by C. G. Cooper
“That’s me, sir,” said a weak voice.
“That’s me, Sergeant.”
Private Jasper righted himself. “That’s me, Sergeant.”
“Says here you’re from Johnson City, Tennessee. That true?”
“Yes, Sergeant.”
“Ever eat at The Peerless restaurant?”
Private Jasper perked up. “Yes, Sergeant! I used to go there every Sunday with my family.”
Another glare from the old salt. “So you’re just another momma’s boy. Probably never worked a day in your life. Let me guess, you made it into town every Sunday, probably had a nice meal, and then headed over to the damn pharmacy for an ice cream soda.”
Jasper went white. “Yes, Sergeant.”
“Did you have sprinkles on your sundae, Private?”
“Chocolate sprinkles, Sergeant.”
“Chocolate sprinkles.”
The cigar shifted from one side of the sergeant’s mouth to another.
“They never let my kind into town on Sundays, Jasper. But around here, I’m the boss, your holy father, the head man in charge of your life, however pitiful it might be. You got that?”
“Yes, Sergeant!” Private Jasper barked, now standing at full attention.
“And keep your goddamned voice down. You want every gook from here to Hanoi to know our location?”
Everyone looked around, as if expecting a morning raid at that very moment. Everyone except for the salty sergeant and Private Nix.
“What about you, mister? What’s your name?”
“Nix, Sergeant.”
“Nix. As in ixnay? Are you shitting me, boy?”
“No, Sergeant.”
“What are you, some kind of used car salesman? Nix sounds like some sleazy salesman name. What’d you say, Nix, you gonna sell me an insurance policy? Or maybe a new vacuum?”
Nix suppressed a smile. He didn’t know why he wanted to smile. Maybe it was the twinkle of amusement in the older Marine’s eyes.
“No, Sergeant. I’ve never been in sales.”
Their eyes stayed locked, Nix never backing down.
“Well, that’s good, Nix. Very good. Cuz I wouldn’t buy a hot dog for my starving grandma from you.” Then the sergeant turned his attention back to the others.
“Listen up, ladies. My name’s Franks, and I’m your mommy, daddy, preacher, and savior. You listen to me and I’ll do my best to keep you alive. If you don’t–well--I won’t be responsible for stupidity.”
Chapter Twenty-Eight
The letters were gone by the time Sam arrived. She looked tired.
“Have a nap. You can take the guest room if you want,” Elmore said. “Sheets are clean.”
It was a new step in their relationship, and he thought he detected a cringe. Maybe not revulsion. No, more like… what was it? Carefulness with a sprinkling of caution, like tiptoeing into a Broadway show through the back door.
“I’m fine,” Sam said, punctuating the ‘fine’ with a yawn.
Maybe that’s how all teenagers were. Elmore didn’t know. He couldn’t remember. He’d forgotten more about his own teenage years than he remembered.
“So?” Sam asked, flopping down in an armchair, backpack falling to the floor.
“So what?”
A roll of the eyes. “You know what, Elmore Thaddeus Nix.”
He grinned. It was impossible not to. To see her exasperated gave him a mischievous satisfaction. Perhaps he did remember what being a teenager was like after all.
“Why do you use my full name?”
“Are you kidding? If I had your name I’d say it out loud all day long.”
“It’s a terrible name.”
Her face screwed up. “What?”
“It is. My mother thought it sounded grand, like a philosopher’s name, though I doubt she knew the difference between Plato and Pluto.”
Sam made a disgusted noise. “I won’t go into your mommy issues, Elmore Thaddeus Nix, but I will tell you that being unique is something to be treasured, not tossed in the trashcan.”
It sounded like something from a Hallmark card. Again he grinned. He couldn’t help it.
She rose from her chair in mock indignation. “Oh, now you’re laughing at me? Look at my name. Samantha Jane Smith. Could I be any more boring?”
“It’s a fine name,” he said.
