Wallflower Reunion----a short story I started a while back. This is the pitch for it.

Rick Steps is forty-eight years old and recently divorced.  His thirtieth high school class reunion is coming up in two days.  Rick plans to go and, hopefully, meet Chrissie Manuess; the girl he fell in love with in eighth grade.  He remained in love with her throughout high school, but never even talked to her, until the day he retrieved her ring when it came spinning towards him on the high school hallway floor.  It was a brief, awkward conversation that ensued.  He always wondered; Did she throw the ring on the floor so he would pick it up and approach her?  He was a wallflower in high school; he was an extremely shy,young man, who was not unattractive, but, nonetheless, lacked confidence.  Although Rick eventually became an attorney and projected a cool, confident demeanor in court, the idea of meeting Chrissie Manuess again filled him with anxiousness, but at the same time thoughts of recouping a lost opportunity for love excited him.  Little did he know the danger that awaited him.

Gabe's verbal rampage

Gabe poured himself a little more of the Weed and then said, “Before you tell it, I think I need to say a little more.  I want you to understand why I am the way I am.”  He paused, sipped his drink and then continued.

“I volunteered for listening posts 100-200 yards into the jungle and me and three other guys would sit there, listen and see if anybody came by, if they did we’d let them go by and then we’d alert the base.”

     “We’d capture a few guys.  Those we captured we had to turn over to the ARVN (Army of the Republic of Vietnam—- South Vietnam)

Most VC were village kids who didn’t have any useful knowledge.

The ARVN would tie two kids up to two different trees as they stood there while the ARVN questioned them.  One time the ARVN interrogator wound a chunk of twine around the VC’s neck and hung a detonator on it.  Then they’d walk over to a third tree (3-4 inches in diameter), wrap it around and hang another detonator to that.  Then without saying another word, they’d activate the detonator on the third tree and blow it up.  After that the VC wouldn’t shut up, they’d tell them anything they wanted to know.”

    “Another trick they had was to take four VC onto a Huey helicopter and without saying a word would grab one and throw him out,  then the other three told anything the ARVN wanted.”

    Jack thought back to the 1969, TV footage he had seen of an ARVN officer shooting a captured VC in the head.  The photograph of the event had gone viral, reaching millions in the United States and around the world helping fuel anti-war sentiments.

“I never enjoyed my part in any of that.  I never got used to it and it sickened me that we had to hand over those kids to ARVN and know how they were going to be treated."

Without prompting, Gabe continued.  He was on a roll and it seemed like he was eager to get everything out.  “We called it Operation Big Dick."

   "We’d taken the hill and blasted the jungle, burning it out for the one star General to come and get some combat points to advance to the next level of pay.  He’d fly in, have a hot meal, stay in a tent, and then fly out later.  This was his combat experience.  This pissed off everybody on the front line.”

   “Most of the guys around got sick, sooner or later, dysentery.  I was so sick one night, we were getting small arms fire.  I was so fucking sick, I crawled out to the shitter, two 45 gallon drums with a plank across it shitting my guts out, when I thought, just kill me.  Everyone had body lice and crawling worms on you, slug like creatures.  They’d get into everything, your shirts, boots, pants.” 

   “Leeches were a problem when you were crossing rice patties.  We burned them off with cigarettes.  If you pulled them off they ripped off portions of your skin so you had to burn them off.  Guys would be spreading their cheeks having other guys inspecting their asses.”  

   “Through it all I had a great time, yahoo.   I was the patrol leader-getting to hand pick my guys;that worked out pretty well.”

   “Then there was the night I spent a million bucks.  We thirteen guys on patrol set up an L shaped ambush-half covered the river trail and the other half covered the river bank.  Half the guys took a  snooze while half watched.”

  “Around 0200 hours one of the guys woke me up and said we had action on the other side of the river.  On the other side of the river we had a platoon sized group of VC’s -around eighty guys.  So, my choice we can hit 'em or not ambush.  Everyone was raring to go and we’d been a little bored anyway so we thought-we’ll hit 'em.  So I got on the radio advised base that we were going to hit them so we needed air cover.”  

Breaking News!

Another grandchild was born yesterday.  It's a girl and her name is Willow.  I might have to start a book involving all eight grandchildren now.

Books

I just finished reading the newest William Kent Krueger book,  Windigo Island.  I enjoyed it a lot and heartily recommend it for lovers of Minnesota authors who include local areas in their writings. I've now started Trickster's Point, another Krueger novel that features private detective Cork O'Conner. Loving this one as well.

War and protest

Gabe stared Jack in the eyes.  “There, you see why I saw a shrink and tried counseling until I couldn’t stand it?”  He shook his head again, giving Jack an opportunity to speak.

“You know, I get a little of what you’re saying because, and this sounds stupid, I know, because I’m going to equate fighting in the war to protesting the war back in the states.”

