Disclaimer: This story and characters are from the television show Tour of Duty and belong to Zev Braun productions. No copyright infringement is intended. It is in appreciation and care that I attempt to bring them back to life. No money is being made from this story.

Acknowledgement: The episode Brothers, Fathers and Sons was written and directed by Bill Norton. It is with great admiration and respect that I borrow it in an attempt to fill in some of Sergeant Anderson’s thoughts, motivations, and childhood memories. The episode, the plot, and the dialogue all belong to Mr. Norton.

NOTE: This story takes place within the episode Brothers, Fathers and Sons. (Episode #7) To fully enjoy Orphans and Angels it is best to have already seen this episode.

"Watch your ammo. I’m gonna try to flank’em," Zeke yelled, rolling away from Baker and Johnson, crawling methodically through the brush. What the hell happened? A few minutes earlier a chopper had been flying them off for some fun in the rear. Now here they were in enemy territory…getting shot at. Damn the Nam, the sergeant thought, as the sweat dripped down his forehead and caught in his already soaked headband. It had been hot all day, but he had not noticed himself sweating this profusely. Nerves, Zeke finally decided. His gut instinct was definitely trying to tell him something.

Anderson’s powerful body always managed to find a way to signal the veteran sergeant’s mind of impending danger. Past experience dictated it was prudent to heed those warnings. After two tours in the Nam, Anderson was able to effectively ignore the bells and whistles going off in his head, and continue to make his way through the tall grass. Anxiously aware of the fact that whether he heeded the warnings or not, his gut was rarely wrong.

Unfortunately, today’s situation dictated that Anderson set those feelings aside and ignore his intuition, in order to perform his duty. Had the sergeant known the scope of the danger, or how close he would come to the edge of sanity, he might have decided to chuck his duty and just walk away.

Creeping within fifty feet of the two enemy snipers, Anderson was finally confident of his angle. Raising himself up, Zeke held the M-16 steady, aimed and fired. The shot found its target and the pajama-clad soldier collapsed in a heap. The second man took off running. Without flinching, the sergeant deliberately took aim and fired again. Missed. Damn.

With his senses on a heightened state of alert, Zeke slowly made his way over to the soldier he had hit. Standing over the fallen enemy, he pointed the rifle at the slim motionless figure and marveled, like he always did, at how small the Vietnamese people were. Small was one thing, Zeke finally conceded upon his approach. This body was obviously too small to be a man. Holding his breath, the sergeant took the muzzle of the M-16, put it under the armpit of the diminutive corpse and pushed, effectively flipping it over. Fighting back the anger stirring in the pit of his stomach, Zeke noted that the boy did not look dead. He looked peaceful.

Maybe twelve years old, certainly no more than thirteen. The sergeant took a moment to study the smooth skin, dark hair, and perfect features of the lifeless youngster. A decision he would no doubt regret later on. Damn the fucking Nam, Anderson thought for the second time in the last few minutes. The things it makes me do. Damn it all to hell. Forcing himself to turn away from the silent child, Zeke pushed the boy into the deepest recesses of his mind. Fully aware that the memory would not stay put, his conscience would see to that. Never sure of where or when, the sergeant was only certain that he would be seeing this enemy again.

Checking his emotions, Zeke hustled back to his men. "Now let’s get out of here," he ordered. The sergeant quickly decided on heading north in an effort to confuse the inevitable pursuers, then cutting east, and finally winding back around and making a run for the base. The decision was made without much effort. Anderson was an experienced soldier, and a sergeant; he made hundreds of like decisions as part of his every day routine. This one was no different, until fate chose to intervene. If not for this one strategic decision, Zeke would later reflect, they would not have discovered the bombed out Montagnard village…and he would have never met Judd.

Sergeant Anderson always relied on his instincts. For most of his life they had sustained him. Today, they proved to be perfectly honed and painfully accurate. Had he chosen to listen; he would not have killed a child. But it was a child with an AK-47 and it needed to be done, the sergeant rationalized. So why was his internal alarm still sounding? The deed was done. It was time to move on. The uneasiness failed to subside as the three soldiers moved out. Zeke again silently cursed the Nam for the role he had played in today’s events; totally unaware of the excruciating role he was about to play.

The Nam had a way of kicking a man when he was down.

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

"Hey, over here, quick," Johnson yelled. "This one’s alive!"

And so it began.

