Forever Proud

A story set in Vietnam, 1971. PFC Chance Fogie must lead his platoon after one of their sergeants is killed by a sniper.

It was a blistering day in 1971.

PFC. Chance Fogie was creeping through the brush of Vietnam, his battle buddy, PVT. Jeremy Walters was covering him from behind. Chance was still trying to get used to the bugs, heat, and scum of Southeast Asia. Before enlisting, he had been going to the University of Washington in Seattle on a scholarship. However, college life was just riveting and he wanted to find out all he could about Vietnam. So it was a quick signout and physical and before he knew it, he was in Ft. Benning Infantry School. 

And as soon as his two week vacation was up, he was shipped to the Vietnam War. 

He hadn't seen much action, only a couple of bombing runs made by choppers in the distance of the horizon, but he maintained that he would get to the butt of action eventually, everyone did. He didn't seem to care all that much about what was going on back home, never bothering to open the letters he got from his parents, friends, or by-now-ex-girlfriend. He was a loner, not much of a team player, but the Army did a good job of setting him up in teams and quelling his antisocial manners. And if it wasn't the army, then it had been a straightlaced Drill Sergeant named Olafsson. 

He slowly came around the brush, cradling his the butt of his rifle under his arm and holding the handles tightly. He knew if he had seen any of Victor Charlie, he would have to be prepared to dispatch them before they got him. He had heard stories from some disfigured NCO's that the VC's were fond of torture and mutlation on their prisoners. 

Not that Chance was fond of his looks, he at least wanted to keep his mouth or nose intact. Jeremy came up behind him and whispered, "Hear anything Fogie?"

"I don't hear s**t. If Charlies out there, he isn't making a move."

"I don't like it, Fogie, gooks have been living here for 900 years and they've made this jungle their playground. Kind of like the guineas in Brooklyn," Jeremy rambled, "You think your safe walking down an alley and bam! You been shived, shot, and mugged."

"Shut up, Walters. If you blow our position, I'm gonna blow your face off before Charlie gets a chance to cut it off."

"Okay, okay, I'm sorry Fogie. I just get real nervous whenever it's quite. You never know, they could be sneaking up behind you and before you know it, b-"

Chance grabbed Jeremy's fatigues and landed him on his back, looking down with burning eyes and growled, "If you say one more word, I'm going to f**k you up harder than your momma back in Brooklyn. Now get a grip and shut the f**k up."

Jeremy grimaced and nodded his head quickly. Chance let go of his fatigues and waited for his battle buddy to get back up. After a short time, he started walking out of the brush, and then, he looked at Jeremy, "Get on the horn, tell the Sarge its clear here and get permission to come back to the base."

Jeremy nodded and got on the backpack radio strapped to his back. Chance gulped and looked around the brush, looking around for any sign of Charlie. He looked back at Jeremy, who nodded and said, "Sarge says to report back to base before 1600."

"Roger, let's get the f**k out of here."

The two turned around and started back for the base. Chance lead the way, Jeremy tailed behind him, alert as ever. Jeremy hadn't been in Vietnam as long as Chance, but he had been a survivor of some serious gang activity, back in his hometown of Brooklyn. He had seen people steal cars, drive-by with guns blazing, and had narrowly escaped a beatdown or mugging more than once. He wasn't a willing soldier, he'd been drafted and his mother was extremely commanding that he go to the war and learn to surivive a more dangerous place. Plus, she had to think about it, if Jeremy got killed in a gangland shooting, there would be bills coming out the wazoo...however, if he got killed in the Vietnam, there would be some nice insurance money to pay for everything. 

Chance knew Jeremy's type. He wasn't the kind of guy who needed to be in war, but he knew at the same time, that Jeremy wanted to grow a pair. He wasn't completely sure that Jeremy was even all there in his noggin. He could've been a complete idiot and the army would've taken him. They'd take anyone they could and Chance knew Jeremy was the kind of guy that was prime real estate for the military. Then again, he'd do whatever his mother wanted, she could've told him to protest the war like all the hippies in Seattle were doing or to go fight and make something of himself in the war. 

Chance and Jeremy made it back to the base at 1530 hours. They were met with a few cheers, grunts and blank expressions by all the other yahoos that were tired, alert, and loathsome at the long hours they spent in the jungles of a godforsaken hell-hole like Vietnam. One man, CPL. Jackie Jones, was already a four year vet of the war. He was a hateful man, spiteful of the wild-eyed rookies that were ready to shoot gooks and bring home Silver Stars. He hated it. Jackie was the kind of man who knew he would never go home sane, he wanted to die in battle, but Charlie kept missing his head with their bullets. He figured their slanty-eyes couldn't aim worth a damn. 

Chance had had the misfortune of running into Jackie the second day in the bush. He had been paired up with him, not that Jackie had voiced a positive opinion on the situation. He was wanting someone his own speed. And both Jackie and Chance knew that there was no hope in trying to change SFC Parson's mind. The God of War had spoken and it was the end of any discussion on the subject. 

