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A SOLDIER'S STORY

by Rick Croucher

It was warm at one in the morning.  The city was asleep.  It was 1963.  Only drunks and fools walked or rode the streets.  The only sound was the occasional tomcat claiming his mate or a garbage can lid clattering along the street away from the can toppled by a hungry dog.  This night’s quiet was shattered by the screech of tires as a green falcon ripped around the corner and roared over the fallen garbage can lid. 

“Watch it, dipshit! How you expect me to drink outta the bottle if you keep whipping around corners and hittin’ bumps where ever you see ‘em.”

“Sorry.  Didn’t see the lid. You finished with that bottle?”

“Hell no, I ain’t even started.

“Well save me some.  I bought the damn stuff.

“Yeah, so?  You’re drivin’.  You don’t need it.”

“I can always stop the car and you can walk.”

“Yeah?  You gonna make me?”

“Oh, come on.  I wanna swig.”

“Oh, all right.  Here.”

He passed the bottle over the seat back.  I slowed down as I reached for it.

“Watch out!”

“What? What is it?” I said trying to drink from the bottle, drive the car and look in one movement.

“Stop the car.  That fella needs help.”

He was right.  I pulled over to the curb and we started to jump out of the car.

“Wait.  We may have jumped the gun.  Watch.”

At the intersection ahead was a soldier surrounded by six toughs.  He was crouched and watching all of the men closing in on him.  His head moved from side to side as they came closer.  The circled tightened until one of them jumped and swung at the soldier.  His fist cracked the man’s nose.  He staggered back.  The two at his back jumped forward.  The soldier’s foot flashed around in an arc cracking their heads and laying them out.  Their heads thumped the pavement and they lay still.  Three were left.  They looked at each other and charged.  The soldier popped the one to his left with the flat pane of all five fingers to the windpipe.  He backhanded the one to his right startling him and kicked high into the third’s groin, which sent him tumbling to the street clutching his nuts. Four of them lay in agony and two sprinted away.  It had taken a minute, a minute and a half.

We jumped out of the car and raced over to him.  Like a coil of wire he returned to his stance and shouted at us, “Come on, bastards!  Come join your friends.  I can take you all on and be out of here in your car there before you know what hit you.”

“Whoa, man.  We’re not with them.  We thought you needed help.”

“Hell no I don’t need your help.  I’m a fuckin’ Green Beret.  I’m a fuckin’ trained killer.  Why would I need your pansy ass help?”

We stood a ways back.  He was drunk, very drunk, but poised to strike, it was apparent he didn’t believe us.

“It’s OK really.  Maybe we could give you a ride?”

“Yeah,” he said rising to his full height.  He was about 5’5.”  We were astonished.  The guys who were slowly crawling away had been over six feet.  He kicked one of them into the gutter as he started to look around.

“Whacha lookin’ for?”  I asked.

“My beret.  My green beret.  I gotta find it.”

“What does it look like?” I asked. 

“It’s a green beret.  My headgear.  My uniform.”

“OK.  Come on guys let’s help him find it.”

We all mulled around the area looking for a green beret even though we had no idea what it was. 

“Is this it?” 

“No, that’s not a beret.  There.  Over there.” He was pointing to a pile of green cloth that was bunched up against the wall.  The lady sitting on the crescent moon holding a bottle of beer looked down at us as we collected the bit of cloth and gave it to him.

“Thanks,” he said beating it against his trouser leg.  He brushed it off and stood up squaring his shoulders.  He placed it on his head in a manner reminding me of Napoleon’s crowning himself at his coronation.  The he set it at an angle. 

“All right.  Let’s go.”  He marched off toward the car.  His attackers had fled the scene as we searched for his beret.

“You hungry?”  I asked.

“Hell, yeah, I’m hungry.  Any place to get some chow?”

“Patio’s always open,” I said as we piled in the Falcon.

“You guys are all right,” he said.  He took possession of the front seat.  The others wedged into the back.

“I know this is a stupid question, but what’s a Green Beret?” I was the one who asked.  I thought the hat he’d made us hunt for looked stupid. 

He looked at me like I was the stupidest human alive.  Looked to the front and cranked the car.

“The Green Beret is the best of the best.  He’s trained to live off the land behind enemy territory. He’s trained to kill and destroy.  He’s trained to make those gook bastards piss their pants at the mere whisper of the words Green Beret.  You think Marines are tough.  They’re pansy asses compared to me and my brothers.  We’re the Army’s absolute best, bar none.

“I could kill you with the flick of my wrist, pop the door handle and throw you our before your next breath.  I’m the best.”

“Have you killed anyone?” I stammered.

“Stupid question.  Where’s the grub you promised.”

We drove in silence to the Patio.  One of my buddies from the back seat offered him the half full pint bottle. 

“Thanks,” he said, taking the bottle and downing its contents.  He tossed it into the street.  It shattered on the pavement behind us.  I punched the gas.  

“There, up ahead.  The Patio.”  We all breathed easier knowing we could unload this guy. 