Sergeant Anderson was the first human being to touch the baby, before he was Judd. He felt the infant’s soft tender skin under his calloused, dirty hands. "Okay, there you go," he softly whispered, gently placing the small bundle of life on its dead mother’s chest. He watched the baby struggle for every breath, fighting to survive. Zeke had never seen a baby being born before. When Katie was born he sat outside, nervously pacing the waiting room until a nurse called out his name. He wondered if anyone would ever call this child’s name…if the child would live long enough to have a name.

Using all his powers of persuasion, the sergeant convinced his two young soldiers that leaving the infant behind was the best option, the only choice. That the baby would be better off with his own people had been the main thrust of his argument. Zeke was not sure if it was true, but he was sure that his finely-tuned warning system was still flashing him the full red alert, and he had no intention of ignoring it a second time. The events of the morning still fresh in his mind.

What’s the use in having good instincts if you ain’t gonna follow them, Zeke soundly reasoned. Every intuition, every gut instinct, indeed his very soul seemed to be delivering the same imperative message to his brain, GET OUT! …urging him to run for cover in one last bid for safety and sanity…for self-preservation.

He almost made it.

Another ten seconds at most, and they would have been out of earshot of the crying infant. But again destiny reared its fateful head and Zeke found himself walking through enemy territory with his two, nineteen-year-old, teenage soldiers and a brand new, twenty-minute old, baby boy.

Sergeant Anderson did not ask for this responsibility. In fact, he had done everything in his power to avoid it, to let someone else be accountable for this child. Still, he accepted some of the blame. Zeke was good at accepting. As a child, he had no choice but to accept whatever came his way…his abandonment, his mom’s death, his never being adopted. Zeke had learned not to make deals or try to bargain with God when life got too tough. It never worked. He simply accepted.

After all, it had been his idea to get an afternoon off in the rear, and he chose the route they would take to try and outrun the VC. There were no deals to be had; the gods of circumstance and chance had made their decision. The burden had fallen on Zeke Anderson and he knew that he would do right by it; he would do his best for all of them. That was not in question. The question was…would it be enough?

The internal red alert slowly faded as Zeke relaxed and accepted the cards he was given. It was not that the danger was over, but the wheels were set in motion and there was no turning back. It was too late now. Anderson looked at his two soldiers and at the baby and knew he was in it up to his eyeballs. The game was started, it was too late to fold, and fate had already upped the ante. The sergeant understood that he would just have to play the hand he had been dealt. Whatever was going to happen--would happen.

Zeke harbored no resentment about it. That was not in his nature. Acknowledging his responsibility, he determined to do his utmost to ensure the safety of the young lives entrusted to him. At an early age, Zeke recognized a truth that others often failed to grasp.

That truth being, that in reality, we all have very little control over our fortunes.

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

"Look, Sarge, once we make contact we’ll just medivac him back to DaNang. I mean they got people back there who can take care of him," Baker suggested.

"Yeah, they got orphanages and stuff," Johnson added.

"Orphans don’t got a hope in hell, not in this world they don’t," Anderson commented, finally voicing the thought that had been on his mind since the baby emerged from the safety of the womb into the dangerous world of war.

Neither Johnson nor Baker knew that their sergeant was speaking from first hand experience. Clayton Ezekiel Anderson was three years old when his mother decided she could no longer care for him and left him at a shelter. His father was already long gone.

The sergeant struggled to push the memory farther down. It would not go, it never did. The passing of time, love, the war…nothing in this life seemed capable of healing the cutting wound of his abandonment. Every time he was forced to look, it was open and raw, standing alone as the ultimate rejection.

He could still remember the confusion and fear he felt on the day his mother left. As a child, Zeke worried about what he had done wrong. Spending much of his childhood looking back, straining to remember, so he could fix and change whatever it was that had caused her to leave him with strangers. Eventually, he learned the concept of acceptance and moved on. Except…Zeke knew he was kidding himself. He had never been able to move on. God knows he tried. His marriage, Katie, the Army, his guys, all of it temporary balm, none of it lasting. And now this orphaned baby, (who he was trying desperately to ignore) was forcing him to revisit it all.

Zeke’s first memory as an orphan was of lying in a big bed, wet, waiting for someone to come for him. He waited a long time, it seemed like days, but he was only three years old and not yet conscious of real time. Zeke was certain he had not cried. He just lay there patiently…waiting.

Looking back, Zeke realized how much of his childhood had been spent waiting. As a little boy, he would lie in bed at night, waiting for his mom to come back for him, fighting to stay awake so he wouldn’t miss her when she came. When Zeke was older, and had learned acceptance, he began the long arduous wait to be adopted. He spent hours practicing being polite and likable…adoptable. Once Zeke reached his teens, and his dream of belonging to a real family ended, he waited to turn sixteen -- to get the hell out.

