Disclaimer: I do not own these characters and do not claim to. I'm just
using them to my own ends.
Comments: *sweatdrops* I made a few logistical errors in the first chapter, which I went back and fixed. I made notes of them there, but in case you don't want to go back and sniff them out, I'll mention them quickly. The helicopters that Ken and Schu fly are not Hueys, they are Bell UH-1 Iroquois. I was confused. Hueys are assault, two person choppers, and Ken and Schu probably -could- fly them, but they don't, they fly transport aircraft. There are some notes on the choppers in the last chapter that I wrote in when I fixed the mistakes. Read them if you want. Anyway, other than that I hope you are enjoying the fic so far. This chapter is kind slow, sorry, cause its only the second chapter. Please read and review!! I want to know if this is any good. And let me know if the characters seem too OOC. *sweatdrops* I hope not, although Crawford is a little weird or something. And don't worry! The other guys will show up eventually. and as for whether or not this is going to end up shonen-ai. go and read the first chapter comments!! R&R.
A couple notes (read if you want):
Mekong River Delta: The Mekong River flows through the southern part of South Vietnam. Most of the Southern tip of the country is a huge, swampy drainage area. As such it was the perfect place during the war for the Viet Cong to set up guerilla warfare and booby traps. It is hot, swampy, buggy, and very hazardous. Helicopters were used in this area a lot in order to fly infantry troop in and out of the jungle.
Just a quick note on the Vietnam War, in case anybody was confused. The war went like this: North vs. South. North was communist and consisted of the North Vietnamese Army and the Viet Cong (guerilla units). The South was democratic and was the side that the Americans fought on. The Sough Vietnamese were not very welcoming of our support. Other allied nations who fought during the Vietnam War were France and Australia. The war took place during the sixties and early seventies. The American forces eventually pulled out of Vietnam and the South fell to the North. (aka: we lost.)
On to the story!
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In my mind's eye I remember the Lieutenant Commander something like this. He was tall, leggy even, with hair that was a deep bluish/black color hanging over the rims of his glasses. Glasses which always made him seem slightly reminiscent of John Lennon. He had a habit of adjusting his glasses, pushing them up his nose, pulling them down his nose, taking them off, lifting them up, chewing on the their wires, etc.whenever he became annoyed. Which if I remember correctly was quite often. Lieutenant Commander Crawford had the air of a man who was battling furiously to stay afloat in the sea of idiots that surrounded him, and doing so seemed to fray his nerves down to nothing. Crawford tried very hard to be a man who breached no insubordination, took no shit from those posted beneath him, he wanted to be a ruthless commander, and played war by the book. And with the cast of characters who eventually came to settle at the Pang Nuan base it's a wonder, now that I can look back on it, that the poor, beleaguered man didn't become homicidal. His hands often shook with a suppressed rage that threatened to break forth and strangle the nearest private. Quite often it was only his fellow commanding officers, such as our own Lieutenant Kudou, who could calm him down, hauling him forcefully away from a blood-pressure-raising confrontation with Schuldich.
The Lieutenant Commander was always a lot calmer after a few glasses of brandy.
It's so sad really. I know now that he just wanted to win the war so badly that it consumed his life. And sadder still is that he actually thought he could do it single handedly.
The first time I met Lieutenant Commander Bradley Crawford was at assembly that first night in Pang Nuan. I followed Schuldich and Farfarello from the barracks to the training field, which had been set up with a system of temporary bleachers. Schuldich steered me towards several different groups of men milling about, conversing with themselves. He introduced me to some of the guys from the 194th AHC and a few infantry companies as well. Most were happy to shake hands and give the perfunctory nod, but there was no immediate bond, no feeling of brotherhood. I guessed I was going to have to prove myself. So far I seemed to be the newest guy out there.
After a few minutes of being passed around with Schuldich I decided I'd had enough. Stepping away from the conversing soldiers I headed towards the rickety bleacher ensemble. It was then that I noticed Ran Fujimiya leaning nonchalantly against the end. His eyes were halfway closed, as if he was dozing or simply meditating. His arms were crossed across his chest.
For some reason I felt as if he owed me an explanation for what had occurred earlier in the barracks. I was curious as to what Jei had been alluding to, and why it had caused such a violent reaction in the seemingly levelheaded redhead. Well, that and I felt drawn to him. He and I would be directly responsible for each other's lives for as long as we served together in the 326th, and I was not satisfied with how our relationship was progressing.
"Fujimiya!" I called out, jogging towards him, pushing past olive drab bodies. I noticed that my cry brought a bit more attention from the other soldiers than I'd expected. A few heads popped up to glance in my direction, eyes swiveled and I felt a strange hesitancy in the air. I ignored all of this, moving intently towards my target.
His eyes shifted towards me, narrowing slightly, his head inclining ever so slightly. His body shifted in my direction as he straightened to stare passively. "Hn?"
"Ken Hidaka, remember?" I said a bit more out of breath that I thought I would be, coming to stand in front of him. I held out my hand again, and immediately felt like a fool for doing so.
He glanced down at my hand and then up into my face, narrowing his eyes again. "I know who you are. We just met, Hidaka," he said slowly in a voice that was flawless, emotionless.
I drew my hand back, nervously wiping my palms on my legs and smiled apologetically. "Yeah, I know. I just. I felt that maybe we didn't have the greatest of introductions," I'd replied lamely.
"Our introduction was fine. We shook hands. What more do you want?" he asked, seeming genuinely confused.
Unable to think of anything to say immediately I said nothing, and simply shrugged instead, turning away to look over the training field full of men. The air was thick with impatience and tension. I felt as if half of it was coming straight from Fujimiya. Eventually, without looking back at him I said, "I just thought. maybe we should get to know more about each other. since we'll be serving together. I mean directly serving together, you know. We might want to.," at this I did turn my head and was nearly frozen by the coldness of his eyes, "get to know each other." I finished in little more than a whisper.
His frozen eyes, narrow and hostile held me in their grip for a few moments more and then he slowly said, "All I need to know about you is that you can fly a helicopter. Can you?"
Taken aback by his open disdain, I'd been unable to do anything but nod dully,.
"Good. I don't want to know anything else about you, Hidaka."
I fought to find something biting to say, but even as I struggled to find the right words I knew my efforts would be wasted. It was rapidly becoming obvious that nothing made its way through the ice wall of Private Ran Fujimiya. Still, I opened my mouth to snap something in reply, but was distracted by a sudden commotion.
