Enlisting Redemption

by D. Allen Henry

  Chapter 5

  In Quest of Manhood

  Alexandria – January, 1969

  Trevor hoisted the telephone to his ear and said, “Hello? Who is it?”

  “Trevor, it’s Vanessa,” the voice on the other end responded.

  “Vanessa…oh, Vanessa!” he replied in recognition, adding, “How are you?”

  “I’ve been better,” she responded blandly, “Listen, Trevor, I’m in town. Could we possibly meet for lunch?”

  “Why, certainly,” he replied, “Nothing would make me happier. When? Where?”

  “Let’s say, ‘The Patriot Inn’, in half an hour?”

  “Excellent! See you then,” he replied.

  A Half Hour Later

  From her vantage point, Vanessa could make him out even before he tugged the door to the restaurant open and, waving as he entered, she called, “Trevor! Over here!”

  Spotting her immediately, he trotted her way, taking her within a polite embrace on arriving at her table. He then volunteered pleasantly, “I say, how have you been, Vanessa?”

  “Not too good, I’m afraid,” she responded and, eyeing him carefully, she proffered, “But, from everything I’ve heard, better than you.”

  Attempting to minimize the import of her comment, he prevaricated, “Right. Well, life does come at one rather quickly, I suppose.”

  “So, what have you heard? Is there any word regarding Rebecca’s whereabouts?”

  Eyes downcast, he responded, “No, I’m afraid not.”

  “Well, surely you are not to blame, Trevor,” she commiserated.

  Eyeing her doubtfully, he replied, “You’re the first person to say that, Vanessa. And while it may not be completely accurate, I can’t say how much I appreciate it.”

  Reaching forward she placed her hand on his, suggesting, “Well, at this point all we can do is hope for the best.”

  “I suppose you’re right,” he murmured thoughtfully, but then brightening, he queried, “What brings you to DC?”

  “Actually you, if truth be told.”

  “Oh, how so?” he blurted vacuously.

  “Trevor, there is no other way to say this, so I’m going to just come right out with it – I’m afraid I’m pregnant.”

  “What?” he said and, blinking in uncertainty, he murmured, “What did you say?”

  “You heard me – I’m pregnant.”

  Since she could see that he was doing the math in his head, she interjected, “Yes, of course it’s yours. I’ve already counted the days, and there can be no doubt of it. You are going to be a father, my friend.”

  “But that can’t be!” he mumbled, “I just joined the Army!”

  “Yes, I heard,” she observed, “Would that either of us had divulged our rather complicated circumstances sooner.”

  They were married three days later.

  Fort Hood, Texas - January, 1969

  Trevor stared from the window as the bus pulled up to the main entrance to the fort, the guard saluting as he waved the vehicle through. Shortly thereafter, the bus came to a stop adjacent to a small wooden building. Fifteen disheveled looking young men disembarked, each carrying a single piece of luggage. Most members of the group appeared to be little older than school boys.

  A single hawk drifted with the air currents overhead, literally nothing else moving as far as the eye could see. Although it was mid-winter, the heat was searing and muggy, the sun pouring down relentlessly from a cloudless sky like a cascade of boiling water.

  Trevor searched his field of view for something, anything noteworthy at all. Every building within eyesight appeared to be a dilapidated holdover from the Great Depression, each devoid of even the slightest hint of artistic endeavor, and every one badly in need of a coat of regenerative paint.

  Eventually he noticed movement – a single man in uniform off in the distance striding toward the group, seemingly advancing from nowhere through the waves of heat roiling up from the blacktop surface. Smirking to himself, Trevor suspected that he and his fellow volunteers were about to begin their military careers in earnest.

  As the man came closer Trevor could tell from the numerous stripes on his sleeves that he was some sort of noncommissioned officer. Possessed of an enormous barrel chest, he was quite imposing in stature. When he came within several yards of the group, he stopped and, speaking authoritatively, he offered, “Gentlemen, I am Sergeant Stokes. If you will, please follow me!” He then turned abruptly on his heel and strode briskly in the direction from whence he had appeared. It was immediately apparent to one and all that anyone who did not follow him would be shown scant mercy if any at all.

