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THE NEW RESIDENCIA
ESTABLISHED – May 3rd, 1901
Editor – Ice
Dep Editor – PuP
Vice Pres – Daze
Exec VP – Six
Exec VP Circulation- Earl Snerdly
Political Hack – I.C. Mann
Ace Reporter – Johnnie
Scoop Reporter – Scratchomo
Janitor – Orge W. Brush Jr.
THE WEEKEND
“Uh, Susie”, I hollered over all the racket, “is there a back door to this trailer”?
She looked at me in a “dazed” way and pointed toward the back of the trailer, where she had just came from.
By now the guy outside is yelling and although I can’t make out what he is saying, I can understand “mad”, and this boy is pissed.
Running down the narrow hallway I reach the back of the trailer, and sure enough there’s a door, and as I come to a stop, Susie runs into my back, her breasts juggling against me, a sensation that under different circumstances would be nice; although at the moment, it just intensifies my desire to get out of the trailer, and away from her.
Peeking out the little window on the door, I see a little bit of open field, maybe 20 yards, and then a barbwire fence, about waist high. Involuntarily I flinch, as I think about traversing the fence, although that is not the big problem. On the other side of the fence are cattle, and one big fucking bull strutting around.
Suddenly I realize the guy has stopped yelling and the pounding has also stopped. The silence is somewhat disquieting to me, and as I peer out the little window, I wonder if he’s managed to get in the door. Susie is thinking the same thing, for she whispers to me, “do you think he’s inside”?
“Is this guy dangerous”, I ask her. She looks at me, and then says, “Buck’s threatened to kill anyone he finds with me if that’s what you mean”.
So a semi-serious situation has turned into a deadly fix, and as my mind races to the only conclusion, which is, it’s either deal with the guy or the bull; I see movement out the window of the door.
A trailer is being backed next to ours. It’s a much bigger trailer than the one we are in, almost twice as long, and more importantly, only about 15 feet from us.
“Susie, open the damn door, I know you’re in there”.
Silence.
Blam! “Shit - I think"...something just hit the front of the trailer hard. It sounded like a sledgehammer. Blam! Blam!
I believe the guy is beating the door down with something damn heavy, maybe it is a sledge, all I know is that he’ll have it down with a few more hits---Blam!
Blam!
Grabbing Susie’s hand I open the door and jump to the ground, dragging her out with me. We can hear the pounding as it resumes, sounding almost like gunshots. Hell, is he shooting a gun, I wonder... as I look around. The people backing the other trailer are still trying to get it situated, backing it up slowly.
“Come on”, I holler as I run to the other trailer, heading for the back door, praying that it’s not locked.
Grabbing the handle, the door opens smoothly and I both jump, and fall into the open door, dragging Susie with me.
Slamming it shut behind her, I look out the window, but he has not made it in the trailer yet, I can hear him still pounding on the door, but it has a different sound to it, a sound of not much resistance.
Then I realize what is going on. "He’s knocked the damn thing down" - and is just finishing up now. Man there is a lot of rage in him, I think to myself, not completely feeling safe yet.
Then I see him. He’s at the door we just came out, holding a huge sledgehammer. Stepping down to the ground, looking straight in our direction, he starts walking toward us.
Looking around the trailer I quickly scan for a weapon or something I can use as one. Nothing – Shit! I look back outside and see that he’s swinging the hammer like a baseball bat, as he walks toward us.
“Ok sucker”, I say out loud, "come on, start hitting on this door; and when you do, we’ll go out the front door".
I’m edging down the hall on my hands and knees, with Susie right behind me, when it hits me.
"The back door wasn’t locked, so the front door probably isn’t either". What if he changes his course and goes to the front door?
Pausing, I listen, but can’t hear anything, scrambling up on hands and knees, I half roll, half stumble to the front door, quickly locking it, as I look out the window.
Nothing! He must of kept walking to the back door, although I can’t get the angle I need to see him, if that is where he is.
“Okay… we’ll just sit here and wait for him to start in on the back door”, I whisper to Susie. She nods her head, and I can see little beads of sweat on her forehead, and I feel some on my own.
Inside my head - thoughts are flying everywhere, crashing into each other, one after the other.
Then - “Crap get ahold of yourself man”, roars through knocking everything out of the way.
Damn! Where is the guy in the pickup? He should be out by now. God I hope he didn’t just get out and walk to the clubhouse. Surely, he’ll come back here, and check things, right?
Just then everything changes - as the back door of the trailer opens, (we’d never locked it!) and I stare in astonishment as “Buck” jumps up in the trailer, laughing as he sees us huddled next to the front door.