I pulled up to the back door and stopped.  We piled out.  There weren’t many inside this time of the morning, but those who were there raised there eyes to take in the uniform.  There were some who smiled a bit seeing the beret on the soldier’s head.  They were obviously as ignorant as I was.  The soldier took it off and folded it through his belt flashing a look of drunken anger at the smirkers.

“Got a problem over there, junior?”

The guy’s smile faded as he shook his head and turned around.

“Stupid bastard,” the soldier muttered as he sat down.

“How’s ‘bout a hamburger and some fries over here for our friend.”

The man behind the counter nodded and tossed a thick disc of hamburger on the grill.  The sound of sizzling meat rose above the sound of music from the jukebox.

“So where are you stationed?” one of us asked. 

“I been in 'Nam.”

“Nam?  Where’s Nam?”

“Viet Nam!  You fellas are the dumbest bunch I’ve ever run across.  I been over there fighting a war and you dumb shits don’t even know where it is.  You don’t appreciate shit.”

He started to rise.  We saw the anger burning in those red eyes.

“Whoa, soldier.”  It was the owner coming over to the table.  He was always there at the first sign of trouble.  “It’s all right.  Here have a beer and tell me about your tour of duty.  I was in the last one and Korea.  I can sympathize.  You’re right these dipshits don’t know nothing about being a soldier.  They don’t appreciate it ‘cause they’re too busy drinkin’ and lookin’ for girls.  Me?  I want to hear everything you got to tell.  The burger and beer are on me.”

“Thank you friend,” said the soldier.  His fists opened up and he took the beer and shook the owner’s hand.

They brought his food to the table in the corner and began exchanging war stories.  The beer continued to flow as the owner waved the waitress over periodically.  We began to down a few ourselves and told our own bunch of lies about female conquests and how drunk we’d been at the last dance at school.  Not once did Viet Nam come up in our conversation because we never watched the news that much.  Last time we’d been glued to the set over news was the days of mourning following the assassination of Kennedy.  News sucked.  It was always bad and we had no use for that.  The world was opening up to us and we knew we were going to take it by storm when our chance came.  This high school shit was the only thing holding us back.  One more year and we’d be outta there and into the real world.  We wouldn’t be taking orders from anyone and we’d find a job we liked and never buckle down.  We’d be free. 

The reverie at our table came to a sudden halt as a piercing scream came from the corner.  We all stopped and turned.  The owner motioned for us to sit down and but out.  We did.  The stillness was broken by sobs.  They were coming from the corner.

“Oh, God!  I can’t tell you the things I’ve done.  The things they have done.  It’s horrible.  Yes, I’m the best and I’ve proved it over and over.  The last one…the last one…the kids…kids…”  The sentence broke off into heart wrenching sobs.  “The kids…”

“What’s he talking about?” one of us said.

The soldier jumped up, his chair skidded into the wall.  He was standing ready to come for us. 

“You stupid bastards will know soon enough!  You wait!  Never heard of Nam?  You will.  You will.”  His voice trailed off into more sobs.  The owner put his arm around him and looked at us.  The sadness in his eyes spoke of the things he had witnessed during his time in the army.  “Come on son.  Pull yourself together, now.”

“You don’t understand.  I’ve been over there a full tour.  I’m here on leave.  It’s over tonight.  I’m shipping back over for a second tour.  I…I don’t want to go back.  I don’t want to.  I’m afraid I’ll never see the states again.  Please I don’t want to go back.”  His eyes pleaded with the owner.  His hands held tightly to the owner’s arm.  “Please,” he whispered.

“All right, son.  All right.  Here.  Have another beer and try to get hold of yourself.  You have to do what you have to do.  I did.  I hated it.  I never wanted to go.  But there are times when we have to do what is right…”

“No.  You don’t understand.  This isn’t like your war.  This is different.  Totally different.”

“War is war, son.  We men have to carry our load.  We have to do our duty.  Come on now.  Maybe you could use some coffee.  I’ll drive you back to the base myself.  It’ll be all right.”

The soldier stared at the beer in his hand then slid it away.  “Yeah, coffee.  That’ll make it right.  I know.  I have to go.  I don’t have a choice.  You’re right.  It’ll be all right.”

His eyes were empty.  It was as if he turned to a corpse in front of us.  His eyes became flat and lifeless staring straight ahead.  He lifted the coffee cup to his lips and sipped it.  He was no longer with us but back in the jungles we knew nothing of.  He remained docile while he drank his coffee.  When he’d finished he stood and pulled the beret from his belt.  Once again he crowned himself and pulled it to the side as he stood straight and proud.  The Green Beret strode off with the owner.  He recovered his composure.  His eyes remained haunted.  He shuffled along side the owner who led him to his car and opened the door to the passenger side.  The soldier sat.  The owner, sadness in his eyes, backed up then leapt forward.

We all looked at each other as if to say, “What the hell was that all about?” but no one did.  The night was almost over.  The sun had begun to spill its light in the east.  We hadn’t realized the time.  All of us jumped out of our seats and ran to the car.  We had to get home before our parents woke up.  The drive was fast and silent.  We never spoke of the soldier again, but he was right.  We would hear of Viet Nam one day.

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