Story Summary: Winter, 1966/1967.  By year's end, U.S. troop levels reach 463,000 with 16,000 combat deaths to date. By this time, over a million American soldiers have rotated through Vietnam.  The capital city of Saigon is under fire, and the VC's Tet Offensive will turn the tide of the entire war. (See notes below fic.)

In Vietnam, Chandler has been left to fend for himself, after getting a severely injured Joey to safety.  Rachel has finally let Ross go, Phoebe struggles with prejudices against her relationship with a Black Panther, and Monica prepares to welcome her child into the world.

The Age of Aquarius

Chapter Twelve: Blowing In The Wind

Saigon, Vietnam

Ross stared into the half-empty glass of Chinese beer, his eyes unfocussed and heavy.  It had become a habit of his, to drink his ennui and lonesomeness away nightly.

Saigon was in chaos, and the situation was deteriorating daily.  The Embassy was on high alert, but for Ross, most days were generally uneventful.

He dealt mostly with paperwork; letters and forms that flowed in and out of the country daily.

It was mundane, and quiet, and frustrating.  Ross felt like he would be more useful out in the field, killing Charlie's.

Deep down, his bitterness had nothing to do with masculine pride.  He was harboring a deep-seeded guilt, which no amount of alcohol seemed to quell.

Three soldiers…three men died, so that he could sit in a dank office, pushing papers all day.

The images would haunt him during the day, and would invade his dreams at night.  After weeks of wandering the streets of Saigon in an aimless reverie, he found that he was able to sleep better if he was horribly, horribly drunk.  So more and more, he found himself inside a small, dank bar, near the Embassy, alone with his alcohol.

"Alone again?" a soft voice pulled Ross out of his thoughts, and his eyes off of his beer.  He looked up to find a petite, wide-eyed Vietnamese girl staring down at him.

"Always," Ross sighed, and looked back down at his beer, before taking another swig.

"You want a company?" the woman asked in her broken English.

Ross shrugged, and looked around the room.  There were soldiers scattered throughout the bar, and nearly all of them had a petite Vietnamese girl on their arm.

"You have a ten dallah?"

"What?" Ross looked back at the girl who had now taken a seat next to him.

"A ten dallah," the woman said again, then off of Ross' confused look, "Monay?"

"Oh," Ross finally caught on, "yeah, ten dollars," he slurred.

"Come on," the woman pulled Ross to his feet, and when he swayed slightly, she wrapped her skinny arm around his waist, and led him out of the bar.

San Francisco

"I can't believe its January," Phoebe whispered, as she looked up into the clear night sky, "it doesn't feel like January."

"Well, it always tends to be colder here in summer," Chris laughed, and wrapped his long arms around Phoebe from behind.  They stood together, unmoving, for a long moment, silently watching the glittering stars.

The moment was calm and serene, and so different from what the chaotic day had entailed.  As they stood on the front porch of Phoebe's home, both pondered the events that had transpired.

Though anti-war protests were common in San Francisco, the group of Black Panthers that Chris led always brought with it a certain volatility.  Perhaps it was because it was well known that the group was looking for much more than just peace; perhaps it was the way they dressed: their all black wardrobe and black wool berets often aroused a certain amount of uneasiness, even amongst the hippy set.

Phoebe noted that, as the only white face in the group, she received the most puzzled stares, and the most hateful glances.

She felt safest in Chris' arms.  She could not even recall her life before Chris: what had she really stood for?  What had she been fighting for?  With Chris, there was no doubt.  He was determined to be heard, to make 'the man' see who they were.  Phoebe admired Chris; she worshipped him.  She would do anything, to make him see that this was her fight too, and that together, they could take on the world.

Chris' feelings for Phoebe were unexpected.  He wasn't sure what it was about Phoebe that drew him to her, but now that he knew her, he loved her unconditionally.  Her openness and her willingness to learn fueled his growing ego, while her determination and drive fueled his mind.  As for his libido…well, Phoebe was all he needed. 

He tightened his arms around her, and laid a soft kiss on her exposed neck.  She felt him relax into his arms, and he closed his eyes, willing away all of their problems, to live in the moment.

