FicWad

Chapter One

Graduation Day

-xxx-

The first milestone in my long military career was when I got through cutting my teeth in training and earned my Green Beret. Back then, there was a war on.

America was fighting in the Republic of Vietnam, and boys my age or younger were dying in stinking jungles thousands of miles away from their homes and families. Their sacrifices were supposed to contain the threat of Communism against a freedom-loving Asian people. I thought that was bullshit and government double-talk.

At least I had the opportunity to fight, if I didn't get sent to Europe to wet-nurse an empty stretch of dirt trace along the Three Sisters. Then again, camping out at a Fulda hofbrauhaus wouldn't be the worst way to serve my country. At least I could practice all of my "native" languages in Europe.

Mom taught me French across the kitchen table every morning while I was growing up and Dad took every moment he could to teach me German. My high school teachers were shocked when I could switch between languages like turning on a light switch. I was willing to bet the Army wouldn't mind me being able to do it either. That's why I wanted to try for the Special Forces. They needed guys who could talk the talk in those distant battle zones...

-xxx-

John F. Kennedy Special Warfare School and Center

Fort Bragg, North Carolina

March, 1970

"Hey, Hauser!" shouted a voice from across the darkened enlisted men's barracks bay. Only a trickle of moonlight filtering in through the windows made the bay's contents visible. Neatly lined up rows of twin bunk racks followed the long walls from one end of the bay to the other. "Conrad Hauser, are you in here?"

The training company barracks echoed with stark emptiness, reflecting the voice of Buck Sergeant Henry Dobbs back and forth as he squinted to see through the blackness. Dobbs was a nineteen-year-old from New York City. Tall and lanky, with dark hair and a tanned complexion, the soldier didn't look like he was tough enough to endure Special Forces training, but he had made it as a member of Buck Sergeant Conrad Hauser's trainee class.

At the far end of the company bay, a dark form stirred on the upper bunk of one of the cookie cutter Army bed racks. The shadow ran a hand through his head of close-cropped blond hair before groaning in protest.

"Hauser!" Dobbs yelled. "Come on! It's Magic Monday! You can't sleep through graduation day!"

Hauser rolled in his bunk, covering his entire head with his single thin pillow and finding that it didn't filter out Dobbs' loud voice, complete with thick Brooklyn accent.

"Five more minutes, Mom," Hauser groaned in a low, tired tone. "What time is it?"

"It's oh-five-thirty, old buddy," Dobbs said, feeling for one of the bunkroom's light switches before crossing the barracks. "Did you honestly think you were gonna get more than two hours of sleep after passing that final training evolution?"

"Fuck you, Dobbs," Hauser snarled, as the sterile white light from the barracks room's overhead lights pierced his fatigued eyelids. "Your team was one of the first to kick off. Leave me alone; I just got in from humping twenty extra miles because the instructors wanted to drag my ass through the dirt and make me earn that damned beret with blood and sweat."

"That's what you get for being the toughest sonufabitch in the course," Dobbs said with a laugh. He dodged a swat from one of Hauser's fists before pulling the thin sheet and blanket off his buddy's rack. "C'mon, Conrad. There's still time for chow before we have to really get to work. The rest of the training company's already out and about."

"I'll bet they've all been laid out on some curb, drunk as skunks," Hauser whispered, rubbing the sleep out of his eyes and snapping to alertness. "Or else, the county sheriff's office in Fayetteville has a few extra customers in the drunk tank."

"Nah, they're all in the mess hall chugging down the coffee and taking advantage of Cookie's special recipe for shit on a shingle," Dobbs said. "We'd better haul ass before it's all gone."

Sergeant Hauser swung his legs over the edge of his bunk, taking a moment to himself to gaze at the tattered picture of his mother that was taped to the metal frame. He felt a sense of comfort every time he saw her face, smiling at him through the image. He was doing it all for her, to make her feel that her son was just as good a soldier as his father was.

Hauser had graduated from Infantry Basic at the very top of his class, serving as a squad leader from almost the first week in training at Fort Jackson, South Carolina. He went on to the shortened Advanced Infantry program at Fort Benning, which was being run in less time because troops were badly needed to fight in Vietnam.

Acceptance to Fort Benning's jump school came next, before Hauser's application to attend Special Forces training in North Carolina was accepted. His line of successes matched the rapid rise in grade to Sergeant, and the nineteen-year-old expected to see his first rocker before shipping out to his field unit assignment. Even though the hard-nosed instructors in the Special Forces School didn't show it, they all knew he showed promise.

Sliding off the edge of the bunk bed, Hauser dropped to the floor with a soft thud and trudged the few steps over to his locker. It took a few tries on the combination lock before he was able to get to his uniforms. The tired sergeant instinctively reached for a fresh set of OG-107 cotton utilities before Dobbs reached an arm into the locker to guide Hauser's hand over to the neatly-pressed Class A dress uniform that hung on one end of the garment bar.

"It's dress up day, Conrad," Dobbs crooned in a mock female voice. "You have to look nice for the grown-ups!"