  Pursuing him relentlessly, Trevor kept pace despite his bag, but several of the boys inevitably began falling behind almost immediately. After a couple of hundred yards Sergeant Stokes glanced nonchalantly toward the rapidly dispersing ensemble and, turning back in the direction that he was walking, he yelled over his shoulder, “Better keep up, gentlemen. I can assure you, you won’t like the result of the alternative!”

  At this, all but one of the now terrified young men broke into a trot in order to catch up. By the time Sergeant Stokes halted some minutes later in front of a squat building, only one recruit had lagged far behind. Sergeant Stokes turned and waited patiently until the wayward laggard arrived, then queried, “Name?”

  The boy, now covered in sweat and panting profusely, mumbled inanely, “Huh?”

  “That would be – Huh, Sergeant Stokes!” Sergeant Stokes responded assertively.

  “Huh?” the boy repeated in obvious confusion.

  “What is your name, son?”

  The youngster peered at him in growing fear and, realizing what had been asked of him, he responded, “Ronny, sir.”

  “Ronny who, son?”

  “Ronny Smith, sir!”

  “Okay, now we’re getting somewhere! Private Smith, I am Sergeant Stokes. I am not a commissioned officer. Therefore, you will not address me as sir! You will end every sentence addressed to me with the two words ‘Sergeant Stokes’. Got that, Private Smith?”

  “Yes, sir - I mean - yes, Sergeant Stokes!”

  “Excellent, Private Smith! Now give me fifty pushups as a measure of your everlasting gratitude and devotion.”

  “What?”

  “What WHAT, Private Smith?”

  “What, Sergeant Stokes!” the by-now terrorized and clearly bewildered young man replied.

  “Excellent, Private Smith. Now, give me one hundred pushups. And don’t say WHAT or you’ll be doing a hundred and fifty!”

  Private Smith dropped to the ground and commenced his assigned duty. By this point two of the boys had begun snickering at Private Smith’s demise. Sergeant Stokes queried as he pointed at the pair, “Names?”

  “Wilson,” one replied.

  “Fifty pushups Private Wilson, got that?”

  “Yes, Sergeant Stokes,” the wayward boy replied woefully, and at this he dropped to the ground for the purpose of completing his assignment.

  The second boy just kept on snickering, prompting Sergeant Stokes to stride over to him and shout directly in his face, “Name!”

  Grinning knowingly at him, the boy announced proudly, “I’m Bobby Farmer. Pleased to meet ya, Sergeant Stokes!”

  Sergeant Stokes bellowed, “Fifty pushups for laughing at your buddy’s demise, and another fifty for insubordination. Hit it, Private Farmer.” At this Private Farmer, still sporting his ludicrous grin, dropped to the ground to commence his well-earned penance.

  While the three guinea pigs were working off their collective misfortunes, Sergeant Stokes turned to the remainder of the group, inquiring, “Which of you is Sutherland?”

  Trevor replied, “I am Private Sutherland, Sergeant Stokes.”

  Sergeant Stokes came over to him and observed, “Congratulations, Private Sutherland, you are the only British national that I have ever met in the entire U. S. Army. So what’s your problem, Private
Sutherland?”

  “Problem? There is no problem at all, Sergeant Stokes,” Trevor replied nonchalantly.

  “Bull crap!” Sergeant Stokes spat out. “No foreigner volunteers in this here army without having some sort of problem. Or perhaps you haven’t heard - there’s a war going on, and U.S. soldiers are dying in that war!”

  “Yes, I am aware of the war in Vietnam, Sergeant Stokes,” Trevor responded matter-of-factly.

  “Well, we’ll just see about you not having a problem, Private Sutherland. We’ll just see about that, all in good time. And you’re a damn limey, which makes two problems!” He turned away from Trevor and instructed the entire group, “Before I’m through with you sniveling bunch of skinny kids, you will all wish that you had never gotten off that bus. Now get your skinny asses into that building there, where Corporal Long will give each of you a real stylish coiffure fit for a Hollywood movie star.”

  By the end of the day Trevor had lost every bit of his most prized possession - his long flowing black hair. Subsequently, they had all been issued the saddest looking set of uniforms imaginable, the entire group going out for a ‘walk’ immediately thereafter. Trevor had discovered within minutes that a ‘walk’ really meant a military drill that lasted for three hours in the most unimaginably searing part of the hottest day that he had ever experienced in his entire life.

