The Enlisted (a short story)
The Enlisted
In 1971 they were flying from Cam Ranh Bay to Saigon on a military mail flight, Corporal Dustan Mather, and Corporal Gordon Wheeler. They were in the process of being discharged from the Army, carrying each a duffle bag onto the one-way flight, where they’d finish their process overseas, and finalize it at one of two military bases in the United States, either in California or Washington State.
Each were swearing to one another how they were happy to be leaving the Army, sick and tired of Army life, its food, and hours, and the Vietnam War, matter of fact Corporal Dustan Mather had been shooting his mouth off on this very subject with his friends over beer and wine and shot after shot of whisky, at the local Enlisted Men’s club on Cam Ranh Bay for some time now.
Both Corporal Gordon Wheeler, and Corporal Dustan Mather had suffered much while in the bush fighting Charlie, as they called the enemy, and had spent the last several months at Cam Ranh Bay, a more sedate location in Vietnam (an ordnance support company), but both were Comrades in Arms you might say; and at the 611th Ordnance Company, they got to know each other much better than in the bush.
When they got to Saigon, landed, and were assigned a room and bunk beds, Dustan was shy and quiet throughout the first day, of three days he’d be out-processing in Vietnam.
That first evening they went to the local Enlisted Men’s drinking club on the air force base where their barracks was located, a night club of sorts, and both sat at the bar drinking one whiskey and sour and beer, after the other, each other taking turns buying a round of drinks, until they closed the bar.
During the out processing, Wheeler was having a hard time, being called in by sergeants and officers as they tried to persuade him to reenlist, offering him a promotion to sergeant and a bonus of $2500-dollars, but he refused, in spite of what he thought were great offers, saying in essence: he simple had enough of taking orders.
Again, Dustan and Gordon met that second evening at the Enlisted Men’s Club, and had drink after drink, likened to the first night, “How was your day?” asked Corporal Wheeler to Dustan.
“As usual, boring, why?” asked Dustan, as if it was a peculiar question.
He gave Dustan a kind of odd look, said, “That’s funny, I’ve had everyone under the sun try to get met to reenlist, what a day, I mean, all those dirty looks when I told them—no!”
Dustan didn’t say a word.
Then walking back to the barracks, Dustan said to Gordon, “I got to tell yaw, I mean, you’re a friend, and friends don’t have secrets, so I got to tell you, and I’m sorry I didn’t tell you before, I’m not going home, I’m going to Hawaii, I reenlisted. I never did hate the Army, just this silly war. Matter of fact, I’ll be a sergeant tomorrow, and I’ll get a bonus of $5000-dollars, and a year in Hawaii, it was hard to pass up. If I go home I’ll just sit around and get drunk, see my old friends, try to find a job and like the recruiter said, ‘You’re already trained,’ so why not take it.”
“Yes,” said Gordon, quietly, almost under his breath, “that makes sense,” very shyly, he didn’t want to say anymore.
Corporal Mather looked at Corporal Wheeler, said, “I hope you’re not mad at me, or think less of me for not being up front with you”
“No,” said Wheeler, “it sounds like you thought about your decision, and Hawaii sounds great! We’ll keep in touch.”
And they both exchanged address.
“I got a bottle of vodka in my duffle bag back in the room, let’s go polish it off,” said Dustan.
“I’ve never drank vodka, straight, just a few times, with sour.”
“It’s not bad.” Said Dustan, and they walked to the barracks, as Gordon talked about his Minnesota, and Dustan seemed a little relieved he could now speak freely about his new assignment.
At the barracks, two other soldiers were assigned to the bunk beds across from theirs, they had a bottle of scotch, “Let’s share,” said one of the two guys, and Dustan didn’t argue, shook his head up and down, as if to say, ok.
Then Dustan jumped on top of the upper bunk, and Gordon on the bottom, and the other two on their beds, and they drank the whole two bottles dry, drank until 4:00 a.m.
At 6:30 a.m. they had to carry Corporal Wheeler onto the jet, give him oxygen once in flight.
The last time he heard of Sergeant Dustan Mather, which was about eighteen-months after they left each other in Saigon, he was among the MIA (Missing in Action) list, in Vietnam.
