Rigors of Revenge

By Tank Gunner

Rigors of Revenge, the tale of a retired soldier, harboring revenge for 50 years, returning to Vietnam to find and kill a murderous enemy. Following a hit and run, Colonel Grady Allen is in a VA hospital PTSD ward where reoccurring nightmares blossom of the murder of Sergeant Tommy Franklin by NVA Captain Vo. Now, 50 years after Tommy's death, Allen has the opportunity to return to Vietnam to find and kill Vo,

• Language: English
• Publisher: BookBaby
• Release date: Mar 2, 2023
• ISBN: 9781667893228

Book preview

Tank Gunner is the pen name of a retired combat cavalry trooper, Senior Parachutist, and Jumpmaster awarded a Combat Infantry Badge and decorated with a Silver Star, three Bronze Stars – one for Valor – and a Purple Heart. He served his nation with pride and honor for more than a quarter-century as an enlisted soldier and officer. An award-winning author and speaker, Tank wrote and published Prompts a collection of stories at age 76; Prompts Too another collection of stories at 77; Cookie Johnson, his Vietnam historical fiction novel at 78; Palomino, Tank’s immensely popular WWII historical fiction novel at 79; Porky Baycann, a coming-of-age, adolescent friendship, and WWII historical fiction novel – and companion to Palomino – at 80; The Redeemer, his powerful drama of love, conflict, and redemption on the eve of WWII – a companion to Palomino and Porky Baycann – at 81; Reverend Ripple$’ Building Fund, a historical fiction story of a pretend preacher with a dishonest past, at 82; and, at 83, Rigors of Revenge, the tale of a retired soldier, harboring revenge for 50 years, returning to Vietnam to find and kill a murderous enemy. He and his wife live with Cody, 100 miles southwest of Palomino.

Armor Divider Gold 1 (2)

© Tank Gunner. All rights reserved.

First Printing ● October 2022

ISBN: 978-1-66789-322-8

OTHER WORKS

PROMPTS

a collection of stories

(fiction)

PROMPTS TOO

another collection of stories

(fiction)

COOKIE JOHNSON

(Vietnam War Historical Fiction Novel)

PALOMINO

(WWII Historical Fiction Novel)

PORKY BAYCANN

(Coming-of-Age and WWII Historical Fiction Novel)

THE REDEEMER

(Pre-WWII Historical Fiction Novel)

REVEREND RIPPLE$ BUILDING FUND

(Historical Fiction Novel)

War Stories of an Armed Savage

(nonfiction)

Any Name But Smith!

(play, produced on stage 1972)

Direct Hit

(newspaper column of satire)

For

Sylviane, Rob, Rich,

and

Terry, Chloe, Zak, Toby, Cody

In Remembrance

Sergeant Donald Sidney Skidgel

Private First Class John Anthony Halladay

First Lieutenant Michael Herman Thomas

ACKNOWLEDGMENT

My special recognition and salute to Capn Lee Sneath, an award-winning writer, patient editor, word coach, college instructor, mentor, and valued friend.  He was a corporate communications executive, public affairs spokesperson, newspaper reporter and editor.  His continuous support is deeply appreciated.

A grateful nod to my creative writing classmates.

Their patience, honest reactions, valuable suggestions,

and spot-on edits improved this story.

HIM

by

Vera Harbor

Poet, actress, writer, storyteller.

Her Haiku is used with permission

Armor Divider Gold 1 (2)

Rigors of Revenge is a work of fiction.

Characters come from the author’s imagination.

Any resemblance to real people is unintended.

