This Earthly Protector

By Roger Darrell Starnes

This Earthly Protector is a adventure-love story that took place during the Viet Nam War. It's the 1st novel written by Roger Starnes, and was written in 1989-1999. There will be three other novels pertaining to the character DeWayne Stevens.A Black Moon Is Rising is currently being edited for publication.Much of the book happened as written.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Westwood Books Publishing
• Release date: Mar 17, 2023
• ISBN: 9798888873014

Roger Darrell Starnes

Roger Starnes was born in Galveston Texas, March 5th 1949. He spent 3 years in the Marine Corps from May 1966 to May 1969. Roger currently lives in Fort Worth.

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Copyright © 2023 by Roger Darrell Starnes.

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the author, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other noncommercial uses permitted by copyright law.

Westwood Books Publishing LLC

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www.westwoodbookspublishing.com

Contents

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Dedication

I dedicate this book to the over fifty-eight thousand Vietnam veterans who gave their lives in vain.

May they rest in peace.

Acknowledgements

Marjorie Mae Allen, my Mother. She is one of God’s finest creations; she will surely receive all the rewards Heaven has to offer.

Judith Ann Starnes. One of my best friends.

Judy wrote a paragraph in chapter one for me.

Thank you Judy for your help and support.

I wouldn’t have written this book without you.

Charlotte Zima. A good friend.

Thank you Charlotte for encouraging me to start this book.

Professor Dennis Beck and the original Wild-Bunch at TCU.

Thanks for the help and advice.

Kay Strom a professional editor in Santa Barbara California. Thank you Kay for the great editing you did for me. You made this book publishable.

Vietnam,

It left me with a longing cannot fulfill,

and the search for something I cannot find.

Dewayne Anthony Stevens

Semper Fidelis

Chapter 1

A gust of wind outside caused the rose bushes to move and scratch the window screens. It broke Dewayne’s concentration. He sat up in the brown leather recliner, knowing he should be going to bed, but he wasn’t at all sleepy. Slowly the door of the Study creaked open. Dewayne, it’s me. Remember me? Your wife?

You startled me, Judy. What are you doing awake?

"Worrying about you. It’s three o’clock in the morning. Why don’t you come to bed?’

I didn’t realize it was so late. I wanted to finish one last proofreading of my manuscript, but I can’t keep my mind on it. I keep thinking about the orphan village in North Vietnam and wondering what ever happened to her.

Happened to who?

The old woman. The Mother Superior. For a moment Judy was silent. When she spoke, her voice was soft and gentle. You think about her a lot, don’t you?

Yeah, almost every day.

Judy picked up a photo album lying on a small table next to the recliner and thumbed through it. She stopped and stared at one of the photographs. Sitting on the arm of the recliner, she said casually, I’ve never seen these photographs before, Dewayne. Where was this one taken?

Let me see. That was my dress blue photo for boot camp. It was taken in late June, 1966.

Your hair was pure black. She said glancing at Dewayne’s hair. I like it better with the gray streaks you have now, and your cheek bones they looked higher then. Maybe because you were thinner. You looked so tall for your age.

Six-one, same as now, Dewayne said with a laugh.

Judy smiled. Same black eyes, though, deep set and piercing. Must be the Blackfoot Indian your grandmother insists you have in you. Abruptly Dewayne stood up, walked to his desk, and picked up a stack of typed papers. My manuscript is ready to submit to the publisher, he said, I sure hope they like… Judy interrupted with a scream. Your book is finished! May I read it now? Dewayne smiled and set the manuscript back down. Please do, I’m dying to hear what you think.

Judy walked to him. Dewayne, you’re not happy about being finished with it. What’s wrong?

I have some misgivings about having it published, he said. There is information in this novel that was classified Top- Secret in those days. I feel like I’m breaking my word, or something.

Dewayne, that was over twenty years ago. Besides, what could anyone do about it now?

Nothing, I suppose. It just bothers me a little. Don’t worry, I’ll shake the feeling. Judy walked to the desk and picked up the manuscript. As she began thumbing through the pages, she looked at Dewayne and said, I can’t help but think of the hard times that we’ve been through together. Vietnam left your life in a shambles, with nightmares and periods of severe depression. Not to mention the drinking that wasted so many good years. Maybe by reading this manuscript, I’ll be able to better understand why it has taken you so long to overcome these problems and begin using your talents. You’ve been a good husband and father, but something always held you back. Maybe the answer lies in this book. You can go to bed now, she said jokingly, I’m going to stay up all night and read. Tomorrow, I’ll put it in the mail to the publisher.

