“Bullshit, marine,” said the man from Naval Investigative Service, “You really expected us to believe that?”
“Sir, we heard shots,” I said, “Gunny instructed us to investigate then we did what we had to do.”
Everyone was sweating, each for his own reasons. N.I.S. had interviewed all the members of our
group except for Gunny, Corporal Fahrad and Lance Corporal Hargett - the driver. Now it was my
turn. It felt strange being back in the same tent we had started in that morning. The three N.I.S.
officers wore suits. They seemed disappointed that there weren’t any lights to shine on me. The
youngest one kept trying to open the tent flap wide enough to let the sunlight hit my face. The
senior officer made him stop. The third officer shook his head.
“Look, marine,” said the senior. He straddled a chair in front of me. “I could really give a shit what
happened out there. But this place is still swarming with the news media. That means if someone in
Washington has to stand in front the camera and explain anything, anything at all, then my director
will be grabbing his ankles in front of that very same someone. That means I’m grabbing my ankles
in front of the director and you, my friend, will be grabbing yours in front of me.”
“We want to talk to you about Gunnery Sergeant Higgle,” said the junior officer.
“I have nothing to say,” I said.
“Then why don’t we talk about Kinville, in Japan.” said the senior.
****
I walked out of the tent. It was nearly sunset. Gunny made eye contact with me from a bench. I
nodded. Gunny stood. The junior officer called Gunny’s name. He walked past me into the tent. I
sat down on the bench next to corporal Fahrad.
“Why don’t you grab some sleep for a couple minutes,” I said, “Believe it or not it’ll do you some
good. I can wake you when they call.”
“Two minutes,” said Fahrad. He looked like hell.
“I need to talk to you,” said lance corporal Billy Joe Hargett. She sat down on the bench beside me.
She wore a t-shirt and cammies. Her hair was shaved tight.
“Why the hell were you driving today?” I whispered.
“Gunny said he wanted to keep an eye on me,” said Billy Joe. She looked me in the eye. Hers were
green. She looked to the porta-johns then back at me. I nodded. She stood then walked to them. I
waited until she went inside one, then stood and walked over myself.
****
“This is horrific, Gene,” said Billy Joe. Billy Joe is from Georgia.
“Considering they only installed these yesterday,” I said. I looked down the hole. Billy Joe slapped
me across the face.
“Wake up, Gene!” said Billy Joe, “Don’t you see what’s going on? That’s why we’re in this mess in
the first place. I need you serious for a second here.”
“I’m sorry,” I said, “I’m just tired. What happened?”
“I need to get my life back,” said Billy Joe, “that’s what happened. I want to get back to my
husband in Japan, Gene, you understand me?!” She grabbed my shirtfront.
“What the hell’s going on here!” said Gunny Higgle. The door to the porta-john flew open. Billy
Joe and I blinked. Corporal Fahrad stood at parade rest behind Gunny, smiling. The three N.I.S.
agents stood beside him. The junior one looked at his clipboard.
“Lance Corporal Hargett?” he said.
“Right here, sir,” said Billy Joe. She walked to the agents and followed them to the tent. Gunny’s
eyes burned into mine.
“Meet me at bivouac,” said Gunny. He turned and walked away. I stepped down from the porta-
john. Corporal Fahrad was laughing now.
“Well, you sure seem to be in better spirits there, hard-charger,” I said.
“You only get two minutes, marine,” said Fahrad, “Next time make it count.”
“I’ll do that,” I said.
I turned to follow Gunny. Shots rang out in the distance, small arms, rifles, then automatic weapons.
An alert siren went off. We all ran for the gate, weapons at the ready. There was a roar, like the
crowd in a soccer stadium. The convoy appeared up the road in the distance. A multitude of starving
people, thugs and militants ran alongside them, throwing rocks and bottles. There was a single shot.
The convoy stopped. There were screams then automatic weapons fire erupted from lead vehicle in
the convoy. The crowd scattered. The convoy peeled out, racing towards us. We cleared the center
and held the gates open for the vehicles to enter the compound. Marines were wounded. Action
Jackson preformed CPR. People screamed. Cameras flashed. The boys from N.I.S. ran towards me.