That moment was shattered, when a car rumbled down the street, projecting a Molotov cocktail as it passed.

Chris saw it first; he pulled Phoebe toward the house, as the bottle exploded on impact.

It ignited the weeds and wooden steps almost immediately.  Phoebe screamed, as Chris scrambled to his feet, and pulled Phoebe into the house.

"Is anyone else here?" Chris asked calmly.

"I--I don't--" Phoebe stuttered, unable to form a coherent thought.

"Hello?" Chris turned and yelled down the long hallway.

"What the hell was that?" Rachel came scrambling out of her room, followed closely by a sleepy-eyed Carol.

"The house is on fire.  Is anyone else here?" Chris asked.

"Monica…and I think Becca is upstairs," Rachel said, as she made her way into Monica's room.

"Mon?  Mon, you need to wake up," Rachel shook Monica's shoulder lightly.

"Hmph," Monica mumbled, and turned over.

"Mon, please, the house is on fire!"

Monica's eyes shot open, and she looked at Rachel incredulously.

"Mon, I'm serious, the front porch it totally on fire!  We need to go!"

"Okay," Monica sat up slowly, and let Rachel lead her out of her bedroom.

As the exited the bedroom, they saw that the entire front end of the house was engulfed in flames.

"Oh God, okay, um, we're gonna have to go out the back, come on!" Rachel started down the hallway.  She turned and saw that Monica had not moved from the staircase.

"Mon, what are you doing?  Come on!"

"Rach," Monica cried, and doubled over.

Rachel rushed back toward Monica and placed her hand on Monica's back.

"Honey, what is it?"

"The…baby…" Monica hiccupped, "the baby is c-coming!"

"Oh, okay, uh—" Rachel looked around, "Phoebe!  Becca!"

"Rach!" Carol came running down the hallway, "Come on!"

"Monica's having the baby!"

"Okay, we have to get her out of the house!  Come on!"

Rachel and Carol each wrapped an arm around Monica, and guided her toward the kitchen, and out the back door.

"Owww!" Monica grabbed Rachel roughly, as another contraction burst through her.

"Okay, hon, it's gonna be okay, I promise," Rachel guided Monica to the ground, and held her head on her lap, "You're gonna be fine."

North Vietnam

He pushed his way through the thick foliage, ignoring his sore muscles and throbbing head.  He was exhausted, but he knew that he had to keep moving; if he stopped, he risked falling asleep. And if he fell asleep, he risked the possibility that a Charlie would find and kill him—or worse, capture him again. 

The rain was beginning to get heavier, and it was slowing him down considerably.

By his estimates, he figured that the unit he was looking for should be approximately five kilometers east.  As the rain increased, he pushed forward, hoping that the storm hadn't turned him around.

He checked, then rechecked his coordinates, then looked around the clearing warily.  He was sure he was in the right place…but where was everyone?  The unit was supposed to be here…and there was evidence that there had been a camp here at one point—but now he was surrounded by nothing.

Standing in the center of the clearing, the storm raging around him, Chandler wondered how he was ever going to get out of this alive.

How many roads must a man walk down

Before they call him a man

How many seas must a white dove sail

Before she sleeps in the sand

How many times must the cannonballs fly

Before they are forever banned

The answer, my friend, is blowing in the wind

The answer is blowing in the wind

How many years must a mountain exist

Before it is washed to the sea

How many years can some people exist

Before they're allowed to be free

How many times can a man turn his head

And pretend that he just doesn't see

The answer, my friend, is blowing in the wind

The answer is blowing in the wind

How many times must a man look up

Before he can see the sky

How many years must one man have

Before he can hear people cry

How many deaths will it take till he knows

That too many people have died

The answer, my friend, is blowing in the wind

The answer is blowing in the wind

(Blowin' in the Wind ~ Joan Baez)

Footnotes:  The Tet Offensive: January 31, 1968 - The turning point of the war occurs as 84,000 Viet Cong guerrillas aided by NVA troops launch the Tet Offensive attacking a hundred cities and towns throughout South Vietnam.

(www.thehistoryplace.com)