Whispers

[Robbie C.]

So I got a wild hair and wrote this today. The action Jimmie talks about did take place when and where it's described. I just wanted to poke around for some reasons why Sonny might have buried his Vietnam service.

 

1995

 

Even with the ceiling fan turning like a Huey’s rotors spinning down it was warm in the room. Or maybe it just felt that way. Sonny Crockett shifted in his chair, feeling his shirt peel away from his spine as the sweat reluctantly let it go. Across the desk from him, Bobby ‘Tex’ Crandall looked up from his note pad. “So yore sayin’ you never really had flashbacks?”

“No. I didn’t. Not really. Oh, I had some dreams at first, but not many.” Sonny shifted again. “To be honest I tried to put it all out of my mind after my second tour. Came home after the Saigon evacuation, took an early out, and that was that.”

“Yu know it ain’t ever that easy.”

“Yeah. I know.” He shook his head. “But I was young and dumb. Figured all that was behind me. I was gonna be a cop, not a Marine, so I tried to pack all that stuff up with my old fatigues. You know…”

“Yeah. Ah tried the same thing. Ah think we all did at one time or another.” Tex scribbled something on his pad. “So what changed?”

“It was just after I joined Vice. Ridin’ high, you know? Accepted into a hot shot unit. Wife and son at home. We’d just wrapped up a big bust on a weed dealer out near Florida City and I was heading home. That’s when the call came in…”

 

MAY, 1983

 

Sonny Crockett downshifted the Ferrari Daytona in anticipation of the curve ahead. He’d only had the car for a couple of weeks, and was still getting used to how it handled. He was feeling good. They’d just finished the paperwork for a big pot bust outside Florida City, shutting down an operation that had been moving up to two hundred pounds of swamp-grown weed at a time. He’d worked the case in cooperation with local PD, and the warm feeling coming from a successful bust still flowed through his veins.

The hissing of the radio broke into his thoughts. “Any units. We have shots fired…”

Sonny knew the address. One of the trailer parks clinging to the edges of swampland. He’d been there more than a few times during his stint with Patrol. Maybe not that trailer, but enough like it he could see the place in his mind as he hit the gas and changed course. Enough nickel and dime deals took place in those rust-magnets he might catch a lead or two. There was a speed dealer somewhere in the area they’d been trying to get a bead on for months. Maybe this was the break they’d been waiting for,

The trailer was exactly what he’d expected…a run down and rusting single-wide perched on crumbling cinderblocks. A loose fan of three squad cars parked in front, their light bars painting the metal alternating red and blue. Breaking, he jumped out of the Daytona, avoiding a pile of beer cans. “Crockett! Vice! Heard the call on the radio. What’s going on?”

A thickset man detached himself from the uniforms hunkered behind the cars. Two stripes adorned his shoulders, and his eyes were hidden by mirrored aviators affected by a certain type of cop. “Afternoon, detective. Got us a real live one in there. 2-4 over there rolled on a noise complaint, and when they pulled up he took some shots at ‘em. They called for backup, and here we are. Central just said SWAT’s on the way, but it’s gonna take them at least half an hour to get here.”

Crockett nodded toward the trailer. “What’s his story? Any idea?”

One of the younger cops came forward, keeping low. “I’ve been out here three or four times in the last six months, detective. Guy has a few too many, squeezes off a few rounds, then settles back down.”

“But not this time?”

“No. Can’t say’s I’ve seen him like this before.”

“He got a name?” Already Sonny was regretting turning around. These calls never ended well.

“Yeah. Jimmie McStatten. Local guy, I think.”

Sonny nodded, the name clicking into place. “Yeah. I remember his name from high school ball.”

The stripe-wearer’s eyes lit up. “So you know him?”

“Naw. Nothin’ like that. He was one, maybe two years behind me and in a different bracket.” Sonny squinted behind his sunglasses, trying to prod his memory. “Free safety mostly, I think. But a good one.”

The younger cop scratched his chin. “Wonder what the hell happened to him?”

Maybe it was something in the kid’s voice. Sonny was never sure, not even later when he had time to think about it. “Well, let’s Goddamn well find out. You jokers stay out here unless you hear shots.” Shrugging off his jacket and shoulder rig, the heavy SIG landing with a soft thunk in the leather seat of the Daytona, he raised his arms and started toward the trailer. “Hey, Jimmie! It’s Sonny Crockett! You remember me? Wide receiver from crosstown?”

For what felt like forever the only sound was the droning of God knows how many insects. Then a thin voice echoed from somewhere inside the trailer. “Sonny? Yeah, I ‘member you. But you can’t convince me…”

“Man, how could anyone forget that hit you laid on Charlie Walters during the playoffs? Made me damned happy we never played you guys.” Sonny kept his hands up, imagining he saw someone moving back in the darkness past a screen door dangling from a single hinge. “Hey, tell ya what? Why don’t I come on up there an’ we can talk ball some?” He made a show of wiping his forehead. “Midday sun’s a killer.”

