Evasion and More Evasion: Sarge’s Point of View….

By Ceebee©2003

Playing off the story "Evasion and More Evasion" by KitKat

Acknowledgement: The story "Evasion and More Evasion" was written by KitKat. It is with her permission and full knowledge that I submit this story to be posted. The characters belong to Zev Braun Productions. The plot, dialog and title all belong to Kit.

Thanks, Kit, for letting me play with the LT and Sarge in the context of your story. It was a hoot! And thank you, Jaz, for introducing me to the guys of Bravo Company!

Special Note: To fully understand this story, I would suggest you first read "Evasion and More Evasion" by Kitkat.

*********************

"Get on that chopper, Anderson! That’s an order!" I hear him say it—and I look for a split second at the Huey. "Go!" he yells. Is he crazy? Does he really think I’m gonna leave him out here alone?

I can get him to the chopper. I know I can. I turn and run back to my LT. That’s when I hear the sound of the slick ascending into the sky, leaving us here on the ground. A wave of panic rushes over my body. Now we’re in it—

"Dammit, Anderson, do you ever listen to me?" I don’t let him see me smirk. I can hear it in his voice, though. He’s the only person I know who says "thank you" in that tone of voice. Without using those exact words. Ok, without using those words at all.

I get him up and look for cover. Gotta have cover. He winces. I know he must be in a world of hurt, but we have to get to cover. I go deep into the jungle and finally find a spot. I get him down and he starts complaining. "Sorry, LT, but you gotta shut up!" I’m thinking.

He doesn’t like my hand over his mouth. Not one bit. But he doesn’t see them. I do. I pull us down farther as a platoon of NVA soldiers walk by. I feel his tense body relax a bit. Now he gets it. Ya know, what is it with this boy? Sometimes he seems like he trusts me and other times he fights me tooth and nail. I know he’s in charge. I know he’s my CO. But I been around this block before—I know what to do. My job is to protect him and that’s what I do best.

He looks like he can be trusted to keep quiet. I take my hand off and he breathes a sigh of relief. I’m sorry, LT, I really am. But I can’t let you make a sound. We wait what seems to be hours. My body aches. I’m too old for this crap. I glance down at my LT—he’s gotta be hurtin’—I can see it in his eyes—but he stays perfectly still.

I whisper to him to get some sleep. No use us both staying awake. I look over at his leg, while I can still see it in the fading light. I want to wrap it up, but I don’t dare move. They could still be out there. I’m scared to death—of the enemy, yeah, but more so that I might not get him home. I have to get him home alive. He’s my LT. But he’s also my friend. And I won’t let him down. No sir, I won’t. He closes his eyes. That’s it, LT. You get some sleep. I’ll keep watch. I won’t let you down.

I feel him breathe a heavy sigh and relax even more up against my chest. I scan the jungle around me as the light fades. My ears are ringing with the sounds of the insects and animals around me. I can’t let down my guard—not even for a moment—his life depends on it. My life depends on it. I’m a survivor. It’s what I do best. It’s what I do best.

= = = = = = =

My eyes are startin’ to close and I’m trying to stay awake—but I keep slippin’ home to South Carolina—and Katie. I see her in her pretty dress, eating ice cream. She hugs me when it’s time for me to go—her hair smells so sweet. Wake up! You’re in the Nam. Katie is home, thank God!

I wake up the LT. "Just one watch" I whisper. He’s wide awake and shifts in his spot. His leg has got to be aching something fierce. All he says is "Go to sleep, Sergeant."

I am so beat. I close my eyes and let myself drift away...to Katie. We’ll go fishing…

My internal clock wakes me up 2 hours later. My heart races as I begin to panic, then I realize where I am. In the jungle. The LT looks up at me—I don’t think he’s ever seen me asleep. I’m covered in sweat and rub my face, trying to calm myself down. He’s still looking. It’s like he wants to say something, but doesn’t know how.

"Wake me up in 2 hours, Sergeant. That’s an order."

I acknowledge with my quick "Yessir…" like I always do, with no intention of waking him up again. He needs his sleep. Heck, he’s grumpy enough when he gets 8 hours rest!