“A fine name. That’s like saying last place is okay because you tried hard. Come on, Samantha Jane Smith is about the most vanilla name my parents could’ve given me.”
He found himself unable to stop laughing. It was Sam’s influence, no doubt, but there was something else. Perhaps a flood of emotion from the letters.
The words came out before he could stop them. “I want you to come with me.”
“Where?” she was still smiling.
“To the banquet, you freak.”
The smile waned for the briefest instant, and then returned. “Serious?”
“You got me into this mess. So whad’ya say, Samantha Jane Smith? Will you be my date?”
Chapter Twenty-Nine
The dinner, or banquet, or whatever it was, was held in the Embassy Suites in Chicago, a four-hour drive. Sam chatted the entire way. There’d been no issues with Sam’s mom, at least none that Elmore could tell.
Rather than ask his old compatriots to foot the bill, he’d booked two rooms at the Embassy Suites. It was agreed that they’d say Sam was his granddaughter. Fewer questions that way. They were friends, but both understood the oddity of the relationship.
They arrived just after noon on Saturday. The valet offered to have their bags taken to their rooms. Elmore tipped the man a five and said they’d be fine. He only had a small carry on and Sam had her trusty backpack.
He was grabbing for the door to the lobby when he realized Sam wasn’t with him. He turned and found her gazing straight up at the ceiling.
“Sam?”
She put a hand up to stall him. He waited, watching as she breathed in and out. Then with a long final inhale, she joined him.
“It’s amazing, isn’t it?”
“It is,” he said. He didn’t want to dampen her spirits by admitting that he hated the claustrophobia of being literally surrounded by concrete.
They’d worked out the logistics of their stay ahead of time. Since she was too young to stay in her own room, technically, Elmore did all the checking in while she waited near the fountain. Key cards now in hand, they proceeded to the bank of elevators.
He’d clammed up with each step, hoping he wouldn’t run into any of his old friends. He wasn’t yet ready for that.
“You okay?” Sam asked as the elevator doors shut.
“Just tired. Maybe I’ll take a quick nap.”
She looked disappointed, like she’d had other plans for them. But sightseeing was the last thing on Elmore’s mind. His hands were wet. He rubbed his palms together, and then wiped them on his pants.
Then his hand was in hers. She didn’t say a thing, didn’t look at him. They just rose to the highest levels of the hotel, fake grandfather and granddaughter, hand in hand. It gave him strength. It kept him from running. But what would he do when she wasn’t there?
Chapter Thirty
He tried to sleep but couldn’t, and so he got up and paced, watching the same swatch of carpet swish by before his eyes countless times. By the time five o’clock came, he was a nervous wreck. He showered, shaved, and put on his suit. It was his old trusty, the one he wore for baptisms and funerals. Every five years or so, Eve would buy him a new one, even though he could’ve kept the same. They didn’t get much use.
But as he inspected himself in the mirror, he thought of her, the way she’d circle him, brushing lint from his sleeves, tightening his tie into place.
God, I miss you, he thought.
The knocking at the door jolted him from his wallow. It was Sam, exactly five minutes to five.
When he opened the door, he wasn’t prepared for the vision.
She was wearing makeup, just enough. And her dress was light, appropriate for her age, and the entire effect made her positively glow.
“Wow, Sam.”
She actually blushed. Then she regained her spunkiness and did a quick twirl. “Not bad, right?”
“You look fantastic,” he said.
“And look at you, Elmore Thaddeus Nix. You sure clean up good. All set?”
“No, but I never will be. We’d better get downstairs before I chicken out.”
She took his proffered arm, the young lady joining the ancient gentleman.
The ballroom was spacious and packed. They approached a receiving table manned by a portly fellow with eyebrows that exploded over his eyes.
“Name?” he said without looking up.
“Nix.”
The man looked up, a frozen expression on his face. “Sonofabitch. It’s you.”
Elmore read the name tag. “Gills.”
It wasn’t a chair the old Marine was sitting in. It was a wheelchair.