There was silence. “Can’t hurt none I guess. Just you, though. An’ no tricks from them boys behind you.” Another pause. “And this ain’t hot. Nam was hot.”

Shit. “Yeah.” Gotta be careful now. Hope I can keep him to football. All his good feelings from the bust washed away in sweat suddenly streaming down the curve of his spine. He kept moving toward the sagging board steps. “Comin’ in now, Jimmie. Hey, you ain’t got a spare cold one, do you? Hard to talk ball without beer.”

The air in the tin box of a trailer was thicker than the swamp. As his eyes adjusted to the gloom, Sonny tried to hide his surprise. In contrast to the yard, and everything else he’d seen, the inside of the trailer was clean and sharp. Military sharp. He could see a scattering of photos on the far wall and what looked like a high school football trophy on the divider between the kitchen and small dining area caught a thin beam of light from the door. It took him a moment longer to find the man.

Jimmie McStatten slumped in a chair in the corner of the dining area, partly behind what looked like a length of camouflage netting strung from the ceiling. Sonny caught a glimpse of the rifle propped against the wall…not an M-16 but the bigger M-14. Jimmie was rail-thin and narrow jawed, and his light blue eyes seemed to glow from inside. “Seen you ain’t armed when you was comin’ up,” he said, waving a big hand toward a beer can on the table. “Opened one for you.”

Sitting, Sonny ran the cool metal over his forehead. The beer was cold, and he held it in his mouth for a moment before swallowing. “Thanks, Jimmie. That feels damned good.” He used the motion to take a closer look at the photos. Unit pictures. From Vietnam. I’d know those uniforms and hooches anywhere.

“Heard you made it to college ball.” Jimmie took a deep swig of his own beer, keeping the can in his left hand.

Bet he’s got a pistol somewhere. “Yeah, but it didn’t work out. College, mostly. Classrooms and me just don’t get along.” He took another drink, pulling courage from inside the can. “I always thought you’d show up at Florida, too. Couple of the coaches asked me about you.” It wasn’t a lie.

The laugh when it came was a dry bark. “Life had other plans.”

Sonny looked at the pictures again. “Nam?”

“What’d you know about it?” The voice was sharp now. Mean. Like the click of a mine’s pressure plate.

“USMC. ’69 to ’70 and then again ’71 to ’72.” Sonny shook his head. “Like I said, college didn’t work out.” He nodded toward the pictures. “Looks like you were a bit south of us. I was around Da Nang for both tours. Furthest south I ever got was Plieku.”

“No shit?”

“No shit. ‘Course I was a pogue.”

“A what?”

“Sorry. You were Army, right? Pogue is like your REMF. I was an MP.” He shook his head again. “Chasing AWOL grunts and running convoy escorts. We’d get shot up time to time, but it was even odds if it was the VC or our own guys stoned out of their minds.”

“REMF is right!” Jimmie’s laugh felt real this time, a bigger thing coming from inside his chest and not his throat. “Still, at least you was there. Not like them kids outside.”

“Yeah. Hell of a thing. Us two Nam vets sittin’ here drinkin’ beer in heat that sure feels like Nam.” Sonny knew he had to keep the man talking. Try to pull something out of him. The problem was he didn’t like what it might pull out of him at the same time. “You look like you need another, speakin’ of beer.”

“In the icebox. Grab yourself another, too. Even if you were a damned jarhead.”

Sonny pulled two beers out of the fridge, counting at least twenty more cans along with the remains of what looked like take-out Chinese. “So now it’s your turn, pal.”

“Yeah. I was there. Right out of high school. College didn’t agree with you? Tests didn’t agree with me. Least the kind you need for them fancy schools. A week later I get my ‘greetings’ an’ off I go. Army infantry. Eleven Bush they liked to say.” He went quiet again, taking a deep pull from the fresh beer Sonny slid across the table. “They sent me to the First Infantry Division. The Big Dead One. ’68 to ’69 more or less. One helping was enough for me.”

“Down by Saigon, right? I was First Marine Division.” The second beer tasted better than the first. Don’t know if I wanna poke this one, but I gotta ask. “You there for Tet?”

“Not the first part. I missed that fun ride.” Jimmie leaned back in his chair, and Sonny couldn’t see his eyes. “But there was still plenty of fun to go around. ‘Specially if you was a grunt.”

