THE JUNGLE AND HOW TO SURVIVE IT
Part 2 of my Starsky trilogy (Aug 2007)
PREFACE
this prologue is part of the story...not a writer's note as such
Every war has had its atrocities; and since the beginning of time no army can be exempted.
We have become used to seeing them reported on our TV screens – the Holocaust; mass shootings in Bosnia; inter-tribe killings in Africa; the Janjaweed in Darfur; Abu Gharaib. After the Pacific War was brought to an end by the bombing of Hiroshima and the allies began to discover the fate of those held by the Japanese; some US personnel took their own revenge – with coke bottles.
etc., etc., etc. ad infinitum and ad nauseam.
Political commentators at the time and historians ever since have speculated that My Lai was not an isolated case….but until the generation that fought that war has gone we will probably never know; although the recently released CIA documents are beginning to show evidence of other so-called covert operations.
The standard excuse of the perpetrators of war-time atrocities has always been "I was just carrying out orders" but as the Nuremberg Trials revealed those who gave the orders did so knowing what they were doing and many of those who carried them out were (to use Simon Schama's title) Hitler's willing helpers.
Armies attract fine young men with a sense of duty and they also attract "natural born killers". War brings out the worst of humanity.
Events in this story are an amalgam of war-crimes over the years.
Apart from that – all resemblance to any person living or dead…etc..etc..etc.
THE JUNGLE AND HOW TO SURVIVE IT
He stared at the envelope on the kitchen table and tried to close out his aunt's sobs.
He picked it up and turned it over and opened it carefully as if he didn't want the evil genie to escape from the bottle.
Well that answers the question about the future for a while I guess.
"I have to go to the medical Friday – boy they don't give a guy much warning do they?"
Today was Wednesday. Dave had a fleeting idea that if he set off early enough he could be over the border and into Vancouver by the time he should be in front of the board.
His father's voice rang through his head. I hope you never have to see the things I saw…I trust you never to run away from your responsibilities…I'm proud of you Davey and I always will be…
He crumpled the envelope and shoved it into his pocket. "I guess I can wait until Friday before I tell mom. Aunt Rosa; please stop crying – it'll be hard enough when mom starts up."
Friday morning Dave found himself standing in line with an assortment of young men. Some of them were too short; some were short-sighted; one guy limped really badly and Dave was sure he would be failed…then he saw him come out of a room limping on the other leg!
He peed into a jar; he turned his head and coughed; he read the eye chart and couldn't resist the smart-ass move of reading the printer's address too. He did a couple of easy (and dumb) puzzles and told a guy what he saw when he looked at a big blue ink smudge.
He was told to go wait in another room; he sat on a bench and looked at the other guys in the room with him. They all had one thing in common; they were fit, healthy and they weren't in college. Half an hour later the door opened and a big sergeant with a wire-brush hair-cut came in. He barked out their names in alphabetical order and told them which room to report too. Dave knew that he was about to become a member of the US Army; and he wondered where he would end up next.
He went home and at six-thirty sharp he picked up the 'phone and placed a person-to-person call to his mother.
"Hi mom." Hope she doesn't hear it in my voice
"Davey darling, how are you?"
"I'm...I'm fine mom."
He decided that he was going to have to plunge right in and tell her.
"Mom… I have something to tell you."
Lily could tell by the tone of his voice that he wasn't going to announce his engagement. Her voice faltered. "What is it darling?"
"Are you sitting down?"
"You think I would be standing up when I'm speaking to my son on the telephone?"
"Mom calm down and listen to me OK."
"What are you going to tell me…oh Davey you're not in trouble are you? You haven't …"
"Momma! Just listen to me will you!
"Don't speak to me like that; I'm listening. I have a right to worry don't I?"
"Yeah mom, you have a right to worry. I've been called up."
The silence wrenched at his heart and he heard her muffle a sob.
"Called up? You mean…"
"I had to register like everyone else. I figured that if I hadn't heard from them for three years maybe I was in the clear; but I guess my number came up in the wrong lottery game."
"Have you had the medical…your grandmother always worried about your eyes."
"Perfect vision mom; unfortunately I'm a fine fit healthy specimen of American youth. I have to report for basic training next week. I may not get to call you next Friday."
"Where will you be?"
"I don't know. They don't tell us much just where to report for 'transportation'. Hey momma, look on the bright side – I could end up doing a Presley impersonation in Europe!"
She could tell by his voice he didn't believe that. "I promise I'll let you know where I am as soon as I can. Now will you do something for me momma…please…."
"Anything my darling, anything…"
"Stop crying."
"Oh Davey…" the sobs rang down the wire again and he held the phone away from him so that she wouldn't hear him joining in. After a minute or so he swallowed hard and spoke again.
"I love you momma. I promise I'll come home. I promise you…whatever happens I'll come home and see you again."
Rosa came into the room and took the 'phone from him.
"Lily…don't worry; he can look after himself…Davey will come back."
The night before he had to report to be shipped to training camp he went to the bar that he and Harvey had favored for the past few years. The skinny black guy was now almost totally in charge of the place.
"Hey Huggy Bear…bring me a beer and a couple of chasers."
"Since when did you drink shots, Dave?"
"Since I got called up! I leave tomorrow for boot camp; I guess now is as good a time as any to get drunk for the first time in my life."
When he left an hour later he was a little unsteady on his feet, but he felt ok to drive.
"Harvey, you can use my car when I'm gone." He handed the keys to his cousin. "Look after it for me OK."
Harvey took the keys and said "I'll bring it to the airport the day you come home Dave, I promise."
"Yeah…" Somehow Dave didn't sound convinced but the strange thing was Harvey didn't know if it was the possibility of the Mustang being in one piece or of Dave returning that was in doubt.
Two weeks later Dave was enjoying the irony of Uncle Sam's logic. He was in a training camp somewhere in the New Mexico desert and so far he was still wearing the jeans and t-shirts that he'd brought with him. The only army-issue clothing in the camp was Arctic fatigues! Dave reckoned that if this was a taste of things to come he'd be best off relying on his own instincts.
The days were spent on assault courses and drill grounds. He learned to march in step and he took pleasure in showing off his athletic prowess by scrambling over the obstacles and taking them in his stride. He was getting a reputation with the officers as being a wild-card – but a good soldier. He snapped his salute and he shouted 'Yes sir' but he was capable of an off-the-wall comment that would send him to the KP peeling potatoes and trying not to think of Beetle Bailey.
The uniforms finally arrived…Dave was relieved to get a pair of boots the right size.
He appraised himself in the mirror, adjusted his cap and snapped a salute. "Not bad…not bad at all! I wonder if I'll ever get used to the short haircut?"
Dave was lying on his belly peering down the sight of a rifle. He focused on the target and waited for the order to fire. He squeezed the trigger and waited.
After a few more rounds he stood up and gave his place to the next kid. He was replacing the rifle on the rack when the sergeant called him over.
"You're good Starsky…very good. Where'd you learn to shoot like that?"
"Only time I've ever used a gun was at the fairground sir." He suppressed a giggle. "I sometimes aimed at the goldfish instead of the target just for fun."
The sergeant was trying not to laugh. "Don't you like goldfish Starsky?"
"They're OK; but to be honest I didn't want to be obliged to date the girl – so I figured if I killed the goldfish…."
"Enough said! Come with me."
He was assigned to special training as a sharp-shooter…airborne division.