*******************

It’s almost first light. I didn’t think this night would ever end. So hard to stay focused. The sounds drive a man insane—they play tricks with your mind…what would I do if…No, don’t go there. Stay here. Stay focused. Thinking "what if" never got any man anywhere but more scared.

Time to move. I gently touch my LT’s arm. He’s awake and alert. That’s good. He searches my face for a split second. I think he’s scared. He mumbles something about me leaving him if there’s no other choice. I smile and shake my head. He still doesn’t get it. I wonder if he ever had a really good friend--someone he’d go to hell and back for—I reckon not. It’s all new territory for him. This friendship thing might be even scarier than being lost in the ‘Nam.

I grab our gear and say something about this being evasion and evasion, without the escape. I’m so glad we haven’t had to do that yet. He looks at me, his eyes wide and dark. Sometimes I forget he’s only 21. But now he looks like a scared teenager. I check our ammo and notice he’s making a map—smart kid. He offers me a ½ can of c-rats and he asks me if I’m worried. It never crossed my mind to be worried. I tell him I trust him. He looks confused. I smile and tell him he’s always thinking—he thinks more than anyone I’ve ever known. It’s true. He will figure out something. My confidence in him seems to drain away some of the concern that’s been in those eyes. Makes me wonder what it must have been like for him to live in the shadow of that father of his. Didn’t that man see this kid’s potential?

We take inventory and we’ll be ok for a few days. We have more than I thought. That’s encouraging. I find an Ace bandage and start to check out his knee. He reaches for it and says he can do it—What’s with him? For some reason he just can’t let someone help him. I insist… and wrap it up tight. He’s a bit ticked cause it is so restricting. He just doesn’t understand. So I explain it to him. What’s that? Sorry? Whoa. That’s a new one. I smile, thinking he’s coming along—there’s hope for the boy yet!

We probably humped 20 miles today. Maybe less. I look around and don’t recognize a thing. We could’ve made better time but the LT’s knee is really aching. He won’t let on, but I know it is. Doesn’t he know he’s just like the rest of us? I don’t get this "show no fear—show no pain" thing.

I suggested we stop before nightfall. Ya know what he said? "You are 10 years older than me, Sergeant. I suggest you worry about yourself." Ha! It was all I could do to not laugh my head off!

I know I am 10 years older. But he’s injured and too proud to admit it. Part of me feels sorry for the boy. He doesn’t know who he is—or what he is capable of. I hope I can help him learn.

We share another can of c-rats. Man, I hate turkey. It’s the one thing I just can’t stomach. Ever since I was a kid at the Home, I hated the stuff. We never had real turkey—only this stuff that was just like c-rat mystery meat. To this day, I don’t know what it was! He insists I eat more—I tell him I can’t eat like I used to—when I was…younger. Ha! I see a glint in those eyes! What’s that I hear? A big ‘ol brick fallin’ off one of his walls….

I take first watch. And second. It’s got to be after midnight when I feel the LT twitching beside me. It’s so dark, I can’t see him, but I reach over and gently touch his shoulder. He is soaked and thrashin’ around. I wake him before he calls out. He wakes up scared to death, breathin’ heavy.

"You was havin’ a nightmare, Sir," I whisper. He takes a minute to collect himself—then he apologizes. I give his shoulder a gentle squeeze, and strangely, he doesn’t pull away from me. I wonder what haunts him—it’s got to be something he is terrified of. I bet it’s the same thing that haunts me—and every other G.I. in the ‘Nam. I feel him settle back down in the dirt. I let his shoulder go, but I position myself so our shoulders are just touching. I figure it might help him sleep, if he can feel me close by.

*******************************

We’re up early and we make good time. We actually go 25, maybe 30 miles. We share a can of fruit cocktail for lunch. I find myself wishing for the turkey.

I chuckle when the LT suggests we catch a fish. It’s a perfectly logical suggestion, but coming from him it just sounds wrong. He’s a city boy—but I bet I could teach him to fish—and maybe, just maybe, he’d enjoy it!

When I ask if HE’s gonna catch us a fish, he blows up at me. Usually I can see it comin’, but this is out of nowhere. I mention his Dad, and he gets even more angry. Makes me wonder if I wasn’t the lucky one, being an orphan and all. His dad was a general, and I guess he wasn’t around much.