“We did sweeps sometimes. Generals would run short on 0300 Marines so they’d grab us and send us in. Mostly VC down where we were, not like the NVA up along the DMZ or over by Khe Sahn and all that. Still, those boys could lay a mean ambush.”

“That’s no shit. Spent most a my tour runin’ up and down the same damned roads with them gooks poppin’ ambushes almost every time. That’s when we weren’t out humpin’ the boonies lookin’ for them.”

“We always heard III Corps was rough.”

The dry chuckle came again. “We heard the same about Eye Corps. Guess it all depends on where you were. An’ when you were.”

“So…what happened today, Jimmie? I see you got the M-14 over there. Nice weapon. Did Basic with the M-14. The Corps loved that damned heavy cannon.”

“Yeah.” The other man looked toward the rifle but didn’t touch it. And, more importantly, didn’t offer to let Sonny see it. “The Mattel special was more like a damned kid’s toy. Nice on full auto, but don’t try hittin’ nothin’ with it.”

“That’s what we thought, too. Had to carry one on the gun jeep and hated it.” He paused. Time to try again. “So what happened today, Jimmie?” Digging into his front pocket he pulled out a battered pack of Lucky Strikes and equally dented Ronson lighter.

“Now those bastards take me back.” Jimmie tapped one out of the pack and lit it before tossing the lighter back to Sonny, who fired up his own cigarette. “C-rats an’ all.” The tip glowed tracer red before being swallowed by a cloud of smoke. “You asked about today. Well, it ain’t today. Not exactly.”

Sonny let the smoke hiss out his nostrils before taking another drink of beer. Not much longer and those SWAT boys will be here. “You wanna tell me about it? It’s cool if you don’t, but I’m not a cherry who doesn’t know the score.”

Jimmie vanished in another cloud of smoke. “Hell, why not? Been sittin’ on it for years. I’d been in-country maybe three weeks. With my unit one week. Second Platoon, Delta Company, First Battalion, Eighteenth Infantry.” He waved toward one of the photos. “Guy I came into the unit with took that photo of the platoon day before we stepped off on this op.”

“May…” Sonny rubbed his eyes, the thick air in the trailer messing with his head. “That was Mini-Tet, wasn’t it?”

“Guess that’s what the paper jockeys called it.” Jimmie took another deep drink, his eyes straying back to the M-14. “Anyhow, they sent our company into this pissant village called Tan Hiep. Word was someone had seen gook scouts in there the day before. Least that’s what the platoon sergeant told us before we jumped off. Me? I’m humpin’ my gear all bright eyed with that damned M-16 when I notice some of the short-timers are lookin’ at each other and shiftin’ ammo around. I ask the guy they partnered me with what was up an’ he says it’s ‘cause there’s no civilians around. That’s when cherry ol’ me notices there ain’t no kids, no mama-sans, no nothin’.”

Sonny shook his head. He’d seen the same thing a few times in Da Nang, and it always made your stomach freeze into jagged knots. “That’s never good.”

“Didn’t know that then.” He kept staring at the rifle. “So we keep movin’ because no one on the other end of the radio told our LT to stop. So I’m starin’ at these empty houses when there’s this funny pop an’a flash.”

“RPG.”

“Yep. Hit just shy of the command team an’ got our butter bar a Purple Heart an’ I think a Bronze Star. Then the AKs opened up. An’ more RPGs.” Crockett could see Jimmie’s eyes now…wide and staring straight ahead without seeing anything.

“Hey, pal? It’s just us here now, man. It’s cool.”

“Guy they paired me with? He caught some of that fire. Got his ticket home, but in a body bag instead of a Freedom Bird. I hit the deck an’ fuckin’ froze. Me!”

“Show me a guy who says he didn’t freeze in his first firefight and I’ll show you a liar.” Sonny dug deep, peeling back memories he didn’t want to see. “I damned near pissed my pants my first time out. Nothin’ as big as yours, though. But the first time I heard those damned AKs bark and something snapped past my ear I hit the damned ground like I’d been tackled by a three hundred pound free safety.”

“Guy next to you get hit?”

“Not that time.” Sonny took a deep drink of the beer. He could feel his gut churning…the memories coming hard and fast now. “But I did lose a good friend over there. Same kinda ambush, except we were on a trail in paddy country. Working with some grunt unit ‘cause they were short guys and we had some friends there. They get hit, their LT goes down, and so do two of my buddies. One I met in-country, but you might know the other. Robbie Cann.”

“He played ball too, didn’t he?”

“Yeah. Anyhow, they both caught bullets. I managed to get Robbie out of the kill zone. But not…”

“Man, you get it, then.”

“Yeah.”

“You know…some nights I hear ‘em out there. Creepin’ around in the swamp grass. I throw a few rounds out an’ they back off.” The cigarette flashed like a parachute flare as he took another deep drag. “Those uniform boys show up ‘cause of that, but I tell ‘em it’s gators an’ they leave again.”