Table of Contents

1

2

3

4

5

6

7

8

9

10

11

12

13

14

15

16

17

18

19

20

21

22

23

24

25

26

27

ADDENDUM

PLAYERS

Colonel Grady Allen

US Army, Retired

Sergeant Tyler Lufkin

US Army, Retired

Malrie Langley

Daughter

Henry Langley

Son-in-law

Henry (Jute/H J) Langley, Junior

Grandson

Lilly Marlene Monroe

Former US Marine

General Shelly J. Albertson

Commanding General

Dr. Pankur

VA physician

Betty Tucker

VA nurse

General Vo

Vietnamese Official

An

Daughter

Doctor Thao

Vietnamese physician

PLAYERS

Doctor Jacob Lozier

VA Psychiatrist

Doctor J W Farrell

VA PTSD Counselor

Doctor Tina Tone

VA PTSD Counselor

Doctor Constantine

VA physician

Doctor Mary Stuart Murdock

VA physician

Shanika Ames

VA medical technician

Margo

VA medical technician

Angelina

VA medical technician

Abigail

VA medical technician

Edith Mae

VA nurse

Perry Ruiz

Deputy Sheriff

Waylon Dalton

Deputy Sheriff

PLAYERS

Warren Washington

Car salesman

Santalina

Car sales supervisor

Miller Bronski

USMC, The Club

Andrew Hemingway

USA, The Club

Eric Pollard

USAF, The Club

Homer Ellis

USN, The Club

Eagan

TSA agent

Bea Kronkite

Travel agent

Barry Korzen

Soldier

Judy

Airline agent

Derby

Gun store owner

O’Mally

Souvenir dealer

PLAYERS

Adam

Hotel concierge

Sam Li

Tour guide

Cheech Arcado

Church Deacon

Parnell

Attaché

Ossetta Tubbs

Cafe owner

Syed

Waiter

1

When Henry picked up the phone, he thought it would be Marvin calling about their poker game. He listened to the explanation for the call then asked the ER doctor to hold on.

Junior, where’s your mother?

In the garage, up in the apartment.

Go get her. Tell her the VA hospital is on the phone and needs to talk with her. It’s about the Colonel. Your grandpa‘s been in a car wreck. He’s been hurt. They have him in the emergency room.

Colonel Grady Allen awoke on a gurney, confined to the hard table by three straps of skinned, worn leather. His bed, aligned parallel with a hallway wall, stood outside the huge double doors leading into the busy ER at the Mount Lamar VA Hospital.

Well, I see you’re still with us, Mister Allen.

He slid his tongue across dry lips and smacked them together twice before blinking. Eye blinks cleared the blurriness and helped focus on the image of a woman standing next to him.

She was dressed in blue scrubs with a white mesh cover over black cornrow braids. She smiled. Red lips framed perfect, white teeth. Her dark brown eyes pinned him as she plopped an ice pack on his head in front of his left temple. She dabbed moisture from his face and neck with a green surgical towel. With gentle tenderness, she swept at his gray hair, her smile never fading.

How are you feeling?

I’m not a mister, young lady. I’m a Colonel. I hope you know there’s a big ass difference.

Yes, Sir, I do.

Who are you?

I’m a senior ER volunteer here at Mount Lamar VA Hospital.

VA addresses everybody as Mister. Bunch of flakes.

That’s how we’re instructed. I’m also a Captain in the Marine Corps Reserve. Eight years active duty. Combat veteran.

Good, then address me properly.

She saluted. "Yes, Sir, Colonel."

He felt the warmth of humor from her emphasized military posture and response. Allen managed to match her soft smile – which both widened into broad grins.

I’m waiting for orders from Doctor Pankur to move you to a room. He will be out in just a few moments to talk with you. We were waiting for you to wake up. Sir.

My war was Vietnam, Marine. What was yours?

Iraq and Afghanistan. Three deployments.

What’s your military specialty? Nurse? Clerk? Truck Driver? Thumb Sucker? Sock Folder?

She laughed. On active duty I was a gunner on an Apache gunship. I’m also an expert in electronic surveillance, target acquisition systems, and enemy and weapons situational analysis. I have a doctorate in Computer Simulation. I teach Computer Science and Technology Programming at the college. My civilian job is Director, Advanced Technology and Materiel Systems Research. We design and test battlefield electronic gaming systems, virtual reality hardware and software for Army and Marine Corps ground combat forces, and drones.

Good for you. My grandson plays with all that crap. Jute is a wiz, smart as a whip.

How old is your grandson?

Eighteen, almost thirty. That boy scares me sometimes. He’s a straight-A honors student even though he spends hours and hours in front of all his machines and screens. I’m surprised he hasn’t figured out a way to get into the games and be there.

