Sgt. Collins felt awkward and alone as he walked to the mess hall with a cigar hanging from his mouth. Other soldiers eyed him, for he was next to the last to go through the mess hall line. Sgt. Collins didn’t take out his cigar as he approached the table where a lonely private was finishing his eggs and chipped beef.
A small-framed Latino looked up when Sgt. Collins asked. “Do you mind if I sit here?”
The Latino attempted to say something, but couldn’t because his mouth was full of food.
Collins waved at the bench seat across the table. “You look as lonely as I feel.”
The Latino swallowed and then said. “I’m not feeling lonely. I’m embarrassed, and I don’t like being a cook’s helper.”
“What would you rather be doing?”
“I’m from East LA. If my family knew what I do, they would make fun of me. I believe someone with my build would be great at going in those tunnels I hear about and rooting out the Viet Cong.”
“Why don’t you put in for a change?”
“My lieutenant told me that because my skin color being similar to that of the Viet Cong, I might get shot as one of them by mistake.”
“I can understand how you feel about being in the wrong place.”
Sgt. Collins stopped. Afraid he would expose his real identity, he thought the best thing was not to say anything else. If they found out, his time as sergeant would be short.
“What’s your name?” Sgt. Collins asked.
“Private Ruben Mendoza, sir.”
Sgt. Collins nodded.
Ruben finished his breakfast and stood up to leave.
“I hope you get what you wish for.” Collins said.
Ruben smiled and left.
***
About mid-afternoon, Sgt. Collins was in the backroom making a mental note of supplies when Capt. Phillips walked in, three soldiers carrying duffel bags followed him. “Sgt. Collins, come and meet the newest members of your squad,” Phillips yelled.
Collins rushed from the back room to see the three not wasting anytime placing their gear on empty bunks.
“Sergeant, I’ll leave you with your new squad members. They can introduce themselves,” Phillips turned and stopped at the doorway. He turned back to the replacements. “If you feel Sgt. Collins isn’t up to the job and he might get you killed, you can kill him and one of you can take his position and rank.” Capt. Phillips walked out sporting a shit-eating grin.
Sgt. Collins turned to the new squad members. “What’s that all about?”
“How long have you been under Captain Phillips’ command?” asked the muscular soldier.
“I’ve only known him a few days. Why?”
“So you’re the one who survived the ambush with the Captain?”
“Yea,”
“We need to fill you in since you’re new. Capt. Phillips has a reputation,” commented the lanky six foot tall soldier, who looked like he had drunk too much coffee.
“First, let’s get on with the introductions. Since we are going to be depending upon each other.” Sgt Collins said. “I’ll start off. My name is Jake Collins. You can refer to me as Sarge or Sgt. Collins.”
The three had less than enthusiastic facial expressions.
“Where are you from?” asked the muscular soldier.
“California,” answered Sgt. Collins. “What’s your name?”
“My name is Mick. I’m from the neighborhood in New York City known as Hell’s Kitchen.”
The six-foot, jittery soldier stepped forward. “They call me Sparky. I’m from Texas, and I love to blow things up.”
“Good, I’ll keep that in mind.”
Sparky gave his new sergeant a salute and a smile.
Sgt. Collins turned to the third soldier, who took up residence on the bunk across from Collins and next to the storeroom door. “And who are you?”
“I’m Dave. I’m a trained medic, and I like to smoke dope.”
“I want to know, you will shoot anyone who shoots at you?”
“No, sir, I’m not. I will carry a rifle and sidearm, and I am not afraid to use it. If given the choice, I would prefer passing out some good pot and keep everyone happy.”
Sgt. Collins rolled his eyes. He then turned to Mick. “What’s your specialty?”
“I was a sergeant with a squad tasked with search and destroy missions. We got this new lieutenant who kept giving us dumb ass orders, so I shot him in the ass.”
“And why didn’t they court-martial you?”
Mick shrugged his shoulders. “You see, earlier today, Capt. Phillips came through the stockade looking for replacements. He said the first three who raised their hands can get their charges dropped, provided they follow him and join this squad.”
“Dave, why were you in the stockade?” Collins asked.
“I passed out bags of pot to new arrivals. I encouraged them to find some Viet Cong and smoke a joint with them.”
“Are you sure I can rely upon you to shoot anyone who starts shooting at us?”
“I have no problem shooting someone who shoots at me. I figured I could end this war in a heartbeat by getting everybody stoned.” Dave gave a lazy salute.
“Now, Sparky, why did you end up in the stockade?”
“We were issued some new explosive. I needed something to practice on. I saw this old Huey sitting at the far end of the runway. I blew it up.” Sparky smiled. A moment of silence followed.
“Tell our Sarge who the Huey belonged to,” Mick said.
“Well, it was slated to be retrofitted for hauling some general around.”
Mick turned to Sgt. Collins. “How did you get so lucky to get assigned to this squad?”
“Well, I have been a little psycho.” Sgt. Collins stopped and raised his right index finger. “Note I’m not crazy, but psycho. There’s a difference.” Looking up at the ceiling, he thought and then said. “I got put into the stockade for talking with this nurse and decking a C.I.D. officer.”
All three asked. “How and why?”
“I got off the transport from the States and wandered over to China Beach. I found this open-air bar. I didn’t see a sign that it was an officers-only club. This C.I.D. officer came up to me wearing a Hawaiian shirt. I had never seen a C.I.D. officer in a Hawaiian shirt before. He tried to cut in on my conversation with this red-headed nurse, so I decked him. Then yesterday, I saved the Captain’s butt, and he promoted me.”
“That’s crazy.” Sparky said.
From the look on Collins’ face, you would have thought Sparky had just insulted his sergeant’s mother. Sgt. Collin took several slow steps toward him. He got four inches from Sparky’s nose. “I said, I’m not crazy! If you want to call me names, call me psycho.”
“Sorry, Sergeant.” Sparky took a couple of steps back with both hands in surrender. “I’m sorry, Sergeant.”
“Then maybe we should be calling you Sgt. Psycho,” Mick injected.
“All I care about is that we kill commies and get all of us out of here alive.” Sgt. Collins stated. “Before we go any further. What’s this about the comment the Captain made right before he left?”
“There are a lot of rumors going around concerning Phillips,” Dave said. “One of them is him having Fourth Squad do whatever he wants to make him money. They don’t care if what they do is legal or not.”
“I didn’t enlist.” Dave said. “I got drafted.”
“You did take an oath at the induction center?”
“I did.”
“We are going to promote and defend the Constitution of the United States of America.
