Shady OaksTrailer Park

Lot #19

Chehalis, Washington

United States of America

09 August, 1986

1935 Hours

      It had all gone downhill. I wasn't sure what I had expected, coming into the house like I had, but it sure as hell wasn't facing off against my sister-in-law/ex-wife and Jed with drawn knives. Tera had the knife held downward in her fist, the blade up by her ear, her left arm something she wasn't sure what to do with. Jed held the knife completely opposite of what I had expected. Jed had the knife blade up at waist level in front of him and his other hand right at the same level. Not how they teach you to hold it in the military.

        "Gonna make a man outta you, you little shit." Jed smiled, his lip and nose still leaking blood from where I'd slapped him to the floor. "Nobody to save your little ass." He wiped his mouth, smearing blood across his face. "Gonna show you how we did it in the Big Red One."

        "Cut him, Daddy." Tera squealed. God, how did I not notice just how much she sounded like a piglet? That nasal goddamn whine cut through my nerves like a dentist's drill.

        Jed tossed the knife back and forth from hand to hand, grinning at me. Martha was still rocking Logan back and forth, and he was wailing and weeping and still holding his face.

...talons, cold as icicles, trailing down my face, leaving behind frostbitten trails of blackened flesh...

        "Really, Jed?" I asked when he threw the knife from one hand to the next and flipped it up and back down.

        "Huh?"

        "He broke my nose, Daddy." Tera squealed.

        Jed went to flip the knife and I slapped it out of the air with one quick motion, the blade bouncing into the room where Martha had been reading the Bible, sliding to a stop under the table. Jed just stared at his hands for a second and I shook my head.

...seriously?...

        I turned to Tera, who was suddenly backing up toward the kitchen, the knife forgotten in her hand. Funny, for someone who was just ready to try to stab my ass a few seconds ago.

        "You ain't got the balls to take me on, boy." Jed sneered.

...why do they always say that?...

        Jed jumped toward me, a scare tactic, like we were in grade-school, or I was a child and he was an adult. He used to scare the hell out of me when I was a child, but that probably had more to do with the fact I'd been like half his size. When I was a kid, I'd have jumped back, maybe fallen over the coffee table, and maybe even screamed.

        Instead I just stood there, unphased by his bullying tactics.

...STAND AND DELIVER...

         Jed grinned. "Knew you didn't have any balls, boy. Always been a coward." He hissed at me through his hate and anger. I was embarassing him, in front of his wife, in front of his two kids, and it was starting to really anger him. He'd ruled the house when I was smaller with fear and brutality, not love, not respect. Punishments for any infraction, real or imagined, were met with violence. Now I wasn't reacting right to him, and he was geting angry, looking for a chink in my defenses.

        The lizard hissed at the word coward, and I felt my blood burn at Jed, the lying piece of shit he was, calling me a coward. For all his shit talking about killing VC by the dozens, I knew the trush, and hearing him call me a coward made that chunk of frozen hatred Alfenwehr had contaminated me with grow. Still, I wasn't going to let it get to me, beyond how badly I was going to hurt him when it came down to it.

        In the kitchen Tera was dialing the phone, and the lizard tracked the number of rotary phone dials she was doing.

        One. Two. Three. Four...

        She wasn't calling 911. Good.

        He jumped at me again, trying to scare me again, and this time I went with my reflexes.

        I stepped into him slamming my fist into his stomach, my hand grabbing his shirt and yanking him into me. My first buried into his gut, he leaned into me, his breath rushing out of him, and I could smell the bile on his breath as his stomach almost purged everything. He went double, and I grabbed him around the neck with my right arm, pulling his neck up into my armpit. My left hand grabbed my right wrist, fully locking him in, and I bore down hard.

        Instead of doing what was hammered to us in hand to hand, grabbing my leg and lifting me up or punching me in the balls, or lifting me up to slam me back to, or even bull rushing me into a wall in hopes my grip would loosen, he did exactly what you are not supposed to do.

        Jed started clawing at my arm, trying to get through the flannel shirt. I bore down and could feel his vertebrae creak. It would only take on quick wrench, and training made it so reflexes, and the little lizard, wanted to twist so his neck broke.

...every life comes with a death sentence...

        "Let your father go, Aodan, right now!" Martha screamed.

        "Tiernan's not here." I growled at her.

        "...here. You got to do something..." Tera was yelling into the phone.

        "Now, Jed, either I'll break your neck, or you'll tell me what I want." I said, suddenly letting him go. He stood up straight, went to push me, and I took him to down to the floor with the standard control takedown, so he was on his knees and I was standing above him, his arm straight out, my hand around his wrist and my other hand against his elbow, pushing it the wrong way until it strained.

        "Now, now, Jed, don't get hasty." I warned, putting more pressure on the elbow.

        "...he'll kill Jed and Martha. What do you mean I need to deal with it..."

        "The Doutree boys, where are they?" I asked, putting pressure on the elbow.

        "Let go of your father!"

        I put pressure on Jed's elbow, looking at Marta. "The Doutree boys."

        "Let me go, you little shit." Jed gasped at me. "Don't make me go off on your ass like it's 'Nam, boy."

