by Rod Carstens
Through All the Years
A Novel
By
Rod Carstens
Copyright 2013 Roger Huder
All rights reserved. Except as permitted under the U.S. Copyright Act of 1976, no part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed or transmitted in any form or by any means or stored in a database or retrieval system, without prior written permission of the author.
First Edition
Cover Design by Roger Huder
The characters and events portrayed in this book are fictitious. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, is coincidental and not intended by the author.
Chapter 1
Hue, Vietnam
1968
Tom Ballard was running for his life. AK47 rounds ricocheted off the street around him and cracked close to his head, as NVA troops poured machine gun and rifle fire at him as he ran.
He ran crouched as low as he could and still run, trying to be as small a target as possible. There was no cover in the street. Hue was a city not some small village in the jungle. The street could have been anywhere in America. The street and sidewalk were concrete, with stone buildings lining it's length, but the buildings were filled with North Vietnamese Army regulars who were trying their best to kill him. The debris of war filled the street making his crossing even more difficult, parts of destroyed buildings lay mixed with dirt and human bodies producing a filth that only war could create. If he tripped on any of it he was dead.
As he ran he kept one hand on his helmet, while the other clutched his M16, his canteens, K-bar and other equipment on his web belt bounced at his waist. Extra ammunition for the machine gunner worn over his flack jacket swung back and forth across his chest. He was acutely aware of his tiny part of the world. His own a ragged breathing, the pounding of his heart and the sound of his jungle boots as the crunched on the pieces of concrete in the street. The smell of burning houses mixed with whiffs of tear gas filled the air. All of his senses were intensified as if these were going to be the last sensations of his life.
He could see Black Mac firing from the doorway across the street. Mac was trying to cover his crossing, but there were too many NVA, in too many positions. He was not going to make this one.
This was the one. This is where he was finally going to get killed. Like so many of his platoon and company, he was going to die in the middle of some shitty street in Hue. He heard a scream behind him. Red Mac was supposed to follow him across the street. He must have been hit. The Gunny had thought they had cleared the street before he had sent Tom and Mac to across.
Several rounds struck close, too close. The pavement just in front of his feet exploded into splinters sending them into his legs. They burned and stung. He could feel blood running down his shins.
He ran on. He had seen what they had done to Frazier when he went down in the street. The Gooks had shot him so many times as he lay there helpless, that they were unable to recognize him when they finally got to his body. He did not want to die like that. Fuck that shit. He ran on.
Then he saw the curb. He was almost across. He could see Black Mac screaming at him to run, as he fired another clip at the unseen NVA. He crossed the sidewalk, and threw himself against the wall next to Mac. They were in an enclosed doorway. It provided just enough cover that the NVA could not get clean shot at them. Chips flew off the building as AK rounds thudded into wall near their heads.
"Fuck, Dude! I thought your ass was dead." Mac said.
"No shit, man. Goddamnit." Tom said as gasped for air.
"No jokes this time?" Mac said.
"I don't know any jokes right now." He said between breaths.
Tom tilted his head back, and tired to slow his breathing. He coughed as the smoke and tear gas bit into his lungs. Mac had started to call it Hue Perfume. Jesus he hated this fucking place. It had become a house-to-house, street-to-street death trap for his platoon and company, the minute they had stepped into the city. The NVA were fighting for every street, and every house.
Now another street, and another house, had to be taken. He glanced over at the Gunny across the street. Red Mac was lying next to him, as Doc bandaged his wounded leg. Tom was safe but no one else would make it across the street they were trapped.
CHAPTER 2
Honolulu, Hawaii
1968
"Ok everybody. Let's hustle up. We're losing the last of the light. Kate darling could please take your place."
Kate Newhouse was sitting in a director’s chair waiting for the photographer to finish his setup. She took a last drag on her cigarette and tossed it aside. The make-up woman finished touch up her face with her sable brush. Kate stood as the hairdresser did the finial touches to her hair. She wore the small bikini that had been her costume for most of the filming. She was tan and her rich brown hair was sun streaked from weeks of filming in Hawaii. She moved with the self-awareness of a woman much older than her nineteen years. Years as a model and now an actress had given her a self-confidence of someone much older.
She was exhausted after the last weeks of filming; she desperately wanted to be on the flight back to LA. Michael the photographer for the film was finishing up the last publicity stills. He needed one more shot for the poster but he had to hustle if Kate was going to make it to the airport for her flight home. The director had asked her to stay for the poster photos; her role in the film had expanded greatly during filming. Kate had surprised him with her poise and natural acting ability. She had jumped off the screen in the dailies. The director knew a star in the making when he saw one. He had decided to use her on the poster for the film.
The movie followed three young surfers facing the fateful decision that each young man had to face in the late 1960's. What they were going to do about the draft and Vietnam. Kate had a bit part as a runaway who stayed with them for a short time. With no formal training she played it the only way she could, she pretended to be herself, a young girl wise beyond her years on her own. When she came into a scene the screen lit up. The camera loved her, and the chemistry between the four actors was so good, the director re-wrote her part on the fly. She became their fourth musketeer, loving them all, and being the glue that held them together, as they faced Vietnam and their separate futures. The final scene follows the lone young man to survive as he finds her sitting on the beach waiting for his return. That is why the stills were so important to the film. It summed up the theme of the picture, a young woman waiting for her lover to return.
