Waan Jai (หวานใจ – sweet heart) Sweetheart.

Chapter Eleven

Ben – Going to War

When I shared with the platoon that we would be going to war soon, I did not fathom that it would be three weeks later. The troop planes were three updated C-130 JXs, similar to the one I flew in Texas. We landed in the Philippines to refuel and spend the night while we received detail orders for our final designation. We were warned that our assignment would be secret.

I did hook up with my buddy Mike, but could only say we were heading to Vietnam. However, that was not our final location. While visiting Mike my gruesome deliberation spoke loud and clear that my mission might not let me return to the U.S. alive. After all, that would be okay. No one would miss me. My history was just half a thud in time.

We put-down in Saigon and a few Marines departed We spent three hours in Vietnam. The final stop of the aircraft was in Thailand near Chiang Rai. We were transported by bus to the Northwest border of Thailand in the mountain region. Across the border was Eastern Burma. We discovered our location was South of the Golden Triangle where Thailand, Laos and Burma join together.

Our primary mission was to protect the Thai border. Meaning we were to engage communist infiltrators in battle. Both Burma and Laos claimed to be neutral. However, Burma has five different factions fighting internally. Each group was distinguished by its own language. The losers were the innocent non-aligned villagers. Hmong villages suffered the most. The Middle-east section was unprotected making it fertile ground for the communists to have strong influence.

Laos had similar problems. The communists ran the North part of the country while the middle and the South were fighting each other. The communists were the worse criminals in both countries. After plundering a village, they would murder the men, women and children, except for the girls and young women between thirteen and twenty-two. After the men satisfied their lusts, these captives were repeatedly raped.

The communist perpetrators slit the throats of the girls that were homely. The prettier ones were sold to the sex slave market, then resold to brothels, harems and bars world-wide. White Christian missionaries brought in the most money.

The victims were forced to take drugs until they were hooked and compliant. Once the treatments took over, the women would do anything to avoid withdrawal. After hearing the disgusting details, several of us puked. My fists rolled into a ball and my body tightened. Vengeance flooded our thoughts. I wanted to hit someone lethally.

Communists possess an ideology that is at odds with democracy. At one point, we oppose their aggressive philosophy, while we can respect them as the enemy. These thugs are gangsters of a cruel and evil level. They are the scum who prey on innocence and purity. They are a plague on humanity. We are provoked with preventing them to infect our civilization. What an awesome task is in our future! A bitter and sour bile flooded my mouth. A shadow covered my soul. Sounds of my breath escalated. A desperate desire was driving me to destroy these devious demonic devils.

Army engineers built the camp in the side of a mountain. Entrance to the cavity was tight, but expanded quickly to an enormous structure that was majestic. The accommodations were two notches above crude, and at the same time practical. These quarters were in a large natural cave that branched in several directions.

Battalion command center was a hundred feet from the opening and as wide as a football field. Platoon billets and company offices were spacious and hacked out of the crevices of the cavern. The communication center covers an area a few feet from the front of the foyer. Their antennas arose ahead to an apex above a mountain ash. Even with five hundred hot humans habituating inside, it hovered at a heavenly heat of sixty-eight degrees. A mixture of superiority and seediness shared the same space.

Lower ranked enlisted men kept everything in the essence of efficiency and immaculate. Sergeants supervised the sequence and scolded their subordinates substantially. Simplicity was welcomed. I felt like it was home. Wheels of existence ran smoothly through my body with charms of delight. Off duty men played cards, checkers and chess to occupy themselves.

Only a few guys were perceptive of my ability in MDCC. Sergeant Martin arranged a 'knock out the lieutenant' party. Twelve of the biggest bruisers paid fifty dollars each for the right to try to knock me out. It was obvious that I was smaller than any of them. The sergeant made it clear that once they paid their money there would be no refunds.

Each of them had a chance to speak about how they were going to cream me. When my time came, I said, "I'm sorry. Please don't be mad if I hurt you." Most everyone chuckled, because they were not mindful of my power in the ring. Of course, the good sergeant was taking bets on the side.

A little over two hundred officers and enlisted persons crunched around the mat to watch me lose. I smiled, and the audience laughter was thunderous.

Wade Robertson was the first brute. I rendered a Thai wye. Wade exhibited a booming belly whoop. I blocked and dodged two power punches. On the third attempt his fist were clinched tight. I grabbed his thumb and pulled his follow through and flipped him on his back. A swift kick to the

stomach caused him to groan.

The next six attempted power punches. I clasped my hand around their arm or wrist letting the force of their follow-through pull them down or flipped them, and kicked them somewhere near their groin. I presented a yawn after the sixth one went down.