The God of War was SFC Jacob Parson. He was a battleground kind of guy. Born from the firing steel mills of Pittsburgh, baptized in napalm, and fed barbed wire and gunpowder until he was a monster that haunted both the enemy's and allies nightmares. He was a barbarian, a sadomasochist with a penchant of psychological cannibalism, and the eyes of a bloodthirsty eagle infected with the rabies virus. SFC Parson had no love, he had no hope for the war, all he knew was that man are sheep until they've seen the brains of the enemy, bathed in the blood of slain gooks, and smoked the bones of every poor soul like a fat roll of marijuana. Chance knew that even trying to reason with Parson would mean two months of round the clock guard duty and a particularly nasty cleanup for every other Joe in the camp...leading to the eventual fight or Blue Falcon Branding. 

Chance and Jeremy slowly trotted up to the base commander's office, and sitting at his oak desk was CPT Robert Barton. Barton, looking up from his papers in hand, eyed Jeremy first, "Private Walters, you can leave. Fogie, I need to have a word with you, son."

Jeremy saluted and left the office in a swift glide. Chance stood at attention, Barton looked at him and said, "At ease, take a seat Fogie."

Chance sat at the chair that was in front of the desk, he studied Captain Barton. He had silver hair, deep wrinkles, and was wearing his uniform, complete with the ribbons of WWII, Korea, and this current predicament pinned on it. He was obviously bearing bad news and was not ready to deliver the news that he had to. Barton swallowed gently and said, "There's no easy way to put this, Fogie, so I'll just give it to you straight. Your father was in an automobile accident earlier today, I just got word, he didn't last to the hospital. He's dead, Private."

Chance didn't stir in his seat. The news didn't register with him. He couldn't believe it. He can't believe it, it had to be a lie, his father was his hero. A soldier from World War Two, he had been Chance's best friend growing up. He was even the one who supported the enlistment. David Fogie was a man's man. And now, he was a dead man.  He put his face in his hands, trying to not break down in front of a superior, but he was only human. 

Capt. Barton looked at Fogie, he had seen that look a thousand times, and it still fazed him. He rubbed his brow and said, "Private, you have some leave days, do you want me to clear you for a home visit?"

Fogie looked at the Captain; thinking about going home to Seattle and seeing old faces and places he'd left behind almost a year ago. He shook his head, he knew if he left there could be a chance he would go AWOL or get into some trouble. Fogie and his mother were not on good terms since he left for the army and he couldn't stand the sight of watching his mother look down on him because she had been there for his father's death, and Fogie was fighting a war against innocent people. He spoke candidly, "I don't have a home to go back to, sir. I want to stay here. This is all I have now and I don't mind to stay and fight with my mother."

"I'll hold you to that when the fighting gets fierce," Barton replied, his tone was sarcastic and wise at the same time. Chance stood at attention and asked, "Permission to be dismissed, Captain."

"Granted, take care Private Fogie."

"Yessir."

Fogie saluted, and then he walked out the door. He headed to the mess tent. He wanted a meal that didn't consist of World War One's leftovers. He felt up in his helmet, pulling out his lucky pack of camels and pulled one of them out. He leaned against the table behind the mess tent and lit up. He pulled a satisfying drag off the cig and inhaled it deeply. He could feel his mind going numb gently as the oxygen to his brain was diluted with carbon monoxide and poisons. He released it, blowing a stream of smoke from his mouth and through his nose. He opened his eyes and saw that Jeremy was standing next to him, lighting up his own cig. He had mud on his face and the smell of a hot, Nam day's work on his odor. He looked at Chance and said, "Fogie, good news from the CO?"

"Dad died this morning. Lost him in an automobile accident. Looks like I'm gonna outlive him after all."

"What's that?"

"Well," Chance took another drag and chuckled a bit, "About three years ago, I was living in my girlfriend's house, she was pregnant and I was schmoozing off her. I was getting high off dope and weed every hour on the hour, hair was long, and my a*s had become a permanent settlement on the sofa. I was always talking about winning the sweepstakes and cashing in on some serious cash, but that was a personal joke. Well, one day, dad came over at the request of my girlfriend, and tried to whip me into shape. He grabbed me by my long hair, pulled me out of the house, and threw my a*s into the front yard. 

"I looked up at him, I was in a serious daze from the dope and I asked him why he was working me over. He only told me to beat his a*s up. I knew I didn't have the stones to whip him. And he kept kicking me and punching me and walloping on me, finally, he looked at me and said that my lifestyle was a path to destruction and that he was gonna outlive me. 'Cuz I just don't have the heart of a real man. Well, I laid there until the high broke, I got up and walked down to the university. I filled out the apps and before I knew it, I was in college, working a part-time job, and enjoying the student's life. When I decided to enlist. dad supported me all the way and even drove my a*s to the MEPS. He shook my hand and told me I was his hero. 