Dear Mom
I've been transferred from the desert! I'm not allowed to tell you where I am – but I'll bet the postmark is still on the envelope." Lily checked, it was; Davey was in Florida.
"I'm getting special training because they reckon I'm a good shot. I guess I take after dad like that, didn't he have some kind if medal for that? Don't worry about me mom; I guess whatever I have to deal with is what is on my cards right?
Give my love to Nicky and Eva.
I love you
Dave
XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX
Dear Mom
I jumped out of a 'plane today! It's Ok they gave me a parachute. You know how I am about heights; I kept my eyes closed and the sergeant major was screaming at me to jump and open my eyes (I won't quote him but I've never seen anyone do what he suggested with their eyes!) So now I'm a sharpshooter and a parachutist. I'd prefer to stay on the ground though.
Give my love to everyone…and tell Joe I got his letter.
I love you momma
Dave
XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX
Dear Joe
We got the word today; they are shipping us out in two weeks time. I get a week's leave first and I don't want to go to LA; I want to spend it with mom. I know what you said about the risks; but I'm going where I might never come back and I have to see my mom again first. Please Joe, help me with this one. I know how much you always cared about mom and how dad was your best friend. Do it for him will you please. I just can't bear the thought of maybe never seeing her again.
Dave
Bus gets in at four on Tuesday. STOP. See you soon. STOP. David.
"Davey, Davey sweetheart…oh my goodness look how tall and handsome you are…oh darling I'm so happy to see you, it's been such a long time."
"Aw come on mom, you came out for Hanukah and it's only June now."
"The army has done something to you; you look even taller and stronger."
"Well I'm not going to flash my muscles at you in public mom so let's go find a cab and go home."
"You don't need a cab, Davey." He turned to see Joe Durniak grinning up at him.
They made their way out of the bus station and home.
Home, it is still home. What is it they say? Home is where the heart is? After all these years my heart is home again.
A loving mother who is terrified of losing her child to a war can find plenty of ways to fill a week. The time flew past and Dave savored every second. He tolerated his mother's tears and boasting; he allowed her to hug him and kiss him like she had done before he had to go away. He took her to the cemetery and for the first time in his life Dave placed a small stone on his father's grave.
He looked at the pile of stones gathered there and smiled at his mom with tears in his eyes.
"I come and do it for you every year, sweetheart. If your dad can see us – he knows that you do it in your heart."
She took a ring off her finger and handed it to him. It slipped onto his pinky with the one his grandmother had given him so many years ago. "It was your father's…I know he would want you to have it now."
He fingered the two rings that had found their final home on his pinky finger.
I won't let you down dad.
They were sitting in the kitchen eating breakfast. Lily was trying to choke back the tears – without much success and watching her Dave could feel his own eyes begin to sting.
"Why won't you let me come to the bus station Davey?"
He couldn't tell her that he didn't want to see her standing waving…he didn't want to relive the day he had sat in a train as it pulled out of Grand Central and watched his momma disappear into the distance, wondering when he would ever see her again. And wondering how he was going to live without her.
"Believe me momma, it's better this way."
Lily sniffed and he leaned forward to wipe away a tear.
"I love you momma. I'll be back; I promise."
"That's what your father said."
"And he came back momma. He came back."
"Oh Davey I just can't bear the thought of losing you too."
"I'll be back." And something in the tone of his voice convinced Lily that he would.
They hung around the mobilization base for a week. Other companies came and went – a continual parade of young men marching as bravely as they could to the unknown.
Some planes came back loaded. They weren't supposed to see, but the how could they miss the lines of ambulances waiting to take the wounded to the hospitals. They even saw the body bags.
Dave tried not to think about the dead and the wounded. He'd promised his mom that he'd come back – and he had every intention of doing just that.
Some kind of administrative slip-up put him in an infantry division after all – he wasn't going to complain; parachuting was not his idea of fun. He kept the leather jacket – no-one ever asked for it back.
The day came when he found himself toting his kitbag and marching into the belly of a transport plane. He took his seat and looked at the other guys in the platoon. Someone had goofed up somewhere – he was the only soldier wearing an air-corps leather jacket! You didn't need to be some kind of mind-reader to know that they were all thinking the same thing.
'What is it really like out there?'
'Will I come home in a bag or on a stretcher?'
'Will I survive?'
Dave had his own little theory about survival; he'd read somewhere that if you think positive you can make things happen right for you; he decided to think positive.
They climbed out of the plane and into the steamy heat of Viet-Nam. The airstrip was a clearing in the thick jungle. The sounds around them were new and strange and in the distance they could hear the rattle of machine guns and the clatter of helicopter blades.
As they marched out of the 'plane a group of men was standing ready to march on board as soon as the plane had refueled. As the new arrivals marched past one of the others shouted "so long suckers – have a nice stay!"
They climbed into a military bus and were driven to their base camp further up country; the journey seemed to take for ever and Dave noted sourly that the natives didn't look friendly.
They quick-marched to their tents and arranged themselves as best they could. Dave neatly arranged his kit in the locker by his cot and then lay down to take stock of the situation.
The mess tent held new surprises. They were dished out an unappetizing meal of reconstituted dehydrated foodstuffs – Dave had a feeling he might soon be missing Aunt Rosa's cuisine! The water tasted foul and bitter and he sipped at it reluctantly. A private looked across the table at his grimace and laughed. "Hey it's either quinine-laced water or malaria…and I don't recommend Malaria. " Dave looked at him over the edge if his glass and sipped again. "I'll take your word for it.
The water wasn't all they got against Malaria – once a week they were issued with a big orange pill too. The pills made him throw up – he reckoned he'd risk Malaria and threw them straight into the latrine.
A few days later he had a fever and a splitting headache. The medic gave him a massive shot of quinine and a lecture about not taking the pills. "If you're lucky you'll never have another attack…or maybe the headaches will come back…but if you skip the pills again it could come back to hit you any time for the rest of your life." He resolved to take the pills.
They were sent out on patrol the next day. The incoming platoon was split with a platoon that had been there a couple of months. Dave found himself on the left flank of the five-point formation, 'the rookie's position'. He toted the M16 rifle and kept his eyes and ears on full alert. Along with the other men in the formation he was the platoon's eyes and ears – and he was also likely to be one of the first to be hit by enemy fire.
They kept apart…five meters apart (Dave quickly learned to think in meters as easily as yards – but he would never be able to do the conversion!), the range of an exploding grenade…if the guy in front or behind him caught it, Dave would be safe. That was the theory and he hoped he would never see it proved.
He heard something or someone moving in the undergrowth to his left and gestured to the guy five meters to his right. The whole platoon stopped and listened. Silence, they shook their heads and moved forward…it was probably a snake slithering through the jungle floor.
Snakes. They had been warned about the lethal adders and vipers that could take a man's life as easily as a Cong's bullet. The snakes would come close to a warm human body in the chill of the night. The manual said not to make any sudden movements…some guys said that if you stared them down long enough they would go away. Dave got a reputation as a snake charmer after he sat staring for what seemed like hours at a snake in the latrine; the snake left, sliding under the door just as another soldier came in to see if the crapper was free.
"You should have seen 'em, man I swear the snake was more scared than Dave was!"
Everyone had noticed how Dave could use his eyes to flash a warning or to charm a pretty girl now he had added snakes to his repertory.