The seventh balked. I said, "What if I let you and the next man fight me at the same time?" He expressed a tremble in his throat. Pulling a blindfold and a dark bag from my corner, I asked him to check both items to determine if he could see anything through them. He answered that he could not. I said, "What I am about to demonstrate is something that only two other men that I know have ever attempted. Do you believe I can see with my ears?" He shook his head no.

"Will you and your buddy fight me, if I put the blindfold on my eyes, and the bag over my head?" He nodded and his partner said, "Yes!"

"Then, I will show you how I see with my ears." The crowd went silent. I slipped the items on. I was side stepping around the edge of the mat.

"I want you to hit or kick me hard as you can. I promise not to hurt you to badly. When you fellows are ready to fight, step onto the mat." Bubba approached me from the back. Big Brewster faced me. No sounds were emitted by the watchers.

Bubba endeavored to kick me behind the knee. I clutched his foot slowly jerking him down. Bad Brewster made an effort to sock me in the mug. I gradually tossed him on his nose and booted both in the posterior.

I addressed those present, "What the Marines has taught me is we are brothers. You are the only family in my life. It takes patience, practice and purpose to demonstrate what was done today. My inspiration is you. I don't want to see anyone in my family hurt or killed. That spurs me on to be the best MDCC fighter within my capabilities. I know you would take a bullet for me because we are a family. In my heart, I would like to think that I would lay down my life for my brothers. The assembled bellowed, "Hoo Rah!"

The rest of the opponents dwindled away. The Regiment Commander, General Whitworth said, "Where do you come from?"

"Sir, previously I was in the Air Force. General Olander was my fighting coach. My home is military living."

"I have never seen anything like that. Can you teach others that blindfold technique?"

"Sir, it took me two years to learn it, but I will be glad to help those who desire to improve their hand to hand combat skills."

"We need a major on the regiment level to teach our instructors superior methods of MDCC. Would you be interested?"

Sir, I am honored, but I promised my men I would stick with them to hell and back if needed. I cannot break my word."

"Of course, you can't. That is what makes you a good officer, but circumstances alter. If you adjust your stance, call me."

"Yes sir, I will."

War is terrible, but at some point, we must stand up for those that cannot help themselves. The wickedness in the world needs to be defied. My platoon dedicated themselves to eliminate the evil we encounter. We have clashed with several small groups. They were not well armed. Three of my men were wounded.

My men killed six of the enemy and captured a dozen more. We were instructed to turn them over to Thai . Two dozen women from a makeshift prison were released. A C-130JX from my former unit came to transport the females to Chiang Mai. It was wonderful to see them, even though I did not recognize any one. My heart swelled. There was a sense of relief filling me.

Thai agents interrogated the men we had detained. The information they received indicated there was a larger group of the enemy nearby. The men from my platoon and I were dispatched to the location. It was difficult to tell if we were still in Thailand. Were we in Burma?

We fired on the stockade. Return bullets whizzed around us. They had two machine guns blaring. Five of our men were wounded and had fallen. Sergeant Martin and I crawled to the first man. We had to stand up to help him out. Each of us took a bullet to the upper torso. In spite of the pain, we went back to get the second. I received another bullet. It hit me in the chest. The next two trips we moved a couple more Marines to a place out of range. Our men silenced the machine guns using grenades launchers.

The fifth attempt to bring the last Marine to safety found the sarge and me up against a Chinese repeating rifle. I collapsed to the ground when two shots hit my head. The next few days found my memory cloudy.

A nightmare took control of my mind. Finding myself on the porch at the door of my house, I found it unusually eerie, cold and hazy for Texas. Angie responded to my knock. Her face appeared colorless, and her nightgown was filthy. I asked to come in. She shrilled, "It is not your house anymore. A chorus made up of Granny, Pappy and Lilly repeated creepy-like, "It is not your house anymore. Get out of here and don't ever come back."

My words were spooky while echoing, "Angie, I love you! Angie, I love you. I love you, but you don't love me. Angie, does not love me, Angie does not care." All four of them displayed a tunneled laugh. They began throwing dishes at me. Stepping off the deck found me falling and falling and shouting, "Angie hates me."

This is when moisture slapped me on the cheek. Lilly kissed me on the cheek face saying. "Daddy I love you. We all love you." Angie echoed, "Ben, I love you. I'm sorry...Please forgive me!" The dream provoked fear and anger. I do not know when the horrendous vision ended and reality took over. I refused to forgive her. I thought this is it, no one will care at my death. Pounding from my heart produced a stiffness in my chest. My eyes glazed at the consideration no one cared whether I died. I clinched my fist and began beating my upper torso.