THE SOLDIER: A Vietnam War Era Novel

by Schwartz, Richard Alan

“Arnie,” Rachel asked, trepidation in her voice, “did you invite Samuel?”

  “He’s part of our family.”

  “Who is?” Brian asked.

  “After my husband died, I moved out here, taking a new job. Knowing we had family around Dallas made the move easier,” Rachel said, folding her arms across her chest. “Samuel’s a distant cousin, not a blood relative, a financially successful man and a leader at his synagogue. But an unfeeling oaf in my opinion, most unlike Dov. We dated twice. We weren’t even married yet and he tried to run my life. Wanted to make me quit college when I was taking my pre-school education classes so I could marry him, and become his full-time, at-home, wife. I wanted nothing more to do with him”

  Shira reentered the room. Arnie patted the cushion next to him. She sat there, but with arms crossed and leaning away from him.

  “Did you tell anyone?” Brian asked. “Arrangements were made without consulting me.” “Your parents?”

  Rachel nodded. “Everyone, parents included, believed, such a great match. They hoped to live long enough to attend my wedding but died within a few weeks of each other, a year after Dov’s death.”

  “But you didn’t agree with the match,” Brian said.

  “He’s well known and respected.” She sighed. “I’m nobody; expected to know my place, do what I’m told. Cousin Arnie was the only one who took my side.” She smiled at him. Arnie nodded. “Finally, I told Samuel I wouldn’t marry him.”

  “His reaction?”

  “Not pleasant.”

  The surgeon glanced at Arnie who pantomimed being slapped.

  Brian, with more anger in his voice than he intended, said, “Let me tell you. That wouldn’t work with me.”

  Rachel rubbed her hands on the tops of her thighs. “No one else will ask me out.”

  “He hit you and people think you should still marry him?”

  Rachel shrugged. “They believe I provoked him. If not for my cousin’s support, I’d be married to the oaf by now.”

  “Even Arnie’s paid a price,” his wife Shira said.

  “Little things,” Arnie shrugged. “Rarely called for an Aliyah, never a Torah reading. Since I was a Bar Mitzvah, I was called to complete minyanim, you know, the ten needed for a prayer service. My shul is just across the street from our home. It doesn’t happen now.”

  “We don’t always get what we want in life,” Shira said, slowly shaking her head and giving disapproving looks to Rachel and Arnie.

  “You and Seth join us at services tonight?” Rachel asked. Brian nodded. “Love to.”

  * * *

  Arnie, on Saturday morning, commented to Brian when they were alone in Rachel’s study, “Have to say, I’m not sure if it’s you or Seth, or maybe both of you but Rachel came out of her shell after you guys arrived. Haven’t seen her like this since Dov passed.”

  Brian thought for a bit then said, “When she’s around, maybe this is silly, but she makes me feel like I’ve reconnected with a long-lost friend.” He shook his head. “No. Not reconnected.” He gazed out a window for a bit then said, “When Andrea and I were together in Australia, she could take anxiety out of me with a simple touch or simply being near me. Rachel isn’t Andrea but she accomplishes the same thing. I’m usually anxious and worry constantly how Seth is managing but when that little lady is nearby, when she does things and makes Seth laugh, I relax.”

  On Saturday evening, Rachel’s apartment filled with family and friends, including a tall man with a full-face, neatly trimmed, black beard.

  “Rachel, a word in private,” the tall man said in a demanding tone.

  She shook her head. “Samuel, there is nothing to talk about.”

  He grabbed the slim lady by the upper arm, pulled her into her office, and, despite Rachel’s verbal protests, closed the door. Shouting could be heard plus the echo of a slap.

  Brian charged across the room like an angry bull. He wore an expression which guaranteed someone was about to catch hell.

  Dodging between guests while trying to reach him, Arnie yelled, “Easy Brian.”

  The door to the office exploded open. Rachel, one hand on her reddened cheek, tears running down her face; her tormentor’s fingers digging into her shoulders.

  “Leave her alone,” Brian growled.

