THE SOLDIER: A Vietnam War Era Novel

by Schwartz, Richard Alan

  The foursome stared at the fire in silence, each contemplating the concepts each expressed.

  “Let’s get off this depressing subject,” Scott said.

  “Tell us what you’re doing in physics,” Rachel said in a cheery voice.

  The next few hours were spent discussing non-war related topics.

  Brian yawned.

  “We’re going to bed,” Rachel said. She and Brian bid goodnight to the other couple and proceeded to the master bedroom.

  “They hit it off,” Brian said.

  “Both have been grievously wounded,” Rachel said. “Healing together, could give them a strong foundation to build a relationship on.”

  * * *

  On Saturday afternoon, the three boys played in the pool while Brian kept an eye on them. Scott and Donna filled canteens, a couple of plastic bags with trail mix then set out on a hike around the ranch.

  Two hours before dinner, former medic but now doctor, Martin Evans arrived. He introduced his two daughters, Michelle, age eight and Janine, age five. The five-year-old seemed visually out of place with her red hair and green eyes.

  Brian greeted his former squad mate with a strong handshake and a slap on the back.

  He called Seth. After introducing him to Martin’s girls, Seth invited them to the art center and playroom where Donna’s boys played. The young trio hurried away.

  Until the little ones left, Brian couldn’t seem to take his eyes off Janine.

  “She’s not mine,” Martin said. “Sorry…”

  “No need. I don’t make an issue of it, but my wife became pregnant while I was overseas. I came home to a newborn, who she abandoned. I’m listed as the father on the birth certificate but, like I said, I was overseas when she became pregnant.”

  “Does Janine know?”

  “Haven’t told her. When she’s older, I’ll discuss it with her.”

  “Ready for your residency?” Brian asked Martin.

  “Can’t wait to get started. Thanks for the recommendation.”

  “We’re putting the squad back together,” Martin joked as he spotted Scott.

  “Guys, I want you to meet someone,” Brian said as he saw Krista Downey enter the backyard.

  Brian briefly embraced Ms. Downey. He addressed the others. “Krista was a surgical nurse when I was a surgeon in Vietnam. She and her team of nurses were like a flock of medical angels, tending to the needs of the wounded. Scott asked for drink orders.

  “Thought you’d returned to farming,” Brian said to Krista after Scott handed her a glass of Chablis. They sat around a glass topped table under the extended eave of the house which shaded them from the intense, summer, Texas sun.

  “Farming didn’t hold me. I kept feeling a need to help our fellow vets because so many are troubled. Finished a master’s degree in psych and applied to the VA. I ended up here in Dallas.”

  “Compassionate Lady,” Martin said. “Bet your patients appreciate you.”

  “Krista,” Brian said, “Martin just completed medical school and is about to begin his ER residency at the hospital where I work.”

  “Before I forget,” Krista said to Brian, “I have those letters from Laura Hetherington, the Civil War nurse, in my car. Front seat.” She handed him the keys to her vehicle.

  He retrieved them, stored them in his office, returned with a broad smile, and presented a hand written letter to Krista.

  “You need to read this,” he said. “This is from Rachel’s Great-Great-Aunt Abbey, written to her mother.”

  April 1l, 1885 Boston, Mass

  Dear Mother,

  Blessed Laura Hetherington (formerly Grafton) and her family arrived today. Just as during the war, when I referred to her as a medical angel, Laura is full of energy and motivated to begin our new task. She will help me with my inspection of the asylum. As another medically trained individual, she will help me evaluate the living conditions and together we will make recommendations to alleviate the suffering of those poor souls living in, what she accurately described as, retched, squalid, and inhuman conditions. Of course, Talia Warshawsky, Kaylee Gershom, Margaret Herzog and the Lombardi sisters will accompany us.

  Speaking of retched conditions, Laura is aware and, as am I, horrified at the suffering of workers in factories. We’ll gather with others who harbor like-minded concern and begin, hopefully, a movement which will be a force for change.