Dewayne smiled at her. Thanks. Good night. He walked out and shut the door behind him.

Judy turned to page one and began to read.

Chapter 2

On March 5th, 1966, I turned seventeen. I promptly quit high school and joined the Marine Corps. My mother and I had been living on welfare for several years and I was sick of being poor. Two months later a Marine Corps recruiter took me to downtown Fort Worth and put me on a train for California. It arrived in San Diego, on May 3rd, at eleven-thirty p.m. A corporal met me at the station and together we went directly to the Marine Corps Recruit Depot, better known as Boot Camp. Seventy other recruits were already there, standing at attention on yellow footprints painted on the concrete. It took about two minutes for me to realize that the drill instructor was totally insane. His eyes glared out from under his Smokey-the-Bear hat. He was a huge man. Muscles bulged from his suntanned arms. His voice was deep and commanding. Every word he said was yelled at the top of his voice. Who are you? the drill instructor bellowed.

Dewayne Stevens, Sir.

Get on a set of those yellow footprints!

When I didn’t move quick enough to suit him, he yelled, You better move your ass when I give you an order! Get on those footprints! Stand at attention! Chest out, stomach in, shoulders back, eyes to the front and don’t blink more than forty times a minute! I will be checking! Working his way around the group, the instructor looked over us recruits. You look like a bunch of candy-asses to me! This is the best our country can do? The war in Vietnam is lost! We haven’t got a chance against those battle-hardened gooks. My name is Gunnery Sergeant Gabert, and I’m your Platoon Commander. You ladies have been assigned to my platoon! Platoon 2016! The first and last word out of your trash mouths better be Sir! Is that understood?

Most of us yelled, Yes, Sir!

Gabert yelled So you ladies want to play games with me already. You don’t want to say ‘Sir,’ do you? Double-time hut!

No one moved. We didn’t know what the sergeant meant. I ordered you ladies to run! You better move your asses!

We began running. None of us ran in the same direction.

In a circle, you idiots! You shit-maggots will say ‘Sir’ when I tell you to say ‘Sir’ and how I tell you to say ‘Sir! Is that understood?

Sir, yes Sir!

Faster, ladies, faster! Do you ladies hear me?

Sir, yes Sir!

Louder, ladies, louder!

Sir, yes Sir!

After what seemed like forever, the sergeant ordered us back onto the yellow footprints. I know your mamas and daddies have been taking good care of you little earthworms. Those days are over. Now you belong to me and my Marine Corps. I will make or break you. It doesn’t make any difference to me.

A fat boy standing in front of me trembled with fear. Gabert walked up to him and screamed in his ear. I cannot stand fat disgusting pigs! You make me sick! From this moment on you’re know as Piggy! Do you like to be called Piggy?

Sir, no Sir!

He shouldn’t have said that. Gabert went into a rage.

You don’t like the name I gave you? Pigs belong in the dirt, Piggy! See that sand over there, Piggy?

Sir, yes Sir?

Get on your face in the sand, Piggy!

Piggy ran for the sand and lay facedown. Roll over and over, throw sand into the air, Piggy! That’s what pigs do!

This went on for at least ten minutes.

Get back on your yellow footprints, Piggy!

Sir, yes Sir!

Gabert got in his face. You will lose that fat, won’t you, Piggy?

Sir, yes Sir!

If you don’t, I’ll melt your porky ass down and make candles out of the fat! Gabert walked in front of the platoon. Those of you that can survive here, those of you that live through this place, make no mistake, you are on your way to Vietnam! You better listen and learn, ladies, or the gooks will shoot your asses in Nam! Is that understood?

Sir, yes Sir!

I bet you thought you would get to sleep in a nice, warm bed when you arrived! Not tonight! Not ever again! Tonight you’ll get that queer looking hair cut off your heads and that civilian slime washed off your filthy bodies! To the shearing stalls, ladies! Run, ladies, run!

Sir, yes, Sir!

Boot camp was a hundred times worse than any of us could have ever imagined, but as the days went by, I got into better physical condition, and that made adjusting to the tough life-style easier. Every morning and every evening we worked out for two hours and then ran several miles along the beach. I liked the workouts. Each one made me stronger.