Lt. Kudou came bounding onto the field, tipped his head back and yelled, "Everybody sit down!"
There was a momentary lull in the conversation, a few heads popped up, a few feet shuffled towards the bleachers.
"Now!" Kudou screamed again, taking of his hat and waving it around.
A few more feet shuffled towards the bleachers, a few more heads popped up to look at the flailing Lieutenant.
"That's an order, soldiers! Don't make me court marshal all of your sorry asses!"
At this there was a general groan of annoyance, but all feet turned towards the bleachers. I watched, unable to tear my eyes away from the throng of mobile men, fascinated by the power of organized leadership.
"Shouldn't you go find a seat, Hidaka?" Fujimiya said to me in his cold voice.
I turned away from him without another word, and took the first open seat available to me. It was then that I first saw Lt. Commander Crawford.
He ambled slowly onto the field, his hands in his pockets, his sleeves rolled up to his elbows. As he made his way to the front of the bleachers he began to play with his glasses, it looked as if he was talking to himself. A calculating half smile never left his face. I couldn't decide if it made him look more Mona Lisa or more Mad Hatter. He stood, waiting for the last of us to settle down, languidly brushing at the stripes on his arms. A few of the gutsier soldiers had the nerve to catcall in his general direction. By the way his eye twitched it was obvious that Crawford was working his way towards a stress headache.
"Gentlemen," he'd said at length, giving his glasses one last push up his nose, and raising his eyes, looking over the bleachers, "you are one sorry bunch of sons of bitches. Words cannot express my feelings towards you all."
"Aw, aint that sweet?" one anonymous voice called out.
"You wanna pick out curtains already?" another cried.
Crawford only smiled slowly. "But tonight I will put my personal feelings aside. Because tonight I am here for one reason and one reason only. and that is to blow sunshine up each and every one of your asses."
"We like it when you talk dirty, Crawford!" another voice shouted out. There was some general snickering.
Crawford raised his eyebrows and then shook his head, smiling to himself. "I asked that you soldiers converge here this evening so that I might welcome you, personally, to your new home. Welcome to Vietnam, welcome to the Mekong River Delta, and welcome to Pang Nuan. You are all here for one reason, to give your lives for the lives of your fellow man. No, for democracy! For all the Gook babies who don't eat at night and the Gook women who cry themselves to sleep because their babies are dying." The speech crept from the corners of his mouth like smoke, so see through were his words. But the languid way with which he said them, the casual, anti enthusiasm with which they were delivered let us know that he knew this. It told us he was on our side, he was as undiluted by the war as the rest of us, he didn't believe his own words. Here he'd paused and swayed, rubbing his temples. "This is what they told you at the recruiting stations, anyway. If you ask me, it's a crock of shit."
The bleachers burst into sudden, deafening applause, shouts and screams cut the thick, muggy air. A large mosquito landed on my arm. I killed it. The first thing I killed in Vietnam was a mosquito.
"What," Crawford said, continuing slowly, "we are really fighting this war for is a mystery. The reasons we allow ourselves to be marched around in swamps, eaten alive by insects, blow apart, captured, tortured, shot, dismembered, and infected with any number 'rare' and incurable diseases are not revealed to us on any terms we understand. Most of you are here because you have bad luck. Unlucky numbers were drawn and the next thing you knew you were on a plane with a new suit and a new haircut. We are fighting a war for a group of people who do not want our help and who look down upon our assistance, so why do we bother? Politics, I'm sure. We don't ask. The big man says we march and we do. But what about our babies and our women? Who will bring food to them and who will comfort them when they cry at night in their grief if all of their men have given their lives for others?" Again Crawford paused, tucking his hands into his pockets, he tipped his head back and swayed on his feet.
No one had looked at anyone else, choosing instead to remain alone with their own thoughts. I toyed with my dog tags, thinking how I did not have to worry about any child or woman left alone. I probably never would. Vaguely I wondered if Fujimiya did.
"And yet," the Lieutenant Commander continued at length, "we have little choice in the matter. Go AWOL, get discharged if you can, or maybe you could have run away to Canada before you got this far, bit late for that now."
The thought of Canada made my cheeks flush, and I looked down at my feet. For a moment I became lost in my personal thoughts, my memories, my regrets. The reason I was in Vietnam was in Canada. I closed my eyes and listened to the strange sound of Lt. Commander Crawford's voice as it worked its slow spell over the gathered men.
"No, boys, I'm afraid to say that you're stuck here. But we can't leave all those American women and babies left alone to cry, now can we? And that's where my job comes in. See, it's your job to be willing to give your lives, but it's my job to keep you alive. Remember that when I give my orders and when you receive the orders of your company leaders. Welcome to Pang Nuan Base, soldiers. Now go get drunk and play with a ball, or whatever it is you lowlifes do for fun. I have paperwork to finish."
The men on the benches erupted into shouts again, raising fists and slapping each other on the back. The odd spell had been broken, and it was pretty obvious that getting drunk and playing with a ball was pretty high on the list of things to do. I wondered absently who supplied the booze. the army?
Crawford gave us all a halfhearted salute and then ambled off the field, adjusting his glasses.
The air was filled with a tense expectancy as the benches began to clear out. I heard Lt. Kudou's clear voice ring out over the sound of milling men.
"I want the 37th armored infantry to dismantle and stow that atrocity, now! That's an order, soldiers."
I'd glanced around, looking for the source of his voice and noted with some curiosity that he was standing beside Ran Fujimiya in such a way that it seemed obvious that they had been conversing. He was pointing up at the bleachers. I could only assume that they were about to be dismantled by the 37th armored and so rose to vacate the premises. For some reason I kept the Lieutenant and Fujimiya in sight, watching them out of the corner of my eye as I made my way over the benches. Kudou turned back to the tense looking man and said something which actually made him smile. The change that came over his face was amazing. Even from as far away from them as I was I could tell that he looked like an entirely different person. I was surprised when Kudou clapped him on the shoulder and then turned away, scanning the field. It seemed that Fujimiya was selective in his coldness. then again, Kudou was our commanding officer. I wondered if even Fujimiya felt obliged to keep the man in good humor. But it didn't seem as if Fujimiya was really the kind of guy who cared.