  If only women could vote. The politicians couldn’t shut us out and would have to listen to us. We could achieve change so much sooner. I’ve read women in Texas are organizing to that end. I am making an effort to contact them.

  Laura has agreed to review my notes on veterans who suffer mental problems from their wartime soldiering. She’s written down some of her own observations, which we will discuss.

  Much to accomplish but with strong, motivated friends, we ladies will set goals and work hard to achieve them.

  Looking forward with great anticipation to your arrival next month. Your grandchildren inquire daily, how long until your arrival.

  Love, Abbey

  Krista opened her mouth to say something but instead, read the letter a second time. She turned to Rachel. “This is a treasure. Your Aunt, if her last name is Kaplan, is mentioned in a number of Laura Hetherington’s letters that she sent to her parents during and after the Civil War.”

  “Kaplan it was. Brian has verified dates and unit assignments which prove they worked together,” Rachel said.

  “The other women?”

  “No clue,” Rachel said. “But I’ve made identifying them my personal research project. A college friend who lives in Boston has relatives named Lombardi. I expect to hear from her shortly.” After additional guests arrived, she invited everyone to the buffet line for dinner.

  Before dessert, Krista told Brian and Martin. “I have a patient in one of my support groups. He has PTSD.”

  “Combat soldier?” Martin asked. “No. A truck driver.”

  “Strange,” Brian said, rubbing his chin.

  They filled plates, sat in a group around the patio.

  “I’m discovering more and more support personnel suffering just like the combat vets,” Krista said.

  “Support personnel? Why?” Martin asked.

  “Just speculating, but unlike WWII, where, say a truck driver might take supplies to the front line but went back to a relatively safe rear area; rear meaning behind the front lines and away from combat, a trucker carrying war supplies in Vietnam was never safe as there were no front lines. The truck driver I mentioned carried an M16 and a combat load of magazines in his truck, he was ambushed a couple times, saw one of his helpers ripped in half by a grenade.”

  “We should get together,” Brian said. “Like to meet him if possible. Love to attend some of your group meetings.”

  Krista nodded. “Rachel told me her theory on support systems. I believe the idea has merit. It should be explored. Have another patient I’m counseling who spent his year in Vietnam as a company clerk and was never in combat. He has all the signs of PTSD but not diagnosed yet. I’ll bring some notes on soldiers with and without support systems when they arrive home, nothing to ID them, just notes on their condition.”

  “Excellent,” Brian said.

  Brian smiled when he saw Janine and Seth walking around his antique John Deere, his son likely pointing out features then helping her climb up to the driver’s seat and pointing out the controls and gauges.

  Krista turned to Martin. “I remember Brian requested your help at the medivac station.”

  He laughed. “He did. You and I worked on a number of casualties. While Brian was a grunt, we didn’t know he was a surgeon. Some of us speculated but until they pulled him out, we weren’t sure.”

  “You’re following in his footsteps?”

  “Not exactly. He’s a vascular and surgical specialist. My interest is the emergency room.”

  Krista peered over the top edge of her glasses, smiled and said, “If memory serves,
you worked with us during a week when we were short-handed.”

  “Our company was given a one-week stand-down. A time to relax, blow off a little steam,” Martin said. “Brian heard and sent for me.” He chuckled and shook his head. “Instead of relaxing for a week, I memorized tons of new procedures and placed more stitches than a mattress seamstress.” The others laughed. “In that short time, I helped more soldiers than I could count.”

  Krista sipped her wine and shook her head. “I remember those seven days. We got caught with incomplete staffing.” She gave him a warm smile. “You worked long hours. Your help was much appreciated.”

  “Thank you,” Evans said, nodding and returning her warm smile. “By the end of the week, Brian even had me close for him a few times. Unsure about my future before then but my work as a team member in the medivac unit convinced me my future was in medicine and specifically the Emergency Room.”