At five a.m. on the morning of the fifth week, we had our gear packed and ready to go to Camp Pendleton, fifty miles up the California coast. Our platoon would spend two weeks at the rifle range there. I couldn’t wait to get started. Gabert had us standing at attention on the Platoon Street, waiting for him to give the order to load on to the buses. We lived in Quonset huts, half-moon-shaped tin buildings from World War II days. There were five huts. The center one was the duty hut, reserved for the Drill Instructors on duty. Gabert and Drill Instructor Sparks were in the duty hut talking when Gabert suddenly yelled, Private Stevens, report to the duty hut!

God, I hated to hear those words. Anytime we were ordered to the duty hut, it was always bad. I ran and stopped one step from the hatch. There was a red spot painted on the bulkhead. Recruits had to knock on it three times and then ask permission to speak to the Drill Instructor or Platoon Commander. We weren’t allowed to speak to them without first asking and being granted permission.

I knocked three times: Bam! Bam! Bam!

Sir! Private Stevens requesting permission to speak to the Platoon Commander, Sir!

Sergeant Sparks, did you hear something?

Yeah! I heard a real faint noise, Sergeant Gabert. Maybe we have termites.

That was my queue to knock again. This was a game the drill instructors loved to play.

I knocked louder: BAM! BAM! BAM!

Sir! Private Stevens requests to speak to the Platoon Commander, Sir!

Sergeant Sparks, there’s a shit maggot at our hatch. I wonder what he wants?

I don’t know.

Permission granted to speak!

Sir! Private Stevens reporting as ordered, Sir!

Get in this duty hut, Private Stevens!

I ran in and stood at attention in front of his desk.

Do you know Major John Gerwig, Private Stevens? Sir, he’s a friend of mine, Sir!

Gabert stood up. You have no friends in this world but me, and I don’t like you! Major Gerwig wrote me a letter and told me you’re an expert rifleman and recommends you to be put into a Recon-Unit. Where did you learn to fire a rifle as an expert, Private Stevens?

Sir, the National Rifle Association, Sir!

Gabert sat back down. Recon means reconnaissance, which means parachuting into enemy territory and surveying the area, then reporting back to headquarters before the main Marine unit moves in. That’s a big job for someone your age. Do you think you could handle that, Private Stevens?

Sir, yes, Sir!

Did you hear that, Sergeant Sparks? This worm thinks he could be a Recon Marine.

"I heard him. I think he should be home sucking his mama’s tits.

Remember this, Private Stevens: I’m going to be watching you. You better not let Major Gerwig down. You’ll help me watch him, won’t you, Sergeant Sparks?

By all means.

If Major Gerwig is right about you, I’ll personally see that you go to a Recon-Unit. If you let him down I’m going to kick your ass up and down this California coast. Now get out of my sight!

Sir, yes Sir!

John Gerwig told me the rifle training I’d got from the NRA would help me in the Marine Corps, and it did. I had one of the highest scores on the rifle range in recent years. The Platoon Commander didn’t say anything, so I just had to assume he was pleased.

We left Camp Pendleton and returned to San Diego for the last two weeks of Boot Camp. The long-awaited day finally came: graduation. We put on our dress uniforms and marched to the ceremony for a speech from the Base Commander. Out of the original seventy recruits, only thirty-eight of us made it. After the ceremony we marched back to the platoon area. for the last time. There we were briefed on our next training assignment. Gabert kept his word; I had orders to return to Camp Pendleton for recon and advanced combat training. From Camp Pendleton I would go to El Toro, then to Okinawa, an island in the West Pacific, for jump school and jungle survival training. Before leaving for Okinawa I got ten days leave to go home, then reported back to Camp Pendleton, California, for Overseas Orientation.

I went with five thousand other Marines on the USS Walker. When the pilot boat led us out of San Diego Harbor most of us were standing on the port side looking at the massive USS Enterprise, the largest aircraft carrier in the world. I had never been so homesick in my life. I missed by home, my mother, and all those crazy friends of mine. I went below deck, sat down on my rack and wrote a letter home:

January 1, 1967

Dear Mother,

I’m sorry I haven’t written for a while, but I’ve been real busy. After returning from leave, they took me straight to the Camp Pendleton recon rifle range for more training with a high-powered Remington sniper rifle, for long distance targets. I’m on board the Navy ship USS Walker, headed for Okinawa. I guess I’m lucky, though. The rest of the Marines are going on to Da Nang, Vietnam. I won’t go there until at least March 5th when I turn eighteen. It should take us about twenty days to cross the Pacific and then I should start jump school right away. I’m nervous about that. But I’ll make it okay.

I took out a monthly allotment for you, so you