  Samuel appraised Brian then gave him an expression of disgust as the veteran approached. “Get out little man, this is none of your affair. She’s mine…”

  “Brian,” Rachel pleaded. “Don’t…”

  The big man released Rachel, then briefly smirking, swung a fist at Brian.

  Rachel gasped.

  Standing in the doorway, Arnie shook his head. “Oh hell.

  Shouldn’t a done that.”

  Brian ducked the fist, in so doing, bent his knees then used his legs and upper body to smash a fist, like a pile driver, into the man’s belly. While Samuel tried to regain his breath, the veteran jammed the big man against a wall. Brian shoved his hand under the knot of his tie, twisted it, shoved it to the side of his neck then used it to hoist Rachel’s assailant such that if he wanted to breathe, he had to stand on his toes.

  Again, Rachel pleaded, “Brian. Please. Don’t. Not your concern.”

  Ignoring her, his expression dark, with fury in voice and demeanor, Brian put his face close to Samuel’s and growled, “You sorry bastard, you listen to me. You ever touch her again, hell, you ever look at her again; I will find you and rip pieces off your mother fuckin’ ass.”

  Samuel squeaked, “Someone…help.”

  “Doesn’t need any help,” Arnie said, shaking his head. “Has things under control.” He blocked the doorway, preventing anyone else from entering although many crowded close to see what was happening.

  Brian continued to growl. “No matter where or when…you see her, know I’m nearby. You got that asshole?”

  “She’s mine…”

  The former Major bellowed in a voice which shook the walls, “Listen butt head,” he twisted Samuel’s tie. The big man’s face getting red as he started choking. “You avoid her or I’ll be on you like stink on shit. Got it?”

  Samuel didn’t have enough air to voice a response so just nodded.

  Rachel put a hand on Brian’s shoulder, “Please. Release him.”

  Brian complied, stepped back, glared at the tall man for a moment then turned to Rachel, his back to her nemesis.

  Noting the many people watching, Samuel tried to recover some pride. The big man threw an arm around Brian’s neck.

  “Oh shit. Bad move,” Arnie said. Rachel’s eyes went wide.

  Brian bent forward then smashed the back of his head into the big man’s face, breaking his nose. Samuel howled in pain, threw his hands up to his face while staggering backward, blood oozing between his fingers.

  From a stance ready to inflict more damage and now wild-eyed, Brian shouted, “Try that again you fuckin’ hockey puck and you’ll leave through that window.”

  Rachel’s eyes still wide, her hand in front of her mouth, she tried to conceal a grin.

  Samuel appeared terrified, likely certain he was dealing with a crazy man…and just as likely remembering they were on the seventh floor. Trembling, he raised his blood covered hands in a gesture of surrender. He muttered, “Sorry.”

  Arnie crossed the room, grabbed Samuel, shoved him toward the door, saying, “Let’s get that nose taken care of before he gets angry and loses his temper.” He ushered the big man out of the room, closing the door on Rachel and Brian.

  She turned to him with hands on hips, still trying but unable to contain her grin. “Hockey puck?” She giggled then regained her composure. “The violence. Terrible. You should have found another way.”

  In a firm and measured voice, he replied, “Wrong. He hit you. The only currency he understands is violence. That’s why I acted that way.”

  Rachel appeared incredulous. “Acted? Such anger…was an act?”

  The Vietnam Vet’s fury and anger evaporated, his body
relaxed and his expression morphed into a warm smile. “In a violent confrontation, anger clouds one’s judgement.”

  “Your expression, your body language, like you would kill him.”

  “I wanted him to believe that.”

  “I’m shocked. Your voice, your fury. An act?”

  Are you okay?”

  “I… I am now, perhaps a bit overwhelmed. I have to admit when you…when the door flew open…your expression…I’m not sure what to say, but thank you.”

  He wiped a tear off her cheek. “Words not needed, pretty lady.” He brushed a lock of hair out of Rachel’s face.

  Her expression radiant, she shrugged, then asked, “Pretty lady?”

  Brian opened his arms.

  Rachel shook her head. “It’s not right. We haven’t even been on a date.”

  Seth’s dad stepped toward her then wrapped his arms around Rachel’s slim figure.

