Private Carl Daniels flinched every time his wounds from the MP’s nightstick encountered any part of his holding cell. Carl pushed the pain out of his mind by critiquing his accommodations at the Da Nang stockade with the holding cells back in the States. He concluded neither one was designed for comfort.
Since he neared the big three zero, he should take the advice of the doctors back at the hospital and modify his behavior. If he did, he could wake up in more comfortable accommodations. And in less pain.
The clanging of the distant metal doors prompted Carl to get in a sitting position.
An Army captain, along with an MP, stopped in front of his cell. The Captain asked, “Are you Private Carl Daniels?”
“Yes, sir,” Carl said while he remained sitting.
“Stand up and salute Captain Reginald Phillips.” The MP ordered while remaining slightly to the right and behind the Captain.
Carl rose to his feet and saluted. He remained in a relaxed posture.
Captain Phillip’s eyes shot through the bars with an intimidating stare. “For someone who has been in country less than twenty-four hours, you sure know how to make trouble for yourself.”
“Sir, I was only getting the lay of the land before trouble found me.”
“Young man, do you know who I am?”
Carl squinted his eyes at the bars on his collar. “Some spit and polish captain who wants to send me back to the States.”
“You’re not going to be that lucky, soldier. My name is Captain Reginald Phillips, and I have the authority to send your sorry ass to the muddiest, bug-infested part of this country filled with Viet Cong who enjoy torturing American soldiers like you.”
Carl stiffened and gave a much sharper salute than the one before. “I’m your man and ready to go.”
Both the MP and Capt. Phillips’ eyes popped in amazement. They had not received the response they had expected.
“Hold your horses, soldier. Did you hear me correctly?”
“Sir, I don’t want to be stuck in a boring warehouse.”
“Soldier, help me understand, what has you so eager about getting yourself tortured and possibly killed?”
“I didn’t say I wanted to get killed. I want to kill some communists.”
“How did you come to be assigned to Supply and not to a combat infantry unit?”
“It was all to my objection. My training officers said I showed a high aptitude in supplying the needs and wants of other soldiers. I never wanted to get stuck in a warehouse as a supply clerk. I think it had something to do with the party I threw on my last night of Advanced Combat Training.”
Capt. Phillips shook his head and gave a quick glance at the MP. He turned back to Carl. “How did you end up over at China Beach and drinking at the officers’ club?”
“I was just checking out that part of the base. After seeing that helicopter land with all those wounded and the blood. Well, I started to feel sick to the point I needed a shot of whiskey to settle my stomach. Then that jerk in a Hawaiian shirt wanted to fight, so I knocked him out.”
“He identified himself as Army CID when asking for your I.D.” The MP interjected.
“I’ve never seen a cop wearing a Hawaiian shirt before. But when his buddies came over and started beating on me.”
“My men didn’t want to get into a wrestling match with you. They’re trained to subdue as quickly as possible.”
Capt. Phillips smiled. “I’m going to give you one of two options. One, send you back to the States for a court-martial and dishonorable discharge, or two, get you reassigned to one of my infantry squads. If you chose the latter, you will have to do as you are told and behave yourself?”
“Why would you do that?”
“I am always looking for soldiers who would make a good fit for my squads. My squads get tasked with doing special assignments for me.”
“Like what kind of tasks?”
“Like escorting supplies to forward positions and bringing civilians to safe rear positions.”
“Does this squad ever see action?”
“It does. In between time running escort, my squads run patrols and secure Landing Zones.”
“If I take you up on your offer, how quick can you get me out of this cell?”
“What about the charges of striking the CID officer?” The MP asked Capt. Phillips.
“What I have in mind for him will more than make up for any other punishment the Articles of Military Justice can impose.”
Turning to Carl, “Well, Private, are you willing to behave yourself if I get you assigned to a combat unit?”
“Yes, sir, I will do my best. Sir.” Carl had behaved himself through all of boot camp and advanced training. He knew there would be times he and the Captain would not see eye to eye. Carl chose not to tell the Captain.
“It’s going to have to be more than your best.” The Captain emphasized. “When I have this MP unlock your cell, you will have one hour to get over to the west border of the base. There you will find a row of hooches for Charlie Company. You will report to the sergeant in the fourth hooch.”
“What’s over there?”
“Your new home and assignment.”
“How am I to get there?”
“That’s on you. Private, if you are not at Fourth Squad’s hooch in less than one hour. I will believe you want your old assignment of supply clerk.”
Carl saluted. The cell door opened, and he darted out of the stockade.