“So what happened today?”

“I…I don’t rightly know. Today I usually get shitfaced an’ pass out on the couch. Safer that way. But I was havin’ my third beer an’ I heard that damned pop. You know…the RPG pop. So I grab ol’ reliable there and let fly.” Jimmie scrubbed his face with a dirty hand. “Gotta keep ‘em back. It’s my sector. Can’t let ‘em through.”

It wasn’t much, but it was an opening. Sonny leaned forward, touching Jimmie’s forearm. “Hey, pal. I can watch the sector for you for a bit. We need to get you some help. You know, sick call.”

“Sick call…yeah…maybe that would help. I…I just don’t know.”

“Tell you what. Punch the mag outa that rifle and we’ll walk on out. I’ll come right back and secure the sector for you. That’s how it works, right? Buddies watch out for each other.” He held out his hand.

Jimmie looked up like he was seeing Sonny for the first time. Then he gave a slow nod and reached for the M-14. The loaded magazine hit the table with a heavy thud, followed by the chambered round as Jimmie worked the bolt with practiced, trained ease. “Ready to report for sick call. My weapon is secured.” He turned it so Sonny could see the open chamber and the locked-back loading lever.

“Outstanding, troop.” He wasn’t quite sure what the Army called their guys, but Jimmie just grinned at the term. “I’ll let ‘em know we’re coming out and that you’re squared away.” He could hear vehicle doors slamming outside. Shit. SWAT’s here. Stepping to the door, he raised his hands. “We’re coming out. Jimmie’s all good.” He could sense movement behind him and stepped to one side. “He’s coming quietly. It’s all…”

The single shot sounded like a cannon in the thick spring air. Sonny stood stock still for a heartbeat, feeling hot, thick liquid splatter across the side of his face. The crash of Jimmie hitting the floor of the trailer was almost lost in the echoes of the shot.

“What the FUCK did you just do?” Sonny wasn’t sure how he got from the porch to the face of the SWAT shooter. Or how he managed to keep from smashing his fist through the man’s grinning face. “He wasn’t resisting! He wasn’t armed! He posed NO threat!”

“That’s not what I saw, detective. I saw a dangerous gunman and acted accordingly.”

This time Sonny didn’t hold back. The punch caught the man square in the face, breaking his nose and possibly more. He felt a hand touch his arm and spun. “Keep your fucking hands off me.” It was his old Marine voice…low and full of menace. The one he used to control drunken crowds. “Anyone else touches me they end up like him. I want this crime scene secured. And you” - he turned to the one with stripes - “you get Internal Affairs out here. That wasn’t a request, girls.”

 

1993

 

The ceiling fan thumped away like a distant chopper. Tex stared down at his notes, but Sonny could see a gentle shaking in the hand holding the pen. “What happened to t’ SWAT guy?”

“Not as much as I wanted. They shifted him off to some candy-ass assignment. Writing tickets on the Intercostal most likely. But he was back with them within a couple of months. IA had an open and shut look and called it a clean shoot.” Sonny felt his hands balling into fists. “But there was nothing clean about it.”

“You complained.” It wasn’t a question.

“Yeah. But they weren’t interested. He was a ‘troubled vet’ and it was an ‘unfortunate accident.’ What I said didn’t matter.” He stared down at his hands. “And that’s when I decided never to talk about Vietnam again. To just put it all away and never bring it out again. Of course it didn’t work, but…”

“After seein’ that what the hell else could yu do?”

“I could have been a Marine. Stood up for Jimmie McStatten when no one else would.”

“Then yu’d just be another crazy vet.”

“Yeah. And the force would have been quick to find a reason to get rid of me. Or make things so miserable I’d quit on my own.” He was quiet again, glad Tex let the silence linger. “You know, I’ve never told anyone else about this. Not Jenny. Not Caroline. Not even Tubbs. I thought I’d take Jimmie to the grave with me. The sad thing is he’d been a good kid. Hell of a ball player. Probably would have done good if…”

“Vietnam. And worse, what happened after. Ah reckon we both seen enough of that.” Tex dropped his pen on the pad. “Yu can let him go now, Sonny.”

“Yeah.” Sonny didn’t look up. “I hope so.”

[vicegirl85]

I can't really come up with any words worthy of this.  It touched something really deep.

[Robbie C.]

It just sort of came to me. Can’t really explain it other than that. Hope you enjoyed it. 

[Matt5]

9 hours ago, vicegirl85 said:

I can't really come up with any words worthy of this.  It touched something really deep.

Great piece.