I offer to take him fishing sometime—I can see us off on a lake somewhere in Idaho, fishing away the afternoon. He is wound a little tight, though. It might take him awhile to relax enough to really enjoy it. He can’t be like this all the time, can he? Even officers have to relax sometime. He laughs at the offer. I know I’m just a grunt. But I didn’t have him pegged as one of those butter bars who is only here for his 6 months and then off to a desk job and higher rank. This kid’s got potential—and I thought we worked well together. Maybe I was wrong.

I tell him it ain’t for everyone. And it’s not. His leg must really be hurtin’. I’d rather think that to be the reason for his vile mood than the thought of fishin’ with me. If I could just get him out there, I bet he’d take to it.

Sleep, he says. He changes the subject. He does that when he doesn’t want to continue a conversation. He’s really good at this evasion stuff—with people, that is. Ok, have it your way, LT. But the offer still stands. Maybe when he feels better. For now, I’ll fish with Katie….

******************************

I watch as the sky slowly goes from black to gray to a beautiful pink. Weird, how even here in the ‘Nam, nothing stops the sun from risin’ or settin’. After some of the stuff I’ve seen, it seems almost wrong that it continues to rise and set—and doesn’t stop for death, or life, or tragedy, or triumph. LT’s awake now, and he notices the sky too. For a moment, it’s like we’re not lost. For just a moment, we’re just 2 people, sharing a sunrise. Not soldiers, not trained killers. Just…men.

I smile and call it beautiful. He’s startled that I see it too and looks almost embarrassed that I "caught" him enjoying something. This boy’s gotta lighten up a bit. Hey—we’re still alive! This might be the day we go home! I’d love to tell him that, but sometimes I think he enjoys his bad moods. I’ll just leave him be.

We cover a lot of ground and by late afternoon he’s really limping bad. I know he won’t give in to the pain, but he’ll be worthless tomorrow if he doesn’t stop pushin’ himself so hard today.

He refuses to stop and gets all riled up when I tell him not to be a hero—he just can’t let down his guard with me. We’ve been working together 24/7 for the last 8 weeks and he still can’t see that I don’t want anything from him. I just want him to trust me as a friend.

But that’s how I’m wired. I want to help where I can—I’ve always been like that. Even at the orphanage, whenever there was a new kid, the nuns would call me over and have me show the kid around. I can still hear them—

"Clayton, George, here, was just dropped off. He’s a bit lost, son. Could you show him around? Maybe introduce him to the boys in your room. This is all new to him, Clayton. You’ll be ok, George. Clayton will watch out for you"

It’s funny, Goldman has that same look that all those boys had when they first came to live at the Home—lost. Don’t know who to trust. Scared. Sister Gretchen used to say "Be patient, Clayton. Some people have been deeply hurt by other people. And even though you can’t see the wounds, the scars are very deep and take a long time to heal. People are worth your time, Clayton. Just be patient."

I wonder if she ever met anyone like Myron Goldman.

He changes the subject, again. SOP for him—but this time, he’s thinking of the men. I didn’t think he thought about the men. That’s my job and he trusts me to do it myself, everyday.

I tell him I think they’re fine, ‘cept for worrin’ about us.

The LT, he’s a strange bird. He’s one of those people who wants you to think he doesn’t worry—that he’s got it all under control. And yet, behind those dark eyes is a man who worries about everything! I watched him check his pockets time and time again—just to make sure those last 2 cans of C-rats were still there. And shake his canteen—to make sure the water was still in it. Where’s it gonna go, LT?

We settle in and eat the last can of C-rats. I know he’s wondering about tomorrow. This jungle can feed us. We just have to be smart and use the training we’ve been given. We’ll be ok. I remember the package of PX crackers I bought before we left a few days back. I purposely didn’t tell him—I was saving them as a surprise. When I show him, he smiles and shakes his head.

Good to see ya smile, LT. Don’t worry ‘bout a thing. We’ll be alright.

*****************************

It’s almost dawn when the LT starts havin’ another nightmare. This time I have to hold him down and gag him. He fights me with every once of strength he’s got—it’s all I can do to keep him down. He reaches for his k-bar-- and in the early morning light I see his eyes are still closed—he thinks he’s fightin’ the enemy.