  Thereafter, he had been ordered to shower with the fourteen other young men. It was the first time in his entire life that a cold shower had exceeded the pleasure of a hot one, and by a sizable margin at that. After showering they had been immediately ordered to suit up and had marched off to the mess hall, arriving there already hot and sweaty within minutes of their showers, only to be treated to an absolutely disgusting dinner of shoe-leather steak and freeze-dried potatoes.

  Immediately after dinner they had marched to yet another dilapidated building, where they had been subjected to a mind-numbing two hour lecture by Sergeant Stokes on the maintenance and use of the M-1 rifle. They had then marched back to the barracks that they had been informed was to be their home for the succeeding three months, arriving after nine in the evening. They were immediately instructed that lights out was at 10 P.M., and first call in the morning would be at 4:30. Thus ended his first day in the United States Army as Trevor, totally exhausted, fell immediately into his bunk and drifted into welcome slumber.

  For the first time in weeks he slept like a baby. Though small, it was the very first positive thing to happen to him since that incomprehensible night on the Potomac. Each day thereafter became a mindless succession of drilling and sweating, sweating and eating, drilling and sleeping, one after another in rapid succession. Life dwindled down to very simple elements – eat, dress, march, march, march, and occasionally – sleep. And most important of all, whatever Sergeant Stokes ordered - do it - no questions asked.

  After a week of nonstop drilling, the entire platoon marched to the firing range, where they were treated to a two hour demonstration on the use of a variety of firearms. The following day they returned to the firing range, whereupon each of them was issued an M-1 rifle and carefully instructed in its proper use. Sergeant Stokes then picked eight of the soldiers for the firing line and, instructing them to fire off single shots until their clips were empty, he ordered them to center their shots on the bull’s eyes at the far end of the range. The eight soldiers took their positions, Sergeant Stokes announcing, “All clear on the firing line. Clear on the left. Clear on the right. Commence firing!”

  Private Smith instantaneously loosed off his entire clip automatically, the final seven shots flying off well into the air as his rifle bucked upwards from his own misuse of the weapon.

  Sergeant Stokes immediately screamed at the top of his lungs, “Cease firing! All cease firing!” He then strolled nonchalantly over to Private Smith and, brusquely yanking the weapon from the soldier’s grasp, he bellowed, “Give me that firearm! You could have killed someone, you fool!” For his part, Private Sanders stood silently in abject fear, obviously afraid to utter a single word.

  Sergeant Stokes summarily announced, “This is a semi-automatic weapon, gentlemen. If you continue to depress the trigger, it will fire off all eight rounds in succession, seven of which will end up somewhere halfway between here and Fort Stockton! Step aside, Private Smith. I will now demonstrate the proper use of the M-1 rifle.” He forthwith reloaded the weapon, shouldered it and loosed off eight rounds in succession at three second intervals, each one striking the target at fifty yards.

  He then handed the weapon back to Private Smith, commanding, “You! Sit out this round. Get over there and sit down!” at which command Private Smith slinked silently over to where the remaining members of the platoon were seated on the ground. “Now, then,” Sergeant Stokes exclaimed, “Let’s try that again. All clear on the firing line! Commence firing! Fire at will!” The remaining seven soldiers carefully took aim, and each slowly emptied their clips in the general direction of their intended targets. After all had ejected their clips, he announced, “Cease firing! All clear on the firing line! Gentlemen, please lower your weapons.”

  A corporal assigned to the range raced to the targets and fetched them to the sergeant, who forthwith studied each one in succession. Eventually he glanced up, announcing, “Congratulations, gentlemen. Had you been in the jungle in Vietnam, you would all be dead by now! Not a one of you has a clue what you are doing with a firearm. Please be seated. Now, let’s see what the remaining seven members of this fine platoon are capable of doing with an M-1 rifle. Please, gentlemen, step up to the firing line!”

  The remaining soldiers, Trevor included, stepped forward. “Now, gentlemen, show me what you’ve got. Shoulder you firearms. All clear on the firing line! Commence firing! Fire at will!” The drill was repeated more or less identically to the previous attempt, except that Sergeant Stokes noticed that one soldier appeared to have an inkling as to what he was about. After the firing had ended, he announced, “Cease firing! Lower your weapons!” As before, the corporal retrieved the targets, Sergeant Stokes perusing this new set carefully. At length he walked over to Trevor, inquiring, “Where did you learn to shoot like that, Private Sutherland?”