"Oi, Hidaka! There you are, just the man I wanted to talk to." The voice of the Lieutenant cut my thoughts apart.
As I stepped over the last bench I turned to greet him, but his arm was already slung around my shoulder, hauling me away again before I could begin to open my mouth.
"Come have a smoke with me, pilot."
"Er. I don't smoke, sir," I said hastily, pulling on his arm in an attempt to stop him from choking me.
"No? Good for you, it'll make your life here a lot less expensive I can tell you that! Well, come and sit with me on a pile of wood while I smoke then. You didn't want to play foot ball anyway, right?" he chirped, grinning at me brightly.
"Er. no. Sir." I was actually looking forward to working off some of my anxiety, but there was nothing for it now.
"That's what I thought. Stupid game. Just chasing a bunch of guys around and slamming into them and rolling around in the mud. Might as well play 'smear the queer.'"
I tried to think of something to say, but couldn't. Lt. Kudou's arm was beginning to feel heavy around my neck.
The 'pile of wood' that Kudou advised me to sit on with him was situated at the far end of the training field. It was actually a pile of beams left over from the camp's construction. He perched on top of them and immediately lit a cigarette, taking a long, even drag, exhaling into the graying sky.
"Smoke keeps the bugs away. That's why I think most of the guys here start smoking. Keeps the bugs away," he's looked over at me with intense green eyes and smiled dimly. He patted the beams, pulling his legs up to his chest. "Have a seat, Hidaka, but don't wiggle around. You don't want to know what lives under this pile."
I eyed the pile warily and then sat down beside the Crew Chief, following his suit, wrapping my arms around my legs.
"So. you got settled then?"
I thought back to the confrontation in the barracks.
"More or less," I answered.
"That's good. So. Talk to me, Hidaka. You're the newest member of my company, and the only guy I don't know shit about. Tell me about you."
I'd glanced up at him, and remembering Ran Fujimiya's words on the subject of getting to know people, blurted out, "Why do you want to know?"
Kudou looked at me, his eyes furrowed, and then blew a stream of smoke out of the corner of his mouth. "Because if you die tomorrow, somebody has to remember. I'm your Crew Chief, it ought to be me."
His words struck something inside of me. If I died tomorrow.. I could have died the next day and it really wouldn't have mattered. There was no one left who cared anymore, I'd made sure of that before I left home. That's why I was here after all. But looking at Lieutenant Kudou I was surprised and a little frightened at how much I wanted someone to remember, and how glad I was that it would be him. Suddenly I wanted to tell him everything.
Instead I opened my mouth and said, "What do you want to know?"
He'd smiled and taken another drag. "Where were you born?"
"San Francisco Bay area. My mother and father were both Nisei.,"
"Meaning?"
"They were first generation Japanese Americans. Their parents emigrated from Japan in the twenties. My mother's family settled in San Fran and my father's family went to the Seattle area."
"That's quite a distance, how'd they ever hook up? Match maker or some shit?"
I could tell that Youji wasn't quite sure if he should say that jokingly or not. It was odd. It was obvious from Youji's name that he was at least partly Japanese himself, but he seemed completely ignorant of his own culture.
I blinked at him and then turned my face away. "No. They met in a Japanese interment camp in Northern California during World War II."
The silence that followed was thick and expected. "Aw, that's shitty, man. I heard that the States did that. Hard to believe. They give good talk about democracy and all that, but. real shitty thing to do to American citizens."
"Yeah. But hey, if they hadn't I wouldn't be here, I guess."
"That's one way to think about it. So what else about you? You got a girl back home? Any dogs, brothers, sisters, other family members in the war?" Youji pressed.
For a moment I wanted to tell him everything. I wanted to tell him all about the girl at home, all about my family, the reason I was at war with no reason to be there. I wanted him to hear about how much crap they were. For just a moment I desperately wanted someone to understand. But I knew Youji Kudou probably wasn't the guy to tell. He wasn't the guy who was going to understand. I wasn't going to find that guy. Guys get kicked out of the military for being 'that guy.' So instead of telling him all about Yuriko Asakawa, the 'nice Japanese girl' who'd always been my mother's favorite, I just shook my head. "No, not really. I don't talk to my family much these days. Older brother, older sister, no one special waiting at home. That's about it."
Youji'd turned his head, his cigarette dangling from his lip and had given me a lazy eyed look. "That's it? So tomorrow if you die, I'll just say, 'Ken Hidaka? Yeah I remember him. Japanese kid from San Fran. Had a family. That's about it.'?"
"Sadly," I said, smiling at him, "that is about it."
"Well.," he drawled languidly, "suit yourself, but I can tell there is a lot more you're not telling me. Don't tell me if you don't want to," he said hastily holding up his hands, "but remember. If you die tomorrow, that's all that's gonna get passed on."
I smiled. This thought comforted me. It wouldn't be so bad to just be some Japanese kid from the bay area.
We sat in silence, Kudou smoking his cigarette slowly, as I watched as the training field filled up with men. They moved about, horsing around with each other, laughing and joking, pushing and shoving until somewhere a whistle blew and something organized began to happen.
"Can you tell me anything about any of them?" I asked finally, waving my hand vaguely at the field.
"Sure can. I know almost every man at this base, and I know everyone in 326th real well. Ask and you shall receive."
I scanned the field, searching for the shocking orange hair of my fellow pilot. I found him eventually, tossing a ball up into the air, conversing snidely with a group of scruffy looking soldiers.
I pointed. "Let's start with Max Wolff."
"Max Wolff?" Kudou seemed to roll the words around in his mouth, trying to figure out where they fit. "Ah! You mean Schuldich, right? Ha, I forget the guy's got a real name. Schu. Schu. Schu. where to start?" He paused for a moment.
"Why not start with his nickname," I suggested, sitting back.
"Ha! Why not? It's German for 'guilty'. I asked Schuldich about it once and he told me that his 'Oma' called him that because he was such a bastard of a little kid. If something went wrong at his house she'd just scream, 'Schuldich!' and since he usually was, the name just stuck. But here the only thing Schu is guilty of is being a one cocky son of a bitch, and rightfully so, he's the best pilot this army's got as far as I'm concerned. He's guilty of that and killing a damned lot of Gooks.
"His grand parents immigrated right before the start of WWII, settled in New York state. Two generations later you have Schuldich. That's really all I know about the guy. He has a huge family though. Something like ten brothers and sisters. He's a good guy to keep on your side."
