt Kat’s driveway.  Aunt Kat was looking out the kitchen window waving a scolding finger at Sammy.  Wade soon figured out that Sammy tended to overcompensate and draw attention with reckless behavior.

Tell her I almost killed her pet squirrel, but miraculously stopped in time.

Yeah, I will let you know how that went.  Thanks for the tour.  See you tomorrow.

After supper and answering dozens of questions from Aunt Kat about his day, he picked up a Newsweek magazine and thumbed through it and read an article about the U.S. Special Forces Advisors in Vietnam.  Much of it was hard to decipher as to who was doing what to whom, but it seemed as if it was a hot spot to stop the spread of communism throughout Southeast Asia.  He wondered if his dad would have eventually ended up there. 

It was President Kennedy who initiated the Green Berets, made up of former Rangers and airborne soldiers.  Men such as his dad would have been some of the first to go. Vietnam would be a candidate for the skills of a Special Ops Group to train the locals how to fight the enemy guerillas and win the hearts