  Trevor replied, “England, Sergeant Stokes.”

  “Let me see you do that again, private. Step up to the firing line. All clear on the firing line. Commence firing! Fire at will!”

  Trevor shouldered his weapon, sited on the target and loosed off eight bull’s eyes in rapid succession, summarily lowering his weapon in military fashion. Grimacing at him, Stokes said, “Wait a minute, private.” He then went over to the weapons shed and, returning with an M16A1, he commanded, “Here. Try this,” and so saying, he handed the weapon to Trevor. “All clear on the firing line! Commence firing! Fire at will!”

  Trevor fired off fifteen rounds within the space of half a minute, every one of them striking the bull’s eye of the target. He then lowered his weapon, Sergeant Stokes exclaiming, “Cease firing!” Placing his hands on his hips, he exclaimed, “Well, I’ll be! This here limey is just about as fine a marksman as I have ever seen, and it’s only the first day of small arms training!”

  He then glared at Trevor, summarily blurting out, “We’ll see how you do when there’s a Viet Cong charging straight at you in the jungle!”

  A Week Later

  By now Trevor and his platoon had gone at it for thirteen straight days without a single break. All fifteen soldiers were by that point in a state of total exhaustion. But amazingly, beneath the delirium and the lost innocence of youth, something positive was beginning to happen to each one of them - they were becoming united - and the source of their unison was their hatred of the by then universally despised Sergeant Stokes.

  Trevor understood full well the objective of this seemingly mindless exercise, but he kept it to himself. Although he was the eldest in the group, he also understood that making something of his adv
anced age was a perfect recipe for failure. His challenge was to blend in, to become one with his fellow foot soldiers. And that was the first lesson that he learned on his long road to redemption – that he was not something special - but rather, that he was just another insignificant portion of something bigger, and hopefully one day, something also better.

  On the fourteenth day Sergeant Stokes formed up the troops at five A.M., announcing, “Men, you are confined to the fort. Dismissed for the remainder of the day!” Under the circumstances, no one seemed to mind that they were confined to the fort, as one and all spent the entire day in the recovery mode - lounging about, chatting, napping, and engaging in pastimes such as playing dominoes and writing letters to home.

  Trevor took this, his first real opportunity at leisure, to allocate some time to himself. Unfortunately, by mid-day the horror of his past transgressions came dashing back into his consciousness. The loss of his parents’ affection and their subsequent reaction to his enlistment, the destruction of all of his friendships at UVa, and most of all, his inexcusable treatment of Rebecca – the misery that they caused whenever they came to mind - were profoundly beyond his ability to endure.

  By the end of the day he realized that his best line of defense against his own burgeoning conscience was absolute exhaustion, the only means of keeping his self-destructive thoughts at bay. He resolved to ensure that he henceforth remained in a state of near-delirium during every waking hour, a sort of natural anesthetic against reality that would hopefully provide him sufficient time to heal his self-inflicted wounds.

  He did allow himself one transgression. Actually, it was more of a ‘Picture of Dorian Gray’ than a transgression – he mounted a photo by his bunk that one of his fraternity brothers had taken of Rebecca and himself at the Halloween party, back before his life had all gone awry. A part of him wanted to remember things that way, before his demise, but another part wanted him to always be aware of the appalling skeleton hidden within his closet.

  As it developed, a recovery day was not quite the correct term in his case. Since he was insufficiently exhausted to fend off his demons that night, he slept little for the first time in two weeks. Fortunately, the following day he, along with everyone else in the platoon, was exhausted by midway through the morning drill.

  A Month Later

  Trevor and his fellow soldiers were at long last given a free weekend. Half of the boys took the bus to Waco, excess hormones coercing them into pursuit of female companionship. Deciding to accompany the group, Trevor had no idea why he was doing so. What he did know was that his demons would attack indiscriminately if he were so imprudent as to remain alone in the barracks for an entire day.