I nodded slowly. I guess that made sense. I was pretty glad to have Schuldich on my side for the time being anyway. I noted that Jei Farfarello was now standing at Schu's elbow. I pointed him out next.
"What the deal with Farfarello?"
Lieutenant Kudou snorted at this and snubbed out his cigarette on the top of the plank he was sitting on.
"Jei? He's crazy. Period, end of sentence, that guy was dropped one too many times as a baby. His family's from New York City, part of the Irish mafia. The guy's a nut ball, but one hell of a gutsy door gunner. And he's still alive, so who am I to say he doesn't have the secret in his pocket? He's been flying with Schuldich for over six months now. That's a long time for a door gunner and single pilot to work together. Usually you get transferred around or one of you ends up dead, but not those two." Kudou shook his head.
"What's up with his hair?" I asked, smiling wickedly.
Kudou burst out laughing and reached for another cigarette. "That's the first thing I noticed too. It's some kind of recessive Irish trait, I guess. Some people of Irish descent start to go gray when they are in their late teens early twenties. Isn't that weird. Their hair just goes. poof! And it's all white. He's another one to keep on the good side of. Especially since you have to bunk near him. I would not want that crazy mother fucker watching over me in -my- sleep I can tell you that."
I had to laugh and so I did. It felt good to laugh out loud. Youji joined me and for a few moments we just sat, laughing together for no real reason. It confirmed our humanity. When we were done I sighed heavily and watched as Kudou lit up his next cigarette.
I waited for a few moments before searching out the lean figure of my bunk mate and door gunner. I could not find him anywhere amongst the other soldiers, so instead of pointing him out I simply said, "What's the deal with my door gunner, Ran Fujimiya?"
Lt. Kudou took an extra long drag on his cigarette, exhaling in one long, steady stream. "What's the deal with Fujimiya?" he said quietly, more to himself than to me. "That is an interesting question, Ken Hidaka, and I was wondering if you'd been here long enough to ask it. I guess you have."
"I don't mean to be rude, sir," I broke in.
Kudou had just waved his hand dismissively and taken another drag on his cigarette.
"It's just that he's a little. cold, hostile or something. He practically got in a fistfight with Farfarello when they introduced us. It was odd. I don't remember exactly what Farfarello was saying to the guy, but whatever it was really rubbed him the wrong way."
Kudou nodded. "Yeah I heard about that. Farf likes to stir the shit to make it stink. He's just that kinda guy."
"What shit is there to stir, sir?"
Kudou had chuckled at this and leaned back on his arms. "What shit is there to stir? When it comes to Ran Fujimiya, there's a lot of shit and it all stinks. The thing is, kid, the guy's cursed. Jinxed. See, door gunners have an average shelf life of something between four and six months. If they don't get shot dead or shot out of commission by then it's an act of God, something to celebrate, and you can sure as spit put money down that they won't last out the year. At least that's how it usually goes. Wanna take a gander at how long Ran Fujimiya has been flying as a door gunner?"
I shrugged, watching Youji's green eyes as he talked. Half the story seemed to be there.
"Two years," Kudou said slowly, and then took another drag. "Two years is a fucking amazing amount of time for -anyone- to last out here who doesn't have stripes on their shoulders. It is an -insane- amount of time for a door gunner to last."
"So, he's cursed because he never gets shot out of the sky? Doesn't sound like such a bad thing to me."
Kudou shook his head and slapped absently at a mosquito. "That's not the real issue. The real issue is that a pilot is expected to live through usually two or three door gunners before he's moved to flying freight or whatever. Fujimiya has outlived every single one of his pilots. Six men, pilots, who do -not- have that high of a death rate, have died in crash and burn missions, all of which he has walked away from. Every single pilot that has flow Ran Fujimiya has not just crashed the chopper or been wounded or put out of commission, oh no, they have all died. The story goes that one of the pilots he flew with was his best friend, some guy he'd know his whole life. Grew up with him and all that shit. Yuushi Matsumoto or Makimachi or Miagi or something like that. Anyway, so he insisted on becoming Ran's new pilot despite Ran's protestations, and sure enough he died in some fluke accident during a retrieval mission. Fujimiya blamed himself for the guy's death. That was three pilots ago, but he's been fucked up ever since and his pilots haven't stopped dying."
The last words hung in the air for a few minutes and my eyes locked with the Lieutenant's.
I swallowed and blinked my eyes. "Well. is he some sort of psychopath who purposefully causes the deaths of his pilots or something?" I asked nervously.
Kudou waved his hand dismissively and snickered. "God no! The guy's just cursed, kid, that's all. I mean, don't get me wrong, I don't wish any ill will on you, Hidaka, you seem like a great guy, but as far as Ran and the 326th is concerned you're probably already dead. If Ran seems a little cold to you, it's just that he's been burned one time too many by making it nice with his pilot. After a while when they all keep dying. you just don't set yourself up for that. In fact you go and do the opposite. He'll do his best to alienate you, and it's highly likely that the others will do the same. At least until you've proven yourself to be a survivor."
I stared out at nothing and felt the strangest sense of acceptance. It seemed so ironically right that I, a man who cared nothing for living, had become among my peers the most likely to die. I understood that I would be an outcast among the 326th and I found this, too, fitting. I also realized that the pseudo interest of Schuldich and Farfarello was probably no more than just some morbid fascination. Oddly, this did not bother me.
I felt the weight of Kudou's hand on my head as he ruffled my hair. I remember thinking that I ought to be insulted at being patronized, but never managed to feel anything but warmth. "Don't let it get you down, Ken."
I shrugged. "I'm used to being an outcast. I don't mind. I guess if I die, then I'll do what they expect and they'll get over it. And if I don't, mores the better."
"You're a weird kid, Hidaka. You sure you don't want a smoke?"
I just shook my head and got up off the beam pile. "No, I don't smoke, but thanks anyway. I think I'll head to bed."
He smiled and turned his green eyes to the training field. "Suit yourself. Good night then, soldier."
I waved absently and headed off towards the barracks. It felt good to finally know my place.
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PS. I forgot to mention it, but that genetic trait Youji went into about Farf's hair. it's true! This is a real recessive trait that is prominent in people of Irish descent. I have a really good friend who is like this. Her hair went white when she was twenty!! So just didn't want anybody to think I was making weird shit up. Fact is stranger than fiction!
