Sarge let out a slight chuckle. Then it turned into a thunderous belly laugh.
“Sergeant!” exclaimed ‘Sully’, “What the hell is wrong with you?”
“It wasn’t the VC – it was my own guys!! They nearly killed me!” as he laughed again. It was ‘Gerry Owen’ and his boys.”
“Big ‘S’ who the hell is Gerry Owen?”
“Sorry Sully. Gerry Owen is a tune the 1st Cavalry plays during an attack. They have loudspeakers mounted below their helicopters and it is their signature battle song. They rescued me.”
“You mean this was friendly fire?”
“Hell no Major... sorry ‘Sully’, there wasn’t anything friendly about it. But, thank God for it - it saved my life.”
“Well, I can tell you one thing – your friends didn’t carve that “S” on your chest, did they? It’s almost completely healed now but it left a pretty ugly scar, and I’m sorry to tell you, we gave you a nickname because of that scar, and we’ve been using it since you arrived.”
“No, your right, I had another ‘friend’ that did that – but what have you been calling me? What is the nickname? Come on tell me!”
“Promise, you won’t get mad?”
“Nah, you can call me anything you want, except being late for chow or payday! What is it?”
“We call you… Big… Big…
“Go ahead, spit it out.”
“Big ‘S’... we call you… Big ‘S’ because of that ‘S’ carved on your chest! Sorry… we weren’t trying to be mean or anything, we didn’t intend to hurt your feelings… its….
“Hey, that’s great… It’s okay… I like it… Big ‘S’… yeah that fits me… Big ‘S’! You know, the guy who did that was trying to make me Superman – you know I believe he did. Yeah… Big ‘S’, ya’ll did good!”
CHAPTER TWELVE
CAPTAIN AND SARGE TALK
The sun was beginning to slip up above the horizon in the eastern sky as Captain Robert Scarburg, Jr. donned his green beret, wiped it down, slipped on his raincoat, grabbed his leather briefcase and stepped out smartly in his spit-shined Corcoran jump boots. As he left the BOQ (Bachelor Officers’ Quarters) he pointing those mirror-finished footwear down the street toward his morning rendezvous with his Dad at the 75th.
The sun was definitely somewhere up above the heavy clouds on this damp, dreary, rain soaked morning; however, the constant monsoonal downpours never allowed one to actually view that fiery daylight producing orb. The monsoon was raining cats and dogs and Captain Scarburg only realized the sun’s presence by watching the bleakness of the night slowly being replaced by the dawning of the grey light on yet another miserable Vietnam day.
When visual signs failed he relied on the hands of his trusty ol’ wristwatch. He loved that timepiece - a paratrooper watch! It had the paratrooper’s silver wings embossed on its face, and best of all, it had been a gift - a wonderful present given to him by his mother upon graduation from BAC (Basic Airborne Course) at Ft. Benning, GA. He glanced down at his beautiful watch: 0630 -‘I did say “bright and early,' he thought.
His walk was short, and wet. Swinging open the screen door leading into the hallway of the 75th the door spring made that same creaky-squeaky noise that he had heard a hundred times before by the screen door on his mother’s back porch.
He stepped inside and removed his rain gear. He heard an unintelligible conversation coming from the nurse’s station. It stopped as the nurses turned to see who had entered the building. Sully was standing between a couple of other nurses and she immediately recognized Captain Scarburg.
He walked toward the group of nurses. Major O’Sullivan turned to meet him.
“Morning, Major, another beautiful day in the ‘Nam,” he said with a big grin.
“Roger that, Captain - for ducks. You think you’re ready to have that sit-down with your ol’ man?”
“Do you think he is up to it?”
“He’s fine now, just needs to rest a little longer. His body is completely healed. He won’t suffer any ill-effects, other than those terrible scars and that steel plate behind his ear – just keep him away from magnets!”
When the Major and the Captain arrived at Sarge’s room he was sitting up in bed finishing his breakfast. “Come on in Sully, Son, ya’ll want some coffee? They left me a whole pot.”