Nothing to do but run; opening the door I jump down and turn to help Susie when all of a sudden she comes flying out, landing with a thud on the ground.
In the doorway, Buck is grinning and holding a small pistol in his right hand.
And from behind me – a new player in the game ---
“Drop it motherfucker”.
When I heard those words and that voice, from somewhere just over my right shoulder, and from another time and place, it was the first time I’d heard him in almost 30 years.
The voice is strong, and authoritative as hell, while still being level and calm.
I've recognized it "instantly".
It’s “Cat”.
And, as he walks in front of me, never lowering his shotgun from it’s bead on Buck, he looks at me and flashes those still white teeth, while saying, “What in the fuck are you doing”?
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NAM…..
As the jeep pulls along side the chopper, CSM Billings is looking at me. I look back.
Jacoby the CSM’s driver raises his eyebrows a little, acknowledging me, as he brings the jeep to a stop.
Billings gets out of the jeep, snaps off a salute for Squeaky, who gives him his usual “absent minded salute” back, cause it always pisses Billings off, and of course Squeaky knows this.
Turning back to the jeep, he grabs an expensive looking suitcase and hauls it out. Civilian suitcases are not allowed in the field, but it’s one of the perks of rank, “to not have to follow the rules”.
“Shit, I say under my breath, even the Colonel uses a duffel bag, but not this igmo”; adding a little louder, “I wonder if he knows there’s a war going on”?
But if he heard me, he ignores me, as he loads his luggage, grunting as he lifts the big suitcase into the chopper.
“We have a little problem Sgt Major”, Squeaky says, “I don’t have a gunner, he’s having his appendix taking out right about now”.
Billings snorts, as he says, “get another one”, as if Squeaky has chopper mechanics laying about waiting for his summons.
“Not any”, he answers.
Billings looks at me, then says, “hell, let Tyler do it, as much target practice as he gets, he ought to be good at it”.
“Just what I was thinking Sgt Major” – Squeaky quickly interjects before I can say anything.
“What’s this shit”? Billings is gesturing toward the two cases of M-16’s, that are sitting in the floor of the chopper.
“Changing them out for M-14’s I say, getting up into the gunner’s seat, and checking out the 60.
The Chaplain walks up carrying a small field bag, this is his second tour in Nam, and he usually travels light because he never stays long. Some say he’s scared, but so am I, so what else is new?
After he’s on and buckled in, Squeaky’s voice crackles through my headphones, “where’s Roberts”?
Before I can answer, the chopper’s engine fires smoothly, a low whine at first, and then louder, as the big overhead prop starts to slowly turn, as another jeep drives up.
It contains Squeaky’s co-pilot, Warrant Officer Andy Roberts, a newly arrived pilot from the states.
Roberts has been in country for just a few weeks, and according to Squeaky, is still a little jumpy, which won’t be helped any by the fact that he’s late; Squeaky can’t stand being held up.
Roberts has time to jump in the chopper, and is buckling in as we begin to lift off the ground a few feet, hovering.
Through my headphones I hear Squeaky; “you just made it man, another minute I’d been flying this rig by myself”.
I knew Squeaky would never fly without a co-pilot, unless in an extreme emergency, but I don’t think Roberts knew that, as he answered back with, “sorry about that, I overslept”.
Squeaky said nothing, which was much harder on Roberts than if he had answered him, even, cussed him.
“Squeaky” I said thru my mike, “Let’s check Cat out, see what he’s doing”?
“How long has he been on the road”?
“About an hour or so, I think”?
“Roger that, we’ll give him a buzz”.
I look around at the Sgt Major, he’s not plugged into the Colonel’s headphones yet, he and the Chaplain are chatting about killing people I suppose.
The chopper’s nose tilts downward a little, and turns toward the south as we start to move.
Leveling out and picking up speed quickly, Squeaky takes us the length of the compound at just over rooftop level, as he "opens it up", and I feel the familiar "rush", as I settle in for the ride.
Looking back as the compound grows smaller in the distance, I wonder what’s on the movies tonight.
Squeaky’s voice brings me back, out from my thoughts, straight into his, as I hear him telling Roberts that they will be flying in rain today, and I notice the black clouds hanging out, on the edge of the horizon.
Below I can see the road to Cam Rahn, and I look for the laundry truck that Cat is on.
A Poem underneath the glass on my desk.
This world is not conclusion;
A sequel stands beyond,
Invisible, as music,
But positive, as sound.
It beckons and it baffles;
Philosophies don’t know,
And through a riddle, at the last
Sagacity must go.
Emily Dickinson (1830-1886)
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