A/N: Any followers of Imjusthere61944 know this was one of his stories that were voted on during his last story, Beyond Normandy, and that Above and Beyond, won the voting. I have already messaged him asking permission to do this fic, and he has told me I can. Credit to Imjusthere61944 for the idea of this.
Disclaimer: I do not own any of Call of Duty, affiliates, game producers, any other things I forgot.
August 1st, 1967
South Vietnam
The Vietnam War
1st Infantry Division
1257/12:57 PM
"War is hell, and hell isn't much worse."
"Joe, Joe! We make bang bang, I love you long time!" Cried one of the Vietnamese women on the street.
Private Jeff Nicholson knew better than to respond, and so did the four men sitting beside him in the uncovered truck. His dad had raised him good, and he wouldn't dig be bought into the locals pleas for money, for prostitution for just a few dollars. According to what many locals had been yelling at their daughters in garbled English, they were supposed to be out in their fields, working the paddies to feed themselves through the war.
The trucks roared through the dusty streets, leaving the women behind with just dust in their faces.
In front of Jeff was Pvt. Kristopher Johnson, who had been drafted early last year, gone through training, and then finally been placed in the Division with him.
To his right was Cpl. Troy Barter, who was also a new recruit like Jeff, but had been a supposed "good boy" in basic training and was promoted to fill an empty spot in the squad.
The man to the left of Johnson was Pvt. Xavier Wells, a tough young scrapper from Tennessee, who had been from a poor family in need of the G.I. Bill he'd heard about. So he signed up, went through training, and was now smiling that smile than only a country boy could master, his blonde wiry hair sticking straight out in all directions, his helmet in his lap.
The last man was Sergeant First Class Brian Ring, who was smoking a cigarette as the trucks roared on to their destination. The sergeant had seen some time on the front and wasn't making small talk with the others, instead staring into space through the smoke he blew.
"So, hick, you grow a lot of corn back in that lifeless state?" Johnson asked, looking at the kid, who just smiled back.
One of his front teeth were missing, but he still had that smile only country kids could pull off. "Well, I reckon the corn we did grow was pretty good tastin', but we never did grow much, even when the other farms did..." The boy stared off into space, probably remembering his family he'd joined up to support.
"Your mama ever tell you that you'd probably end up dead in this war?" Johnson asked after the country man looked over at him.
"My mama always told me ta keep a level head, never go chargin' in to the fight, and help my buddies... I supposed that'd be you guys now!" He broke into a wide smile and looked over at Jeff, who grinned back and nodded, his M14 rifle bouncing in the air as they hit a bump in the road.
"Oh, we'll get along just fine, hick." Johnson remarked, pulling out a pair of candy bars.
"The hell did you get that from?" Jeff asked, eying the draftee suspiciously as he unwrapped a bar and examined it.
Johnson bit into the chocolate and laughed, looking over at Barter, who unveiled his own pair of the sweet chocolate that Jeff missed from home.
"Oh, just a little present we took from the cooks back at camp... Little bastards were holding out on us." Barter replied and grinned, unwrapping one and handing the other to him. Johnson handed his other bar to Wells, who unwrapped it and began taking slow bites from the candy, savoring it. Poverty had taught the young country boy to love food, the taste of it, and the smallest amount of it. He would never pass up a scrap of food unless it was in the worst state in the world.
"You're not a country boy, hick, you're a regular street rat, nibbling on anything he can find." Johnson joked, getting a laugh from all but the sergeant, who was still back in his own thoughts.
Jeff's mind began to wander as the trucks rumbled on, girls still yelling at them as they passed, promising love for a long time. The prostitutes really should be in their paddies, instead of selling themselves to the G.I.s
Jeff opened the door and stepped inside, the odor of his mother's cooking entering his nostrils. He gripped the papers in his hands and prepared for the lecture he'd get for his mother for joining up, but he knew his dad would be understanding.
"Ma?" He called, and the woman's head peered around the corner of the doorway to his left, peering at him suspiciously. Usually when he returned home, he went straight to his room to continue reading, or head into the kitchen to get a snack before heading out again.
"Yea, hon?" She asked, turning back to the kitchen where she was cooking something on the stove, the smell making Jeff's stomach growl.
"Ma, I..." Jeff left it unfinished and stepped into the kitchen. His favorite dinner was cooking on the stove, a succulent steak, and his mother was preparing to cook more food for the dinner.
"You what? Is something wrong?" She turned to him, her blonde hair swinging behind her as she stared at him, as if she was staring deeply into his soul. That stare had worked on Jeff before, and now he couldn't even think of lying to her about joining, nor could he put it off 'til later that night.
"Ma... I..."
The truck his a bump, and he was roused from his memories, the other men conversing in low voices. His chocolate bar was nearly gone, and he realized he'd been absentmindedly eating it as he remembered the day he'd broken the news to his family, the day his mother had cried, the the his father had smiled but been sad to see him go, the day his sister begged him to stay... He hated himself now, but he was her, and he had to fight.