"I broke down inside and I kept it inside. I looked at him and asked him why I could be his hero. He looked at me dead in my eyes and he said, 'Because son, you make me proud to be a father, today your a college student and tomorrow, you'll be a soldier. Son, your the best man I know. And I love you till the day I die.'"

Chance finished the cig with a far stare in his eyes and threw the butt to the ground. Jeremy was wiping his eye and looked at Chance, he then asked, "What happened to the baby?"

Chance looked at Jeremy and said, "He's with his mama, living in Seattle, I seen him maybe twice in his entire life. I was afraid that they'd ruin my chances of keeping in college and working. I send my pay to them."

"Does she ever write to you?"

"Every often, but I never read her letters, they'd only remind me I got priorities back home...and I don't ever plan on finding my way back there till I get all my other priorities straightened out."

"Do you get lonely, not talking to anyone back home?"

"Nope. I got you and Jackie and all the other guys out here to keep me company. This war is my home and the army is my family. And just like at home," he looked over to the rows of body bags filled with the bullet ridden bodies of former soldiers, "You lose family."

Jeremy tossed his cigarette and swallowed grimly. He hadn't thought about the army as a family, only a job in reality, he was just no the kind of guy for enjoying life-threatening situations with other people that could die at any moment. Yet, he knew that some people needed guys like Chance, because Chance really was the only friend that he had. And Jeremy knew that when the war was over, Chance was going to lose his friends again, because a lot of them weren't going to stay for the fireworks. Jeremy hadn't been in war any longer than a month, but he already had the feeling that everyone else had, the war was lost and there was no way they could win it now.

Chance hawked up a phlegm wad and spit on the ground. He wasn't much for a heart-to-heart conversation, but he knew that the Jeremy was the kind of guy that deserved a friend. And even though Chance didn't particularly like Jeremy, he liked him enough to be the friend that he needed. And a friend in war is the friend that protects. Jeremy watched Chance as the latter started into the mess hall and then, he walked to the barracks tent. 

* * * *

Another day of hellish heat and bush patrol, Chance and Jeremy and the rest of their squad were going along and searching out Charlie. And just like any other day, Charlie was evading them just the same, possibly watching them from another place. 

The God of War slowly made his way in front, waving for Jackie to come up ahead of him with SGT Hodge. They were going to find the foxhole up ahead, light the b***h up and hightail it around. Chance lit a cigarette and waited until the small explosion satisfied the God of War and the group started to move again. Jeremy looked around, alert as usual, and wondering what was going on in the silence of the Vietnam jungle. SGT Hodge looked over at Chance and said, "Put that s**t out, your going to blow cover. And if I have to tell you again, I'm gonna stick my-"

A loud crack broke out and SGT Hodge's hand rushed to his throat as blood started sputtering out and on the ground next to him and ran down his uniform. The God of War snapped, "Sniper! Sniper! Find cover or I'll clean my jeep with your guts!"

The squad ducked down and hid under the bushes and behind the tree. The crack sounded again and Jeremy felt the bark of the tree split and come down on his helmet. He started breathing anxiously, he knew this would happen, panic attacks had screwed up most of his childhood in Brooklyn, and he was having one right now. Chance wrapped his hand over Jeremy's mouth and pulled him behind the bush, he whispered, "Jeremy, shut up or your gonna die. Breathe, breathe slowly, loosely...don't hold your breath, don't try to shake...stay with me, come on buddy, just breathe...just breathe and don't give up. Your not going to die."

Chance looked into Jeremy's eyes and whispered, "I'm not letting you die out here."

The crack happened again and Jackie let out a muffled scream, Chance looked through the bush and saw that the medic was pulling Jackie to another bush and trying to address the wound. Jackie'd been hit in the gut, he was bleeding and Chance knew that out here, a gut shot was only going to be a slow and painful death. He tried to look at the others and that's when he saw it. SGT Hodge was dead, he'd bled out from his throat. He sighed, knowing that Hodge had a wife and three daughters back in Cincinnati. 

Chance lifted the muzzle of his rifle up, searching at the angle of the where the bullets had zinged from. He knew he had time to watch, he knew snipers had patience, and they could be stuck out there for a long time before the sniper gave up. He looked to his left, grasping a broken branch and flung it into the bush across from him, making the bush rustle about. He watched as the loud rip of a gun blast filled the air again and he saw the branch get shattered into splinters. He pointed his index finger at the branch that now laid on the ground, the bullets were coming from behind their position, that was why Hodge was shot first. The snipers were experts at picking off NCOs and officers. Hodge was giving Chance an order and therefore, the sniper would think that Hodge was the guy in charge and not the God of War. He turned and looked over at Parson, "Sergeant."

"What, Fogie?"

"The gook's shooting from behind us. He took out Sergeant Hodge because he was giving an order, took out Jackie to make an example, and I have a feeling he's waiting for the next joe to overstep his line and take a slug to the head."

"From the south, you say?"

"Yes Sergeant."