I whisper loudly in his ear, "Myron—". I figure nobody calls him that, ‘cept someone familiar—someone who knows him well. He stops cold and opens his eyes. It’s ok, LT. Pull back, now. That’s it. It’s just me. That’s it, Sir.

His body melts into a heap and I loosen my grip, but don’t let go until he looks at me and nods. He is horrified and totally embarrassed. I would be too. I watch him as he pulls himself together. I offer him my canteen and he abruptly pushes it away. That’s ok. I reckon he wants to be anywhere but here right now.

He tells me to get some sleep. I sit back on my knees and look at this….boy-man. He just keeps running away. Deal with it, Sir, or it will eat you up!

"Do you wanna talk about it?" I ask him, ignoring his attempt at changing the subject yet again. He shifts into officer mode and resorts to what he does best—give orders.

"No, I want you to get some sleep."

I settle back down in the brush and take a drink myself. I tell him I’m not tired. I can wait him out. We still have some time before dawn.

"Fine. I’ll get some sleep" he says.

No, he won’t. It ain’t his turn and I tell him so. Man, if looks could kill!

I’ve got him now. He won’t sleep ‘cuz he knows it’s his turn to stand watch. He won’t sleep ‘cuz he’ll have the same nightmare again. He won’t sleep ‘cuz a part of him really wants to talk about what it is that’s haunting him.

It’s ok, LT. I can wait.

He looks up at me for a long second and says he appreciates my concern—but he’s fine. Lord, have mercy—if this is fine for him, what’s he like on a bad day?

He looks away, but glances back to see if I’m still interested. Yeah, LT. I’m waiting.

Ya know, I think he’s so used to scaring people away that he just don’t know what to do with me—I ain’t scared of him or his moods. I’ve seen him at his best and at his worst—I know he’ll make a fine officer someday, if he can just accept the fact that the guys and I, we respect him for the man he is, not for the man his father wanted him to be, or the man he wished he could have been.

There’s a long silence—like he’s trying to decide whether to tell me or not. It’s ok, LT. I’ve got all the time in the world…

"Capture," he says finally. I heard that. Just the thought sends chills down my spine. Capture is the number one fear of every GI over here. It takes a big man to admit it, though.

"I just don’t know if I could handle that, if I would…break."

I see the fear in his eyes. We’ve heard so many stories about the horrors of POW’s—the torture, the painful deaths. My mind races back to a few weeks ago when we found Santucci and his entire squad strung up, dead. That picture will always be with me.

I tell him we’ve all been there. Heck, I was terrified when I first came over here. But I learned real quick that you can’t let your fears immobilize you. And you can’t keep them all bottled up inside either. That’s when they eat you alive.

I tell him there ain’t nothin’ different with him that with anyone else. It happens to us all, LT. We’re all afraid. Everyday.

He sighs, like a huge weight has been knocked off his back. His eyes turn 2 shades lighter and he looks like he almost wants to smile.

I tell him he might want to re-think my fishin’ offer—it might do wonders for his stress problem. It’s then that we hear the sweetest sound my ears ever heard—a chopper!

We see it fly in low just south of our position. I didi in that direction, leaving the LT behind. I have to flag that bird! I make the clearing and they see me. I tell them I gotta get my LT. They’ll wait. I run back to the LT, who is trying desperately to get his leg to cooperate. C’mon, Lieutenant—Our ride’s here and it’s not gonna wait all day!

He throws his arm around my shoulder and we make it to the LZ, just as the 2 man recon team climbs aboard. We settle in—I see the LT tryin’ to deal with the pain. We’re almost home, LT. Just a little longer.

One of the soldiers congratulates me on surviving the ordeal. I tell him I have the LT to thank for that.

It’s true—Sure, I might have found my way home myself. But being alone in the bush—that thought scares me to death. I wasn’t alone—I had my LT. And that enabled me to do what I do best—protect my men. And the LT is one of my men.

He looks up at me and smiles a crooked smile. He says something about fishing being relaxing. What’s that? Another huge brick falls off the wall—I can’t help but smile.

There’s hope for the boy yet!