They went out on patrol…and in the evening they noticed how the soles of their boots glowed with the phosphorous produced by the rotting vegetation that made up the jungle floor.
The cleaned their M16s and their handguns.
They wrote home and they sat around in the tent smoking and drinking and playing cards – anything to take their minds off the boredom of waiting for something to happen.
They learned how to provide covering fire so that a chopper could hover long enough for the wounded to be loaded into the pods; and prayed that it would never be for one of them.
After a couple of months they went into the nearest town to spend their pay…Dave tried to send as much of his $175 home as possible – he still dreamed of his own apartment when he got back. He kept enough to buy him cigarettes and the joints that the Vietnamese cleverly disguised as cigarettes – neatly packing them into cartons that looked like they had come straight off the American Tobacco production lines. He avoided the whores – he didn't want to itch.
Someone once said that every good soldier will take the opportunity to leave his mark. Some of the guys wrote graffiti; others painted or drew pictures…many painstakingly engraved images and mottos on their standard issue Zippos. Dave engraved his lighter using a finely sharpened pin from a grenade that hadn't exploded properly. He put a few words from a song that summed it up and drew a picture. He found that he was smoking one joint for every five cigarettes.
Most days they just went out on patrol – maybe shot a couple of gooks and came back.
Starsky didn't want to call them gooks at first, he preferred the anonymity of 'Charlies'; and 'gooks' made him think of the way the Nazis had called the Jews "untermenschen" – sub-humans. Then, after he had killed his fifth human being he came to understand that if he thought of them as gooks he wouldn't feel so bad about what he'd done. He was a good soldier, he was an excellent sharpshooter – but he was still a human being and the lessons of his childhood echoed in his mind…Thou shalt not Kill.
But he had to kill or be killed and he did his job.
Word was that there was a new Cong group out in their part of the jungle. The platoon was detailed out to find them. They were issued with C-rations and the rest of the men carried M16s – Dave had a high-velocity rifle that fired slower and more accurate rounds than the six-hundred a minute that the M16s could produce.
They set out into the night…stopping to listen to the jungle's sounds. They heard a man scream and they froze in their tracks. It was a scream like nothing Dave had ever heard before.
"What the fuck are they doing to the poor bastard?" Pete whispered. The Lieutenant signaled to him to shut up and they moved forward. Dave went ahead to find a position from which he could cover them. He saw a tree that he reckoned he could climb without wishing he had his parachute. He was trained to be in an airborne division, but so far the only 'plane he'd been in was the transporter from Stateside. He climbed into the branches and surveyed the scene. What he saw nearly made him fall out of the tree.
He signaled to the Lieutenant that he was in position and waited for the others to see what had made the man scream.
The Congs were watching the torture like an American family in a TV den. The soldier was spread-eagled on a bamboo frame and one of the Congs was raping him…with the barrel of a rifle.
The Platoon held back; waiting for the Lieutenant's signal. Dave held his breath.
The man screamed again and from his perch Dave could see why – the rifle was in up to its trigger. There was a strangely muffled shot and the victim slumped further forward on his frame and the Cong pulled out the rifle and walked away laughing. Dave saw that the rifle barrel was covered in blood.
He took aim and dropped the Cong with one shot. Then he threw up.
All hell broke out. The Congs started firing in all directions but the platoon was ready for them. Soon all the Congs were dead – and three of the platoon were wounded – but they had no dead. Dave slid down from his position and ran over to the man still spread-eagled on the bamboo frame. He was dead. The Lieutenant radioed for medics to come and take out the wounded. He turned to Dave.
"I don't know if I should put you on a charge or recommend you for a medal."
Dave winked…"Just doing my job, Sir!"
They went into the camp and checked to see if there were any other prisoners. They found two other men bleeding from the same torture that they had witnessed – one of them stank of rotting flesh; the other was able to walk.
"I was lucky – the guy who took me must have been queer – he fucked me like I fuck my old lady! But he," he pointed to the man lying semi-conscious on the ground, 'he got it with the rifle too."
Later Dave would recognize the smell – gangrene. The man was rotting to death.
Weeks turned into months.
They went out on a patrol and were caught up in an ambush. This time all the officers and NCOs were either wounded or dead. The other guys were futzing around wondering what to do. Dave just seemed to take over and he led them back to the camp. It took three days but his street-smart instincts kept them alive. It earned him his first medal.
The CO called him in.
"Starsky, I still don't know how you ended up in this platoon since you were trained for airborne; if you want to transfer I can arrange it."
"Thank you sir, but no sir. Truth is I'm terrified of heights!"
"Glad to hear it, I need you here. I'm recommending you for Officer training. You ship out to Saigon tomorrow…unless you want to finish your career as a private?"
"No sir, I mean yes sir. I mean…"
"I guess that means you accept."
"Yes sir!" He snapped a perfect salute.
A month later he was back in the camp with a Lieutenant's stripe on his arm and a Soldier's Medal ribbon on his chest. He kept the medal in its case and stashed it at the bottom of his kit-bag.
Now he was sharing a tent with two other young officers – both fresh from Stateside and the product of the ROTC in some University. They seemed to have trouble knowing how to handle him. On the one hand he was enlisted and they weren't – but on the other hand he'd been here a whole lot longer than they had – and he'd earned his rank. One of the guys – a shy kid from the mid-west who had joined the ROTC because his dad had fought in Korea – was friendly enough. The other man, son of a Colonel and Ivy League was in Dave's own words 'a snotty asshole'. He kept Dave at arm's length and remarked aloud about having to share his quarters with a 'field-promotion'.
Two weeks later the Colonel's son had his own very private quarters…a box six feet long.
Dave and Ricky didn't miss him when he'd gone.
Then it happened. It started as a rumor; someone had heard that a platoon had gone crazy and wiped out a whole village – deliberately.
"Hey come on man; we all know how the gooks like to hide in the villages so as we won't fire on them…"
"So they killed a few more of 'em what does it matter…only good red is a dead red…."
"Some people say there weren't no gooks in the village – just women and kids…."
"They kill too you know…."
The conversations went on in the mess tent and in the bar and in the tents. No-one knew for sure…and most of them didn't want to think about it. It could happen so easily.
Only a couple of weeks back Dave had been leading a small group of men on a reconnaissance mission. They had word that there was enemy movement using a local village as cover. They'd advanced carefully, watching the women and kids up to their knees in water in the paddy fields planting the next crop. A couple of girls had come running towards them…when they came level with the men in the advance they detonated their explosives. Four men died; so did the girls. The people in the paddy field took no notice and the rest of patrol returned to camp to report what they'd seen. Two days later they watched as the choppers wheeled overhead and machine-gunned the village; there was plenty of return fire. The choppers were followed by a plane that dropped napalm and the return fire stopped abruptly.
Dave tried to keep these things out of his mind. He concentrated on doing his job and keeping his men together. He turned out to be a good natural leader and a smart strategist. The men even began to hope to be assigned to his patrols – they appreciated his mix of good humor and sharp efficiency…they also liked to be led by the best sharp-shooter in that part of the jungle. He established a pattern. He assigned the men to their positions and always took his place just behind the forward five-point group. He was constantly on the alert and quick to find a vantage point from which he could cover his men if necessary. He got to know them all well enough too. There were Pete and Joe from the original group he'd arrived with, and a kid from Queens who seemed to see life the way he did. They sat around together in the evenings ignoring his rank and passing the joints and talking about their lives before 'Nam and their plans for after 'Nam. None of them mentioned the possibility of not going home in one piece – none of them wanted to tempt fate.