"Hick, are you kidding me? No way you beat up that many kids when you was only twelve!" Barter yelled, eying Wells in a way that made Jeff think the country boy was a killer, a serial killer.
"Too true, sir. Now, ya see, these four guys was comin' at me, and I mean they was tryin' ta knock me out cold, so I ducked under 'em and kicked this one in the gut, and ya know how ya do when ya get hit in the gut, ya keel over and stuff, ya know? Well, he did that, and then these two others was tryin' t-" Wells got cut off.
"Private, if we wanted an account of your life, we'd ask you for it." Ring interrupted, blowing smoke at the private, who just stared at the sergeant, dumbfounded about what he'd done wrong. He'd been asked to give an account on his fight, not his life. He scratched his head in wonder as the group fell silent.
"YOU WHAT!?" His mother yelled, grabbing the papers out of his hands and looking at them in a way that made Jeff compare his mother to a stalker, one that would watch their prey intently day after day, making sure they knew everything about them.
"Jack!" His mother called after she examined the document, and voice called back softly.
"Hold on Laura, I'll be there in a second!"
Jeff's father walked into the room, a newspaper in hand, a pencil in the other. His father had taken up crosswords and whatnot after the second world war as a distraction, and it seemed to keep him occupied, at least until he and his old friend Leroy Huxley got together.
"Your son signed up for the military! He wants to go over to that damned country and fight a pointless war! Talk him out of it right now!" His mother demanded, pointing at Jeff while looking up at her taller husband.
"Laura... there's nothing I can do, he's in the system now, and they'll get him for desertion if he backs out after he's joined... Would you want your boy to go to prison, honey?" His father asked, rubbing his forehead and leaning on the table.
"It's safer than being in that country where the enemy creep around through their jungles and cut the throats of men who rest for a minute!" His mother screamed back, tears streaming down her face.
"Life in prison, Laura." His father repeated, putting deep emphasis on the first word.
"But... He can't go to war, Jack! He's barely of age, and now he's going to war... He's too much like you!" His mother countered, and Jeff felt uncomfortable watching his mother like this.
"Too much like me? I left because of Robert, and you damn well know that! He called me a coward, and that was the last time I ever saw him! Can you imagine seeing your own brother for the last time and him calling you a coward, and you never seeing him after that! It's hell, Laura! I can't believe you would say that!" His father burst, the newspaper slamming onto the table, his face turning a deep red color as he looked down at his wife.
"This isn't about your brother, Jack! It's about our son, and the fact that he went and signed up for the war without even telling us!" His mother whispered back.
"Nichols... You okay?" Barter shook his shoulder, and Jack realized he was near tears, remembering that day.
"Yeah... I'm fine." He responded in a dull tone, noticing Johnson and Wells were at it again, this time about how Wells had used to hunt small animals back in Tennessee, that he could hit a squirrel in the eye from over a hundred feet away with a .22.
"Bullshit, hick, and you know it!" Johnson exclaimed.
August 1st, 1967
South Vietnam
The Vietnam War
1st Infantry Division
1502/3:02 PM
The barracks was crowded, with three other squads occupying the small space, they were forced to share footlockers. Jeff was paired with Wells, who immediately stowed all of his family photos, his items, and his stash of rations he and Barter had gotten from the cooks in training. Jeff doubted they'd last a week in there, that an inspection would get him a punishment, but that was the country boy's problem, not his.
"Hick, ya got pictures of your pigs and other animals in there?' Johnson ribbed the young man, who took the comments like usual and responded in that manner of his.
"Naw, but they deserve a spot. Ol' Bessie was always a good cow, til last year... She died, but she lived a good ol' life, and ma and pa couldn't 'ave asked for more." The kid's eyes were misted over, but then they cleared up, and the upbeat manner returned as he looked over at Johnson.
"Well, this will certainly be an interesting time in 'Nam." Ring muttered, stowing his gear with his partner, Barter.
Jeff unpacked his bag and below the photos hung by Wells, he placed a picture of his mother, before she'd learned of him signing up. Next to her was his father's picture, him dressed up in his old outfit from WWII, his helmet resting lazily on his head.
Underneath that was his own picture, him smiling during summer of the previous year, his dad's arm around him, though he was off-screen.
Next to that was his sister's picture. Christina was fourteen, and was entering the rebellious stage he'd gone through, though she was still the loving child when they were alone together. Her blonde hair mirrored her mother's, and her smile was just as nice as his mother's as well, not showing too much teeth, but so genuine he nearly teared up.
Underneath them all, he had a family picture from when he'd graduated from high school, his outfit still on, his diploma in hand, all of them standing together. Written on the bottom edge of the photo was something he'd written himself, and would always remember.
Jeff Nicholson, son of Jack Nicholson. Veteran of World War II, believer of peace and prosperity in the darkest of times.
A/N: R&R, hope you enjoyed the first chapter. I am from Tennessee, and I believe that I captured Wells' accent quite nicely, but if you have any comments, feel free to post them in a review of just message me on my profile.
~DeltaG