Kate moved as Michael gave directions in the fading light of the sunset. In the soft gold light she seemed almost too perfect to be real. She did several poses as Michael and his assistants gave her instructions.
"No, no. This isn't working. I have got this beautiful girl, perfect light and it's not working. It is all wrong and it's my fault. Hold on it everybody let me think a minute. Jason be ready for a new set up."
Michael stalked around the beach looking for the right angle. The right approach that would give him what he wanted but could not quite articulate. Suddenly he said.
"Jason come over here."
Jason hurried to Michael side.
"All right young man. Here where I see if you got what it takes. What's wrong? Can you help out here?"
"Well I was thinking that she isn't the type of model we normally work with. She is not a classic beauty, but I don't know. It's like she is sexier than she is pretty. She is more down to earth."
"That's it. Her character is not a glamour girl. She's this earthy, young, free spirit, just like she is in real life."
He turned to Kate.
"Kate darling. Remember the last scene when you're sitting on the beach, and you turn and see Steve walking toward you. That's it. Why
didn't I think of it before? That's what I want. Now Kate, come over here."
Kate sat down and drew he knees up to her chest. She wrapped her arms around her knees. Just the way she had done it in the scene.
"Now just turn your head. I want that look that I saw in the rushes. The one when you first see Tom. Remember that moment."
Kate turned her head; her long rich brown hair blew across her face. With the dying sun and beach in the background, it was the perfect picture of the theme of the film. He snapped picture after picture each from a slightly different angle. Kate moved her head slightly each time.
"Perfect. Great. Keep it up."
"Chin down, and your eyes into the camera. No smiling. You are quite. Let your eyes say everything."
He snapped until Jason gave him a fresh camera loaded with new film. He ran through that roll and did one more to make sure he had the perfect shot.
"Absolutely wonderful. Perfect." Finally Michael was satisfied. "My dear you are done. I'm setting you free."
"Thank you Michael. I am exhausted."
"I feel the same. Now John, Jason lets get this girl to the airport she has a plane to catch."
CHAPTER 3
HUE VIETNAM
1968
"The next guy won't make it." Tom yelled across the street to the rest of the platoon.
"Yeah. I've called for a tank." The Gunnery Sergeant replied.
Tom's stomach knotted with fear, he looked over at Mac. Their eyes met, they both knew what that meant.
"Fuck, Mac. We screwed."
"We can't wait for a tank," Mac said.
"Yeah. I know. What do we do, man?"
"We do what we gotta do, man. We're going to have to clear the house. We can't wait for a tank. If there are any Gooks in this house they'll have time to get set up. We gotta clear this fucking place or we are dead meat."
"Fuck, me."
"No shit, Sherlock."
Tom looked across the street at the Gunny. He knew what they were facing. He was frantically working the radio trying to get a tank to their position as fast as possible. What was left of the platoon was firing madly down the street, trying to keep the NVA heads down. No one else was going to make it across the street. They were on their own. Tom knew Mac was right.
He looked over at Mac. His handsome black face was covered with sweat and dirt, but there was no fear in it. There was a hardness that Tom had come to recognize. It was his war face. The years of growing up on the mean streets of Los Angeles had toughened him. Six months in Vietnam had only ground that toughness deeper. They had been through it all together. They had saved each other's life more than once, and now they were in the shit as deep as they had ever been. He trusted Mac with his life, and Mac trusted him with his. Today would be the ultimate test, because there was no one else.
"You know what they guys across the street are saying don't you?" Mac said as he checked his magazines.
"No. What?' Tom said, as he slammed a fresh magazine into his M16.
"Better thee than me."
Tom looked up, and could see the faces of what was left of their platoon watching them closely. He could see it in their faces, they were glad it was Tom and Mac in the predicament, and not them. Their expressions were a mix of fear and shamefaced relief that they were on the safe side of the street.
"I don't blame them. I would be saying the same thing."
Mac looked into Tom's eyes and said.
"Fuck it don't mean nothin'."
"Damn straight." Tom said.
It was the grunt anthem that no loss or fucked up mess could not be handled if you didn't let it get to you. Nothing mattered but your own survival.
Mac looked over at the Gunny and the rest of the platoon and yelled.
"Give us covering fire on the second floor."
The Gunny nodded and soon the rest of the platoon was firing furiously into the second floor of the house. Tom hoped it would keep the Gooks heads down long enough for them to clear the house. Mac looked at Tom.
"You ready bro?" Mac asked.
"Yeah."
Mac turned and kicked the door in. Tom tossed a grenade into the front room, they both turned away from the opening as the grenade exploded. Tom stepped through the door emptying his magazine as he did. Mac followed closely. It had been a nice house, with shuttered windows, and expensive furniture. After the grenade and their M16 rounds, it was a broken shambles. Nothing. No NVA. They moved to a door on the other side of the room.