  The Texas weather having revolted, the group of eight hopped off the bus in downtown Waco at two in the afternoon on a freezing Saturday in February. By necessity, they hastily located the first bar that was open, and though significantly dilapidated, it offered both protection from the elements and access to cold beer - their first line of defense against the reality of life in the U.S. Army. Oblivious to the fact that they were just one more insignificant wave in a long line of home-sick boys who had come this way over the preceding four decades, every one of them managed to get considerably inebriated within the first hour, Trevor included.

  Thus lubricated, upon the unanticipated arrival of a lone female within the bar, the entire homesick group of buck privates broke into predictable pandemonium, despite the fact that the woman was a bit hard looking, not to mention at least twice the average age of the conscripts. She wore a tight fitting mid-thigh length dress that accentuated her rather well-endowed frame and, her shoulder-length platinum blonde hair wafting in the breeze, she swayed her hips suggestively as she strutted through the doorway. Despite the encroaching cold, her attire was complimented appealingly with a sun hat and a pair of sun glasses, all of which lent just the right notion that she was perhaps a lady of a certain class.

  “Well, hello there, boys. I’m Barbie, like the doll.” the woman cooed to the crowd as she removed her sunglasses. “You look like a fine bunch of soldiers. Might one of you be inclined to buy a young lady a drink?”

  At this several of the boys instantaneously clamored to offer her a chair. She chose one and turned to the scrawny pimple-faced soldier who had offered the seat to her, responding politely to his gallantry, “Why thank you, you gorgeous man, you. And what might your name be?”

  “Jimmy, I mean, James, ma’am,” he responded nervously, “but you can sure ‘nough call me Jimmy.”

  “Why, thank you, Jimmy. Such a nice name - Jimmy. I had me a boyfriend named Jimmy once. That boy could sure enough pleasure a woman. He could go all night! How about you, Jimmy? Can you go all night?”

  “Why, I don’t rightly know, Miss Barbie. But I’ll tell you what – I’d sure ‘nough like to find out!” at which the entire group broke into spontaneous guffaws.

  “Well, Jimmy, we’ll just have to see about that. But for the moment, I’ll have a Lone Star beer, please.”

  Thoroughly convinced that he had bounded into the lead for Barbie’s affections, Jimmy croaked proudly, “Yes, ma’am!”

  Barbie crossed one leg suggestively over the other and, lounging seductively in her chair, she announced to one and all, “Seems I’ve been told there’s a military complex ‘round these parts. Might any of you soldiers be stationed at Fort Hood?”

  At this pronouncement the boys all broke into jubilant hooting and hollering, the gist of which was meant to imply the single word ‘yes’, although how that conclusion could have been drawn is anyone’s guess.

  Barbie’s newest devotee Jimmy handed Barbie her beer, at which point she for her part extracted a most evocative swig from it, thereby eliciting appreciative nods from the soldier boys at her consummate beverage-consuming skill. The boys were obviously uniformly enraptured with Barbie, who, seemingly oblivious to her effect on her audience, utilized the proffered beer bottle by direct contact as a means of cooling her heaving cleavage, simultaneously fanning herself with a napkin for several moments, all of which served to dramatically amplify the collective temperature within her immediate surroundings.

  At length, her first clandestine objective having been stealthily accomplished, Barbie volunteered nonchalantly, “So, boys, might it be possible that some of you are looking for a little bit of companionship, perhaps of the female persuasion?” This entirely unforeseen inquiry was of course followed by a second cacophonous and widespread eruption of jubilation from the group.

  Trevor, the lone erstwhile warrior feeling immune to her feminine charms, had immediately sensed a swindle in the wind. Nonetheless, he determined to maintain his silence, awaiting further as yet uncertain developments.

  The crowd now grew silent once again in licentious anticipation of Barbie’s next pronouncement. After a seemingly interminable hush, she continued with, “Here’s the thing, boys, me and four of my girlfriends are having a party in the trailer right out back there. And I don’t mind telling you boys, my girlfriends just love soldier boys. Why, only last weekend they treated a group of soldier boys so good they all four got proposals of marriage. Anyone care to follow me and join in the fun?”

  At this every soldier in the bar immediately stood up, that is, with the exception of Trevor. Fortunately for him, he had passed on the third drink, thus he was still somewhat sober, something that could not be said for the others. Still, observing that his fellow soldiers were perplexed at his reluctance, he slowly rose, and the vote was suddenly unanimous.