“Thanks, I sure could use some battery acid (coffee) this morning. I had a pretty rough night,” responded Robert Jr. As he finished speaking, Sully said if he would pull up a chair she would go down the hall and requisition another coffee cup.
“So," said Sarge. “What put the ‘rough’ in your night? Run upon a lonesome nurse?”
“Nah, something I had to do after I saw you yesterday” came the reply. “The ‘Photo Shoot’ mission was classified and you and I have had no communication about that assignment. I found out about your little sojourn across the border into Laos but I wasn’t in the loop for updates. I did not know about your capture and injury until recently, I wish I had known about your situation when it happened but it was all hush hush stuff.” Sighing the Captain said, “I really am sorry the way things turned out on your last mission but I’ve been read in on the details now.”
Captain Scarburg looked away from his Dad toward the door – he could hear footsteps approaching their room. The door swung open and there with another coffee cup was Sully. Handing the cup to Junior she said, “Enjoy."
“Thanks, Major,” he said pouring himself a cup of steaming hot coffee, his first that morning.
* * * * *
“Where was I, oh yeah, most of your team survived the last attack and the de-brief explained what took place in the ambush, the march and the events at the cabin. We know about the Colonel and his Lieutenant, MSG Howard and SGT Hardin. Both Howard and Hardin were seriously injured. Fortunately they fully recovered. HQ has re-assigned both to other teams. My superiors have sent me to talk, or debrief you, if you prefer that word better,” Robert said.
“Hold up, slow down, first thing you walk in here all dressed up in your fancy captain’s uniform, wearing my beret, got those silver jump wings pinned to your chest and the blue arrowhead Special Forces patch on your shoulder; except for those Captain’s bars you’re me a few years ago, all spit and vinegar.
Son, you’ve got a lot of explaining to do! How did you know all about my little romp in the woods and my ‘friend’ the Colonel? And who wants me debriefed? Start talking, Son and I mean give me some straight answers, and now!”
“You’re right, you do need an explanation – I’ll start at the beginning. You said yesterday you thought I was at Stanford, and I was, but I’m getting ahead of myself. You know I graduated from the University of Alabama, just like you and Mom always wanted.
“Yeah, I remember, your Mom sent me all the details. I’m sorry I was on a mission in… in... well let’s just say I was unavoidable detained when you graduated. Sure wish I could have been there tho'… Mother and I have always been proud of you.
“Thanks I know you both were and I wish you could have been there too, but I now understand better the term 'duty calls.' Now I’ll go on - I majored in Electrical Engineering with double minors in Political Science and Linguistics – with a sub-specialty in Russian to be exact. At the time I reasoned a position with the diplomatic service in some exotic place like Russian would be an ideal job. At least I wouldn’t be stuck in Alabama. Damn Pop, them ol’ hills of 'Bama would look pretty good about now, huh?
Sorry my mind wandered... after a few months, I found out the diplomatic corps wasn’t exactly beating down the door looking for Russian interpreters. They had plenty of Russians seeking asylum that were conversant in English and already understood the Russian psyche better than I ever could.
I went back to the University and obtained a MS in Intelligence Studies; thinking that, with the Political Science, the Russian and the Intelligence background, the FBI or NSA (National Security Agency) would be a place for me to fit right into.
Before I could submit an application I was approached by a spook from the CIA or NSA, never was sure which, trying to recruit me to work for them; however, they each had caveats - their proposal had strings attached. They needed a warm body specialized in Political Science; an American, skilled in Russian, possessed intelligence training and proficient in photographic radiography. Hell, I didn’t even know what photographic radiography was. The caveat was I had to attend Stanford to get trained in the discipline of photographic interactions.”
“Robert... Son, I know this is important, but remember I’m a sick man, at this rate I may not be alive by the time you get to the end of your story. How about skipping all the ‘Ps and Qs’ and tell me what the hell you came here for.”