Many young men and women joining military service today come in with a lot of gaming and systems experience. The Services are trying to catch up, to maintain their interest and enthusiasm, and connect with them.

Yeah. We didn’t have all that stuff in my war.

What was your branch, Colonel? Were you a rear area sock folder in Vietnam? The joshing humor sparkled and flashed in her eyes with the verbal jab. She again swept at his gray hair.

The Colonel laughed. Infantry. The Queen of Battle. The real deal. We met and killed the bastards on the ground. Not from a million miles away with missiles, rockets, and bombs.

Things have changed, Colonel, in the half century.

Colonel Allen drew in a huge breath and groaned. What happened? Why am I on this table?

"A bank robber in a pickup hit your car in the seam of the driver-side door. You were passing through the intersection to enter our Medical Center. He was running from the police and ran through a red light. Of all things, he also was texting and puffing a joint. T-Boned your car.

Police said the crash must have pushed your body violently to the left because the car’s doorframe had an indentation where your head hit the top of it. You were knocked unconscious. You might have a concussion. The exploding airbag hit you in the face and bloodied your nose. You’ve got quite a knot up near your temple, Colonel.

What about the asshole who hit me?

Dead. Shot by the police when he pointed his gun at them. He had fourteen bullet wounds.

Justice served.

Maybe. He was a kid. Fifteen or sixteen. They brought him in here with you.

I need to scratch my nose and knee. I can’t move my arms and legs.

You’re strapped to the gurney, for your safety and ours. You’re strong for your age. Four of us had to hold you down with great force. You were hallucinating. Something about a battle, a unit was in an ambush. Doctor Pankur has to issue the order for us to release you.

What’s your name, Marine?

Lilly Marlene. Lilly Marlene Monroe.

A double name, like Glenda Sue, Billy Don, Elmer Lou, Edith Fay. Lilly Marlene. I like that name. You have a beautiful smile, Lilly Marlene. Your eyes twinkle when you smile. Please scratch the tip of my nose and rub my left kneecap.

Flattery will take you places never imagined. She withdrew a red bandana from a pocket and rubbed his nose with it until he nodded. Then she massaged his left kneecap until he spoke.

That’s fine. Thank you, Lilly Marlene. Where are my glasses?

You were not wearing glasses when they brought you in. Maybe the airbag knocked them off. They might still be in the car.

Colonel Allen heard automatic double doors swing open with a dragging swoosh. When he tried to look, pain shot up his neck, stabbed his skull, and electrified his temple and forehead.

He grimaced and lay back on the pillow. Son of a bitch that hurts. I thought I was going to pass out.

So, how’s our patient doing?

He’s awake and alert. We had a good chat. Be careful though, he can be grouchy and pushy. Doctor Pankur, may I introduce Colonel Grady Allen, United States Army, Infantry.

Retired. I retired from active duty many years ago.

Ah, Colonel, is it? Infantry. Infantry have muskets, cavalry have swords. Horses and swords? Doctor Pankur stood over and peered down at his patient.

Jesus Christ. Rifles, muskets are long gone. And cavalry had sabers, not swords.

Ah, yes. A saber. I’m sorry. Didn’t mean to offend. Sailors had cutlasses, knights had swords, cavalry had sabers.

You’re a Doctor? You look like an intern.

MD, PhD, MS, MBA. All bought and paid for, Colonel.

Are you from Pakistan? India?

Boston, actually. My parents emigrated from Kenya.

You look like a teenager. How old are you?

Doctor Pankur laughed. I’m forty. Yesterday, as a matter of time.

Happy Birthday.

Thank you. Doctor Pankur’s friendly face faded. He patted Colonel Allen on a shoulder. His mouth and eyes acquired a professional facade. His voice was flat, authoritative, matter of fact.

"Colonel Allen, you’ve had a bad knock on your head. X-rays show two features I believe are cranial hairline cracks just above and forward of your left temple. Along with the normal and expected external swelling, there also may be some internal inflammation. We don’t think your brain suffered severe injury, although it must have been roughly jostled and shaken.