"Fine. Fogie, I want you and Private Walters to take the men west, through the brush, I'll stay with Jackson and call in an airstrike on this one. We don't know how many dinks we have out there, but we're going to give each of them the same fiery death. We'll rendezvous at the river. Head out."

Fogie nodded, he looked over to see that Jeremy was laying on his back, he wasn't dead or shot, he was finally breathing again and thinking about something that brought a smile to his face. He leaned over him and said, "Jeremy, we gotta move."

"I'm thinking about moving to Seattle after this s**t, buying an apartment house near the edge of the city, I'll find me a pretty hippie girl and settle down. I'll use my GI Bill and get a college education. And you know what, you can come over with your girl and son. We can have family get-togethers, parties, retreats, bowling nights, and maybe sit at the VFW and get drunker than the Lord."

"Jeremy," Chance couldn't help but chuckle, if Jeremy thought Seattle was going to be a walk through the park like this, obviously, he didn't know much about Washington. He quit laughing and put a look of dire seriousness on his face, "Jeremy, we have to get out of here. Now, get on your stomach; you, me, and the guys are going to crawl west...till we get to the river. Do you understand?"

"Affirmative," Jeremy replied, suddenly disheartened by the thought of going on with the war. Chance knew those moments, he'd had a few himself in basic training, but he knew that now was a bad time to consider anything but survival. After all, survival is what would help them stay alive, not the color of curtains in your window at home, just when the rain starts to pour outside. Now was the time, there was no tomorrow, only now.

Chance led the men on their stomachs, crawling like crocodiles through the mud and bugs of the bush, and holding their rifles against themselves for dear life. He looked back only once to make sure that the God of War and CPL Jackson were still alive, and then, he couldn't see them anymore. The squad crawled for dear life, making sure to stop once they reached a point that Chance halted, and then, he continued again and they followed through. He looked to his right and saw Jeremy crawling hard and determined. He smiled, finally, the kid's growing up.

They made their way until Chance halted them, he could hear it, rushing through the ground and making noise as it ran across the rocks and down to the end. He lifted himself to a kneeling position and slowly walked towards the bush in front of him, he pulled it back gently and looked through. It was the river. He smiled, looking down to himself in reflection, "Hey there handsome."

Jeremy called down, "Is it safe, Fogie?"

"It's safe, bring the men down, we'll refill the canteens and wait for the God of War."

They refilled, they ate MREs, and they waited. And they waited. And they waited some more. Finally, Chance looked at his watch, it was 1500 hours  and the God of War had said he would rendezvous after the airstrike. An airstrike doesn't take four hours to complete in a single sitting. He looked over to Jeremy and sighed, "Get the men ready, we're heading back for the base."

"What about Parson?"

"I don't know. Radio over to Jackson and see what's up."

"Alright."

Jeremy started to horn in his radio that was strapped to his back, while Chance got up and surveyed the men. There were six, including himself, and they were raw recruits...this was their first skirmish and already, they were screwed if he ran them wrong. He swallowed some water and thought candidly about going back to the base. It would be a long march, maybe an hour or so, and then, they could take it up with Barton and send a rescue team for the God of War. He knew that these men couldn't stay out at night. Jeremy had been a success in growing up, but not everyone is the same, and as far as he knew, one of these newbies could breakdown and shoot everything that moved in the night...which could very well be himself, gooks, the God of War, or even Jesus Christ. He looked at Jeremy, who was trying with no obvious success, he sighed and took one last look around. He then spoke, "Alright men, we're heading back to base. Don't wander away from the squaad and don't try to think outside the box. This isn't the time to play hero, this is the time to play survivor, and if we're lucky, we'll win this round."

The men nodded in agreement.

Before Chance could get the men to move, the bush ahead of them rustled about and a tall figure approached them, it was the God of War. His uniform was caked in mud, blood, and leaves. He had a hard-bitten look on his face and was holding his gun next to himself. It was held loosely and uncaring. He looked at Chance and spoke hoarsely, "Give me a canteen. I'm out of water."

Jeremy handed Parson a canteen and he greedily gulped down a few gulps. He looked at them with eagle's eyes and said, "Okay, I'm done with these gooks, we're going to meet them head on and slaughter each of them."

Chance looked at Parson, "Sergeant, the men are new, they aren't ready for a full assault."

"I know what these men are. They're green and yellow. They deserve nothing but a barrage of bullets and the satisfaction of having blood on their hands," Parson replied, angrily. Chance lit a cigarette, he didn't like this and he knew that Parson was going through battle mind. He knew it happened whenever soldiers see brutal combat and sometimes relive it, especially at the worst times. Chance took another drag off the cig, he then looked at Parson and said, "So where do we go, sergeant?"

"Fogie, you and Walters take the men and head fifteen clicks south and I'll take the river downstream. They'll think I'm dead, and when they leave the corpse alone, this corpse is going to take twelve or more of those pricks out. First time you see one of them, I want you to kill. Kill. Kill."

"Sergeant, where's Jackson?"