Comments: *sweatdrops* I made a few logistical errors in the first chapter, which I went back and fixed. I made notes of them there, but in case you don't want to go back and sniff them out, I'll mention them quickly. The helicopters that Ken and Schu fly are not Hueys, they are Bell UH-1 Iroquois. I was confused. Hueys are assault, two person choppers, and Ken and Schu probably -could- fly them, but they don't, they fly transport aircraft. There are some notes on the choppers in the last chapter that I wrote in when I fixed the mistakes. Read them if you want. Anyway, other than that I hope you are enjoying the fic so far. This chapter is kind slow, sorry, cause its only the second chapter. Please read and review!! I want to know if this is any good. And let me know if the characters seem too OOC. *sweatdrops* I hope not, although Crawford is a little weird or something. And don't worry! The other guys will show up eventually. and as for whether or not this is going to end up shonen-ai. go and read the first chapter comments!! R&R.
A couple notes (read if you want):
Mekong River Delta: The Mekong River flows through the southern part of South Vietnam. Most of the Southern tip of the country is a huge, swampy drainage area. As such it was the perfect place during the war for the Viet Cong to set up guerilla warfare and booby traps. It is hot, swampy, buggy, and very hazardous. Helicopters were used in this area a lot in order to fly infantry troop in and out of the jungle.
Just a quick note on the Vietnam War, in case anybody was confused. The war went like this: North vs. South. North was communist and consisted of the North Vietnamese Army and the Viet Cong (guerilla units). The South was democratic and was the side that the Americans fought on. The Sough Vietnamese were not very welcoming of our support. Other allied nations who fought during the Vietnam War were France and Australia. The war took place during the sixties and early seventies. The American forces eventually pulled out of Vietnam and the South fell to the North. (aka: we lost.)
On to the story!
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In my mind's eye I remember the Lieutenant Commander something like this. He was tall, leggy even, with hair that was a deep bluish/black color hanging over the rims of his glasses. Glasses which always made him seem slightly reminiscent of John Lennon. He had a habit of adjusting his glasses, pushing them up his nose, pulling them down his nose, taking them off, lifting them up, chewing on the their wires, etc.whenever he became annoyed. Which if I remember correctly was quite often. Lieutenant Commander Crawford had the air of a man who was battling furiously to stay afloat in the sea of idiots that surrounded him, and doing so seemed to fray his nerves down to nothing. Crawford tried very hard to be a man who breached no insubordination, took no shit from those posted beneath him, he wanted to be a ruthless commander, and played war by the book. And with the cast of characters who eventually came to settle at the Pang Nuan base it's a wonder, now that I can look back on it, that the poor, beleaguered man didn't become homicidal. His hands often shook with a suppressed rage that threatened to break forth and strangle the nearest private. Quite often it was only his fellow commanding officers, such as our own Lieutenant Kudou, who could calm him down, hauling him forcefully away from a blood-pressure-raising confrontation with Schuldich.
The Lieutenant Commander was always a lot calmer after a few glasses of brandy.
It's so sad really. I know now that he just wanted to win the war so badly that it consumed his life. And sadder still is that he actually thought he could do it single handedly.
The first time I met Lieutenant Commander Bradley Crawford was at assembly that first night in Pang Nuan. I followed Schuldich and Farfarello from the barracks to the training field, which had been set up with a system of temporary bleachers. Schuldich steered me towards several different groups of men milling about, conversing with themselves. He introduced me to some of the guys from the 194th AHC and a few infantry companies as well. Most were happy to shake hands and give the perfunctory nod, but there was no immediate bond, no feeling of brotherhood. I guessed I was going to have to prove myself. So far I seemed to be the newest guy out there.
After a few minutes of being passed around with Schuldich I decided I'd had enough. Stepping away from the conversing soldiers I headed towards the rickety bleacher ensemble. It was then that I noticed Ran Fujimiya leaning nonchalantly against the end. His eyes were halfway closed, as if he was dozing or simply meditating. His arms were crossed across his chest.
For some reason I felt as if he owed me an explanation for what had occurred earlier in the barracks. I was curious as to what Jei had been alluding to, and why it had caused such a violent reaction in the seemingly levelheaded redhead. Well, that and I felt drawn to him. He and I would be directly responsible for each other's lives for as long as we served together in the 326th, and I was not satisfied with how our relationship was progressing.
"Fujimiya!" I called out, jogging towards him, pushing past olive drab bodies. I noticed that my cry brought a bit more attention from the other soldiers than I'd expected. A few heads popped up to glance in my direction, eyes swiveled and I felt a strange hesitancy in the air. I ignored all of this, moving intently towards my target.
His eyes shifted towards me, narrowing slightly, his head inclining ever so slightly. His body shifted in my direction as he straightened to stare passively. "Hn?"
"Ken Hidaka, remember?" I said a bit more out of breath that I thought I would be, coming to stand in front of him. I held out my hand again, and immediately felt like a fool for doing so.
He glanced down at my hand and then up into my face, narrowing his eyes again. "I know who you are. We just met, Hidaka," he said slowly in a voice that was flawless, emotionless.
I drew my hand back, nervously wiping my palms on my legs and smiled apologetically. "Yeah, I know. I just. I felt that maybe we didn't have the greatest of introductions," I'd replied lamely.
"Our introduction was fine. We shook hands. What more do you want?" he asked, seeming genuinely confused.
Unable to think of anything to say immediately I said nothing, and simply shrugged instead, turning away to look over the training field full of men. The air was thick with impatience and tension. I felt as if half of it was coming straight from Fujimiya. Eventually, without looking back at him I said, "I just thought. maybe we should get to know more about each other. since we'll be serving together. I mean directly serving together, you know. We might want to.," at this I did turn my head and was nearly frozen by the coldness of his eyes, "get to know each other." I finished in little more than a whisper.
His frozen eyes, narrow and hostile held me in their grip for a few moments more and then he slowly said, "All I need to know about you is that you can fly a helicopter. Can you?"
Taken aback by his open disdain, I'd been unable to do anything but nod dully,.
"Good. I don't want to know anything else about you, Hidaka."
I fought to find something biting to say, but even as I struggled to find the right words I knew my efforts would be wasted. It was rapidly becoming obvious that nothing made its way through the ice wall of Private Ran Fujimiya. Still, I opened my mouth to snap something in reply, but was distracted by a sudden commotion.