  She let him hold her, closed her eyes then leaned into him. Exhibiting a smile of utter satisfaction, Rachel put her arms around her rescuer, and held him tight.

  Brian lifted her chin, kissed her lips one time briefly then a long kiss.

  Rachel pushed away. “So, you’re leaving in a couple hours.”

  He nodded. “A day of repairs around the ranch tomorrow. You should come up north to Celina. Seth and I would love to have you visit. I can arrange a hotel room for you.”

  Her face still radiant, she shrugged and said, “It’s not easy to take time off from work and school, but,” She tucked a lock of hair behind her ear. “Perhaps I could visit, next month, say, over the holiday break, maybe a long weekend? You could complete more of your research.”

  Brian nodded, smiled and said, “I’d love that. And so would Seth.”

  Chapter 15

  1974 December

  The following week, Brian received a call from former platoon mate, Scott Hendricks. Brian invited him out to the ranch for the weekend.

  He arrived on a cool Saturday morning in early December. From the front porch, Brian and Seth saw him coming up the driveway driving a red with white cove, 1961 Corvette, its top down. The car’s owner bringing a wide grin, a firm handshake, and a slap on the back for Brian. Shy Seth shook hands but stayed close to his father.

  His hair still military short, the visitor talked to Seth but Brian noted his buddy kept reaching up to wipe his hands on the front of his jacket. Seth on the other hand, couldn’t keep his eyes off the shiny Corvette.

  “Nice car,” Brian said.

  They walked over to the roadster.

  “My dad bought it new, gave it to me when I came home from the Army. Still runs great but not idling so well, needs a tune up. I call her Aunt Bea.”

  Brian looked at him with a questioning expression. “Because she’s reliable and like the Aunt Bea on that TV show, warm and inviting.”

  Brian chuckled. “Nice, but don’t they take a lot of maintenance.”

  “Found a mechanic who knows the car. Regular maintenance and no problems. I love the darn thing. Even if it’s freezing out, I put half the tonneau on and dial up the heat. Otherwise, top up, heat on, and snug as a bug in a rug.”

  Seth laughed and repeated, “Snug as a bug in a rug.”

  Scott rubbed his hands together, pulled the front of his jacket down.

  “You on edge? Feel like a beer or something else to drink?” Brian asked.

  “No. I’m good. A little wound up. Happens sometimes.”

  “How about a trip to the auto parts store, buy a tune-up kit and we’ll install it.”

  Scott’s eyes lit up. “Love the sound of that but you’ll have to teach me.”

  “No sweat. Let’s take my pickup.”

  Seth hesitated. The grownups eyed the little one. “Coming?” Brian asked.

  Seth pointed to the Vette. “I go that one.”

  The men laughed, promised him a ride after they finished shopping.

  Upon return, Scott, with Seth all grins and belted in the passenger seat, drove the two-seater the quarter mile length of the driveway. Brian’s former platoon mate kept the little V8 revved up and noisy by using only first and second gear. He made a U-turn at the end of the drive then followed it around the house. Brian waved him into the big garage then directed him to park on a lift adjacent to the work bench. The little one, enchanted with the sound of the car, kept trying to verbally duplicate it.

  While installing a new set of points and distributor cap, Brian asked, “Tell me about the tension.”

  “Sometimes not so bad but other times, it’s tough to concentrate on my work.”

  “Your work?”

  “Professor at UT Dallas. Research and Teaching. Earned a Ph.D. in physics not long after my Army service.”

  “Nice. You have the summer off?”

  “Sure do.”

  “You remember Doc Evans?”

  Scott nodded. “Sure. Great guy. Would have clawed his way through the gates of hell to get to a wounded man.”

  “He’s at UT Galveston med school.”

  “How’s he doing?”

  “Great but his wife abandoned him after he arrived home. She left him with two children.”

  “Bet that hurt. How does he manage med school?”

  “His parents moved in.”

  “We should get together.”

  “I’ll be visiting Houston the middle of next week if you’re free. I’m taking the motorhome.”

  “Heck yea. I’m off for the summer. I’ll go.”