The orders went out for the big operation. Enemy lines were getting closer and all the platoons in the area were about to move forward to clear the way – and then the air force would come in and finish the job.
Dave and his patrol were assigned to join another commanded by a career Lieutenant who pulled his rank on Dave straight off.
"You're a sharpshooter, right Starsky?"
"Yes."
"OK so get yourself where you can pick them off if you have to and leave giving the orders to me."
Dave bit his tongue and decided that it was better to opt for a quiet life in this kind if situation.
For a couple of days they saw nothing. Dave began to realize that it wasn't just his stripe that gave the Lieutenant a problem. This guy, Traxler, was one of those blond WASP types that would have looked at home in the gray uniform that Dave's father had fought against. His real problem with Starsky was based in a deep-bred anti-Semitism that Dave had never really encountered first-hand before. He tried to let it ride as best he could. Dave wasn't this guy's only victim. Joe Spinelli was "The Spick" and the two guys with Irish blood got referred to as "Micks" and "turf-humpers". Most of the others in the Lieutenant's patrol were men like him; the relations between the two groups of men were often uneasy and Dave felt that he and his patrol were spoiling a party. These guys had been working together for about six months and they had already run this kind of mission further up the Delta. Somewhere in the back of Dave's head alarm bells started ringing. He resolved to do his job and stick to the rulebook.
They spotted the village a couple of days later. Three men favored by the other Lieutenant were sent to check it out. Dave took up a position in a tree so that he could cover their return if necessary. That was how he got to see that there was no-one around in the village and that most of the people in the paddy fields beyond were women and young children.
"Place is full of gooks, Bill; looks like we have a clean-up job on our hands."
The Lieutenant saw the expression on Dave's face.
"Starsky, take your men and get into position over by the fields. If they try to escape that way you can deal with them. Get yourself up high if you can Starsky…be ready to show me just how it is a guy like you deserves a Lieutenant's stripe."
Dave led his group over to the cover of a bamboo patch and they waited. He took up a position a little closer to the village – but he couldn't find a high point so he settled for where he was; hidden by the bamboo.
All hell broke out. The others went in firing their MK16s and making no effort to see who they were firing at. Old men and women came running out of the huts – the men were gunned down – their frail bodies literally exploding from the velocity of the bullets fired at relatively close range. The old women were rounded up and pushed into a hut. Dave and his group sat in stunned silence as their screams were followed by a series of single shots.
They were ready for the VCs that were supposed to be running out of the village…but no VCs ran towards them – just a few of the elderly villagers who had escaped the first attack; and who were neatly gunned down by Traxler's faithful sergeant.
The people in the paddy field began to run back to the village and found themselves facing the platoon. The other Lieutenant yelled to Starsky's men to come in behind them. "Keep them covered!" "Starsky stay where you are and be ready to finish the job"
Traxler's sergeant turned his gun towards Starsky's group and was joined by a couple of others to make sure they did as they were told.
Dave looked at his friends and shook his head. But a couple of them moved forward to try to stop what was happening; their friends watched helplessly as they were gunned down before they could intervene. Dave signaled to the rest of his group to sit tight and wait for his signal.
The women were lined up against the huts and made to hand over their children. The children were lined up in front of their mothers and the older girls pushed to one side.
History repeated itself…and at the Court Martial held long after the war was over, the old excuse "I was only following orders" would be duly recorded – and duly ignored. The children each got a bullet in the ear.
A pregnant woman was pulled out of the line. This was where at least three of the other platoon decided to pull away…as they turned their Lieutenant shot them in the back.
Dave would never forget what the sadistic Lieutenant did to her. It seemed as if her screams echoed around the clearing long after she was dead. She must have been near to her time because the baby was still alive when its head was smashed against a rock and the bloody mess flung to a passing dog.
He heard a movement to his left and peered through the bamboo that he was hiding in.
Three of the Lieutenant's men were coming up behind the main part of the patrol.
He was covered by the bamboo; they couldn't see him.
I've been here before.
He remembered how he had tried to call out a warning to his dad – but the sound had frozen in his throat. He watched as the renegade soldiers came up to his friends.
He was sure he shouted a warning.
He could hear his voice in his head; yelling out their names, warning them to run…but there was only silence until the M16s clattered and left Pete and the others lying in their own blood.
He stayed as still as he could and waited. The men turned towards a new prey. Dave spotted them too. A woman and four children were running towards him. He prayed that this time his voice wouldn't let him down.
"Get down…take cover…over here. tr? nên xu?ng.ch?y t?i dây
Don't be afraid…run… d?ng s? hãi.ch?y "
They must have heard him and his pronunciation must have held up. They turned towards his voice and started to run. One of the soldiers raised his rifle and Dave rushed forward to push the little girl out of the line of fire. He heard the shots. He heard someone scream. He grabbed the nearest child and started to run; trying to put some distance between himself and the bullets that could rip his body apart. The last thing he remembered was a searing pain and the sensation of falling into a deep, deep hole.
He was aware of voices and the clattering of a helicopter. He felt his body rise up off the ground…if this is dying it isn't so bad after all…
"He's lucky to be alive."
"I don't think we can save the leg."
"The bone is shattered and it looks like the infection is setting in already."
"Check his dog-tags …."
"OK for penicillin…"
"Give him the maximum dose; we can't operate without being sure of blocking the infection."
"Are you going to try to repair the artery?"
"No…I guess the whole thing will have to come off."
"NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!"
"Lieutenant, can you hear me?"
Sure I can hear you and you aren't taking anything off without a fight.
"Yeah…" the voice was a croak but the doctor heard it. He looked down at the shattered young body in front of him. The Lieutenant opened his eyes and the doctor saw a flash of stubborn determination in the split second before the lids fluttered closed again.
"Your leg is badly damaged; my colleague feels that we should amputate now to stop you getting gangrene."
"NO! NO!" Despite his injuries the young soldier was struggling to fight off any attempt to intervene.
The doctor had seen this before. Sheer determination had pulled other young soldiers through. He turned to his colleagues.
"As senior surgeon I don't think that amputation is the solution. Get him cleaned up and keep him sedated and full of antibiotics until they get him to a hospital."
Somewhere in the depths of his pain, Dave sighed with relief.
He was a mess.
Starting from the head down the surgical team in the MASH unit itemized the injuries.
- open wound below the left eye; evidence that a splinter of bamboo may have entered the eye. Action: disinfection of the wound; ocular lavage with antibiotic solution.
- left acrimioclavicular joint dislocated; bullet wound to the shoulder causing shatter fracture of scapula.
(In fact Dave's arm was hanging at a crazy angle when they found him and the medics had been careful not to make matters worse by trying to relocate the joint)
- fractured left clavicle
- bilateral rib fractures with possible perforation of left lung (the lung turned out to be undamaged)
- multiple fractures to left femur – bullet wound three inches below the head of the femur.
- hairline fracture of the pelvis
- open fracture of left fibula
- open fracture of left tibia
Comments: Initial diagnosis indicated infection and total amputation of the left leg was recommended by the surgeon at triage. After further examination and taking into account he patient's reactions it was finally decided to evacuate Lieutenant Starsky to a hospital.
Doctor Henry Thomas sat by his patient's bed and read the report.