Lt. Kudou came bounding onto the field, tipped his head back and yelled, "Everybody sit down!"
There was a momentary lull in the conversation, a few heads popped up, a few feet shuffled towards the bleachers.
"Now!" Kudou screamed again, taking of his hat and waving it around.
A few more feet shuffled towards the bleachers, a few more heads popped up to look at the flailing Lieutenant.
"That's an order, soldiers! Don't make me court marshal all of your sorry asses!"
At this there was a general groan of annoyance, but all feet turned towards the bleachers. I watched, unable to tear my eyes away from the throng of mobile men, fascinated by the power of organized leadership.
"Shouldn't you go find a seat, Hidaka?" Fujimiya said to me in his cold voice.
I turned away from him without another word, and took the first open seat available to me. It was then that I first saw Lt. Commander Crawford.
He ambled slowly onto the field, his hands in his pockets, his sleeves rolled up to his elbows. As he made his way to the front of the bleachers he began to play with his glasses, it looked as if he was talking to himself. A calculating half smile never left his face. I couldn't decide if it made him look more Mona Lisa or more Mad Hatter. He stood, waiting for the last of us to settle down, languidly brushing at the stripes on his arms. A few of the gutsier soldiers had the nerve to catcall in his general direction. By the way his eye twitched it was obvious that Crawford was working his way towards a stress headache.
"Gentlemen," he'd said at length, giving his glasses one last push up his nose, and raising his eyes, looking over the bleachers, "you are one sorry bunch of sons of bitches. Words cannot express my feelings towards you all."
"Aw, aint that sweet?" one anonymous voice called out.
"You wanna pick out curtains already?" another cried.
Crawford only smiled slowly. "But tonight I will put my personal feelings aside. Because tonight I am here for one reason and one reason only. and that is to blow sunshine up each and every one of your asses."
"We like it when you talk dirty, Crawford!" another voice shouted out. There was some general snickering.
Crawford raised his eyebrows and then shook his head, smiling to himself. "I asked that you soldiers converge here this evening so that I might welcome you, personally, to your new home. Welcome to Vietnam, welcome to the Mekong River Delta, and welcome to Pang Nuan. You are all here for one reason, to give your lives for the lives of your fellow man. No, for democracy! For all the Gook babies who don't eat at night and the Gook women who cry themselves to sleep because their babies are dying." The speech crept from the corners of his mouth like smoke, so see through were his words. But the languid way with which he said them, the casual, anti enthusiasm with which they were delivered let us know that he knew this. It told us he was on our side, he was as undiluted by the war as the rest of us, he didn't believe his own words. Here he'd paused and swayed, rubbing his temples. "This is what they told you at the recruiting stations, anyway. If you ask me, it's a crock of shit."
The bleachers burst into sudden, deafening applause, shouts and screams cut the thick, muggy air. A large mosquito landed on my arm. I killed it. The first thing I killed in Vietnam was a mosquito.
"What," Crawford said, continuing slowly, "we are really fighting this war for is a mystery. The reasons we allow ourselves to be marched around in swamps, eaten alive by insects, blow apart, captured, tortured, shot, dismembered, and infected with any number 'rare' and incurable diseases are not revealed to us on any terms we understand. Most of you are here because you have bad luck. Unlucky numbers were drawn and the next thing you knew you were on a plane with a new suit and a new haircut. We are fighting a war for a group of people who do not want our help and who look down upon our assistance, so why do we bother? Politics, I'm sure. We don't ask. The big man says we march and we do. But what about our babies and our women? Who will bring food to them and who will comfort them when they cry at night in their grief if all of their men have given their lives for others?" Again Crawford paused, tucking his hands into his pockets, he tipped his head back and swayed on his feet.
No one had looked at anyone else, choosing instead to remain alone with their own thoughts. I toyed with my dog tags, thinking how I did not have to worry about any child or woman left alone. I probably never would. Vaguely I wondered if Fujimiya did.
"And yet," the Lieutenant Commander continued at length, "we have little choice in the matter. Go AWOL, get discharged if you can, or maybe you could have run away to Canada before you got this far, bit late for that now."
The thought of Canada made my cheeks flush, and I looked down at my feet. For a moment I became lost in my personal thoughts, my memories, my regrets. The reason I was in Vietnam was in Canada. I closed my eyes and listened to the strange sound of Lt. Commander Crawford's voice as it worked its slow spell over the gathered men.
"No, boys, I'm afraid to say that you're stuck here. But we can't leave all those American women and babies left alone to cry, now can we? And that's where my job comes in. See, it's your job to be willing to give your lives, but it's my job to keep you alive. Remember that when I give my orders and when you receive the orders of your company leaders. Welcome to Pang Nuan Base, soldiers. Now go get drunk and play with a ball, or whatever it is you lowlifes do for fun. I have paperwork to finish."
The men on the benches erupted into shouts again, raising fists and slapping each other on the back. The odd spell had been broken, and it was pretty obvious that getting drunk and playing with a ball was pretty high on the list of things to do. I wondered absently who supplied the booze. the army?
Crawford gave us all a halfhearted salute and then ambled off the field, adjusting his glasses.
The air was filled with a tense expectancy as the benches began to clear out. I heard Lt. Kudou's clear voice ring out over the sound of milling men.
"I want the 37th armored infantry to dismantle and stow that atrocity, now! That's an order, soldiers."
I'd glanced around, looking for the source of his voice and noted with some curiosity that he was standing beside Ran Fujimiya in such a way that it seemed obvious that they had been conversing. He was pointing up at the bleachers. I could only assume that they were about to be dismantled by the 37th armored and so rose to vacate the premises. For some reason I kept the Lieutenant and Fujimiya in sight, watching them out of the corner of my eye as I made my way over the benches. Kudou turned back to the tense looking man and said something which actually made him smile. The change that came over his face was amazing. Even from as far away from them as I was I could tell that he looked like an entirely different person. I was surprised when Kudou clapped him on the shoulder and then turned away, scanning the field. It seemed that Fujimiya was selective in his coldness. then again, Kudou was our commanding officer. I wondered if even Fujimiya felt obliged to keep the man in good humor. But it didn't seem as if Fujimiya was really the kind of guy who cared.
"Oi, Hidaka! There you are, just the man I wanted to talk to." The voice of the Lieutenant cut my thoughts apart.