“If I could stand I would shake your hand, sir.”
“A handshake will do just fine,” Elmore said, offering his hand.
Gills took it and the stream of an old memory struck Elmore right in the middle of the eyes.
“Gills,” he said, “as I recall, you were from Denver.”
The bushy eyebrows waggled.
“That’s right. Denver then, Tampa now. Got too cold for these old legs.” He patted his meaty thighs, all that was left of him from the waist down. “Well look at me. Blubbering like I met my teen idol.” He turned his attention to Sam ,who was looking at her date with something akin to awe. “Now, young lady, you must be Corporal Nix’s…”
“Granddaughter,” she said without missing a beat. “Samantha.”
“Like Bewitched,” said Gills. “I had the biggest damn crush on that lady.”
“You can just write Sam.”
“Sam it is.” He scribbled her name on a tag and handed it to her. “And for you, Corporal…” He snagged a tag sitting all by itself, professionally printed. “Did we spell it right?”
Corporal E.T. Nix.
Elmore had to swallow down the metallic taste in his mouth. He wanted nothing more than to flee, run home, and never come back.
But he pinned the tag to his lapel and tried to seem confident.
“It sure is an honor to see you again, Nix,” Gills said. “And, Sam, if you happen to have a few minutes, and your granddaddy doesn’t mind, I’d like to tell you a few stories I’m sure he’s never told you.”
“I would like that very much, Mr. Gills.”
“What’s this Mister? It’s just Gills. Makes me feel like I’m back in the Corps.”
They left the table as the memory wisp smacked Elmore in the back of the head. Pfc. Gills, screaming from just over the far hill. Pfc. Gills, probably seconds from dying. But it didn’t matter. Lance Corporal Nix ignored his platoon commander. Never leave a Marine to die, he’d kept telling himself.
He made it to Gills, who was a bloody mess, one leg gone and the other hanging by a tether. Two hasty tourniquets later, and too many screams to count, he picked Gills up in a fireman’s carry and ran the way he’d come.
God, he could still feel the weight in his legs. And yet he ran on, even as the enemy mortars that had taken out Gills’ fire team rained down around them.
“Good Christ, look at what the cat dragged in!” The words shook Elmore back to the present. It was Franks, commanding a legion of his followers, just like in the old days. “And the lovely Sam. Young lady, you are the picture of classical beauty.” He offered his hand and Sam took it without hesitation. “What are you doing on the arm of this war horse? Don’t you know this guy doesn’t need any help looking ugly?” Elmore smiled at her, beaming with pride for the girl. She no longer looked the part of a teenager. She looked like an escort to an emperor.
“And Nix, you sure clean up good.”
“Right.” Sam said quite happy with herself.
There were handshakes all around. He’d caught sight of some of the guests ogling, too polite to come right out and pepper him with questions. Franks must have sensed the guest of honor’s unease, because he ushered him to a table on the far side of the room.
“I saw the look on your face just now,” Franks said. “Saw that look on a cow once. It was headed for the slaughterhouse.”
“It’s just a little surreal.” Elmore said, looking all around the room. “I feel like someone reached into my head, yanked out a bunch of memories by the roots, and threw them down before me. I never thought I’d see any of these guys again.”
“Hey,” said Franks, “you know it doesn’t matter how you feel about this stuff. These guys are here for you. It’s what they’re feeling. You understand?”
Elmore turned to his old friend. No, that wasn’t right. They’d never been friends. The Marine hierarchy wouldn’t allow it. Their kinship was something deeper. A brotherhood bred in blood of the battlefield.
But for every positive emotion he had, there was a negative counterpart. This was about the damned medal again. He barely remembered it. Sure, he remembered the weary yet proud look of the president who’d pinned it on him. Sure, he remembered the trip to D.C. to receive it. But that trip had been important for other reasons, reasons that overshadowed what was supposedly a great honor.
“They’re not here for me,” Elmore said, wanting now more than before to leave. He’d said his hellos. Maybe he’d make one more pass and go.