That was an aspect of orphan life that most did not consider…the interminable waiting.

The most agonizing, wasted years of waiting came for Zeke between the ages of six and nine years old. The details were always fresh in the sergeant’s mind.

Zeke still had the habit of staring past people when they spoke to him, especially when he was nervous or receiving bad news…but mostly, when he had no respect for the person delivering the news.

"C’mon, gimme the kid," the sergeant said to his inept grunts. Zeke’s intention was to demonstrate the art of burping a baby, but the moment he held the defenseless, vulnerable infant in his arms he lost all perspective. He forgot his earlier gut warning of danger. Instead, he felt his own power and strength in the dependence of this tiny life.

Sergeant Anderson needed to be needed.

Zeke was ten years old when he discovered the joy of being needed. The attention and gratitude for helpfulness did wonders for his battered self-image and poor sense of worth. Being useful was one of the few things that Zeke had control over as a child. He responded by being more dependable, more capable, and more useful. Others appreciated him. It made Zeke proud when he was commended for his hard work. That feeling of pride was the reason the sergeant was so quick to tell his own men when they "done good". As a child, praise was the only reward he ever sought for his efforts, always needing to hear the words.

As a man, Anderson finally came to realize that although "being needed" and "being loved" are intimately related they are not exactly the same thing. You can make someone need you.

"Oh, man, poor little thing, doesn’t have a hope in hell. Do you have any idea what it’s like to be an orphan in this world, Baker?" The sergeant asked. "I’ll tell you what, it is one kick in the butt after another." Zeke paused. "I hate to be the one to tell you this kid, you’d been better off if you’d never been born."

The sergeant said the words, but in his heart he hoped his own life could somehow prove them untrue.

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

"It’s all right. Just a little artillery. It ain’t about nothin," Zeke whispered, trying to soothe the crying newborn.

"Baby love, my baby love," Zeke sang in an effort to calm the restless infant, searching for a name worthy of this child.

Judd, he decided.

Zeke still had that ball somewhere. It occurred to the sergeant that maybe when he got back to the World, he should track Judd Cyebaugh down, and thank him for his kindness. But then again…Judd was sure to have a family, a wife and children. He might not remember a needy orphan kid from over twenty years ago. That thought stopped the sergeant cold. Zeke decided to keep his memories untarnished, realizing that he always took things a step farther than they were meant to go. This time, he would err on the side of caution. He would show his appreciation to his mentor by naming this child after him. Zeke smiled down at his fussing bundle. Judd. It was the name of a good man that evoked even better memories.

"Baby love," Zeke continued singing as Judd settled down. Staring at the sleeping infant, the sergeant recalled what Baker said about Corky Carroll, the orphan surfer, and Albert Einstein, the orphan genius. Forgetting his instincts and setting aside his apprehension, Sergeant Anderson made what he later perceived as his one fatal mistake.

He allowed himself a faint glimmer of hope.

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

"Stuck. We can’t go any further," Johnson panted, abruptly ending the wild chase through the bamboo forest.

"We’ll hide here," the sergeant quickly decided. The three soldiers threw themselves to the ground and began the silent, nerve-wracking wait. The VC only minutes behind them.

Judd wailed and fidgeted in Zeke’s trembling arms. "Shh, Judd, oh, I’m beggin’ ya, shh. C’mon, Judd, I’m beggin’ ya, buddy, I’m beggin’ ya."

Zeke did not quite recognize the tight, constricted feeling in his chest. It was not fear exactly. He was acquainted with fear on a personal level…they had a fairly good working relationship. This was different. It caused the sergeant’s heart to race and his breath to catch in his throat.

"Shut him up," Baker whispered harshly.

Zeke agreed wholeheartedly, but for the life of him could not figure out how to accomplish that. Panic, the word flashed into the sergeant’s mind. That must be what this is, he acknowledged. Zeke grew up an orphan, lost his wife and child, and lived through two combat tours, but this was the first time he had ever panicked.

Protecting his men and staying alive had always been Sergeant Anderson’s top priorities. If he did not find a way to quiet Judd none of them would survive. The panic sprouted from the realization that putting a big clumsy hand over Judd’s tiny crying mouth was not an option he was capable of. Regardless of logic or consequences, Zeke would not be the cause of this child’s death, not even for Baker and Johnson’s sake.