As I stepped over the last bench I turned to greet him, but his arm was already slung around my shoulder, hauling me away again before I could begin to open my mouth.
"Come have a smoke with me, pilot."
"Er. I don't smoke, sir," I said hastily, pulling on his arm in an attempt to stop him from choking me.
"No? Good for you, it'll make your life here a lot less expensive I can tell you that! Well, come and sit with me on a pile of wood while I smoke then. You didn't want to play foot ball anyway, right?" he chirped, grinning at me brightly.
"Er. no. Sir." I was actually looking forward to working off some of my anxiety, but there was nothing for it now.
"That's what I thought. Stupid game. Just chasing a bunch of guys around and slamming into them and rolling around in the mud. Might as well play 'smear the queer.'"
I tried to think of something to say, but couldn't. Lt. Kudou's arm was beginning to feel heavy around my neck.
The 'pile of wood' that Kudou advised me to sit on with him was situated at the far end of the training field. It was actually a pile of beams left over from the camp's construction. He perched on top of them and immediately lit a cigarette, taking a long, even drag, exhaling into the graying sky.
"Smoke keeps the bugs away. That's why I think most of the guys here start smoking. Keeps the bugs away," he's looked over at me with intense green eyes and smiled dimly. He patted the beams, pulling his legs up to his chest. "Have a seat, Hidaka, but don't wiggle around. You don't want to know what lives under this pile."
I eyed the pile warily and then sat down beside the Crew Chief, following his suit, wrapping my arms around my legs.
"So. you got settled then?"
I thought back to the confrontation in the barracks.
"More or less," I answered.
"That's good. So. Talk to me, Hidaka. You're the newest member of my company, and the only guy I don't know shit about. Tell me about you."
I'd glanced up at him, and remembering Ran Fujimiya's words on the subject of getting to know people, blurted out, "Why do you want to know?"
Kudou looked at me, his eyes furrowed, and then blew a stream of smoke out of the corner of his mouth. "Because if you die tomorrow, somebody has to remember. I'm your Crew Chief, it ought to be me."
His words struck something inside of me. If I died tomorrow.. I could have died the next day and it really wouldn't have mattered. There was no one left who cared anymore, I'd made sure of that before I left home. That's why I was here after all. But looking at Lieutenant Kudou I was surprised and a little frightened at how much I wanted someone to remember, and how glad I was that it would be him. Suddenly I wanted to tell him everything.
Instead I opened my mouth and said, "What do you want to know?"
He'd smiled and taken another drag. "Where were you born?"
"San Francisco Bay area. My mother and father were both Nisei.,"
"Meaning?"
"They were first generation Japanese Americans. Their parents emigrated from Japan in the twenties. My mother's family settled in San Fran and my father's family went to the Seattle area."
"That's quite a distance, how'd they ever hook up? Match maker or some shit?"
I could tell that Youji wasn't quite sure if he should say that jokingly or not. It was odd. It was obvious from Youji's name that he was at least partly Japanese himself, but he seemed completely ignorant of his own culture.
I blinked at him and then turned my face away. "No. They met in a Japanese interment camp in Northern California during World War II."
The silence that followed was thick and expected. "Aw, that's shitty, man. I heard that the States did that. Hard to believe. They give good talk about democracy and all that, but. real shitty thing to do to American citizens."
"Yeah. But hey, if they hadn't I wouldn't be here, I guess."
"That's one way to think about it. So what else about you? You got a girl back home? Any dogs, brothers, sisters, other family members in the war?" Youji pressed.
For a moment I wanted to tell him everything. I wanted to tell him all about the girl at home, all about my family, the reason I was at war with no reason to be there. I wanted him to hear about how much crap they were. For just a moment I desperately wanted someone to understand. But I knew Youji Kudou probably wasn't the guy to tell. He wasn't the guy who was going to understand. I wasn't going to find that guy. Guys get kicked out of the military for being 'that guy.' So instead of telling him all about Yuriko Asakawa, the 'nice Japanese girl' who'd always been my mother's favorite, I just shook my head. "No, not really. I don't talk to my family much these days. Older brother, older sister, no one special waiting at home. That's about it."
Youji'd turned his head, his cigarette dangling from his lip and had given me a lazy eyed look. "That's it? So tomorrow if you die, I'll just say, 'Ken Hidaka? Yeah I remember him. Japanese kid from San Fran. Had a family. That's about it.'?"
"Sadly," I said, smiling at him, "that is about it."
"Well.," he drawled languidly, "suit yourself, but I can tell there is a lot more you're not telling me. Don't tell me if you don't want to," he said hastily holding up his hands, "but remember. If you die tomorrow, that's all that's gonna get passed on."
I smiled. This thought comforted me. It wouldn't be so bad to just be some Japanese kid from the bay area.
We sat in silence, Kudou smoking his cigarette slowly, as I watched as the training field filled up with men. They moved about, horsing around with each other, laughing and joking, pushing and shoving until somewhere a whistle blew and something organized began to happen.
"Can you tell me anything about any of them?" I asked finally, waving my hand vaguely at the field.
"Sure can. I know almost every man at this base, and I know everyone in 326th real well. Ask and you shall receive."
I scanned the field, searching for the shocking orange hair of my fellow pilot. I found him eventually, tossing a ball up into the air, conversing snidely with a group of scruffy looking soldiers.
I pointed. "Let's start with Max Wolff."
"Max Wolff?" Kudou seemed to roll the words around in his mouth, trying to figure out where they fit. "Ah! You mean Schuldich, right? Ha, I forget the guy's got a real name. Schu. Schu. Schu. where to start?" He paused for a moment.
"Why not start with his nickname," I suggested, sitting back.
"Ha! Why not? It's German for 'guilty'. I asked Schuldich about it once and he told me that his 'Oma' called him that because he was such a bastard of a little kid. If something went wrong at his house she'd just scream, 'Schuldich!' and since he usually was, the name just stuck. But here the only thing Schu is guilty of is being a one cocky son of a bitch, and rightfully so, he's the best pilot this army's got as far as I'm concerned. He's guilty of that and killing a damned lot of Gooks.
"His grand parents immigrated right before the start of WWII, settled in New York state. Two generations later you have Schuldich. That's really all I know about the guy. He has a huge family though. Something like ten brothers and sisters. He's a good guy to keep on your side."