“Okay… okay... here’s the rest of it. Off I went to Stanford studying something called organic semiconductors and their use in electronic and photonic devices. I learned methods for fabricating these devices, relationship between chemical structure and molecular packing on properties such as band gap, charge carrier mobility and luminescence efficiency. Including Lasers, Biosensor, Photo detectors and Photovoltaic cells. After Stanford I was commissioned a Captain in the U.S. Army, sent to jump school and Ranger training at Ft. Benning, Q Course (Special Forces Qualification Course) at Ft. Bragg and then shipped over here. I am currently assigned as an S-2 (Intelligence) Officer with XVIII Corps (Airborne)… that’s it Pop, does any of this make sense to you?”
“Hell Son what part of skip the ‘Ps and Qs’ did you not understand?”
I haven’t understood anything you said from the part where you went to the University of Alabama. I understood that, “Roll Tide!!”
* * * * *
“Pop, this is all about that Russian Colonel who was in the bush with you. You remember, the Scarface bastard, that played tic-tac-toe on your chest, don’t you?” Robert asked trying to see if Sarge’s brain was getting back up to speed. “You see, I have been assigned as the Intel Officer in charge of finding out what that Russian was up to.”
"Up to... ! Up to... ! I'll tell you what that bastard was 'up to.' I'd say about six foot four normally but about seven foot four with that damn Ka-Bar knife.
“Hell no, I’ll never forget that Russian s.o.b. I’m glad to hell he’s dead... the only good Russian is a dead Russian, you remember that little lesson, Son.”
“Pop that’s why I’m here, he’s… he’s… not dead…”
Before Junior uttered another word Sarge yelled, “Who the hell is not dead!! You’re not talking about that bastard Colonel are you?”
“I'm afraid so Pop, the Colonel is still alive – he wasn’t in the ruins of the cabin in the jungle. The Lieutenant was there, dead all right, big bullet hole clean through the center of his chest. By the way, good shooting! And most of the NVA/VC were there too but, thankfully, they WERE dead too! They were all killed in the cavalry charge.”
Sarge looked bewildered, uttered softly “That can’t be. I shot him, point blank, right in his friggin’ Russki chest! I know I got him, I saw him fall!!”
“Maybe so, but the Colonel somehow escaped both you and the carnage that followed. We believe he is still in Cambodia. The Brass (Military Bosses) thinks he is so important we assigned him a code name – ‘Thumper’.
“Son, from what you have said I can do nothing but believe you and I gather you and your guys are smart – but how on God’s green earth could you guys come up with ‘Thumper’,” Sarge asked puzzled?
“Actually Pop, it was simple. His name Nikita Ergorov – remember Nikita Khrushchev right, both are Nikita’s… Khrushchev pounded his shoe on the UN table back in ’60. ‘Pounder’ just didn’t sound right, so we settled on ‘Thumper’, you know, it kind of pictures up a Walt Disney character but with an ugly scar and long ears. We thought it was cute… but we’re only cute sometimes.”
* * * * *
“Now back to your ‘Photo Shoot” SOG mission – you probably are still wondering how you managed to walk dumb-assed into that ambush on that fateful morning, right? You didn’t!! Well you did but here’s one little piece of information that will make your day.
Remember Cam Louh – he was your backup on the trail that day. We found out he was a double agent. He was a Viet Cong pretending to be working for us, but in reality he was sending info back to them. He had your number from the very beginning of that OP (operation). The ambush was a set-up. Cam Louh was going to make sure it succeeded. We believe he may have had something to do with the escape of Thumper too. But that’s enough for today Pop – you need your rest.
“I had a feeling about that slant-eye out on the trail – I should have caught on to him… nothing seemed right on that patrol, no wonder we got captured.”
* * * * *
“I’ll come back tomorrow, we have just started, and we have a lot more work to do. I’ll see you tomorrow.” Robert said as he got up to leave. “Oh shit, I almost forgot,” he said reaching into his neatly pressed green Class-A U.S. Army jacket pocket.