Judd might be Sergeant Anderson’s reason for being…

He believed her. One special thing. Zeke thought his purpose in life was to take care of Carol and Katie, but that proved false. They didn’t need him. Sergeant Anderson saw a lot of action and saved many lives, but none of them ever felt like the reason he was put on the earth. But Judd…

The chance of being in that remote village at the precise moment of Judd’s birth was in itself a miracle. Perfect timing. God’s perfect timing. Somewhere along the way, the sergeant decided it was more than just coincidence. Against all odds, the baby was still hanging tough, living off of water and a little goat’s milk. Judd was the sole reason for Zeke’s high level of confidence. The sergeant was convinced that Judd was the one true thing.

Zeke’s heart resumed its normal rhythm when he desperately stuck a finger in Judd’s mouth and the little guy began sucking vigorously…quieting himself.

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

Johnson’s next plan to lose the VC’s relentless pursuit failed miserably.

The enemy was closing in and they were fast running out of ideas, but the two young soldiers believed in their sergeant. They had no doubt he would come up with a plan to save them. Zeke was just as confident. He thrived in these types of situations, he always had. He was needed. The sergeant decided to take matters into his own hands.

"Gonna slow’em down a little bit. Give’em a little of their own modus operandi," he suggested. Zeke’s only hesitation came when he handed Judd over to Johnson. Although certain his soldiers would take care of the baby as best they could, he was equally certain that he could take care of Judd so much better. Zeke cleared his head and tried to focus. Taking care of the VC would be taking care of them all.

It bought a few precious minutes.

With Judd’s fever soaring, the signal fire was the only card left to play. "Pile it on, c’mon, c’mon," Zeke urged, still positive they would prevail. After all, they were doing something noble and that had to count for something…right? Judd was special. The Nam will just have to make some concessions, the sergeant thought smugly. Lulled by his experience and prowess, and the baby’s total dependence and complete innocence.

"Ain’t you somethin’," the sergeant softly cooed, lovingly stroking Judd’s hot forehead with his thumb and forefinger. "Yeah, ain’t you somethin’?"

Zeke had outwitted fate before and always managed to survive. He was convinced he could do it one more time…for Judd. This tiny life was an orphan. He doesn’t have an angel, Zeke reminded himself. He only has me. I won’t let you down, Judd buddy, he promised his sleeping charge, gently kissing the baby’s warm cheek. Zeke memorized the small, peaceful face, and then turned his attention to waging war.

When the shooting started, the sergeant hurriedly found a spot beneath an overhang of rock and carefully placed the sleeping baby on the ground beneath the natural ledge. He covered Judd’s face with the light blanket and felt satisfied that the baby was secure, in the best possible position, forgetting there was no safe place in the whole of Vietnam.

When it was all over, Sergeant Anderson had survived, once again cheating death, but Judd did not.

"Look what we did, you and me buddy," Zeke yelled at the surprised, wounded VC soldier coming towards him. The sergeant caught a brief glimpse of the deep pain and hatred in the eyes of his enemy, but was too consumed by his own anguish to acknowledge it.

The war had managed to pull off the ultimate irony. The sergeant killed this man’s son and this man, in turn, killed Judd. The despair was all-inclusive…Americans and VC alike. No mercy could be expected, and there were no real victories to be had. The Nam would throw an occasional bone, to keep everyone playing the game. But in the end, the war rolled on virtually unchallenged, ruthlessly crushing everything in its path…the very young and the very old, the innocent, right alongside of the guilty. It was business as usual out in the boonies.

"He was just a baby," Zeke cried, not knowing if the enemy soldier was coming to gawk at him or to kill him. A part of him wished the VC would go ahead and put a round in him to stop the pain. Rocking back and forth, Zeke clung to Judd, weeping. He was so sorry. He cried until his eyes stung and he had no more tears. When he was finished, he sat in stunned silence hugging the dead child fiercely to his chest until the chopper came for them.

Sergeant Anderson sat between Baker and Johnson as the three men clasped hands and sat in hushed silence. Zeke forced his mind to replay the events, trying to figure out what had gone wrong. Where he had failed. As a soldier, he could find no fault; the circumstances had dictated his course of action.

The sergeant did not blame the war or the Viet Cong. He blamed himself. He had hoped too much, when he should have known better. Fate never intended this child to live, no matter what type of herculean effort he put forward. The fact that his actions had no impact on the outcome was especially hard to swallow. Putting his emotions ahead of his instincts is what proved fatal.

Zeke glanced down and saw Judd’s tiny fist in Johnson’s hand and stopped thinking. He stared at Judd for another second before lifting his head and fixing his gaze straight ahead, at some invisible spot just beyond the copilot. Looking for…angels. He let go completely and set himself adrift, not caring if he ever returned.

Even for the Nam, it was an incredibly cruel week.

******The End******