Wednesday, October 14, 2009

Story 3 Happiness is a Warm Gun



Happiness is a Warm Gun or Love with a .45





 Adult situation; R rated but not graphic!


My partner and I were on convoy check point duty in Phu Cong, the district capital.  The first convoy had just passed through and we were now free for at least an hour if not longer.  Sergeant Bentengraft was off somewhere and besides he didn’t care what we did as long as he didn’t have to answer for it.  Mark suggested we get some shrimp at this joint just off the ‘strip.’ I was all for that because the club was just a front for Papa San and his Bar Girls to work.  You know what I mean, right?  You buy the girls a couple of Saigon Teas so that you can then retire to one of the many rooms in the back for a more private encounter. And the shrimp wasn’t bad either.

I parked the jeep in front of a tailor shop and we crossed the street to the club. “Hello, MP! You early today.  Girls just come Ben Hoa.” Papa San grinned at us from his table on the side of the room. We grabbed two stools at the front end of the bar where we could keep an eye on the street and our jeep.  Mr. Nguyen, the bartender, served our whiskey and cokes. That seemed to be the signal for the girls. It was as if they materialized from the floor; we were surrounded by six sexy little vixens, all touches, flirts and coos.  T
 

hey  vied for our attention all the while jockeying for a position next to us.  Mark made his choice, but before I could focus on anyone in particular, this little dark eyed darling threw her arms around my neck and buried her tongue in my mouth, which stirred me and produced a chorus of protest from the four other girls.

“My name Kim.  Buy me Saigon Tea!” Her lips brushed my ear and her hand found a comfortable place on my thigh.  I signaled Mr. Nguyen.  Mark and his little cutie had already moved off to a booth.

“What your name?” She hardly waited for the answer. “How come you not see me before?  You here last week.  You no pick me.  Numba ten! MP no like Kim?” She killed the Saigon Tea and pushed it across the bar to Mr. Nguyen for a refill.

Fifteen minutes and a forth Saigon Tea got me in one of the back rooms with Kim.  Room? A cubical with no window. .  The wooden platform that served as a bed was only inches from the doorway, which was covered only with a threadbare curtain.  I stretch out on the platform and watched as Kim shed her clothing.  As she removed her panties she noticed that I was not undressing.

“Choy oy, MP.  Take clothes off.  Kim beaucoup horney.” Laughing, I sat up and stripped, leaving my fatigues in a pile on the floor next to the open doorway.  A short time later, I realized that in that pile of clothes was my .45 and since I was fairly distracted anyone could just reach in under the curtain and take my pistol.  So without stopping my engagement with Kim I reached down and grabbed my .45.  After a moments thought and finding no place else to put it, I laide the pistol beside Kim’s head.

It should be noted that sometimes these transactions with  bar girls were perfunctory, at least on the part of the young ladies.  Prior to the move to the room in the back of the establishment, there is much erotic chatter. “Oh, baby.  I beaucoup horney.” “We make love long time.”  “MP I make you beaucoup happy.” But once the money has changed hands there is a sea change in most of them, becoming almost, “Are you done yet?”  And occasionally chewing gum all the while.

But suddenly Kim found great passion.  She grabbed me around the neck and began thrusting and grinding accompanied with loud moans of ecstasy and shouts of encouragement.  “Oh, MP love me long time.  You so big, I die!”

When all the shouting was done, I gave her a hundred extra P’s as a tip and laughed my way back out to the jeep where Mark was waiting, looking like a satiated Cheshire cat.

Sunday, October 4, 2009

Story 2 - Martha Raye USO Show

As Military Police we provided security at USO shows on base. Martha Raye brought her Hello Dolly show which was staged in one of the large hangers.  Sergeant Thompson was very excited as he was a huge fan of Martha Raye. The show was great, very entertaining with lots of beautiful young women dancers.  At one point early in the show the guys in the audience went a little crazy when the girls who were wearing long dresses showed off their legs.  Ms. Raye "broke character" and rushed to the apron and said "Of course they have nice legs, their all of twenty years old.  But how's this for a fifty year old woman?"  And then she hiked up her skirt to display a very nice pair of legs, fifty or not.


After the show we were invited to the case party.  Sarge was beside himself; he just might meet his idol.  The party was held in the hosting helicopter unit's Officer's Club.  Sarge, who if not an alcoholic was right next to it, quickly had a couple of Scotch on the rocks and was doing great. His feet were nowhere near the floor.  A few minutes later one of the show's crew announced that Ms. Raye was not feeling well and would not be coming to the party.  Sarge was devastated and compensated with a few more Scotch on the rocks. 


But, then, there she was.  Martha Raye did make her appearance. The show must go on!  Nearly everyone in the room knew by now that Sergeant Thompson had an infatuation with Ms. Raye and the Colonel brought her over and introduced them.  Ms Raye, with a drink in her hand, entertained us with jokes and stories for at least ten minutes.  At some point it became just a conversation between her and sarge.  She told him that this was her third trip to Vietnam and that she would always see these signs for massage parlors and wanted to know if the massages here was as good as one might get in large European or American cities.  Our intrepid Sergeant replied, "Well, Ms. Raye, I've never had a massage in no fancy city parlor, but after a long, hot day eating dust on convoy duty, there's nothing like a steam job and a blow bath!" Of course he was totally unaware of what he had just said.  Ms. Raye the trooper that she was barely blinked and continued chatting with good old sarge as those of us standing around nearly died of laughter.  The next morning we added to Sergeant Thompson's hungover misery with blow by blow renditions of the conversation. 

Saturday, October 3, 2009

Story 1: Ambush

Lawrence C. 25th Infantry Div. '66-'67

     "We had a great kill zone and good concealment. All we had to do was lay and wait in this old graveyard beside the ruins of this Buddhist temple. It was all covered with vines and shit and the roof was missing. It was so very quite, well, except for the huge-assed firefight raging across the river. Victor Charlie and Alpha Company were really throwing down.
     Then we heard them coming. Little sounds people make when they move through the jungle, especially if they’re tired; twigs snapping, leaves brushing against arms, packs, weapons and things and the underlying sound of labored breathing. The NVA point man appeared at the end of the trail and moved doggedly into the area near the temple where there was less forestation. He was tired. You could tell because he didn’t look around. Hell, he didn’t even look up; he just kept humping. Five seconds behind him was the rest of the squad, twelve of them all together. We watched them move into the kill zone. Shit, most were just kids, just like us.
     Then Sarge popped the claymores and the party started. Like usual it immediately became a slow motion dance macabre as the adrenaline kicked in. Twitching and convulsing; erupting blood; grasping, reaching for anything; slipping to their knees or thrown to their backs. Maybe some cried out, but we didn’t hear it, what with steady firepower we poured into their flesh, through their bones. Then it was over - the quiet rang in our ears.
     And there was that smell. When I get real freaked, even today, more than forty years later, I can smell it. The smell of blood and gunpowder. There is nothing like it, not even the smell of freebase. I knew then that I was in deep shit and if I was unfortunate enough to make it back to the world that I was going to be one hurtin’ son-of-a-bitch. So, I stood there in the middle of this killing field and laughed. I took out my knife and gave the coup de grace to this badly wounded kid who kept staring at me while trying to hold in his guts. I think, I hope, he would have done the same for me."

     Lawrence stood, sort of smiled, glanced around my office at the pictures and degrees on the wall, then stretched and said, "Okay, doc, I've got to get to the community meeting. See you tomorrow, same time?" He stepped into the doorway, looked both ways and sidled away.