"You are damn lucky they didn't take that leg off Lieutenant. Now you are here we'll do our best to save it and we might even get you back on your feet again. But your army career is over, that's for sure."
The painkillers kept him in a purple haze but somehow he managed a smile.
He drifted in and out of a world of pain and fever.
"We're losing him…"
"Notify next of kin…."
"NO!"
"David can you hear me?"
"Yes…please…don't tell my mom…please…not yet…."
Davey I'm proud of you; you'll pull through.
Dad?
I'm here…you'll pull through – I promise.
If I get out of here I promise too Dad, I'll follow you.
They kept a round-the-clock nurse with him to watch over him as his body fought the infection. They'd saved his leg and now the doctors were trying everything they knew to save his life. In his brief moments of consciousness he had managed to convince them not to notify his mother that he was seriously wounded. "I'd rather she had to hear I was dead than that I'm suffering."
For two days the nurses watched as he tossed and turned; screaming in his world of nightmares. They tried to make sense of it but only Dave's fevered brain could understand the terrible images flashing through his mind. The scenes merged together, dissolving from a New York alley to a Viet Nam jungle; from trashcan to bamboo. But the final sound was always the same. A single shot.
"Welcome back."
The doctor was smiling down at him. He was the kind of gray-haired avuncular man that inspired confidence. He sat by the bed and read Dave's chart.
"How are you feeling?"
Dave opened his eyes again and took stock of the sight before them; but his eyelids flickered shut again.
How am I feeling? I hurt all over!
"H…hurts". Was that his voice? He sounded so far away. His throat felt as if it had been sanded down with the stuff Merle used to prep paintwork…
"I'm sorry Lieutenant…David…I had to let you regain consciousness without painkillers. I need to know exactly what you feel."
That's an interesting way to put it. He wants to know what I feel – not where the pain is.
He opened his eyes again. There was some kind of frame under the bedclothes and he couldn't see his feet. His chest hurt; his back hurt, his arm hurt, his shoulder hurt, his pelvis hurt…his legs…his legs!
Oh my god, no….please not that…please…..
"Legs..."
The doctor leaned forward. "Yes?"
"I c..c..can't feel my leg."
"Which leg?"
Fuck you! I have to make a choice?
He concentrated. The right leg seemed OK…at least he was pretty sure he could feel it.
He tried to move it and the pain shot through his pelvis again.
"Aaaah" He sobbed.
"Did you try to move your leg?"
Bastard
"Y..yes. Right leg. Moved. Hurts."
Ok now for the moment of truth.
He concentrated hard…but he couldn't feel a thing. Nothing, not even pain. He felt the panic rising and turned to look at he doctor. That was when he realized that he could only see out of one eye. He tried to hold it back but this time it was more than he could take. He started to cry; his body, restrained as it was by bandages and plaster casts shook to the rhythm of his violent sobs.
The doctor sat and waited for the storm to pass. He put a reassuring hand on the young man's arm and said: "It's not as bad as it seems David…you have a bandage over the eye for the moment – but believe me when the bandage is removed you will see as clearly as before."
Dave sniffed and tried to pull himself together but pain and fear were mingling to bring him to a state of hysteria. He could hear his mother's soothing voice. "Oh my poor Davey, when you get like this no-one can help you."
The tears subsided and he concentrated again on his left leg.
"What exactly do you expect me to feel there doc?"
"I don't know; that's why I'm waiting for you to tell me. As soon as I know what you feel and where you feel it, I can prescribe pain relief for you."
"OK, let's see. I can't really feel anything but…but no, I can't feel it."
The doctor looked worried and turned to write something on the chart.
"Doc? Just how bad is it?"
The doctor looked at him and was met by such a steady gaze that he felt compelled to answer. "Let me get you some pain relief first and then I'll explain."
The shot took a while to ease the pain and Dave could feel himself drifting off – but he forced himself to stay lucid until the doctor had explained it all to him.
"You were badly injured. The initial team wanted to take your leg off there and then – it seems you put up enough of a fight to convince them to give it a second chance. They did an emergency job to close the open wounds and reduce the possibility of infection. They at least managed to prevent gangrene. I've already operated once and pinned the bones back into place. I may have to operate again to re-straighten the fibula…" He noticed his patient's blank look and smiled. "That's one of the two bones in your lower leg. You also have a fractured pelvis and your left shoulder was so far out of the socket it looked like your arm didn't belong. It's OK we got it back into place – but the shoulder blade is badly broken and so is your collar bone – so you are going to be flat on your back for at least six to eight weeks."
"Flat on my back?"
"I'm afraid so. Even if your leg healed quickly enough to put you on crutches – your left shoulder wouldn't take the strain."
"OK. I get the picture. So far. What about my eye – and my face?"
"The nurses tell me that you are a very attractive young man – don't worry, you will have a slight scar near the corner of your eye, that's all. They removed a bamboo splinter from the corner of the eye and fortunately it did no damage to the eye itself. I believe you were a sharpshooter – you will still be a dangerous man with a gun."
"So, now for the moment of truth, huh doc; if my leg is so badly injured how come I can't feel it?"
The doctor stayed silent for a few seconds that seemed to Dave to last a lifetime.
"I don't know. I'll get you back down to X-ray and we'll see what the problem is."
"And then?" The steady gaze hardened slightly and the doctor felt relieved that he was on the same side.
"And then, if I have to operate again I will. Don't worry David…you aren't going to lose that leg – I promise you."
"I'll hold you to that doc." He sounded grim.
They wheeled his bed down to the x-ray block and for the first time Dave had an idea of where he was. When he came to he had expected to be in some grim army hospital in some town he'd never heard of in a State he wouldn't ever want to visit again. When he got a glimpse through the corridor window of hibiscus bushes and a distant volcano his heart skipped a beat. Hawaii!
They maneuvered him off the bed and onto the X-ray table. It took four orderlies – one just to keep his injured leg steady. When they had prepared his bed to take him down the corridor the sight of the heavy horizontal traction weight that had been suspended from a cuff around his ankle shocked him. Shit, if I couldn't feel that fucking thing then there is really something wrong!
The orderlies changed his position allowing shots of his leg and his spine and when it was all over they wheeled him back to his room.
"How come I don't get a nice view of the countryside?"
"You can't sit up to see it."
"Funny, very funny!"
"Seriously Lieutenant, when you can sit up you'll get a better room – but right now you are in an annex of ICU." The woman who spoke was pretty black woman in maybe her early thirties. She wasn't wearing a nurse's uniform and Dave wondered who she was.
She answered before he got a chance to speak.
"I'm Doctor Laurence; the Army put me through med school and I'm doing my internship here with Doctor Thomas. You're in the best hands. You'll be seeing a lot more of me in the next few weeks."
The dark blue eyes oozed charm. "It will be a pleasure."
"I hope so – but I'm afraid you might come to hate me yet."
"Never. How can anyone hate an angel?"
She laughed and touched his cheek. "How's the pain?"
"I'll survive."
"Don't be brave – when you need a boost of painkiller squeeze this." She handed him a small rubber bulb attached to a cable – it was a bell to call the nurse.
"Will you give me the shot?"
"When I'm on duty."
He pressed the bulb with all his strength and grinned.
The X-rays revealed a small blood clot formed on the spinal cord just above the main sensory nerve leading to his left leg. Doctor Thomas explained that by removing the clot he would relieve the pressure on the nerve and sensation would return. They prepped him and he allowed himself to be taken into the clouds of the anesthetic again.