[Matt5]

On 1/27/2021 at 2:53 AM, Robbie C. said:

So I got a wild hair and wrote this today. The action Jimmie talks about did take place when and where it's described. I just wanted to poke around for some reasons why Sonny might have buried his Vietnam service.

 

1995

 

Even with the ceiling fan turning like a Huey’s rotors spinning down it was warm in the room. Or maybe it just felt that way. Sonny Crockett shifted in his chair, feeling his shirt peel away from his spine as the sweat reluctantly let it go. Across the desk from him, Bobby ‘Tex’ Crandall looked up from his note pad. “So yore sayin’ you never really had flashbacks?”

“No. I didn’t. Not really. Oh, I had some dreams at first, but not many.” Sonny shifted again. “To be honest I tried to put it all out of my mind after my second tour. Came home after the Saigon evacuation, took an early out, and that was that.”

“Yu know it ain’t ever that easy.”

“Yeah. I know.” He shook his head. “But I was young and dumb. Figured all that was behind me. I was gonna be a cop, not a Marine, so I tried to pack all that stuff up with my old fatigues. You know…”

“Yeah. Ah tried the same thing. Ah think we all did at one time or another.” Tex scribbled something on his pad. “So what changed?”

“It was just after I joined Vice. Ridin’ high, you know? Accepted into a hot shot unit. Wife and son at home. We’d just wrapped up a big bust on a weed dealer out near Florida City and I was heading home. That’s when the call came in…”

 

MAY, 1983

 

Sonny Crockett downshifted the Ferrari Daytona in anticipation of the curve ahead. He’d only had the car for a couple of weeks, and was still getting used to how it handled. He was feeling good. They’d just finished the paperwork for a big pot bust outside Florida City, shutting down an operation that had been moving up to two hundred pounds of swamp-grown weed at a time. He’d worked the case in cooperation with local PD, and the warm feeling coming from a successful bust still flowed through his veins.

The hissing of the radio broke into his thoughts. “Any units. We have shots fired…”

Sonny knew the address. One of the trailer parks clinging to the edges of swampland. He’d been there more than a few times during his stint with Patrol. Maybe not that trailer, but enough like it he could see the place in his mind as he hit the gas and changed course. Enough nickel and dime deals took place in those rust-magnets he might catch a lead or two. There was a speed dealer somewhere in the area they’d been trying to get a bead on for months. Maybe this was the break they’d been waiting for,

The trailer was exactly what he’d expected…a run down and rusting single-wide perched on crumbling cinderblocks. A loose fan of three squad cars parked in front, their light bars painting the metal alternating red and blue. Breaking, he jumped out of the Daytona, avoiding a pile of beer cans. “Crockett! Vice! Heard the call on the radio. What’s going on?”

A thickset man detached himself from the uniforms hunkered behind the cars. Two stripes adorned his shoulders, and his eyes were hidden by mirrored aviators affected by a certain type of cop. “Afternoon, detective. Got us a real live one in there. 2-4 over there rolled on a noise complaint, and when they pulled up he took some shots at ‘em. They called for backup, and here we are. Central just said SWAT’s on the way, but it’s gonna take them at least half an hour to get here.”

Crockett nodded toward the trailer. “What’s his story? Any idea?”

One of the younger cops came forward, keeping low. “I’ve been out here three or four times in the last six months, detective. Guy has a few too many, squeezes off a few rounds, then settles back down.”

“But not this time?”

“No. Can’t say’s I’ve seen him like this before.”

“He got a name?” Already Sonny was regretting turning around. These calls never ended well.

“Yeah. Jimmie McStatten. Local guy, I think.”

Sonny nodded, the name clicking into place. “Yeah. I remember his name from high school ball.”

The stripe-wearer’s eyes lit up. “So you know him?”

“Naw. Nothin’ like that. He was one, maybe two years behind me and in a different bracket.” Sonny squinted behind his sunglasses, trying to prod his memory. “Free safety mostly, I think. But a good one.”

The younger cop scratched his chin. “Wonder what the hell happened to him?”

Maybe it was something in the kid’s voice. Sonny was never sure, not even later when he had time to think about it. “Well, let’s Goddamn well find out. You jokers stay out here unless you hear shots.” Shrugging off his jacket and shoulder rig, the heavy SIG landing with a soft thunk in the leather seat of the Daytona, he raised his arms and started toward the trailer. “Hey, Jimmie! It’s Sonny Crockett! You remember me? Wide receiver from crosstown?”

For what felt like forever the only sound was the droning of God knows how many insects. Then a thin voice echoed from somewhere inside the trailer. “Sonny? Yeah, I ‘member you. But you can’t convince me…”

“Man, how could anyone forget that hit you laid on Charlie Walters during the playoffs? Made me damned happy we never played you guys.” Sonny kept his hands up, imagining he saw someone moving back in the darkness past a screen door dangling from a single hinge. “Hey, tell ya what? Why don’t I come on up there an’ we can talk ball some?” He made a show of wiping his forehead. “Midday sun’s a killer.”