  The boys now headed conjointly for the door and, Barbie leading the erstwhile sheep out back, conveyed her shepherding skills with little more than the sway of her hips. Given the sad state of sobriety of the entire group, such was the enormous power of her otherwise unremarkable feminine wiles. Trevor followed them toward the trailer out back, nonplussed by the woman’s forwardness and necessarily wary of the development of otherwise unforeseen problems.
>
  Sure enough, the trailer was a trap. Hanging back to the last, Trevor noticed as he entered through the door that four of the boys were already in the process of being bound and gagged by four big guys wearing masks. He immediately shouted to the three of his buddies who were not already in the grasp of assailants, “Bobby, grab the big guy there!” and, pointing at one guy, he added, “Sam, Dan, grab that one!” He himself lit boldly into the other two.

  The melee that resulted from his strategy was successful enough that the four remaining boys were able to free themselves from their bonds. Meanwhile, his hands full with two guys, he nevertheless managed to hold his own long enough for the others to regain their senses and come to his rescue. Within a couple of minutes, realizing the futility of their ploy, the four assailants scampered from the trailer, leaving eight panting and exhausted boys, all of whom were by now rapidly returning to sobriety.

  “Whoa!” yelled Bobby. “We took them sons-of-bitches! Wow! We are one mean fightin’ machine!” He loped over to the door and called out, “Come on back, you big durn chickens! Let’s have another round!” and at this pronouncement the entire group commenced to whoop and holler.

  Barbie, clearly flustered that her trap had gone awry, nevertheless attempted to maintain the impetus by blustering, “You damn bunch of fools. You done trashed my trailer!”

  At this Trevor eyed her dubiously, exclaiming, “I say, where might your lady friends be, Miss Barbie? You know, the ones that you spoke of in the bar. Those four who just left didn’t appear to me to be women at all,” and at this there ensued a moment of silence during which the boys glanced back and forth between the two unlikely combatants squared off before them.

  At length Barbie broke the silence, uttering, “Well, I’m sure I’ve no idea who those fellows were. And I do appreciate you boys dispatching them so neatly.”

  “Now, that’s much better,” Trevor responded politely. “In fact, that’s downright gracious of you. Personally, I expect that my friends here are deserving of something special from you in return for their efforts on your behalf.”

  Barbie eyed him suspiciously, subsequently responding, “What exactly did you have in mind, soldier boy?”

  Keenly aware that he now had the upper hand, Trevor responded facetiously, “Well now, let me see. What might be appropriate?” He paused for a moment to allow the silence to enhance the impact of his forthcoming proposition, then added, “Hold on! I may in fact know the perfect solution, Miss Barbie! Surely you could show your appreciation by introducing the boys here to the finer details of the battle of the sexes…you know, something that a nice upstanding lady like you would normally never entertain, but would nevertheless be infinitely well qualified to impart. Given the circumstances, it just seems the thing for you to do to show your appreciation. What do you say, boys, would that meet your collective approval?” At this, the boys hooted their unanimous consent.

  Barbie eyed Trevor doubtfully for a moment, then replied, “Why, I find that truly offensive, soldier boy. What kind of lady do you take me for?”

  Trevor pondered for a moment, subsequently exclaiming, “Right, I see no purpose served by delving into that issue, Miss Barbie. Let me just put it this way, if you do not show your full appreciation to my friends right this minute, I shall see to it that the authorities are informed that you are running a scam against military personnel.”

  Narrowing her eyes viciously at Trevor, Barbie responded surreptitiously, “Screw you, soldier boy!”

  Hearing this, Trevor immediately advanced three steps toward her and, grabbing her by the waist, he tossed her roughly over his knee and proceeded to give her a judicious spanking. After several corporeal whacks, he pushed her back onto her feet, inquiring politely, “Now, what were you saying, Miss Barbie?”

  Grasping her flanks and backing away from him with a feigned look of pain and desolation, she smirked impishly, “You naughty soldier boy!” Slumping downcast with her lower lip protruding she feigned injury for a few moments, but suddenly exclaimed with apparent resignation, “Aw, what the hell,” and, promptly tugging her blouse up to her neck so as to expose her ample qualifications for battle, she inquired, “How many of you boys have ever seen a pair of these hillocks up close and personal?”

  At this unanticipated development, every pair of male eyes bulging appropriately, three of the boys happily raised their hands in unison.