I turned around, towards the setting sun, and held my breath. They ran past me, into the fray.
I walked away.
For most of these marines, it was their last day in country. I figured I’d leave them to settle their
affairs. I had bigger fish to fry and a problem to deal with. If I didn’t do something about it I’d be
screwed. If I did anything though, I’d be screwed. What should one do when they’re about to be
screwed? I just wished there was something in between the two extremes. I worked my way through
the pallets of the staging area, back to the sandbags on the beach. I looked at our flag, on the
guideon, stabbed into the sand at my feet.
“Okinawa,” I said.
The last rays of sunlight vanished behind the city and Africa grew dark again. Bats flew. I stared at
the largest tent at the end of the first row for almost a minute. My heart pounded in my chest. I
tucked my 9mm. into the front of my trousers and covered it with my t-shirt. I reached into my
cargo pocket. It was there, a full bottle of grape Robotussin. Not the Chinese shit either, the German
shit. Gunny would be pleased. I swallowed hard then walked towards the tent.
“Bring your ass in here, Wagner,” said Gunny.
“Holy shit I think it’s Robo-Gunny...” I said. I poked my head through the opening of the tent.
Gunny’s expression brightened.
“And his sidekick, Sergeant Fury!” said Gunny, “bring that ass, devil dog.” He threw his arms
around me locking me into a bear-hug.
“Alright, devil dog that’s enough,” I said. I could barely breathe. Gunny squeezed harder. He leaned
back, lifting me off the ground.
“Robo and Fury!” said Gunny, “back in the saddle!”
“Gunny!” I said.
He released me. I handed him the bottle of Robotussin. “Nice work out there, killer,” I said, regaining my breath.
“A lovely work it was, devil dog,” said Gunny. He examined the label on the bottle. He smiled then
punched me in the arm. “Big spender. I should’ve wore my fuck-me pumps. He roared with
laughter then stopped. “So what did you tell them?”
“Nothing, Gunny,” I said.
“Then that’s the longest forty-five minutes of nothing I never heard of,” said Gunny. He winked at
me, giggling. He got that way sometimes, Gunny Giggles, Robo-Gunny, those are some of the
names he’s been called over the years that I’d served with him. Gunny peeled the plastic from the
top of the bottle. They just never understood Gunny, that’s all. Gunny’s log book was open on top of
an ammo box. A black and white photograph of Gunny at Khe Sanh was taped to the inside cover.
“They asked me about Kinville,” I said.
Gunny’s expression darkened. His neck muscles flexed with anticipation. I should’ve caught that
but I didn’t. Gunny pinned me against the wall with a knife to my throat. It cut me. My hand went
to my trousers.
“Excuse me,” said Corporal Fahrad. He stepped into the tent. “Oh my, I’m sorry,” said Fahrad.
Gunny and I stepped away from each other. I walked to the exit.
“Hey!” said Gunny. I looked back. He pointed to his eyeballs then pointed at me. “What the hell do
you want now, Somalia, a foot massage?” I walked away. “Apparently you’ve forgotten some of
your basic Marine Corps practical knowledge haven’t you, son?”
I had to find Billy Joe.
I crossed the compound with caution. There was still plenty of activity around the convoy. I touched
my neck then looked at my fingertips. It wasn’t bad. I crept through Supply Company, past the
armory, behind headquarters, towards the main tent of the chow hall.
A shadowed figure slipped out of the tent then entered the maze of cargo boxes stacked behind it.
I stopped.
“What the hell?” I said. I walked back and peered into the tent. Moonlight cast my shadow onto the
floor boards. Lying on the floor, was an unconscious Marine. His trousers were around his knees.
“filthy Ether Bunny,” I said.
I looked at the marine. I looked around the tent then off in the direction the shadowed figure had
fled. I looked at my watch.
“Sorry, devil dog,” I said.
****
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