There was silence. “Can’t hurt none I guess. Just you, though. An’ no tricks from them boys behind you.” Another pause. “And this ain’t hot. Nam was hot.”

Shit. “Yeah.” Gotta be careful now. Hope I can keep him to football. All his good feelings from the bust washed away in sweat suddenly streaming down the curve of his spine. He kept moving toward the sagging board steps. “Comin’ in now, Jimmie. Hey, you ain’t got a spare cold one, do you? Hard to talk ball without beer.”

The air in the tin box of a trailer was thicker than the swamp. As his eyes adjusted to the gloom, Sonny tried to hide his surprise. In contrast to the yard, and everything else he’d seen, the inside of the trailer was clean and sharp. Military sharp. He could see a scattering of photos on the far wall and what looked like a high school football trophy on the divider between the kitchen and small dining area caught a thin beam of light from the door. It took him a moment longer to find the man.

Jimmie McStatten slumped in a chair in the corner of the dining area, partly behind what looked like a length of camouflage netting strung from the ceiling. Sonny caught a glimpse of the rifle propped against the wall…not an M-16 but the bigger M-14. Jimmie was rail-thin and narrow jawed, and his light blue eyes seemed to glow from inside. “Seen you ain’t armed when you was comin’ up,” he said, waving a big hand toward a beer can on the table. “Opened one for you.”

Sitting, Sonny ran the cool metal over his forehead. The beer was cold, and he held it in his mouth for a moment before swallowing. “Thanks, Jimmie. That feels damned good.” He used the motion to take a closer look at the photos. Unit pictures. From Vietnam. I’d know those uniforms and hooches anywhere.

“Heard you made it to college ball.” Jimmie took a deep swig of his own beer, keeping the can in his left hand.

Bet he’s got a pistol somewhere. “Yeah, but it didn’t work out. College, mostly. Classrooms and me just don’t get along.” He took another drink, pulling courage from inside the can. “I always thought you’d show up at Florida, too. Couple of the coaches asked me about you.” It wasn’t a lie.

The laugh when it came was a dry bark. “Life had other plans.”

Sonny looked at the pictures again. “Nam?”

“What’d you know about it?” The voice was sharp now. Mean. Like the click of a mine’s pressure plate.

“USMC. ’69 to ’70 and then again ’71 to ’72.” Sonny shook his head. “Like I said, college didn’t work out.” He nodded toward the pictures. “Looks like you were a bit south of us. I was around Da Nang for both tours. Furthest south I ever got was Plieku.”

“No shit?”

“No shit. ‘Course I was a pogue.”

“A what?”

“Sorry. You were Army, right? Pogue is like your REMF. I was an MP.” He shook his head again. “Chasing AWOL grunts and running convoy escorts. We’d get shot up time to time, but it was even odds if it was the VC or our own guys stoned out of their minds.”

“REMF is right!” Jimmie’s laugh felt real this time, a bigger thing coming from inside his chest and not his throat. “Still, at least you was there. Not like them kids outside.”

“Yeah. Hell of a thing. Us two Nam vets sittin’ here drinkin’ beer in heat that sure feels like Nam.” Sonny knew he had to keep the man talking. Try to pull something out of him. The problem was he didn’t like what it might pull out of him at the same time. “You look like you need another, speakin’ of beer.”

“In the icebox. Grab yourself another, too. Even if you were a damned jarhead.”

Sonny pulled two beers out of the fridge, counting at least twenty more cans along with the remains of what looked like take-out Chinese. “So now it’s your turn, pal.”

“Yeah. I was there. Right out of high school. College didn’t agree with you? Tests didn’t agree with me. Least the kind you need for them fancy schools. A week later I get my ‘greetings’ an’ off I go. Army infantry. Eleven Bush they liked to say.” He went quiet again, taking a deep pull from the fresh beer Sonny slid across the table. “They sent me to the First Infantry Division. The Big Dead One. ’68 to ’69 more or less. One helping was enough for me.”

“Down by Saigon, right? I was First Marine Division.” The second beer tasted better than the first. Don’t know if I wanna poke this one, but I gotta ask. “You there for Tet?”

“Not the first part. I missed that fun ride.” Jimmie leaned back in his chair, and Sonny couldn’t see his eyes. “But there was still plenty of fun to go around. ‘Specially if you was a grunt.”

“We did sweeps sometimes. Generals would run short on 0300 Marines so they’d grab us and send us in. Mostly VC down where we were, not like the NVA up along the DMZ or over by Khe Sahn and all that. Still, those boys could lay a mean ambush.”