  “And,” Brian said, “imagine how reassuring it is, knowing I have a battle-hardened doctor to depend on in our ER.”

  Krista said, “I only knew Brian as a surgeon. He utilized an amazing economy of motion, could work for long hours, picked up new techniques in a micro-second, and like lightening, communicate his knowledge to new medical staff.”

  “Please, please, Krista,” Rachel pleaded. “Don’t talk like that in front of him. Sometimes he forgets he’s just a man.”

  The group laughed.

  “In fact,” Rachel continued, “A friend recently visited heaven. He saw a surgeon with the initials BL on his scrubs. My friend said to St. Peter, “So, you have Brian Levin performing surgery up here. St. Peter replied, ‘That’s not Brian Levin. That’s God. He just thinks he’s Brian Levin.’”

  The adults were convulsed with laughter.

  Krista finished her wine. Martin asked if she’d like another. She nodded. He took other drink orders then he and Brian headed to the bar.

  When they returned with their drinks, Krista thanked Martin and said, “Tell me about your family.”

  “Michele and Janine. My wife left us one week after I came home, just after Janine was born. I haven’t seen her since.”

  “Must have been rough on the little ones.”

  “The older one mostly. The little one too young to know what was going on. I was busy with medical school so couldn’t’ dwell on her abandoning us. My parents moved in to help. The children have adjusted to a degree, but being kids, still wonder if they did something to cause her to leave.”

  “Was your Vietnam service a problem for your wife?”

  “May never know. She was like a stranger when I returned home. First hint things weren’t right occurred when she refused to meet me in Hawaii for my R&R. Turns out she was three months pregnant. One day after Janine’s birth, she left the hospital and disappeared. I found evidence she was abusing drugs. After her delivery, Janine went through a terrible withdrawal.”

  Rachel turned to the former nurse. “What was the most difficult thing about being a nurse in the Army?”

  Krista took a deep breath then said, “Not showing emotion when walking up to a young man who lost a leg or similar grave injury, insisting he take his medications when he only wanted to die. What I really wanted to do was cry with him and hold him. And the other thing, smiling at men I knew had no chance of surviving, holding their hands until they drew their last breath, and then going to another patient and pretending nothing happened. That was heart wrenching.” She picked up a napkin and blotted her tears.

  “Don’t know if I’d have the strength to do that,” Rachel said, while putting a hand on Krista’s shoulder.

  Martin’s children came running up. He introduced Janine and Michelle to Krista. Michelle said to their father, “Mr. Hendricks said we can go for a hike with him, Seth, Corey, and Mitchel, if our dad comes with us.”

  Janine said, “Please Dad.”

  “It’s still light outside,” Michelle pleaded.

  “There are beautiful trails around this property,” he said to Krista. “Join us for a walk?”

  She nodded. “Good timing. I was tired of sitting. Let’s go.”

  * * *

  Donna talked to Rachel after the evening’s event while they washed and stored kitchenware. “Scott’s nothing like James, who I adored, but I get a vibe from Scott like I did from James, which makes me feel…well…I’m not sure how to describe it.”

  “Good or bad vibe?”

  “I’ve been so damn lonely since I lost James. Just having someone to hold hands with would be a blessing.”

  “How was the hike this morning?”

  “We discussed a myriad of topics. Scott and I share values around religion and family. I find it easy to talk to Scott because he can talk about his feelings. I know where his head is at, and he listens carefully when I discuss what I feel.”

  “All good things, I would think.”

  “I was telling him about James suicide, its impact on the boys and me. I cried. He held me. My Lord that felt great.” Donna shook her head. “Impossible relationship. He’s sophisticated, an intellectual giant, and I’m a high school graduate, and a full-time housewife. I spent all my life in mining country. Scott’s spent his entire life living near downtown Dallas, and since Vietnam, surrounded by academics.” She seemed to organize her thoughts as she hoisted a stack of dishes then put them on a shelf. “The year he started college; I was pregnant with Mitchel. Makes me sad but our backgrounds are as if we’re from opposite parts of the galaxy…”

  “And yet he’s attached himself to you like a flea on a hound dog.”