Parson looked at Chance with a hardened face, he shook his head, and threw over the blownout radio box. Chance gulped hard and looked at Jeremy, "Alright, get the men and we'll start out as the sergeant said."

He turned to look, but Parson had disappeared, it was probably for the best, Chance knew this was a suicide mission. A full-blown kamikaze. He looked back at the men and said, "Boys, we are about to head into some possibly serious s**t. I want you to know...I'm proud to serve with each of you. Even you, Jeremy Walters, even you."

He offered his hand, and Jeremy shook it hard, looking him dead in the eye. Chance clicked the safety off his rifle and headed out towards the direction. Jeremy and the men followed behind him. They were alert, some were saying silent prayers in their minds, and others were smoking hard on their cigs. They were ready for anything...but they didn't know if they were going to succeed at any of it. One man, PVT Ribbers, was already wishing he'd left for Canada when he had the chance. He should've left and moved to Vancouver. At least he could become a pulp cutter, making some good dough, and finding a place to stay. It had all been a dream ago...

Chance ducked down, he heard the noise in the farground, there were words being spoken, but they weren't English. He knew that language they were speaking. It was the same language he had heard in Saigon, in translators, and around the countryside. Vietnamese, he figured, being spoken by Charlie himself. He signaled for the men to duck down and slowly, he moved forward until the spoken language got louder and he spotted them. A squad of Viet-Cong soldiers, wearing black uniforms, and holding rifles with bayonets attached to their muzzles. He gritted his teeth and looked back at Jeremy, he lifted his fingers to signal four. There were four soldiers against his six men. He breathed gently and lifted his rifle up, looking through the sights at the head soldier who was commanding orders in his home language, he released a breath and pulled the trigger.

There was a loud bang from his rifle and the VC soldier's head popped in a cloud of blood smoke.The other soldiers went on alert like cats in an alley. They looked around at all angles as Jeremy, Ribbers, and Chance started firing their weapons at them. The weapons cracked with noise as the VC soldiers all fell to the ground, riddled with bullets and blood. One of them, however, managed to get off a shot from his rifle when he hit the ground and the impact caused the weapon to go off. The bullet strayed up and bounced off Jeremy's helmet, a mere two inches lower and his left eye would've been blown out.

Jeremy's eyes grew wide, full of white spots, and the veins in his eyes grew angry red. He ran over to the bodies before Chance could hold him back and began to smash the butt of his rifle into the face of the dying soldier. The VC soldier tried to plead amidst the profusely bleeding wounds and head smashes. Finally, Jeremy pounded the rifle on his head until it caved in and the soldier's brains and blood started seeping through on the ground. 

Jeremy kept going until Chance rushed him and pulled him down on the ground and held his arms down. He looked at Jeremy, "Jeremy! It's over. He's dead and your alive. Stop! Stop! Stop it now!"

Jeremy was breathing heavily and trying to calm his nerves. He was very upset, could barely hear what Chance was saying, and only heard the word "stop" several times. Chance drew back his fist and threw it into Jeremy's face. He succeeded in making Jeremy's nose break and start drain blood down his face, but he also brought Chance out of his daze and looking around as though he were in a hangover. He looked at Chance, "What happened?"

"You," Chance pulled Jeremy up into a hug, "You made it through. Your okay, buddy, your okay now."

"Chance, I'm sorry. I don't know what came over me. I just...I just...," he broke down, tears streaming down his cheeks and pushing his face against Chance's chest. He held him tight. Chance would never let another soldier hurt Jeremy. He was going to save his life. These men didn't deserve any of what was going on, especially Jeremy, the cruel mistress of fate was only trying to further annihilate those she deemed unworthy to live. No, not this time, Chance couldn't save his father back in Seattle, but he could save six men. He stood up, bringing Jeremy to his feet, above the bodies of their slain enemies. He looked at the men, "We're heading back to base. Pack up your s**t and let's go. We're heading back."

The men looked wearily, knowing that Parson would rip Chance a new a*****e. The God of War didn't like his orders being overturned, he'd once beat-down a private for not shooting a target when he had the chance. Jeremy stepped forward from the men, "I'm going with Fogie. You guys can stay here and get butchered; or you can come with us and be safe. It's your choice."

The men stepped forward in unison. 

Chance patted Jeremy on his shoulder and the squad moved along. Chance knew that things were going to get better as soon as they got back to the base. He would talk to Captain Barton and they would get the God of War to get transferred off. After all, things were going to get rough as soon as he got back to camp. If he got back to the camp. 

Chance heard them, more VC soldiers talking, it was a scouting squad. He lit a cigarette and wondered what was going to happen if they attacked the squad. How many men would die? How many would Charlie kill? What would happen if they were captured, would they be tortured or forced to do heinous things to each other to survive? 