"We did not detect any enlargement of the brain. But the impact of your head on the doorframe may cause fluid to accumulate and press on your brain. And that’s not good. So, I’m going to admit you to the hospital. We’re going to keep you here for observation a few days.

Our Admin center passed along your contact information for next-of-kin, and we went through your wallet to check for kin information too. I talked with your son-in-law, and then with your daughter, Marie …

Malrie, not Marie. Her name is Malrie.

"Ah, yes, sorry. I talked with Malrie about twenty, thirty minutes ago and told her you were here with us. She had questions, and I was able to answer most of them.

"Now, Lilly Marlene will wheel you up to Four-B and the Charge Nurse there will place you in a room. While you’re with us, I’ve asked a therapist and a psychologist to monitor you because of your concussion. The other reason I referred these specialists was because you were hallucinating, fighting battles, calling out names. I’m not sure that surfaced because of the head injury. It could have occurred because of other issues, and the specialists can help sort that out. I want to make sure your brain continues to function properly.

"To be on the safe side, the therapist will conduct interview sessions with you, and if needed, one of our psychologists will visit a time or two.

"I’ve prescribed medication to help with the pain. But it will return. I did not want to over sedate you, I wanted you awake and alert. That’s why I asked Lilly Marlene to be out here talking with you.

There still will be pain. In fact, it may get worse. When you feel like you need a little relief, just tell the nurses on the ward. A ward physician will take over from here.

They’re on the way? My daughter is on the way?

Yes, your daughter is on her way. She should be here within the next hour or so.

And Jute?

Who is Jute?

My grandson. Junior. I call him Jute. Short for Junior.

That I don’t know, Colonel.

Where’s my car?

That I don’t know either. Lilly Marlene can track that down for you. Our volunteers handle many different tasks, frees us up to take care of patients. The police officer who came in with you said the impact totaled your little coupe. She said it was toast. Bent double, looked like a tent lying on its side, she said. It was scraped up and hauled away.

My head, neck, and shoulder hurt. I have a flaming headache, feels like a volcano erupting. My body aches all over, like I was run over by a tank.

"Yeah. I have no doubt about that, Colonel. While x-rays of your body showed no fractured bones, there are deep bruises. We even took pictures of your nose to see if it was broken. You’re lucky to be alive. And you’re lucky you were close by so we could get to you right away and administer ice packs to reduce the swelling. On first examination, I thought we might have to bore a hole for a tube to drain fluid away from your brain.

I’m afraid you will be restricted from driving for a while because of the skull fractures. Of course, that’s immaterial now because you don’t have a car anymore. Do you have any questions of me, now?

No. No questions, Doc. I’m thirsty, and I would like these straps removed. I feel like R P McMurphy in the cuckoo-nest.

Oh, I remember that movie. Saw it again a few nights ago on a cable channel. Do you like movies? Watch much TV?

I do. I enjoy a good western or war flick. But my entertainment mostly comes from documentaries and the military channels on TV. I’m a military buff, both world wars, Korea, Vietnam, and the Middle-East. Been there, did that. I can relate. America seems to be the fireman of the world.

The Colonel paused and raised his eyes to look at the doctor. I hate to admit that I lost several good young men in Vietnam.

Doctor Pankur glanced at Lilly Marlene and nodded in affirmation. The Colonel’s admission seemed to confirm a deep secret they suspected.

"Well, with our conversation and your ability to recall, I feel confident you don’t have brain hemorrhage or any severe internal damage. Being able to remember past names like R P McMurphy is encouraging.

Now, when you’re up on Four-B, they’ll take care of the straps and you can have water. It was nice meeting you, Colonel Allen. You take care, you hear. Okay, Lilly Marlene, take our soldier upstairs.

2

Ward Four-B housed veterans confined for court ordered evaluations or medically prescribed psychological therapy sessions. When the elevator door opened, Lilly Marlene wheeled Colonel Allen into the narrow hallway.

His first impression was stink.

Strong stink.