“That’s no shit. Spent most a my tour runin’ up and down the same damned roads with them gooks poppin’ ambushes almost every time. That’s when we weren’t out humpin’ the boonies lookin’ for them.”

“We always heard III Corps was rough.”

The dry chuckle came again. “We heard the same about Eye Corps. Guess it all depends on where you were. An’ when you were.”

“So…what happened today, Jimmie? I see you got the M-14 over there. Nice weapon. Did Basic with the M-14. The Corps loved that damned heavy cannon.”

“Yeah.” The other man looked toward the rifle but didn’t touch it. And, more importantly, didn’t offer to let Sonny see it. “The Mattel special was more like a damned kid’s toy. Nice on full auto, but don’t try hittin’ nothin’ with it.”

“That’s what we thought, too. Had to carry one on the gun jeep and hated it.” He paused. Time to try again. “So what happened today, Jimmie?” Digging into his front pocket he pulled out a battered pack of Lucky Strikes and equally dented Ronson lighter.

“Now those bastards take me back.” Jimmie tapped one out of the pack and lit it before tossing the lighter back to Sonny, who fired up his own cigarette. “C-rats an’ all.” The tip glowed tracer red before being swallowed by a cloud of smoke. “You asked about today. Well, it ain’t today. Not exactly.”

Sonny let the smoke hiss out his nostrils before taking another drink of beer. Not much longer and those SWAT boys will be here. “You wanna tell me about it? It’s cool if you don’t, but I’m not a cherry who doesn’t know the score.”

Jimmie vanished in another cloud of smoke. “Hell, why not? Been sittin’ on it for years. I’d been in-country maybe three weeks. With my unit one week. Second Platoon, Delta Company, First Battalion, Eighteenth Infantry.” He waved toward one of the photos. “Guy I came into the unit with took that photo of the platoon day before we stepped off on this op.”

“May…” Sonny rubbed his eyes, the thick air in the trailer messing with his head. “That was Mini-Tet, wasn’t it?”

“Guess that’s what the paper jockeys called it.” Jimmie took another deep drink, his eyes straying back to the M-14. “Anyhow, they sent our company into this pissant village called Tan Hiep. Word was someone had seen gook scouts in there the day before. Least that’s what the platoon sergeant told us before we jumped off. Me? I’m humpin’ my gear all bright eyed with that damned M-16 when I notice some of the short-timers are lookin’ at each other and shiftin’ ammo around. I ask the guy they partnered me with what was up an’ he says it’s ‘cause there’s no civilians around. That’s when cherry ol’ me notices there ain’t no kids, no mama-sans, no nothin’.”

Sonny shook his head. He’d seen the same thing a few times in Da Nang, and it always made your stomach freeze into jagged knots. “That’s never good.”

“Didn’t know that then.” He kept staring at the rifle. “So we keep movin’ because no one on the other end of the radio told our LT to stop. So I’m starin’ at these empty houses when there’s this funny pop an’a flash.”

“RPG.”

“Yep. Hit just shy of the command team an’ got our butter bar a Purple Heart an’ I think a Bronze Star. Then the AKs opened up. An’ more RPGs.” Crockett could see Jimmie’s eyes now…wide and staring straight ahead without seeing anything.

“Hey, pal? It’s just us here now, man. It’s cool.”

“Guy they paired me with? He caught some of that fire. Got his ticket home, but in a body bag instead of a Freedom Bird. I hit the deck an’ fuckin’ froze. Me!”

“Show me a guy who says he didn’t freeze in his first firefight and I’ll show you a liar.” Sonny dug deep, peeling back memories he didn’t want to see. “I damned near pissed my pants my first time out. Nothin’ as big as yours, though. But the first time I heard those damned AKs bark and something snapped past my ear I hit the damned ground like I’d been tackled by a three hundred pound free safety.”

“Guy next to you get hit?”

“Not that time.” Sonny took a deep drink of the beer. He could feel his gut churning…the memories coming hard and fast now. “But I did lose a good friend over there. Same kinda ambush, except we were on a trail in paddy country. Working with some grunt unit ‘cause they were short guys and we had some friends there. They get hit, their LT goes down, and so do two of my buddies. One I met in-country, but you might know the other. Robbie Cann.”

“He played ball too, didn’t he?”

“Yeah. Anyhow, they both caught bullets. I managed to get Robbie out of the kill zone. But not…”

“Man, you get it, then.”

“Yeah.”

“You know…some nights I hear ‘em out there. Creepin’ around in the swamp grass. I throw a few rounds out an’ they back off.” The cigarette flashed like a parachute flare as he took another deep drag. “Those uniform boys show up ‘cause of that, but I tell ‘em it’s gators an’ they leave again.”