He dragged hard on the cig and held it in for longer than usual, releasing invisible smoke. He turned the safety off his rifle, looking through the a bush branch to see eleven men. This wasn't a scouting squad, this was an minor assault force...maybe a suicide mission...much like the one he'd been sent on with his men. He knew there was no point in any of them dying today. He looked back at the men and signaled to hold position. He then retreated back to them and whispered, "There's eleven men, they look alert and ready to kill anyone they can. We're not prepared for something like that. Jeremy," he looked at him, "I want you to take the men and go straight through after they leave."

"And where are you going?"

"Don't worry about it."

"Chance!"

"Shhhhh," Chance looked at Jeremy with anger, while Jeremy replied, "I can't lead these men alone. I don't know where base is. And where are you going? You could get killed or captured and I can't handle that right now."

"Jeremy, f*****g listen to me now," he grabbed Jeremy and threw him on his back, looking down to him, "Nobody can handle anything ever. Its called life. We can't always succeed at what we're going to do and accepting that is part of being a real man. But I'm going to tell you something, you have what it takes to lead these brave men to victory. I'm not going to be there for you forever and it's time you took your place as what you are. Your my hero. You succeed where I fail, you don't give up on others whenever you know your going on the up and up, and you have so much to live for, you, Jeremy, not me...you. Now, I want you to take these men, wait until my signal, and then rush back to the base. No man left behind."

"Chance, I-"

Chance patted his cheek playfully and said, "You take care of them. All of them. You promise me that?"

"Yes. I swear it."

"I'm holding you to that. I'm proud of you, Jeremy, I'm forever proud of you. You don't get proud of nobody for long, eventually they all let you down, and you realize your stupidity for being prideful enough to say you were proud of them.  I'm forever proud of you, Jeremy. I'll never forget this."

Jeremy wiped the tears from his already tear stained cheeks and nodded in agreement with Chance. Chance got up and pulled Jeremy back up. This plan was batshit crazy, but it would succeed. He looked at the men and said, with a big huff of air, "Good luck."

Jeremy nodded, taking one last look at Chance, and then, signaled the men to follow him as they hid in the bushes beside Chance. Chance smiled, taking out his lucky pack of cigs and looked down. Haha, he thought, one cig left and it was bent. He lit it and inhaled a pretty big bust of smoke. He then took off his gun and tossed it on the ground. He was going to have to put on his best athletic skill. He got his cigarette down to the filter and then he ran head on into the bush where the VC's were. 

He slammed into one of them, putting the cigarette out in the man's cheek and causing him to bellow out loudly. It caught the others attention, he quickly raised up and threw his helmet at one of them, taking him down with clunk. He then started running to the east, away from the river, and the enemy started chasing after him, firing their weapons blindly through the brush and trees and mud of the Vietnam jungle. Chance felt the grenade that was attached his field jacket and closed his eyes while he slowed his run.

Jeremy waited, wondering what the signal was going to be. He lit a cigarette, his hand shaking with the urgency of alertness and his legs quaking from the fear of being caught or killed and never being found in the jungles. Suddenly, the sound of a grenade explosion not more than a mile down rocked the air and his eardrums, he knew that was the signal. He looked at the men, "Run!"

The squad started running back the direction of the base. Jeremy looked left and right as he ran, making sure there were no enemy troops coming to flank them. He stopped only once to see the mutilated, battered, and bloody body of a tall and dirty American soldier tied with rope around a tree. He was able to glimpse at the tag on his uniform, he shook his head and started running again with the men close behind. Finally, he saw it, the American flag above the trees. He spat as he ran, trying to keep speed. A sound broke his focus, causing him to look behind, and he saw Ribbers' foot caught in a makeshift bear trap. He coughed and told the men to keep going on and not stop. 

Jeremy ran back to Ribbers, kneeling beside the screaming and bellowing soldier. He grabbed the jaws of the trap, he was in an adrenaline rush and didn't feel the teeth piercing the palms of his hands. Ribbers pulled his foot out of the trap, the wounds were causing blood to soak into his trousers and onto the ground. Jeremy looked at him, as he was screaming hard, asking him, "Can you walk? Ribbers, can you walk on it?"

"I think so."

"Let's go before the gooks come or we're going to be in trouble. Come on buddy, we can make it."

Ribbers got up on one foot, he tried to put weight on the other one, but found it couldn't support it. He looked at Jeremy, "Go without me, I'm only slowing you down and there's no point in both of us getting killed. Go on Walters, just go."

Jeremy looked him dead center and shook his head, "I'm not leaving anyone behind. I made a promise and I'll die to keep it."

He lifted Ribbers up on his shoulder, feeling a sudden burning sensation in his elbow as he lifted him up and started running back to the base. He made it to the gate and threw Ribbers off onto the ground. Ribbers was screaming in pain, his ankle was shattered and a sniper had planted a slug in his shoulder, knocking it out of place when Jeremy threw him. He knew that it was the possible end to any pulpwood dreams in Canada. 