In fashion, Allen reacted to the overpowering smell of medicinal chemicals, feces, and urine blended with a fresh dose of antiseptic bleach. Goddamn. This smells like a fucking run down, bankrupt nursing home.

Lilly Marlene stopped at the nurses’ station. Colonel Grady Allen.

A large black woman appeared at the side of the gurney. Alright. Thank you. We’ve been expecting you, Mister Allen.

I am not a Mister. I prefer Colonel. Colonel Allen. My friends call me Colonel because they know it pleases me.

Very well. Here, all of our veterans are Mister or Miss, Colonel. I’ll try to remember and adhere to your preference. Welcome to Four-B. I’m the Ward Nurse.

The Colonel took in the towering broad body, full plump face, and pristine white teeth accented by the two front that were shiny gold. She was dressed from the waist up in maroon — cap, short-sleeve blouse.

Because he was lying flat on his back, he did not know the ward nurse also wore maroon, baggy pants and small, narrow sneakers.

She smiled, peering down at her new patient. My name is Betty Tucker. I was an Army Sergeant.

This place stinks. Smells like piss and shit.

Nurse Tucker ignored Colonel Allen’s summation. Many of our patients are very sick. Some have difficulty controlling themselves. We do the best we can with what we have to deal with. She turned to Lilly Marlene. Let’s bring him down to room Four-Oh-Four.

Three aides followed Lilly Marlene as she steered the gurney into the room. There were two beds and one patient in 404. In an instant, the space was small and cramped with the wheeled table, two beds, and seven people. The aides, two men and a young woman, and Nurse Tucker, removed the straps and grabbed the edges of the sheet Colonel Allen lay on. They lifted sheet and body, shuffled to the vacant bed, and deposited his five-nine, 150 pounds on it. It was a quick, practiced movement, not a word was spoken by anyone.

The two male aides wheeled the gurney from the room.

Tucker rolled her patient over onto his side.

The female aide gathered and withdrew the gurney sheet from under him. She wadded it and with it under an arm, left the room. Just as quickly as the small room had filled, it now became spacious, comparably.

Nurse Tucker raised the head of the bed to elevate Allen’s upper body and adjusted the pillow for him.

Lilly Marlene poured water from a plastic pitcher into a Styrofoam cup and stuck a straw in the liquid. She held the cup and straw in position for him to drink.

He swigged several swallows, took a breath, swigged again before relaxing back. Thank you, Lilly Marlene. I was thirsty.

I’ll leave you now, Colonel Allen. I must return to my duty station.

You are a good trooper, Marine. Will I see you again?

I’ll check on you when my station time ends just to make sure Betty hasn’t thrown you out a window. It was nice meeting you. Take care, you hear. Marine Captain Lilly Marlene Monroe turned and walked away.

Mis … Colonel Grady Allen, may I introduce your roomie, Mister Tyler Lufkin, Nurse Tucker said. Now, you’ve had a bad run of luck today, so I’m going to leave you alone for a bit of quiet time. In a while, I’ll return with some paperwork we need to go over.

What time is it?

She turned her head, raised an arm, and pointed. Allen followed her finger and looked at the clock on the wall. It’s two-thirty-eight. Maybe you prefer military time, Colonel. It’s fourteen-thirty-eight hours.

I’m expecting my daughter. Her name is Malrie. How will she know where to find me?

The information desk has all the particulars. They’ll help her. Now, be quiet and relax.

Ward Nurse Betty Tucker left the room.

For 30 seconds Allen lay in the hushed silence with his eyes closed, taking deep breaths and quietly, slowly exhaling.

You’re a Colonel? The voice of the other tenant in room 404 was soft.

Yes, Sir. What was your branch of service, Mister Lufkin?

"Army. My friends call me Lufkin, Colonel. You can call me either way, I answer to Tyler or Lufkin. I was a Eighty-One Charlie at first, P-F-C. Got promoted, two grades to Sergeant. Personnel changed my M-O-S to a Eighty-One Tango."

I know Eleven Bravo is Infantry, Twelve Delta is Cavalry, Thirteen Bravo is Artillery, but I never heard of an Eighty-One M-O-S.