When he came to this time he almost wished the doctor hadn't bothered! His left leg felt like it was on fire but at the same time some guy with a twisted sense of humor was banging on different parts of it with a sledgehammer and someone else was doing his damnest to pull the whole leg out of its socket. He moaned in pain and felt for the wonderful rubber bulb. Dr Laurence came and gave him a shot of morphine and life became tolerable again.
Tolerable. How tolerable can life be for a fit and active young man who suddenly finds himself confined to lying on his back in a hospital bed? His body was encased in plaster – from the waist down and all down one leg like a weird pair of pants. He had to piss into a bottle and the nurse brought him a bedpan for his other needs. He found it humiliating and that made him bad-tempered.
They had to move him regularly to avoid bed-sores, and that hurt.
He tried to read – but that his neck stiff and brought on a headache. It seemed that he slept more in those six weeks than in the rest of his life strung together.
They put a TV set on a shelf where he could see it – but he couldn't change channel without calling the nurse and he soon lost interest. He didn't want to see the newsreel of the war; in fact he had growing sympathy with the protestors and the card-burners. He had a radio set and started listening to one of the stations that played rock music and tried to forget all that he'd seen and heard in the past eighteen months.
One two three what are we fighting for…..
His mail was forwarded to him from his last posting…until he finally decided to tell his mom an edited version of what had happened.
"Dear Mom
Greetings from Hawaii! Don't panic momma, I'm in a hospital. I have a few broken bones but I'll be OK. The docs say I may need a little rehabilitation when the casts come off – so I guess I'm going to be here for a few more weeks. Stop crying momma – I'd told you I'd come home.
All my love
Davey."
Sometimes the pain was intolerable. Dr. Laurence had warned him that there would be spasms of pain as the bones healed, and the process was taking longer than expected. He retreated into the world of morphine until the doctors began to worry that he might be getting addicted; but when the time finally came when he was no longer in constant pain he showed no signs of withdrawal and they were able to replace it with a milder medicine.
The big day arrived. Dr. Thomas and Dr. Laurence arrived to remove the casts. The saws buzzed and Dave joshed at them to remember that he'd fought to keep that leg where it was. The two doctors supported his shoulders and he sat up stiffly for the first time in nearly three months. Dr. Thomas checked the injured leg and looked at his colleague with a shake of the head.
"Hey…what is it? It's OK isn't it?"
"I'm sorry David, I think I'm going to have to operate to straighten it after all. We will have to break and reset the fibula."
Dave lay back and let the frustrated tears flow. "So I'll be in a cast for how long this time?"
"Another six weeks. But at least you'll be able to get around on crutches this time."
He also got a room with a better view.
He got really good at using the crutches and was soon swinging around the hallways and communal areas making friends with the other men. He found the pool table and staff and patients would watch with amusement as he doggedly leaned on the side of the table for support – or dragged a chair to where he needed to be to take his shots. He mastered an art of lying half onto the table with his left leg sticking out stiffly behind him and pulling off his shot. By the time he left the rehab, months later, he had a reputation for being unbeatable.
He played a mean game of Poker too. They played for cigarettes and joints…and Dave had a reliable supply of weed to take his mind off the moments when things got tough.
And despite his bravado, things were about to get very tough indeed.
Tomorrow he would start in physiotherapy.
Dave settled at his favorite table and started to eat slowly. The food in this place was a million times better that anything he had ever eaten in any other Army facility. Occasionally he was reminded of some of Aunt Rosa's more ambitious concoctions – but the cooks here knew how the recipes should be.
He was eating a tuna salad and talking to one of the other men who had come in around the same time that he did. Al Dawson was doing Ok if you took into account the artificial hand. He had already learned to fit the fork into the gripping device. He grinned across at Dave. "Tomorrow I get to try out the new leg. Hey man – you struck really lucky – they took mine off without me even knowing about it."
"I screamed at them so loud I think I scared 'em into leaving it." Dave smiled. "I was so terrified that I'd lose it."
"Yeah; well neither of us are going to have to go back are we…I guess it's better to go home missing a bit that not go home at all."
"Mmm."
"Hey Dave?"
"Yeah?"
"Why does that guy keep staring at you?"
Dave glanced over his shoulder and Al saw the startled look on his face.
"Oh shit – he's trouble."
"What kind of trouble?"
"He tried to kill me."
Al dropped his fork from the mechanical 'hand' and stared at Dave across the table.
"You what?"
"He tried to kill me – in fact he probably thought he did. I guess he's even more surprised to see me here than I am to see him."
"What are you going to do?"
"Keep out of his way."
Dave pushed his tray away. "Suddenly I'm not too hungry; you wanna go outside and have a smoke?" The two men gathered up their crutches and swung out of the dining room into the garden.
Dave delved into the pocket of his robe and produced papers and a tobacco pouch. He then pulled out a small hemp bag and began rolling two joints.
"You want to tell me about it Dave?"
"Not really. I guess I'm too shocked to see him here. I wonder what happened to him?"
They smoked in silence and drifted into the pleasant world of a good trip.
The night nurse heard him screaming in his sleep. She ran into the room and listened to his terrified ramblings
tr? nên xu?ng.ch?y t?i dây
d?ng s? hãi.ch?y
Pete look out!
Dad…no …oh no…
Got to get the kids out of the way; got to get them to safety.
Carry the kid to safety…got to get them away from these bastards.
Joe, Pete? Where are they? Oh fuck no…
Dad…I tried to warn you …I wanted to call out to you.
Why didn't they hear me? I know I shouted to them.
Got to get this kid to safety.
No…oh shit…
No please don't take it off….please no…
No
No
No
No
She put a soothing hand on his forehead – he was feverish again but she knew instinctively that the fever came from his nightmares and not from any sickness of the body.
The duty doctor came to give him a shot and the nurse sat with him until he calmed down and noted the incident on his chart.
When Dave woke his sheet was damp and he felt as if he had run a mile in his sleep. Dr. Laurence was sitting next to him with a concerned look on her face.
"Welcome back Dave. They had to sedate you last night. According to your chart you had a nightmare and then later you woke up screaming and tried to fight off the orderly. Do you want to talk about it?"
"No!"
"OK, but when you are ready all you have to do is say so and you get all the help you need."
"I need physiotherapy not fucking psychotherapy – it's my leg that is damaged not my mind." He snapped at her and she saw the seething anger in his eyes.
"No-one is saying that your mind is damaged. You went through a lot before you got here. The nurse says she thinks you were speaking in Vietnamese…and you called out for your dad too."
"I wasn't calling for him…" His voice was quieter now; and there was a slight catch in it as if he was trying not to cry.
"I…I tried to warn him – but nothing came out when I opened my mouth; just like I tried to warn Pete and Joe and the others…. I tried to save them and they didn't hear me." He shook his head and stared at the ceiling; "I don't want to talk about it, OK?"
She stood up. "OK, the orderly will be here in a minute to get you down to physio."
"Good."
The headaches started around the same time as the nightmares got worse. For four nights running Dave had terrible nightmares where he seemed to be trying to run away from something. He flailed around in the bed and had to be sedated each time. Then the nightmares stopped and the headaches began.