Jeremy lay on the ground, staring up at the sky, he couldn't move his left arm, and he couldn't feel the earth beneath him. He was lost in a world that seemed to have forgotten he was there. He slowly looked over as a team of medics came over, lifting him on a stretcher and jogging him over to a med vac copter. They were talking, but he couldn't hear what they were saying and he didn't want to. All he could hear in his ears was Chance, all he could see was Chance, and all he could think about was Chance. He couldn't feel anything, his cheeks were numb, and he couldn't feel the tear fall from his cold cheek. He wondered if this was what it was like to feel dead. He knew one thing, if he died here he died with the knowledge that he'd saved those six beautiful men from the hands of death itself. He was not a hero, but he was one thing, he was something. Maybe a hero, maybe just another Joe caught in the middle of a shitstorm, maybe just a stupid Negro kid from Brooklyn. He was something though...and one day, he hoped to know what that was.

* * * *

It was another misty day in Seattle, Washington. 

The rows of headstones stood up as though the souls beneath them still had something to say. There were at least four hundred headstones that had names and words of love, wisdom, and heart on them. Some had flowers adjoining them, some had little American flags, and some even had cracks from vandalism or age on them.

He walked slowly through the rows of these markers, looking through them all as though he had something on his mind, he did. Jeremy had never liked cemeteries. They were places of deceased people. Some say that spirits and ghosts would appear at midnight or even during foggy days. And even though the cemeteries in Brooklyn had less people buried in them than the East River, he was still afraid whenever he went into them. He'd stopped visiting his brother's grave, his granddad's grave, even his daddy's grave when he passed on. 

This time was different. He had a mission as he walked through these stones and markers. His dress uniform was damp from the rain that had been pouring off and on throughout the whole day. He looked over his shoulder, seeing the woman and a young boy in her arms. She was watching him as he walked through the graves, between the headstones, the brave soldier who'd come to her doorstep, bearing both news of good and bad. She held her son tighter as she watched him walk, she knew he had something important to do here, her black hair blowing in the wind and her eyes squinting to make him out of the mist. 

Jeremy walked slower as he came across the objective. He saw it, the headstone he'd been searching for, the one he'd been waiting to visit for eight long months. He looked down to it, staring long and hard, making out the writing on it.

2LT David Adam Fogie

US Army

September 8, 1917 - June 12, 1971

A Proud Father to No End

He knelt to one knee as he looked at the headstone. It was Chance's daddy. His gravestone. He still remembered the day that Chance told him his story. He watched the raindrops streak down the marble headstone and wondered what David Fogie would've said if he got the letter that Chance Fogie was MIA. He looked on and thought hard about what he had to say.

He looked over his shoulder again, Sandy was holding her son against her chest, he was sleeping and she was watching intently, even protectively. He smiled, they'd spent the night together and he told her the promise he'd made to Chance. To protect everyone. And suddenly, the words he had to speak seemed so much easier.

He looked back at the headstone, "Hello, Mr. Fogie. You don't know me, but I served with your son, Chance, in Vietnam. We saw a lot of s**t together and he saved my a*s more than once. Lemme tell you a little about myself, I was a dumb kid from Brooklyn. I lived with my momma in a two-bedroom apartment overlooking the East River. I didn't have much going for me. Didn't have no friends, my daddy died long time ago, and my momma hated that I was left for her to support. She'd of much rather I'd died and not he. I enlisted to give her that wish, I suppose. I got pulled out of school when I was in sixth grade, so I never knew much about the world, and the only world I knew was drive-by shootings, dope selling, and the chance I could get killed just for walking home from the butcher shop. 

"Well, I went to Ft. Benning where I got an infantry education, but I didn't know anything to expect. I knew I was going to see combat, I thought, if I was too stupid to get a desk job, they'd send me out for killing. Kinda like the cows we got in the butcher shop, ain't good for nothing but meat. And I guess I was meat to them, but when I got to the Vietnam, I was a lot more alert than ever been. I hadn't seen much of anything, but I'd heard stories. We had some hard men in our platoon. There was Jackie Jones, he'd been in heavy s**t and was just waiting for the day he'd catch a bullet between the ears. We also had Sergeant Parson, we called him 'God of War' cuz he had the scars and scares that would make any man piss himself the first sign of war he see. And finally, we had Chance Fogie, your son, a loner and outcast from anyone else. 

"Chance, well, Chance got paired up with my black a*s every time for patrols. I dunno if he asked for it, if he was being punished, or if God himself just knew it was right. You see, Mr. Fogie, I never considered myself a religious kind of guy, momma said church was for fools and flakes alike. But I saw a lot in those times with your boy and I caught him praying on more than once occasion before lights out. I thought it odd cuz he seemed to hate this Seattle and almost everyone in it. And he still prayed every night for them to be safe and protected. One day, he got word that someone close to him had passed on, and it was you, sir. I hadn't ever really talked to Chance that much, but he opened up to me that day, over some cigs and I learned what you did for him. He said he didn't have no reason to go home if you was gone. One thing about Chance, he was set in his ways and-"