  Brian removed engine tools from their storage box. Scott opened the packages of new parts and arranged them on the work bench. Brian started gapping the plugs, demonstrating on the first two then watching his platoon mate on the following six.

  The surgeon gave his buddy a ratchet and socket then instructed him in its use to pull one of the old plugs.

  Brian examined the first spark plug. “Excellent.

  Electrodes worn but plug is gray and no sign of oil.” Scott pulled the balance of the plugs.

  The surgeon examined each one. He said, “Some of the guys in the platoon said you received a Dear John letter a few weeks before your R&R.”

  “The letter depressed the hell out of me at the time. I got nothing out of my R&R in Hawaii. I stayed in my room and watched TV.” Scott shook his head then said, “But I managed to put it behind me when I returned to Vietnam so I could concentrate on my job in the platoon. It was rougher when I came home and most of my friends had moved on.”

  “Define, moved on, please.”

  “They were married with kids and didn’t have time for a single guy in their social circle. Many were demonstrating against the war and didn’t want anything to do with me as I’d been in the service.”

  Scott pulled the balance of the plugs and Brian examined them.

  “Anything,” Brian asked, “you believe is triggering your tension.”

  “An event before you joined the platoon. It didn’t seem so bad when it happened, but the memory, it should be lessening with time but…sometimes hits me like it happened yesterday.”

  “Describe, please.”

  “Okay to discuss in front of Seth? A bloody story.”

  Brian glanced at Seth then said, “Nothing I’ve discussed so far has bothered him, so go ahead.”

  “Just another day in the jungle. Hot, humid, that damn rotting vegetation smell, we were hacking our way uphill through moderate under growth. Light rain falling, dark sky, visibility poor as what little light came from the sky was filtered by the canopy,” he shook his head. “I was wearing my poncho, rain on my helmet sounding like it was striking a tin roof, my boots having a tough time getting purchase in the soft soil. I was number two in the column, about thirty of us in three squads. Had passed my rifle to the guy behind me. I held a machete in both hands to cut the occasional vine or widen the trail the point man was chopping. A guy in black pajamas seemed to jump up out of nowhere.” Scott slowly shook his head then stared into the distance. “To this day, not s
ure where he came from, why I didn’t see him sooner. Scared as hell and using both hands, I swung the machete with all my strength. Little thought of where I was aiming. I took his left arm off just below the shoulder.” Scott took a long swig of his beer. “The guy stared at the severed arm, then was shot by somebody in the squad. He fell toward me. His bloody wound landing on my chest as he fell. I remember making a joke about that. On the ground, even in death, his eyes stared at me. Full of hate.”

  “Likely nothing else you could do.”

  “Never know. Does haunt me. Those eyes.” He shuddered then wiped his hands on the front of his jacket.

  “Wiping off blood?” Brian asked.

  He nodded. “I noticed I do that when I’m tense.” Scott put a plug in the engine, finger tight. “Just talking about it raises my blood pressure.”

  After getting the torque setting from the car’s manual, Brian demonstrated how to use a torque wrench to tighten the plugs. He noticed his son carefully observing what they were doing.

  “Seth help?” the little one asked after all eight plugs and their leads were installed.

  “Sure buddy,” Scott said. He handed Seth a new air cleaner, removed the old one then hoisted the little one so he could place the filter in its holder.

  “Good job,” his father said.

  “Thank you, Seth,” Scott said.

  The little one all smiles, he clapped for himself then said, “Yes. Seth help. Fix red car.”

  Brian re-checked the torque on all the fasteners, insured the ignition leads were tight then had Scott start the car. The engine’s idle was velvety. He revved it a few times. The small-block, 283’s cylinders fired as precise as a jazz drummer’s sixteenth notes.

  “Sounds great,” Brian said.

  “And thank you both,” Scott said, shutting off the car and leaping out to shake Brian and Seth’s hands.

  “Clean up and lunch time,” Brian said, holding out a hand to Seth.

  They dined on hotdogs, cottage fries, and ice-cold bottles of Seth’s favorite, root beer soda.

  “A little mechanical work help the tension?” Brian asked as they cleaned dishes.

  “Yea. It does. Takes my mind off other stuff.”