This time Mac tossed the grenade into the room, and then he stepped through the door firing. Again nothing. There were stairs leading up to a second floor. They could not hesitate. Speed was essential. They had to keep moving. With each room the chances of encountering an NVA increased. They had to be here. They had taken fire from the house as they crossed the street. Tom went first up the stairs. He reached the top of the stairs and hesitated. When he reached for another grenade, his hand was shaking so badly he fumbled as he tried to pull it off his web gear. Mac saw his hands shaking and pulled a grenade out.
"I got this one, bro."
He tossed it down the hall. The grenade exploded with a deafening explosion. Mac stepped onto the landing and turned to his left, firing his M16 from his hip. A fusillade of fire met him the second he stepped into the hall. Blood splattered in all directions as the rounds found their mark. Mac looked surprised as he crumbled in a heap.
"Nooooo!" Tom screamed.
Mac lay a couple of feet away from Tom on the second floor landing. Their faces were only inches apart. His head was turned toward Tom. They were eye-to-eye. Mac's eyes were open and unseeing. Tom stared into those eyes for what seemed like a long time.
Not Mac! No. Now he was the only one left. He and Mac were the only survivors of the original platoon of men who had marched into Hue; everyone else was dead or wounded. Not Mac, he was the best of them all. The one everyone looked up to was gone. Now Tom was alone. The rest of the platoon was across the street. The NVA would be coming for him next.
He heard voices and movement down the hall. His hands stopped shaking as a savage fury took hold of him. He was no longer afraid. He was going to die. He knew it, and it filled him with a rage he had never felt before, a rage against the forces that had killed Mac, and were now going to kill him. He knew what dying looked like; he had seen enough of it in the last six months. Now it was going to come for him. It was his time.
He grabbed his grenade, and threw it hard against the opposite wall, making it bounce around and be hard to pick up. Before the first one had exploded, he threw a second and his last grenade. When the first grenade exploded, he heard a brief scream. When the second went off, he heard another scream. He stood and stepped into the second floor hall. An NVA soldier was trying to stand. Tom fired into his chest. He dropped to the floor and was still.
There were two rooms to the left overlooking the street; that is where they should be. Tom stepped into the first doorway, and found two NVA turning to meet him, still stunned by the explosions. He fired into them both at point blank range. The rounds tore into their bodies, splattering blood all over the room. They both dropped and were still. He thumbed his magazine release and slammed another into his rife. He spun just in time to see another NVA stepping into the hall. They both fired at the same time, with only the width of the hall separating them. The NVA's teeth were bared in a snarl as he pulled the trigger. Tom was a split second faster, and the NVA was blown backwards by the M16 rounds.
Tom again reloaded his rife, and methodically went room to room until all of the NVA were dead. Then emptied a new magazine into the bodies. The he reloaded again, and continued to fire into the bodies until he ran out of ammunition. When he could no longer fire his weapon, Tom dropped his rifle and walked to Mac's body. He sat down and put Mac's head in his lap. He began to cry. He sat there rocking back and forth, with Mac's head in his lap crying. That is how the Gunny, and the rest of the platoon found him after the tank arrived, crying and cradling Mac
in his lap at the top of the stairs.
Chapter 4
HONOLULU, HAWAII
1968
Kate changed out of her bikini and into a dress in the back seat of the limo, as Jason sped her to the airport. All of this seemed like some sort of dream. It had only been three years since she had run away to L.A. It had all started when her father had died in a terrible accident at the lumber mill in North Carolina. After his death her mother was lost. She became incapable of managing their life together alone. Soon there was a stream of men moving in and out of their home and lives. The men her mother brought home were nothing like her loving father. Things would start off well but soon deteriorate into drinking and fights. Then there would be a new man and the cycle would start again.
Kate went from a solid middle class life her father had created to cheap apartments, and finally run down trailer parks. Her mother seemed unable to stop the spiral. The men became just as seedy and rundown as the trailers they lived in. It wasn't long before there was violence as well as the drinking. That is when the men started noticing just how beautiful a young woman Kate was becoming. Soon she was fighting off the advances of the latest boyfriend. It culminated with Billy Bob.
It started with just nice compliments that any sixteen year old would want to hear from a handsome man. It ended with him cornering her in her bedroom when her mother was away. He was too strong and no matter how hard she fought she could not stop him. He took her and he took her youth all in one violent act. He took her trust of men as well as her virginity.
When she told her mother she had been madder at Kate than Billy Bob. She accused her brining on herself walking around in mini skirts and shorts. He was their meal ticket and now he was gone. How would she survive without him?
Kate knew she could not stay a minute longer, there was no telling what would happen next. So she had packed a bag, and started thumbing her way across the county, with a healthy distrust of men and a determination to survive on her own. Thousands of kids were on the road that summer of 1966, she joined she joined the rootless horde. Despite the hardships she was happy to be free of her heavy drinking mother and her groping boyfriends. She along with most of the kids on the road headed for California. It was about as far away as she could get from the mean trailer parks of the South. Everybody was headed there, each for their own reasons, some to hide, some to escape and some just to wander. Kate was one of those who wanted to hide. She had no idea what she was going to do; only that staying home was not an option anymore.