“So what happened today?”

“I…I don’t rightly know. Today I usually get shitfaced an’ pass out on the couch. Safer that way. But I was havin’ my third beer an’ I heard that damned pop. You know…the RPG pop. So I grab ol’ reliable there and let fly.” Jimmie scrubbed his face with a dirty hand. “Gotta keep ‘em back. It’s my sector. Can’t let ‘em through.”

It wasn’t much, but it was an opening. Sonny leaned forward, touching Jimmie’s forearm. “Hey, pal. I can watch the sector for you for a bit. We need to get you some help. You know, sick call.”

“Sick call…yeah…maybe that would help. I…I just don’t know.”

“Tell you what. Punch the mag outa that rifle and we’ll walk on out. I’ll come right back and secure the sector for you. That’s how it works, right? Buddies watch out for each other.” He held out his hand.

Jimmie looked up like he was seeing Sonny for the first time. Then he gave a slow nod and reached for the M-14. The loaded magazine hit the table with a heavy thud, followed by the chambered round as Jimmie worked the bolt with practiced, trained ease. “Ready to report for sick call. My weapon is secured.” He turned it so Sonny could see the open chamber and the locked-back loading lever.

“Outstanding, troop.” He wasn’t quite sure what the Army called their guys, but Jimmie just grinned at the term. “I’ll let ‘em know we’re coming out and that you’re squared away.” He could hear vehicle doors slamming outside. Shit. SWAT’s here. Stepping to the door, he raised his hands. “We’re coming out. Jimmie’s all good.” He could sense movement behind him and stepped to one side. “He’s coming quietly. It’s all…”

The single shot sounded like a cannon in the thick spring air. Sonny stood stock still for a heartbeat, feeling hot, thick liquid splatter across the side of his face. The crash of Jimmie hitting the floor of the trailer was almost lost in the echoes of the shot.

“What the FUCK did you just do?” Sonny wasn’t sure how he got from the porch to the face of the SWAT shooter. Or how he managed to keep from smashing his fist through the man’s grinning face. “He wasn’t resisting! He wasn’t armed! He posed NO threat!”

“That’s not what I saw, detective. I saw a dangerous gunman and acted accordingly.”

This time Sonny didn’t hold back. The punch caught the man square in the face, breaking his nose and possibly more. He felt a hand touch his arm and spun. “Keep your fucking hands off me.” It was his old Marine voice…low and full of menace. The one he used to control drunken crowds. “Anyone else touches me they end up like him. I want this crime scene secured. And you” - he turned to the one with stripes - “you get Internal Affairs out here. That wasn’t a request, girls.”

 

1993

 

The ceiling fan thumped away like a distant chopper. Tex stared down at his notes, but Sonny could see a gentle shaking in the hand holding the pen. “What happened to t’ SWAT guy?”

“Not as much as I wanted. They shifted him off to some candy-ass assignment. Writing tickets on the Intercostal most likely. But he was back with them within a couple of months. IA had an open and shut look and called it a clean shoot.” Sonny felt his hands balling into fists. “But there was nothing clean about it.”

“You complained.” It wasn’t a question.

“Yeah. But they weren’t interested. He was a ‘troubled vet’ and it was an ‘unfortunate accident.’ What I said didn’t matter.” He stared down at his hands. “And that’s when I decided never to talk about Vietnam again. To just put it all away and never bring it out again. Of course it didn’t work, but…”

“After seein’ that what the hell else could yu do?”

“I could have been a Marine. Stood up for Jimmie McStatten when no one else would.”

“Then yu’d just be another crazy vet.”

“Yeah. And the force would have been quick to find a reason to get rid of me. Or make things so miserable I’d quit on my own.” He was quiet again, glad Tex let the silence linger. “You know, I’ve never told anyone else about this. Not Jenny. Not Caroline. Not even Tubbs. I thought I’d take Jimmie to the grave with me. The sad thing is he’d been a good kid. Hell of a ball player. Probably would have done good if…”

“Vietnam. And worse, what happened after. Ah reckon we both seen enough of that.” Tex dropped his pen on the pad. “Yu can let him go now, Sonny.”

“Yeah.” Sonny didn’t look up. “I hope so.”

What a great read, touching, true and engaging. Thankyou.

 

 

[Robbie C.]

11 hours ago, Matt5 said:

What a great read, touching, true and engaging. Thankyou.

 

 

Glad you enjoyed it!

[mjcmmv]

This was so good, Robbie. It's sad to think that for many vets, the war continued long after discharge. You really brought that fact home with this one. 

[Robbie C.]

Glad you enjoyed it.