It was embarrassing…humiliating even. The guy in charge of the physio department seemed to Dave to be some kind of sadist. He was a Sergeant Major and as far as he was concerned every man in his rehab room was equal – officers' insignia or medals meant nothing to him. It was his job to get these guys out of here before even more arrived. He plunked Dave in between two parallel bars on a kind of ramp and said "If you wanna get off there Lieutenant, you walk off!"
Dave stood unsteadily for what seemed like hours. He tried to move his weakened left leg but couldn't. He still couldn't put all his weight on his left arm either. He stayed where he was until an orderly finally took pity on him. "Come on Lieutenant. Let me help you off this thing." He stood beside the ramp and Dave. "Try to move that foot…gently…slide it if you can't lift it…"
Dave slid his left foot forward about two inches and staggered forwards then fell heavily.
"Damn and bloody fuck it!"
The orderly helped him up and led him to a chair. Starsky sat down heavily and continued to mutter obscenities under his breath. The orderly chose not to listen – he'd never heard some of the words strung in those sequences before!
Starsky reached for his crutches. "That's enough – I'm not staying here to give that fucking sadist satisfaction." He swung out of the room a little more slowly than his usual pace. As he left the room the Sergeant Major arrived with his next victim. Dave took a silent satisfaction in seeing that the man in the wheelchair was his unwanted nemesis – and that one of his legs had been amputated above the knee.
"Nasty that – M16s get you?"
The Sergeant Major looked at him. "I thought the Congs had AK47s."
Starsky smiled coldly. "They do – the M16S are on our side – aren't they Sergeant?"
He was gone before the other man could respond.
Dave went back to his room and lay on his bed staring at the ceiling and trying not to think of the last time he'd seen Sergeant Thorn. His head began to throb and his eyes went out of focus. It seemed like his whole head was being invaded by a blue fog. He tried to sit up, but the throbbing got worse. He could feel the nausea rising in his throat; he rolled off the bed and dragged himself on his hands and knees into the bathroom. Dr. Laurence found him hunched over the toilet bowl vomiting his breakfast and lunch and even a little of last night's dinner.
She put a soothing hand on his forehead and helped him to his feet.
"What happened?"
"My head…I can't see…I can't move…"
With the help of an orderly Dr. Laurence got Dave back to bed and started to examine him. She took his temperature and his blood pressure; the thermometer registered a slight fever but she knew from his records that he had a natural low and his delirious fevers before had been at levels where other people would just have felt a little hot. She took out the optical torch and was ready to examine his eyes when he turned his head away. "Light hurts," he whispered hoarsely.
The symptoms were classics. "Dave you have a migraine; have you ever had one before?"
He managed a "no" before starting to retch again. Laurence held a bowl under his chin and he brought up bile and phlegm.
"Ill give you something for the pain – and to stop the nausea." She slid a needle into the vein on his muscular forearm and watched as he sank into sleep.
The next day Dave was back on the parallel bars walkway.
I'm not going to let that bastard get the better of me.
Ok one foot at a time. Start with the good leg maybe…
He stepped forward with the right foot and then swayed as he tried as best he could to lift the left foot and force it to follow.
Shit'n'fuck
The left foot didn't want to leave the ground. He gritted his teeth and slid it alongside the right, once again using his arms to take some of the weight off his legs and release the movement.
Dammit I'm bloody getting off this damn thing alone
He managed to get the left foot ahead of the right one and then came the next big challenge – how was he going to transfer his weight without the crutches? He pressed down on the railings and moved his right foot forward – and fell flat on his face.
Fuck, fuck, fuck!
The Sergeant Major heard him fall and came over to stand beside the hand-bars.
"Need a little help to get up Lieutenant?"
Starsky looked up at him without any expression
Don't let the bastard get to you.
The other man came up onto the ramp and helped him to his feet.
"That's what I was waiting for Lieutenant. Now I know you want to walk out of here I'll give you all the help you need…sir!"
"Just teach me the technique…I'll get there."
The physiotherapist explained to him how best to master the weight transfers that would enable him to walk. "For the moment use the rails like you use the crutches; but don't take both feet off the ground at the same time. I see how you swing along Lieutenant and to tell the truth although it seems to you like it's progress in fact you are making it tougher for yourself to get back to normal. You don't have the cast to slow you down so use the crutches to steady yourself and try to walk normally. OK?"
"Yeah," he flashed a lop-sided grin, "watch this." The first few steps were hesitant and as painful to watch as they were to do. Dave knew that his muscles weren't really ready for this yet but he was stubborn and that was his secret weapon.
He reached the end of the ramp and got over-confident…he tried to turn around and fell off the ramp backwards.
"Aw shit!"
The Sergeant Major helped him back to his feet and led him to a chair. He handed him his crutches and helped his redistribute his weight. Dave pushed the two crutches out in front of himself and stepped forward with the right foot; carefully he lifted his left foot and edged it forward. "Stop. Take your foot level with the other one for the moment – don't go for the full pace until your muscles are back in the habit of walking." He took the advice and slowly but surely walked back to his room.
That night he had another nightmare and in the morning his head ached so badly that he couldn't get out of bed until five in the afternoon.
The next time he went down to the rehab room the sergeant with no legs was already in place. He was pumping weights with his arms and he followed Starsky across the room with his gaze. Starsky turned to him. "When you are ready to arm-wrestle me I'll take you on." The other man sneered and went on pumping. The others in the room sensed a rise in tension. Starsky settled to work weights with his legs. The Sergeant Major came over and pulled his good leg away from the small platform that he was pressing away from his knees. "Just the left leg; the right leg is strong enough." The weights hovered and crashed back down. Across the room the arm-exerciser continued to clank rhythmically and the sergeant flashed Starsky a menacing grin.
The CO of the hospital was a career officer who had been in the Medical Corps since his freshman year at Princeton. He was the kind of old-fashioned New England type that actors like Raymond Massey played in the movies; reassuring and kind, but firm when he had to be. He was reading the citations in front of him.
Medal of Honor. Awarded by Congress to Lieutenant David Starsky for personal bravery and self-sacrifice in saving innocent women and children from an enemy attack.
Purple Heart: In the name of the President of the United States of America, Richard M. Nixon; Lieutenant David Starsky is awarded the Purple Heart for military merit and for his gallant actions resulting in his present injuries.
He read on. Starsky had apparently rescued a group of women and children when a village had come into the crossfire from an enemy attack. At risk to himself he had helped the Vietnamese civilians to safety and had taken a bullet in his leg before falling into a pit-trap that the Viet Cong had set. His fall cost him a broken pelvis and the rest of his injuries. General Winters smiled. He was looking forward to awarding these medals.
A group of patients that were able to stand unassisted and a couple in wheelchairs gathered on the hospital parade ground. They were in full uniform. Dave was balancing himself as steadily as he could on one crutch. His jacket hung looser than it had the day he had first worn it after the field promotion and a brief stint at OCS. He already had the ribbons of a Soldier's Medal, his Viet Nam service medal and his good Conduct Medal sewn above the pocket. His hat shielded his eyes from the sun. He stood to attention as best he could when General Winters called his name.
The General read out the citations again and stepped forward to hang first the blue ribbon with its thirteen white stars and then the dark purple ribbon around Starsky's neck.
The General then stepped over to a wheelchair and awarded the Purple Heart to Sergeant Thorn. As he returned to his place in front of the men to take a final salute he noticed that Starsky was shaking his head.