  “The first time I got involved in a protest there had been a bombing the night before at the Mankato Post Office.  Nobody was killed or hurt.  Whoever did it had set it off at night when nobody was working at the Post Office.  The next day I was in class as usual down at Old Main, the old business school.  A bunch of students had gathered and barricaded themselves and everyone else in a section of the building.  The professors just kind of said, ‘sayounara’, and went to their offices and locked themselves in.  I had to pee so I went to the men’s room on first floor where I ended up at the urinal standing next to one of the typical long haired hippie types.  The guy looked at me, and now I could hear the cops pounding on the main doors which this group of students had blockaded with all kinds of crap, garbage bins, benches, etc.  I think they must have even chained the doors.  I was amazed.  The sounds of the police pounding on the doors and ramming them with some kind of battering ram was deafening.  I was kind of shell shocked, to tell you the truth.  Anyway, the hippie guy standing next to me says, ‘When the pigs break through we’re going to hold our ground and fight.’  

“Well, I nodded my head as if I was totally into what he was saying, but I really wasn’t gonna have anything to do with that, so he finished pissing and took off toward where the cops were trying to bust through.  I went the opposite way and somehow, I don’t know where, I found a door I could get out of and left the building and went back to Searing Dorm.”

“My brother, the brave protester.”  Gabe clapped his hands slowly and laughed.

Jack, feeling a little sheepish and embarrassed, continued.

“Well, yeah, I’m not too proud of that, but, honestly, those hippies were going to get their heads bashed in and I just couldn’t see joining them.

A list of books I have for sale as ebooks or paperbacks on Amazon.com

Trust Me Now, published in 2012

Cassandra's Moon, published in 2013 (the sequel to Trust Me now)

The Book Club Murders, published in 2014

All available in Kindle format or paperback.

Back in Gabe's abode

”God, that was a storm to remember.  The eeriest thing was the brown, green, and yellow clouds that were blowing in from that little bay.  It was like nothing I had ever seen before.”

“The only other time I’d seen something like that was in Viet Nam,” Gabe offered.  

Jack perked up as soon as he heard Viet Nam mentioned.

“Tell me more, Gabe.”

Gabe regarded Jack cautiously, before he said, “You know I don’t really want to talk about that.”

“I know, Gabe, but maybe it would do us both some good.”  A long pause ensued as they both sipped on the Weed.  Finally, Jack dug into his back pocket and handed a couple of yellowed pages of hand written notes to Gabe, who accepted them warily.  

Breaking the silence, Gabe said with wonder in his voice,” These are my letters to you from Viet Nam.  I can’t believe you saved them all these years.”  

Jack nodded and said, “Maybe now is a good time to talk about it.”

  Gabe blinked, holding the papers as if he couldn’t decide if he wanted to throw them away or look at them.  Finally, he read the first one aloud:

Tet of 1967.  My unit was sent out to take hill 327 during operation Cochise.  It was just another hill thought to be a VC encampment.  We were dropped from helicopters in the jungle about a klick from the hill and proceeded on foot to take it.  As it turned out nobody wanted the hill until we got there.

With no enemy in sight, we were ordered to set up a perimeter and dig in for the duration.  We dug two man fox holes using folding, entrenching tools and filling sand bags using the dirt dug out of the holes.  These holes were home for the next 31 days and nights.

The days weren't so bad.  We ate in our holes, kept watch, and went out on patrols.  Occasional firefights were the rule.  Constant heat, off and on rain, and poor sanitation contributed to body lice, diarrhea, and jungle rot.  Talk about a bunch of pissed off guys!

Then would come the nights.  It would seem as though everybody in the world wanted our hill.  Mortars, rockets, and hit and run tactics against our perimeter would happen sporadically throughout.

So much more happened here, I just don’t want to write anymore about; I’ll tell you over many drinks some day.

Your brother, Gabe.

Gabe stared off into space and then returned to the next letter and read that one aloud:

We crossed the Pacific Ocean on a ship and hit the beach in Viet Nam in July, 1966.   Night fanfare and a few rockets and mortar rounds were there to greet us.  Temperature and humidity in the 100 degree range and giant Minnesota mosquitoes, lizards, and snakes were also on hand.

All of these things dictated certain sanitations to avoid dysentery, jungle fever, malaria, and a few others.  This is where we first learned about the joyous duty of burning shitters.

We had above ground out houses which could not be placed over a hole in the ground.  Instead, a flap type of door on the rear of the structure gave access to the space under the holes.  In this space were 55 gallon drums cut in half and placed under each hole.  These drums contained 1/3 diesel fuel and 2/3 of, well, you know what.

A detail of young privates would then pull the drums out twice a week and light this odiferous mass and then using long 
sticks would stir until only ash remained.  What a treat!

On a lighter note, two young lads we referred to as Salt & Pepper who had spent the entire shipboard time in the brig joined us on burning detail.  They offered to do the officers territory because none of the rest of the enlisted men wanted to.  They got to the officers territory and immediately tossed burning rags down the holes without first removing the drums.  A beautiful blaze, easily visible across the entire camp was greeted by cheers from some and jeers from those of higher rank.  Needless to say, Salt & Pepper did some more brig time.

One last thing, Bro.  Don’t come over here, no matter what!

Gabe handed the letters back to Jack.

“You got anymore of these?”

“No.  Those were the only two you ever wrote me, so I saved them and figured you would want to talk some day.”  

“Well, a little more to drink, and we’ll talk about it.”  He poured two fingers of the Weed into each glass.  It was beginning to taste better all the time to Jack.