  At this Barbie cooed expressively, “Well, that IS handy! It seems there’s a bit of battlefield experience among you boys.” Then she patted herself between her thighs and queried huskily, “And how many of you have ever had the good fortune to slide right down into one of these here foxholes?”

  At this only one of the boys raised his hand, the ludicrous grin spreading across his features only serving to electrify the envious uninitiated.

  Observing this, she suggested, “Well now, it seems that you members of the armed forces of these here United States of America could use a bit of training in the strategic elimination of battlefield obstacles and subsequent deployment of tactical weapons as pertains to reaching your military objectives.”

  As the apparently about-to-be-enlightened soldier boys screamed with delight at this pronouncement, Barbie smiled and volunteered self-assuredly, “Okay, I believe that I might be just the right person to provide the necessary strategic training, thereby leading to the removal of those obstacles so that you fine young men could deploy your firearms strategically within the field of battle. I believe that I could provide that training for, say, two hundred dollars!”

  Trevor glared sternly at her for several moments and, thenceforth smiling broadly, he countered with, “I say, Miss Barbie, in my view these soldiers deserve battlefield training, absolutely free of charge for bravely serving their country, and I can tell from your extraordinary qualifications that you are just the person to undertake such a patriotic endeavor.”

  She gaped hesitantly at him, but realizing that she was outnumbered and outflanked, she replied sullenly, “Okay, I see your point, big boy.” She contemplated her options, but suddenly smiling pleasantly, she announced, “Tell you what I’ll do. I’ll provide you boys with a comprehensive accounting of every strategic site within the field of battle, absolutely guaranteed to make every one of your firearms spring to full attention, as a gracious demonstration of my undying patriotism. If the exhibits thus disclosed meet your satisfaction, perhaps some of you soldier boys will find it expedient to fire off a few well-directed volleys with them weapons of yours. And if perchance the campaign results in full-blown victory, then you victorious soldier boys might see your way to accord a voluntary contribution as a means of showing your gratitude for such skillful training. How about that, boys!”

  The boys immediately commenced howling yet again and, Trevor hushing them with a motion of his hands, he volunteered, “I say, that does indeed sound patriotic, Miss Barbie. I do believe we have an agreement, but don’t let these boys down, because I shall be in the bar waiting. And trust me - I shall be quite distraught if their marksmanship has not improved considerably by the time their training is completed.”

  “Done!” she replied. “Now, you boys all strip off right now, you hear? Don’t you be dawdling. I need to be able to observe first-hand the full extent of firepower sprouting from each of you boys’ weapons when you encounter them hills and valleys. Go on boys, get them pistols clean out of their holsters, or the deal’s off.” The boys immediately started tearing off their clothes and, surreptitiously pulling her blouse over her head, she thereby further displayed an entrancing pair of the aforementioned hillocks.

  Trevor, disinterested in waiting around to see more, headed back to the bar, from whence he maintained a lookout in the unlikely event that her four accomplices should return. An hour and a half later the now noticeably exultant seven soldiers came tumbling one after the other out of the trailer, uniformly appearing as if they’d just been trounced by a heard of buffalo.<
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  As they stumbled toward Trevor in complete disarray, Bobby queried to no one in particular, “Did you see that? I ain’t never seen a woman do nothin’ close to that in my entire life. I didn’t know such contortions was humanly possible!”

  “Damn, at first I thought she wasn’t nothin’ to write home about,” Sam replied to Bobby, “But once that Barbie had presented us with the entirety of her credentials for the purpose of weapons trainin’, I was utterly convinced that she was possessed of the absolute finest collection of facilities for the weapons training of soldier boys that has ever been placed on this here entire planet. By the time she completed her detailed demonstration of each and every hill and foxhole in the battlefield, I darn near fired off my weapon prematurely. I wished I could have me a battlefield like that to myself just once in my life. I’d sure enough die quick, but grinning with my entire body!”

  Billy glanced towards Trevor and suggested, “You sure ‘nough missed it, Private Sutherland. That woman has more weapons than the Khmer Rouge. And she understands military tactics better than a Marine general. She just displayed all the strategic targets on the battlefield, and then she instructed us to fire at will at whatever military objective we took a shine to. She had at least two of us and more often three at one time scurrying into them hillocks and foxholes continuously for close on to an hour and a half! She wore the firearms on the entire pack of us clean down to nubs. We ain’t got one single pistol shot left between the whole damn bunch of us. I swear, that Barbie could’ve taught weapons training to the entire platoon at one time!”