  Donna laughed then became serious, turned to Rachel. “He makes me, only known him for a couple days, is it sappy to say, I feel better when he’s near me?”

  “Not sappy at all.”

  “Did you have feelings like that toward Brian, when you met as adults?”

  Rachel thought for a bit while she dried a platter, placed it on the counter then, with one hand on her hip, faced Donna. “So, he’s this amazing surgeon who’s smart as hell. My intellectual accomplishments consist of a handful of community college classes in pre-school education and psychology. But after getting to know Brian for a few days during Thanksgiving and a number of years ago, I came up here to visit for a few days.” She giggled. “And haven’t left.”

  * * *

  Early Sunday morning, Scott and Donna left for church before the children were awake.

  While serving breakfast to the boys, Brian whispered to Rachel, “The way they were touching this morning, I’ll bet they spent the night together.”

  She laughed. “No wonder they went to church.” Brian chuckled.

  “It’s too cool for the pool today,” Rachel said, glancing outside at the cloudy day. “Have other plans for the boys?”

  “I called our neighbor to the north, Fred Wayne,” Brian said. “He told me I could hitch up a team to his old freight wagon. I’ll take the boys around our ranch, start teaching them how to take care of horses and handle a team.”

  “They’ll love that.”

  Lunch time saw the boys bragging to their parents and Scott about two horses named Daisy and Dolly.

  “They pulled us all over Texas,” Seth exclaimed. “And I got to hold the reins. I learned how to watch the traces to see if they were pulling equally.”

  “We shoveled horse poop out of their stalls and put fresh straw down,” Mitchel said.

  “And we gave them water and we put out feed for them,” Corey added.

  Following lunch, Brian and Scott worked cleaning the grills of the smoker. Brian said, “I have the research I’d like you to review in my office.”

  Brian scraped burnt food off a grill with a brass wire brush. “You and Donna?” he asked his buddy.

  “Usually I’m wound up tight as a drum. That woman talks to me and the tension…like…fades. Not sure how to describe it, but, she, I’d say she has a window into my mind. When I see you getting tense, the way Rachel takes care of you, Donna does that for me.�
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  “Stay together and you’d have two teenage sons. Not an easy task.”

  “If that’s the price of having Donna around, not a problem, and truthfully, I’m enjoying the hell out of those boys.”

  Brian scraped two additional mesh grills then put them back in the smoker. “Your and Donna’s backgrounds, so different.”

  “At the University,” Scott said, “I’m surrounded by folks with IQ’s up to the sky. Donna has an IQ up to the sky when it comes to me. Since the war, no one’s come close to understanding, let alone helping me deal with my tension. While surrounded by the, less than real, world of academia, a woman like Donna could help keep me stay grounded.” Scott smiled then said, “Like to read your research.”

  Brian and he moved to Brian’s office.

  After reading for a few hours and making notes, Scott read a paper, written by a researcher, concerning a combat soldier, who, while on R&R with his wife in Hawaii, consumed copious amounts of alcohol. Driving around while inebriated, they were involved in a car accident where his wife became a paraplegic. He was so overwhelmed with guilt, he couldn’t function. Shortly after returning to his unit in Vietnam, the man was given a medical discharge from the Army. The researcher wrote, it’s important to consider, he never drank before his service in Vietnam.”

  Rachel and Donna entered the room.

  “Poor guy.” Scott said, his eyes tearing. “Attempted suicide when he returned home. The pain of what he did in combat combined with his wife’s injuries; pain just piled on top of pain I suspect. At one point I was so distraught, that could have been me.”

  “Thoughts of suicide?” Brian asked

  “Thank the Lord, I had my physics to keep my mind occupied. Talking to my Dad, a Marine in WWII, helped, until he died. At times, still get depressed to a point where it’s tough to get out of bed.”