He slowly pulled out a couple of leather boxes, walked over to his dad’s bed. Opening the first box he took out the medal pinned it to Sarge’s pajama top, stepped back and executed a perfect formal hand salute and said, “From a grateful nation, you are hereby awarded the Silver Star.” Opening the second box, he said, “And they are also grateful that you are still alive to get this Purple Heart. Kidding aside, Pop, you are an American hero – you know you have always been one to me. Congratulations!!
The Army was planning an official presentation by the CG (Commanding General) of the 5th Special Forces but I convinced his staff to allow me to make the presentation." Grinning Captain Scarburg added, “I know how much you like the Pomp and Ceremony.”
“Thanks Son, I appreciate that." Sarcastically he added, "I’ll really miss seeing the General. You know Son I'd give up a box full of these shiny medals to get my men back that got killed... give my thanks to the general but tell him it was the men's accomplishment, not mine... I’ll put these with the others…thanks again....
You never did get around to telling me about that nurse last night. Come on; give the ol’ man some details. Was she one of the nurses from around here?”
* * * * *
“Nah, Pop, yesterday, after I saw what that Colonel did to your chest, I had a ‘mission’ of my own to complete last night. After I left you I decided to do something Mom would think crazy. I don’t know, you will too probably.”
“Well, don’t keep me in suspense what did you do on your ‘mission’? Son, this just gets better and better… you’ve really got my curiosity pumped up now. Come-on spill the beans, I want to hear all about it.”
“O.K., Pop, but this is not a telling thing… it’s a showing thing.”
“Son, what in the hell are you talking about, ‘Showin’? Showin’ me what?”
Robert Jr. removed his jacket, began slipping off his green government issue tie, next his government shirt and finally his government (well no he bought this item at the PX) tee shirt. He carefully placed them on the end of the bed with his back toward his father. Once he had disrobed and was bare from the waist up he slowly turned to face his father….
“Oh my goodness!! Sarge exclaimed….
There in the middle of Robert Scarburg, Jr’s chest was a exact copy of the ‘S’ on his Pop’s chest just smaller; however, this ‘S’ had not been carved with a Ka-Bar knife, he had gotten it tattooed on his chest the night before.
“What do you think Pop? Now you’ll always be Big ‘S’ and I can always be Little ‘S’
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
PRIVATE HOSPITAL CONVERSATION
Not many things could cause a tear to come to Sarge’s eye, but the sight of that ‘S’ on his son’s chest was more than he could handle. He could feel his eyes beginning to water up – he didn’t want Robert to see him crying – so he slowly turned away and gently dabbed away the tears with the corner of his cool white sheet.
He turned back to his
son and said, “Had something get into my eye…” thinking that was not enough to say he further said, “you’d better hurry and get your shirt back on Sully will be back at any minute now.”
Sarge never mentioned the tattoo… nothing favorable or un-favorable, agreeable or disagreeable. It was as if his son’s expose’ had never happened.
He was deeply touched by the sentiment of the tattoo but being the type of man he was he pretended it was no more important to him than the drag on a cigarette and watching the light blue smoke float out and dissipate into the air.
After Robert Jr. got dressed he walked to the door, quickly pulled it opened, stepped out onto those shiny floor tiles, and beckoned for Major O’Sullivan.
Sarge was observing all this through the open door in total amazement. ‘What is going on’, he thought.
The Major quickly came at the Captain’s request, thinking something, unforeseen, could have happened to Sergeant Scarburg. When she approached, Captain Scarburg spoke softly to her and handed her a small scrap of paper. Sarge could see something was written on it, later he would discover that it was a telephone number to the local M.P. (Military Police) Detachment.
In a matter of a few minutes, Sarge could hear, the footfalls of boots coming down the hall. ‘Those ain’t nurses,’ he mused, ‘those are combat boots! And not one pair but two!!’
* * * * *
Eagle ear Sarge was totally correct; it was two Military Policemen (easily identified by the big white and black “M.P.” band around their arms, and the big white “M.P.” painted on both steel helmets) that Captain Scarburg approached, talking softly he quickly began issuing orders to the two policemen.