I nodded slowly. I guess that made sense. I was pretty glad to have Schuldich on my side for the time being anyway. I noted that Jei Farfarello was now standing at Schu's elbow. I pointed him out next.
"What the deal with Farfarello?"
Lieutenant Kudou snorted at this and snubbed out his cigarette on the top of the plank he was sitting on.
"Jei? He's crazy. Period, end of sentence, that guy was dropped one too many times as a baby. His family's from New York City, part of the Irish mafia. The guy's a nut ball, but one hell of a gutsy door gunner. And he's still alive, so who am I to say he doesn't have the secret in his pocket? He's been flying with Schuldich for over six months now. That's a long time for a door gunner and single pilot to work together. Usually you get transferred around or one of you ends up dead, but not those two." Kudou shook his head.
"What's up with his hair?" I asked, smiling wickedly.
Kudou burst out laughing and reached for another cigarette. "That's the first thing I noticed too. It's some kind of recessive Irish trait, I guess. Some people of Irish descent start to go gray when they are in their late teens early twenties. Isn't that weird. Their hair just goes. poof! And it's all white. He's another one to keep on the good side of. Especially since you have to bunk near him. I would not want that crazy mother fucker watching over me in -my- sleep I can tell you that."
I had to laugh and so I did. It felt good to laugh out loud. Youji joined me and for a few moments we just sat, laughing together for no real reason. It confirmed our humanity. When we were done I sighed heavily and watched as Kudou lit up his next cigarette.
I waited for a few moments before searching out the lean figure of my bunk mate and door gunner. I could not find him anywhere amongst the other soldiers, so instead of pointing him out I simply said, "What's the deal with my door gunner, Ran Fujimiya?"
Lt. Kudou took an extra long drag on his cigarette, exhaling in one long, steady stream. "What's the deal with Fujimiya?" he said quietly, more to himself than to me. "That is an interesting question, Ken Hidaka, and I was wondering if you'd been here long enough to ask it. I guess you have."
"I don't mean to be rude, sir," I broke in.
Kudou had just waved his hand dismissively and taken another drag on his cigarette.
"It's just that he's a little. cold, hostile or something. He practically got in a fistfight with Farfarello when they introduced us. It was odd. I don't remember exactly what Farfarello was saying to the guy, but whatever it was really rubbed him the wrong way."
Kudou nodded. "Yeah I heard about that. Farf likes to stir the shit to make it stink. He's just that kinda guy."
"What shit is there to stir, sir?"
Kudou had chuckled at this and leaned back on his arms. "What shit is there to stir? When it comes to Ran Fujimiya, there's a lot of shit and it all stinks. The thing is, kid, the guy's cursed. Jinxed. See, door gunners have an average shelf life of something between four and six months. If they don't get shot dead or shot out of commission by then it's an act of God, something to celebrate, and you can sure as spit put money down that they won't last out the year. At least that's how it usually goes. Wanna take a gander at how long Ran Fujimiya has been flying as a door gunner?"
I shrugged, watching Youji's green eyes as he talked. Half the story seemed to be there.
"Two years," Kudou said slowly, and then took another drag. "Two years is a fucking amazing amount of time for -anyone- to last out here who doesn't have stripes on their shoulders. It is an -insane- amount of time for a door gunner to last."
"So, he's cursed because he never gets shot out of the sky? Doesn't sound like such a bad thing to me."
Kudou shook his head and slapped absently at a mosquito. "That's not the real issue. The real issue is that a pilot is expected to live through usually two or three door gunners before he's moved to flying freight or whatever. Fujimiya has outlived every single one of his pilots. Six men, pilots, who do -not- have that high of a death rate, have died in crash and burn missions, all of which he has walked away from. Every single pilot that has flow Ran Fujimiya has not just crashed the chopper or been wounded or put out of commission, oh no, they have all died. The story goes that one of the pilots he flew with was his best friend, some guy he'd know his whole life. Grew up with him and all that shit. Yuushi Matsumoto or Makimachi or Miagi or something like that. Anyway, so he insisted on becoming Ran's new pilot despite Ran's protestations, and sure enough he died in some fluke accident during a retrieval mission. Fujimiya blamed himself for the guy's death. That was three pilots ago, but he's been fucked up ever since and his pilots haven't stopped dying."
The last words hung in the air for a few minutes and my eyes locked with the Lieutenant's.
I swallowed and blinked my eyes. "Well. is he some sort of psychopath who purposefully causes the deaths of his pilots or something?" I asked nervously.
Kudou waved his hand dismissively and snickered. "God no! The guy's just cursed, kid, that's all. I mean, don't get me wrong, I don't wish any ill will on you, Hidaka, you seem like a great guy, but as far as Ran and the 326th is concerned you're probably already dead. If Ran seems a little cold to you, it's just that he's been burned one time too many by making it nice with his pilot. After a while when they all keep dying. you just don't set yourself up for that. In fact you go and do the opposite. He'll do his best to alienate you, and it's highly likely that the others will do the same. At least until you've proven yourself to be a survivor."
I stared out at nothing and felt the strangest sense of acceptance. It seemed so ironically right that I, a man who cared nothing for living, had become among my peers the most likely to die. I understood that I would be an outcast among the 326th and I found this, too, fitting. I also realized that the pseudo interest of Schuldich and Farfarello was probably no more than just some morbid fascination. Oddly, this did not bother me.
I felt the weight of Kudou's hand on my head as he ruffled my hair. I remember thinking that I ought to be insulted at being patronized, but never managed to feel anything but warmth. "Don't let it get you down, Ken."
I shrugged. "I'm used to being an outcast. I don't mind. I guess if I die, then I'll do what they expect and they'll get over it. And if I don't, mores the better."
"You're a weird kid, Hidaka. You sure you don't want a smoke?"
I just shook my head and got up off the beam pile. "No, I don't smoke, but thanks anyway. I think I'll head to bed."
He smiled and turned his green eyes to the training field. "Suit yourself. Good night then, soldier."
I waved absently and headed off towards the barracks. It felt good to finally know my place.
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PS. I forgot to mention it, but that genetic trait Youji went into about Farf's hair. it's true! This is a real recessive trait that is prominent in people of Irish descent. I have a really good friend who is like this. Her hair went white when she was twenty!! So just didn't want anybody to think I was making weird shit up. Fact is stranger than fiction!