Franks grabbed him by the shoulders and fixed him with a cold stare. “Listen. I don’t know what you’ve been through, and I’m not rude enough to ask. But we’ve all been through a lot. You did your duty. I’m not asking you for a goddamned thing except to be here.”
“Why? I just don’t understand why.”
Franks let go of his shoulders, took a deep breath in and motioned to the rest of the room. “Look around. What do you see?”
Elmore refused to show his cynicism to Franks. And so he wouldn’t say that all he saw was a bunch of overweight and aging Marines and their families. “I don’t know what I see,” he said.
Tears came to Franks’ eyes. “You stubborn bastard. We’re here because of you, Nix. Every damned one of us.”
No, Elmore thought. That wasn’t right. It couldn’t be.
Franks was looking at Sam now, tears streaming down his face. My God, Franks is crying. Talk about surreal
“Your friend here, he saved us all that day. And not just that day. Multiple times. This was the only one he got credit for. I’ve never seen a braver man than Corporal Elmore Thaddeus Nix.”
The memories came back in full, bloody
Technicolor...
Chapter Thirty-One
The day started off like any other in the bush. Another patrol. Wet this day. The rains just kept coming. The day before had been dry and hot as Hades.
Elmore had a fire team now. The last fire team leader had been skewered by a Vietcong earlier in the week.
Up until then, now Lance Corporal Nix had just toed the line, kept his head down, listened, and watched the old timers. They were magnificent bastards, all. They jawed like hens, but when it came time to get to work, they just did it.
Nix’s first firefight had been a night ambush. As the low man on the pole, he hadn’t really known what was happening. Sure, there’d been the orders passed down, but by the time it got to him it was, “This is your spot. Keep your fire between this stick and this stick.” He had his fire lane and that’s all that mattered. Every boot Marine knew that the absolute worst sin a Marine could commit was fratricide; friendly fire. No one could live that down.
The ambush went off without a hitch. Five VC killed and Nix hadn’t fired a single shot. He hadn’t needed to, even though the men to his left and right all shot until their magazines were empty. When he asked them later what they’d shot at, the new Marines just said they thought they were supposed to fire when they heard the first shot fired
.
Whittled down by attrition, he had four Marines, including himself. The heavy gun was his for the day. He liked the weight of it. But more than that, he loved its accuracy and raw power. When he lay down behind it, he felt like he’d been born with the weapon in his hands. No man in his platoon could wield the thing like he could. Even Sgt. Franks had grudgingly given him a pat on the back for his lethality behind the beast.
He was already an old salt by then. He felt like he’d aged like vintage bourbon, burning and perfect.
With the big gun, he still did his duty, toting the new kid behind him. He liked to keep the new ones close. Better to keep their jarred nerves in check. The new kid had the extra ammo. Piles of the stuff. If Nix asked for extra ammo it just appeared, scrounged from other platoons, battalions, or best yet, the Army.
This night was no exception, though he had the same feeling again that he’d had the first ambush. Something big was coming, like the soft hooves of a herd of cattle in the fields over the horizon. He could hear it. He psychically called to it.
Did that make it his fault?
Just after midnight, the rains returned, pounding this time. He didn’t like to wear his poncho. It kept him from keeping a good grip on the big gun. He’d rigged a cut version that protected at least some of his body. The smell of wet vegetation was all around – pungent, sickening.
The new kid shivered behind him. He felt it. The strangest thing. How could he feel something like that? This country and its violence in the dark had heightened every one of his senses. When he looked back, the kid was staring at his feet, plodding along in a daze. Nix was about to tell him to look up, keep alert, but a line of tracers buzzed in and severed the new kid’s head from his shoulders.
Chaos engulfed the platoon. Hasty positions. Hell itself had come to frolic on the surface of the earth.
Screams and the telltale sound of mortars thunking from tubes. The smell of burning metal and blood. Bits of stuff flying. Grains of dirt, blasted rocks, bone...