        I'd heard that before. Plenty of times. Usually before he broke a rib or two, or knocked out a baby tooth, or left me with blurred or double vision and a ringing headache. Hell, thanks to Jed, I practically had flashbacks just at the word 'Nam. Still, it was that time, time to stick it in deep and twist it till it broke off.

        "Don't mean you're gonna go off on my ass like it's Thialand?" I asked, smiling down at him. He looked up, sweat beading his forehead from the pain in this arm and shoulder. "Gonna go off on my ass like it's the messhall at an Air Force Base?"

        "What?" Jed said, and I could see the sudden fear in his eyes.

        "Thialand. You were a goddamn cook for the fucking Chair Force in Thialand." I laughed suddenly. "That what it's been about all this time? Your older brother goes off to war and gets medals and you end up slinging green eggs and ham for the Air Force?"

        "Shut your fucking mouth." Jed grated, staring up at me.

        "Let go of your father!"

        "...going to kill Jed and Martha, and Logan's dying..."

        "Mama, I need a doctor, please..."

        "The Doutree boys." I snarled. "WHERE ARE THEY?" I pushed harder on the elbow.

        "Fine! Jimmie's at his daddy's." Martha shrieked at me. "Now just go!"

        I let go of Jed's arm and he gasped, cradling it. I put my boot on his shoulder and pushed him over. Petty, I knew, but I was at the point where it was either be petty or start doing serious damage to Jed to punish him for all the childhood beatings he'd inflicted on me.

        "Good enough for me." I lied. I walked toward the open glass door. I'd come what I'd intended to do. Terrorize my birth parents to keep them out of the whole thing, so I wouldn't be forced to kill them. Let them know that I wasn't the child they could keep abusing any more. Tera and Logan had been a bonus, and I wanted Logan so scared he didn't crawl out of the bottle for at least a month after I was gone.

        "Please, mommy, I need a hospital."

        "...he's after the Doutree boys..."

        "GET OUT OF MY HOUSE, YOU VILE CREATURE!"

        "I'm gonna kick your ass if you come back here, boy."

        I stepped through the door, turning around and starting to slide it shut, smiling at them. I knew the nerve in my cheek was spasming, jerking the side of my face up.

        The summer night felt good as I walked back to my truck, whistling. I was trying to act nonchalant, when my inside were starting to roil. I wanted to run back inside, beg forgiveness, beg Martha to love me like she loved Logan, beg Jed to let me be his good son, that I could be a good boy. Tell them I was in the wrong, that I'd deserved every beating I'd gotten at their hands.

        The legacy of the abused child I had once been.

        Letting Jed know that I knew that all his stories were bullshit felt good, letting him know that I knew that all he'd done was cook for the Air Force for three years in Thailand. Drafted in '65, went to Basic Training at Fort Dix, washed out of infantry training, moved to cook.  Poor marksmanship scores, barely passed AIT even with the draft on. Was supposed to go to Vietnam, got switched at the last second to cook for the Special Forces troops in Thailand, as well as the Air Force.

        All those pictures of him hanging out with snake eaters were just them humoring a REMF cook.

        Goddamn. One of these days, I'd meet someone, ask them when they were in, they'd say Vietnam, I'd ask what they did, and instead of claiming to be bad-assed infantry or some kind of snake eater, he'd say he was a mechanic, or a cook, or a clerk. I would buy that man drinks the rest of the day.

        Just once. Just. fucking. once. I'd like to meet someone, outside the current military, who would admit to being just support during Vietnam. I mean, there was nothing wrong with support. The Vietnam vets in 2/19th had mostly been support, and they were proud of what they did. Support Platoon's Platoon Sergeant, Master Sergeant Cartiagh, bragged that he had never killed a man duirng five years in Vietnam, and when he had been a squad leader, neither had his men, None of his men died, either. He was proud of that. That he had kept people from dying, while he sent ammunition to the front and handled the incendiary munitions, so that other men could fight the war.

        He stressed to his troops all the time how the safety and survivability of the rest of the soldiers was the primary job. More important than medals or glory, was keeping us fed, suuplied with ammo and war material, and alive.

        I respected the hell out of him.

        All of that was going through my mind as I walked over and pulled open the truck door, the hinge sqealing in the night. I climbed in, lit a cigarette to calm my shaking hands, and sat behind the wheel for a long moment. I should have felt victorious, should have felt something inside at once again being able to show Jed and Martha I wasn't the child they once abused. Instead, I wanted to throw up.

        The truck fired up with a low rumble and I drove the circle to leave the trailer park slowly, making sure the shakes weren't affecting my ability to drive.

        I wanted Nancy, or John, or maybe just four fingers of Bicardi 151 in a glass with no ice.

        I pulled out onto the street, the tires crunching on the gravel. I had enough time for some food and a nap before the meeting. I'd completed most of the tasks I'd set for myself, including facing Jed and Martha in their own den. It just... it just... didn't feel like I thought it would.

        No sense of victory, just ashes in my mouth. Same as the last time.

        The more things change, the more the things stay the same.