Eighty-One Charlie is cartography. I made maps. I was a damn good map maker. Paid attention to details. Eighty-One Tango is a terrain analyst. Because I was always a good map reader and could feel the ground in my soul, I went from Charlie to Tango. I could see things on paper and on the ground nobody else could see.

Allen stared at the ceiling, trying to understand the explanation.

Lufkin filled the silence with quiet rambling. I was with a Psy-Ops team in a Huey. We was throwin out surrender leaflets. We were diverted up to the Bu Dop Special Forces camp up on the Cambodian border …

I was there, at Bu Dop, with some of my men.

Lufkin continued, ignoring the interruption. "We was gonna be a taxi. Picked up a Lieutenant. Young boy, baby-faced. Said his name was Crockin or Crocker or something like that. He needed an emergency ride to Saigon.

"He was gonna go home on emergency leave. His mom had been in a bad car wreck, and there wadn nobody to look after his little sisters, twelve and fourteen, he said.

"When the pilot turned into the wind to approach the pad, gooks opened up with AKs. Stitched the whole side of the bird. Killed the pilot and the crew chief. Somebody yelled and screamed.

"Might have been me.

"Co-pilot tried to handle the bird in an auto-rotation but the skids got caught in heavy canopy and flipped over, went upside down. Me and the Lieutenant was the only ones throwed out. Wonder the blades didn’t cut me. I was the only survivor.

Anyway the chopper crashed and caught fire. That thing melted like plastic in a furnace.

With the visual image flashing across his bruised brain, Grady Allen waited several seconds for Lufkin to continue before he spoke. You said you and the Lieutenant were thrown clear.

"No, Sir. We was throwed out. I watched everybody burn. I still hear their screams. I still see the hands of the Psy-Ops specialist reaching out to me to pull him out of the fire.

"Almost captured by NVA soldiers from the Three-Twenty-Fifth Regiment. They were gettin ready to attack the camp when we just happened to fly in to pick up the Lieutenant.

A NVA Lieutenant shot Lieutenant Crocker in the mouth.

"We hid for two days before a patrol from A-Team, Four-One-Four, Fifth Special Forces came out to the chopper, or what was left of it, to recover the ashes, what was left of the bodies, and dog tags.

"They finally found the Lieutenant and me. He was dead, been dead the whole time we was hidin, probably.

"Anyway, I was assigned to MACV and sent to a small camp where they thought I’d be okay. But, that got attacked and kinda really messed me up.

"Army didn’t want me anymore. Said I cracked up. Medically discharged, on disability. Been homeless on and off over the years. Been in and out of this place for so many years that I’ve lost count, or stopped counting. Can’t remember. I’ve had some rough times, ups and downs, doncha know.

I’m in here this time because the County didn’t want me in their jail no more.

Lufkin fell silent.

Allen did not speak waiting for his roommate to explain about jail.

Why’d they put you on the psycho ward, Colonel?

Psycho ward?

Yeah, you’re here with a bunch of PTSDers.

I didn’t know it was the … the psycho ward. I didn’t know they were bringing me here. To this ward. To the psycho-ward.

You didn’t have no choice?

No. ER doc sent me here for observation.

You been committed?

No, no. I might have a concussion.

You been hurt, hit in the head?

Yeah, I guess you could say that. Some punk-ass jerk was running from the police. Ran a red light at the gate, rammed my car. Hell, I was just coming here for my annual follow-up eye appointment. Now, maybe I’ve got brain damage.

If you ain’t got PTSD now, you might have it when you leave this VA stink hole.

PTSD?

Hmmm.

PTSD?

Hmmm. You’re in the right place, Colonel, if you got it.

You make it sound like the measles, or something.

We all got it from Vietnam.

Got what?

Brain damage.

Yeah, I see.

When they threw me out of the Army, they said I was just lazy, a misfit. Doctors say I got P-T-S-D. Shit, nobody wanted to accept that something was wrong with me. I knew. Everybody knew it. My wife and kids knew it. In here, in the psycho ward, we all call ourselves the Brainiac Maniacs.

Is that why you’re here, Lufkin? PTSD?

Sort of.

Allen’s patience grew