3-16-2009
In 1971 they were flying from Cam Ranh Bay to Saigon on a military mail flight, Corporal Dustan Mather, and Corporal Gordon Wheeler. They were in the process of being discharged from the Army, carrying each a duffle bag onto the one-way flight, where they’d finish their process overseas, and finalize it at one of two military bases in the United States, either in California or Washington State.
Each were swearing to one another how they were happy to be leaving the Army, sick and tired of Army life, its food, and hours, and the Vietnam War, matter of fact Corporal Dustan Mather had been shooting his mouth off on this very subject with his friends over beer and wine and shot after shot of whisky, at the local Enlisted Men’s club on Cam Ranh Bay for some time now.
Both Corporal Gordon Wheeler, and Corporal Dustan Mather had suffered much while in the bush fighting Charlie, as they called the enemy, and had spent the last several months at Cam Ranh Bay, a more sedate location in Vietnam (an ordnance support company), but both were Comrades in Arms you might say; and at the 611th Ordnance Company, they got to know each other much better than in the bush.
When they got to Saigon, landed, and were assigned a room and bunk beds, Dustan was shy and quiet throughout the first day, of three days he’d be out-processing in Vietnam.
That first evening they went to the local Enlisted Men’s drinking club on the air force base where their barracks was located, a night club of sorts, and both sat at the bar drinking one whiskey and sour and beer, after the other, each other taking turns buying a round of drinks, until they closed the bar.
During the out processing, Wheeler was having a hard time, being called in by sergeants and officers as they tried to persuade him to reenlist, offering him a promotion to sergeant and a bonus of $2500-dollars, but he refused, in spite of what he thought were great offers, saying in essence: he simple had enough of taking orders.
Again, Dustan and Gordon met that second evening at the Enlisted Men’s Club, and had drink after drink, likened to the first night, “How was your day?” asked Corporal Wheeler to Dustan.
“As usual, boring, why?” asked Dustan, as if it was a peculiar question.
He gave Dustan a kind of odd look, said, “That’s funny, I’ve had everyone under the sun try to get met to reenlist, what a day, I mean, all those dirty looks when I told them—no!”
Dustan didn’t say a word.
Then walking back to the barracks, Dustan said to Gordon, “I got to tell yaw, I mean, you’re a friend, and friends don’t have secrets, so I got to tell you, and I’m sorry I didn’t tell you before, I’m not going home, I’m going to Hawaii, I reenlisted. I never did hate the Army, just this silly war. Matter of fact, I’ll be a sergeant tomorrow, and I’ll get a bonus of $5000-dollars, and a year in Hawaii, it was hard to pass up. If I go home I’ll just sit around and get drunk, see my old friends, try to find a job and like the recruiter said, ‘You’re already trained,’ so why not take it.”
“Yes,” said Gordon, quietly, almost under his breath, “that makes sense,” very shyly, he didn’t want to say anymore.
Corporal Mather looked at Corporal Wheeler, said, “I hope you’re not mad at me, or think less of me for not being up front with you”
“No,” said Wheeler, “it sounds like you thought about your decision, and Hawaii sounds great! We’ll keep in touch.”
And they both exchanged address.
“I got a bottle of vodka in my duffle bag back in the room, let’s go polish it off,” said Dustan.
“I’ve never drank vodka, straight, just a few times, with sour.”
“It’s not bad.” Said Dustan, and they walked to the barracks, as Gordon talked about his Minnesota, and Dustan seemed a little relieved he could now speak freely about his new assignment.
At the barracks, two other soldiers were assigned to the bunk beds across from theirs, they had a bottle of scotch, “Let’s share,” said one of the two guys, and Dustan didn’t argue, shook his head up and down, as if to say, ok.
Then Dustan jumped on top of the upper bunk, and Gordon on the bottom, and the other two on their beds, and they drank the whole two bottles dry, drank until 4:00 a.m.
At 6:30 a.m. they had to carry Corporal Wheeler onto the jet, give him oxygen once in flight.
The last time he heard of Sergeant Dustan Mather, which was about eighteen-months after they left each other in Saigon, he was among the MIA (Missing in Action) list, in Vietnam.
3-16-2009
posted by Dennis and Rosa Siluk at 8:18 PM
0 Comments:
Post a Comment
<< Home