Jeremy broke down, his heart seemed to grow warmer and he felt the tears run down his cold cheeks, he was hurting with the pain again. He looked over to his left stump, nothing there except a shoulder down to his elbow, or what was left of it. He missed Chance to no end, but he knew he had to be strong, he continued on, "He told me about his girlfriend and his baby boy. He sent them his cash, but he never talked to them. I guess Chance was trying to do the right thing before because he felt he'd done the wrong most of his life. One day, we was out on patrol, the whole platoon. One moment we getting bitched at and the next, sniper slugs come in and kill one of our noncoms. Chance pulled me down and kept me safe like he'd done a million times it seemed like. I had me a severe panic attack cuz I narrowly missed a slug. Your son taught me how to breathe and relax. Next thing we know, Jackie Jones gets shot in the gut. He bled out, the medic did all he could, but he couldn't save him. Sergeant Parson told us to get back to the river, where we was gonna get away from the sniper and he could napalm the area with Corporal Lee Jackson. Chance took me and the men with him. We retreated back and must have waited for what seemed like forever. Chance decided we's gonna head back to the base, but Parson come back with Jackson's blood all over him. He told us to go on a kamikaze like mission to kill anyone we see.

"Parson run off and we didn't see him again. I saw him later, he was butchered like the cows in the shop and tied to a tree like a warning sign or a scarecrow. Chance led us like a brave leader, we caught wind of some gooks ahead and we fired on them. One bout took my eye out with his rifle and I ran up on him. I beat him down, using the same fear and anger that had been following me for all my life, your boy brought me back to earth and he told me I was a real man and to never let go. I couldn't think of nothing else but to listen. Chance had the charisma to get anywhere. He could have been a general in three years. We come up to another squad of the men and before we know it, Chance is telling me I'm gonna lead them. I never felt like a leader in my whole life, I always been a follower or a subordinate, it could have been three miles or three feet to base and I'd never be worthy enough to lead a man on. And Chance was giving me six of 'em. He told me words I never forget even to this day, he called me a hero and told me he was forever proud of me. You know about being forever proud. You inspired that man to do more than anybody I know. Chance said that being forever proud is something rare and special. I'd been called special my whole life by family and teachers, but I never felt like I was special until Chance told me I, above anyone else, was his hero. And he made me swear a promise to protect everyone. I swore him and seconds later, he leads the gooks on a wild goose chase and the last I heard was a grenade explosion."

Jeremy's voice cracked hard and wanted to stop, his heart was racing in his chest, the nightmares he'd been having seemed to be around him. He calmed his breathing like Chance had taught him and he focused. He finished, "I ran those men back to the base. Except one of them, Roy Lee Ribbers, a country boy from Oklahoma, got caught up in a trap. I pulls him free and take him back to the base. I collapsed when I got there. I felt dead. I died on that hard territory that day. I knew in that day I'd never be the same man I'd been in Brooklyn. The same scared little Negro that watched his a*s like his front. He, Chance, had given me what I couldn't give myself...courage. I lost my arm that day. I lost my job in the Army. And I lost my only friend. But even as I lay there, on that medical chopper, and then, every day laid up in that hospital...I discovered what I had gained. I never realized Chance's promise until I got the time to think on it. I mightn't lost everything that day, but I gained so much more. I come back home to my friend's family. I'll use my benefits and I'll give Sandy and Davy a place they deserve. I'll go to Davy's baseball games and I'll help Sandy raise him the way Chance would've wanted me to. I'll do my best to make their lives better, I'll be forever proud of Davy, no matter what. And I come here today to tell you, your son's a hero. He saved me and so many more.

"You see, Chance gave me what momma never did, hope. I got a family now and I'm pert-near proud to call myself a family man. And I knows it couldn't be possible unless someone had gotten Chance to pick up his life and start out big. And I'm here to thank you, sir. Well, thank you, sir," Jeremy slowly raised to stand tall before the gravestone, lifting his right hand to a salute and he smiled, "Here's to you, Fogie."

He finished his salute, reaching in his pocket to pull out the very purple heart that was pinned on his chest the day he got out of the hospital. He lay the medal on top of the gravestone, it was a worthy recipient, and he knew that it belonged on that stone more than a glass case on the wall. He turned on his heel and started walking towards Sandy and Davy. He had a dinner to take them to and he didn't want to be late.

Jeremy smiled as he walked slowly through the mist, he knew that somewhere out there, in a war-torn country in Southeast Asia, deep in the jungles of mauled trees, napalmed villages, and blood soaked rivers, beneath the mud of hundred patrols and a million bullet casings, lie the body of the bravest man he'd ever known. And he knew that someday, he was gonna join that man in the VFW in the sky...

Author's Note

Please note that I am not racist. I love everyone, white, black, yellow, green, purple, blue, or periwinkle. The dialogue is fitting the story, back when racism was "allowed" in the Army, (in my experience, it still is, just behind closed doors)....don't lose sight of the bigger picture. Thanks,

Reviews

[Jennie Baron]

Outstanding! It kept me engrossed.