  Glancing toward Billy, Trevor inquired patiently, “How much money did you boys give her?”

  “Oh, we done give her everything,” Dan replied candidly, “Worth every penny of it, too, if you ask me!”

  “Damn straight,” Bobby put in.

  “So you’re all broke now,” Trevor responded drolly, “Sounds like you won the battle, but you lost the war.”

  “Well, I expect that must be true, but we sure are highly skilled losers!” Billy observed with an impish grin.

  At this Trevor volunteered with an appreciative wink, “I say, it seems everyone got what they came to Waco looking for today. Shall we all head back to the fort? It just so happens I have bus fare for everyone.”

  “Heck, yeah,” Bobby exclaimed. “I done had me the best darn time I ever had in my whole entire life. I got me enough fun built up to keep me smiling for a month of Sundays! I bet I could even snicker my way through ten thousand of Sergeant Stokes’ pushups!”

  At this the entire group guffawed yet again and, seeing as how they all felt like they’d been to the Moon and back, they were surprised to find the bus stop was little more than two hundred yards distant.

  The Following Day

  Trevor awoke to find that he had become the talk of the entire battalion. Word had somehow spread that he had led a charge that had fended off no less than twenty local boys, subsequently talking three of the sweetest local girls you ever saw into putting on an absolutely gratis show for the boys that was right out of the folkloric annals of ‘Playboy’.

  Himself nonplussed by the entire fictionalized amplification of what was to him a rather seedy event entirely unworthy of recounting, Trevor nonetheless perceived that there was nothing for it but to go along with his buddies’ hyped-up elaboration of reality. Although his long road to redemption had taken a most unexpected turn, he felt reassured that it was, though circuitous, progress of sorts.

  A Week Later

  “Is it really you?” Vanessa spoke into the phone.

  “Yes, Vanessa, of course it is,” Trevor responded, “What is the matter? What was so important as to cause the battalion commander to call me to his office?”

  Ignoring his question, she asked, “How are you?”

  “As well as can be expected,” he replied tersely.

  “Is it terribly difficult?” she inquired hesitantly.

  “Is what terribly difficult?” he responded.

  “Why, the army, of course,” she said.

  “Oh. Tis quite acceptable,” he muttered, adding, “Is that what you called about?”

  “Well, it is good to hear your voice, darling, but…no…” she stammered and, clearing her throat, she followed it with, “I have some bad news, I’m afraid.”

  “What is the problem, Vanessa?”

  “Well, I’m afraid I’ve miscarried, Trevor. We’ve lost the baby, you see.”

  “Oh, I say, that is terrible news!” he exclaimed sympathetically. “What happened?”

  “Oh, no one is really certain. The doctor said that these things simply happen a certain percentage of the time. He says there is no way to predict such things, or to avoid them, for that matter.”

  “That is indeed terribly sad. I am afraid I don’t know what to say, Vanessa. Are you quite alright?”

  “Yes, yes, of course,” she responded tensely, “The doctor says that I’m as strong as a horse. So you see, when you get back home, we can try again.”

  “Yes, of course, dear,” he reflected, “We shall do that. Of course, when I get home…” he mumbled, his voice now trailing off.

  Sensing their conversation was coming to an end, she volunteered, “Listen, darling, you take good care of yourself. I cannot wait for you to return home. I love you so much!”

  “Yes, dear Vanessa, and I you. And know that I do indeed miss you terribly. Now, I must get back to my duties.”

  “Yes, of course!” she exclaimed, adding, “Bye Trevor, hugs and kisses!”

  “And you as well,” and with that he rang off.

  A Month Later

  Trevor was chosen outstanding soldier in the platoon, boot camp coming to its inglorious close. Though he strongly suspected that the honor was misplaced, Sergeant Stokes’ presentation of the award made it clear that no refusal of such a magnanimous honor would be permitted.

  Two days later the boys shipped out for their new assignments. Bobby, Dan and Trevor were to be transferred directly to Vietnam, with the remaining members of the platoon assigned to stateside tours for further training.