The next day in the rehab room Sergeant Major Clark noticed that Starsky and Thorn seemed to be deep in conversation – and that it didn't look like a friendly one. Thorn rolled his wheelchair over to the weight bench and Clark heard him say "keep your mouth shut, some of the others are still out there."
The next day Thorn was gone. The word was that he'd been transferred to another facility. But one of the little group that Dave sat with swore he'd seen the MPs escorting him.
When Starsky didn't report for his rehab session the next day Clark went to find him.
He was stopped outside Starsky's room by Dr. Laurence. "He had a bad night. His nightmares were worse than ever and he fell out of bed. He's not hurt but he has another of his migraines. I wish I knew what it was that is troubling him."
"I might have an idea. Let me know when he's Ok, I'd like to ask him something." Clark went back to his job.
After three migraines in a week Dave was beginning to resist having shots. He whimpered and drew his arm away; he tried to hide himself down the bed and on one occasion he lashed out and knocked the syringe out of the startled nurse's hand. He became semi-hysterical if anyone approached him with a hypodermic. Dr. Thomas and Dr. Laurence decided to resort to unconventional but effective methods – they gave him a joint. Some of the medics were beginning to look into reports that marijuana could not only have a calming effect but that it had a beneficial effect against the nausea created by some of the medicines prescribed. The research was unofficial (mostly resulting from the same medics' student pot-smoking days) and it would be many years before the medical community would reluctantly accept the findings. The two doctors knew that like many other soldiers in Viet Nam Dave Starsky had lightened the boredom with a joint. They allowed him to take a few tokes and when he had calmed down Laurence slipped the needle into his arm and gave him a shot of morphine. She eased the joint out from his fingers before he set fire to the blankets then cradled him in her arms and kissed his mouth.
Dear Mom
Stop panicking. I'm doing fine. I have a right to extra R&R and Hawaii is a great place to take it. Anyways I need to take stock of things a little. Plus the paperwork for a discharge takes a while.
You should see this place mom. The flowers and the scenery; the volcanoes are just beautiful, especially at night when they kind of glow in the distance.…
(the letter continues on a cheerful note for another page or so)
I love you momma
Dave
Dear Joe
Don't tell mom or anyone else but I'm still in the fucking hospital. You know what? I'd have been safer if I'd stayed in Brooklyn after all.
The damage was bad…I couldn't tell you at first but I nearly lost the leg. I'm still on crutches.
Look after her for me.
Dave.
Dear Uncle Al.
I wrote you at the office address so that Aunt Rosa doesn't see this. I trust you not to tell her.
I was badly injured. I nearly lost my leg and I'm going to be in this place for another few weeks before I finally get to come home.
I'll be in touch when I know when I'm getting out of here.
Dave.
Hey Huggy
I hope you are still working in that dive.
You once told me that I was your hero back in high school. Well try this for size – I got the Medal of Honor and the Purple Heart. I also got a smashed leg, and a whole bunch of other injuries that you wouldn't believe.
I hope they'll let me out of this joint soon and when I get back to LA guess where I'm coming for a drink!
Dave
Somehow he had kept his mom in the dark for six months!
Clark went over to where Starsky was pumping doggedly at the leg weights. He'd got the resistance up to forty pounds and he could nearly pump as fast with the left leg as with the right. He was still reluctant to give up his crutch – but his walking had improved enormously.
"I want to ask you something."
"Ask away – I don't have to answer, do I?" He grinned the lop-sided grin that had become a favorite with the nursing staff. Occasionally, very occasionally he even released a broad smile that lit up his face…but those smiles were still rare.
"It's something you said to Thorn. I felt tension between you two – you knew him, right?"
"You could say that."
"You said something about the damage M16s do…and that got me thinking. I looked at your file again. You weren't hit by the enemy were you Dave?"
Two deep blue eyes stared at him steadily, Starsky's face was expressionless.
"For my job I need to know what I'm dealing with. What damage has been done and how. M16 bullets explode the body – they shatter legs and arms; the damage is not the same with the AK47 that the Congs use. Oh we get guys in here occasionally who either turned their guns on themselves to get out – or who were hit by what the Pentagon likes to call friendly fire – but your story…there are witnesses to what you did. You rescued women and kids from an enemy attack on a village."
Starsky sighed and stopped pumping. He leaned forward and said softly, "how do you define 'enemy'?"
Clark looked at him. "I think we should quit for now Dave. Go get some air and I'll come and give you a few exercises outside."
Starsky released himself from the apparatus and stood up leaning heavily to the right. His legs were almost a pair in strength but the injury to his pelvis had thrown him slightly off balance. Clark's next job would be literally straightening him up. He watched as Starsky went outside – using the crutch as a support to steady himself.
Starsky was smoking a hand-rolled cigarette and Clark recognized the sweet musky fumes. "Hurting?"
"Sore. Inside and out. This," he waved the joint, "this helps ease both."
"Tell me about it."
"I can't."
Clark decided not to push the point.
It took Clark another six weeks to get Dave completely back to a level of fitness that would allow him to be discharged. The rehab sessions were interrupted for migraines too often for his liking. He had heard, however, that the young officer was certainly functioning normally in other physical activities. When Dr. Laurence was abruptly transferred to Stateside some people even wondered whether it was not just the nurses who fell to the charms of dark curly hair and deep blue eyes.
Finally, after what was beginning to feel like a life sentence, Lieutenant David Starsky received notification that the US Army had granted him an honorable discharge in recognition of his injuries and his bravery. He was, however, to hold himself available as a member of the US Army reserve.
Dear Joe
I get out of this place next week. I'm taking what you told me and I'll go to LA. I wish I could come and see mom, but I guess I've given her enough worries for a while.
I'll be in touch.
Dave.
Put the beer on ice Huggy. Stop. Coming home next week. Stop.
Sergeant Major Clark and General Winters watched as Lieutenant Starsky came out of the building. He still needed a stick but he had achieved a level of mobility that would amaze the surgeon who wanted to remove his leg. He was impeccable in his uniform with the ribbons of his medals neatly arranged on his chest. He turned and put his kitbag on the ground before flashing a broad grin and snapping a salute. Then he turned and walked to the jeep that was to take him to the airport.
"He's made a great recovery, Clark – you did a good job."
"Yes, but damn it he still walks like Marilyn Monroe."
They laughed and returned to their duties.
His flight arrived at LA in the middle of the afternoon. He found a 'phone box and slipped in a dime.
"Hi Uncle Al; I'm home. I guess I need a lift."
He went to the coffee shop and waited until his cousin came to find him.
Harvey was visibly impressed at the sight of his cousin in full uniform. "Wow! You look great."
"I'll feel better back in jeans and a t-shirt. Come on let's go. Hey give me the keys."
When Dave reached for the walking stick, Harvey's heart missed a beat.
Harvey looked embarrassed. "Uh Dave…I have something to tell you."
Starsky snapped his fingers. "Keys."
Harvey reluctantly handed him a set of keys and he looked at them.
"Hey these aren't the keys to the Mustang. Harvey…."
"It was an accident Dave. Merle tried, but…"
"You bust up my Mustang! You bust up my Mustang. Do you know how much I was looking forward to driving that car?"
Harvey said nothing; he was staring at his feet.
"Come on. Whatever these fit I'll drive it."
He stalked off ahead of his cousin and Harvey watched him as he limped to the door; leaning heavier on the stick than he had when he left the hospital.
I wonder if he'll ever tell us the whole story.