-xxx-

Yeah, you guessed it. Henry "Doggie" Dobbs was one of my first best friends in the Army. He got the nickname "Doggie" from me, because he dogged me constantly through training. We became fast friends in Infantry Basic and somehow found a way to stay together for the two years it took us to reach the end of Special Forces School.

I hadn't realized for a long time, why Doggie and I stuck together like glue. I never had a sibling, at least not before my mom remarried. At least that was why I treasured my friendship with Doggie Dobbs.

Master Sergeant Joseph Falcone, my stepfather, was a Special Forces man too. He was serving in the bad bush between 1960 and '62, already an old hat infantryman and Airborne Ranger from Korea. Joe came home because of a 'golden bullet' from a Viet Minh sniper back in the day. He was fighting when only a few hundred Americans were involved in a covert war in Vietnam, taking over from the French after their defeat at Dien Bien Phu.

Joe and Mom had Vincent almost right away, pretty close to a year after I left for the Army. They were married while I was in Infantry Basic and they paid me a visit there instead of taking a honeymoon.

I never thought in my wildest dreams that Vince would follow his big half-brother into Special Forces some twenty years later. We haven't always seen eye to eye since he got his appointment to the G. I. Joe Team, but Vince was as rock-steady in combat as Doggie Dobbs had been when the two of us were tight. Vince will be a good officer, as long as he keeps learning the right way from me.

As it turned out, Doggie Dobbs had it worse than me growing up. The Army became his family, and I was about the closest thing to a brother that he knew. I didn't mind. Doggie and I helped each other through the rough times and we shared the happy ones.

-xxx-

Hauser showered quickly in the large common bath and shower room that the training company shared. Dobbs stood just outside the stall, continuing to talk whether Hauser was actually listening to him or not.

"You know, Conrad," Dobbs said over the sound of the cascading hot water. "I was an orphan, growing up in New York City. Before the Army made an honest man outta me, I was livin' off the charity of the soup kitchens and any church that would keep its doors open for overnighters. The Holy Cross orphanage in Brooklyn only took care of me until I was twelve, and I sure made it hard for them to want to keep me around."

"Let me guess," Hauser said from inside the shower, rinsing off the last few suds from his toned and muscular body. "You were taking every passer-by in sight with Three Card Monte or the shell game, right?"

"Worse," Dobbs said. "I used to roll people in Central Park in the middle of the night for their wallets. I got caught too much for the orphanage to want to stay responsible for me. And the city's child welfare service was too overworked to want to deal with me."

"I used to fight a lot with the other guys in my school," Hauser said. "My mom got called into my principal's office a lot when I was caught at it."

"Yeah," Dobbs said sadly. "You've had life too soft, you goody-two-shoes. At least you had a family to go home to. I regret a lot of what I was into back then."

Hauser reached for an olive green terrycloth towel and wrapped himself up in it. "Well," he said, "you have me to keep you honest now."

"I sure do," Dobbs replied. "I don't think I would've made it this far without your help. I really appreciate it, man."

"What else is a buddy for?" Hauser asked, walking past Dobbs to return to his bunk and put together his Class A's.

-xxx-

Graduation Day.

The day my training company became full fledged Special Forces Operators.

The public liked to call us Green Berets, the press called us whatever they wanted, and so did most of the brass that haunted the operation at Bragg. None of us really gave a shit what anyone called us, so we didn't bother reminding people that a Green Beret was a colored hat and we were something else. At least we resented the hippies that drifted around Fayetteville on occasion that called us 'baby killers'.

We just wanted to get our qualifications and finally be out of the Uwharrie National Forest, which had been our stomping grounds for the last several months.

Since I was about to graduate at the top of my trainee class, the staff officers told me that I had my choice of assignments. Although it was likely that my background and natural language fluency automatically put me on the list for priority deployment to the 7th U.S. Army in Frankfurt, Germany, I sort of wanted to go to Vietnam. Somewhere in the back of my mind, I seriously considered it. Somewhere way back, where only dreams and nightmares dared to tread. You get me?

What was that I said about hanging around the Three Sisters or getting tanked up in Fulda? Oh yeah, it wasn't such a bad way to serve, especially if Doggie Dobbs' request for a European posting was approved too.

Let me tell you, Army life is never what you expect it to be. Murphy's Laws of War were about to bite Dobbs and me a big chunk in the ass.

-xxx-

Hauser and Dobbs crossed the broad expanse of buildings and paved roadways that constituted Fort Bragg, departing from the specially fenced-in compound for the JFK Special Warfare Center to head for the base's central parade grounds. The men wore standard Infantry dress greens, already trimmed out with a nicely growing set of "fruit salad", the colored ribbons and awards each soldier wore on his chest.

"So, old buddy," Dobbs said after looking both ways to cross a busy roadway. "Are you looking forward to that leave time the personnel hermits said we were being authorized? What do you plan to do with that primo time, huh?"

"I was thinking of going home, Doggie," Hauser said. "My mom and stepdad are still in Saint Louis, and I have a little half-brother that I've never seen yet. The travel office said that if I took my leave time right up to the date my new orders are in force, I can travel home on the government's dime, since I would be flying out from there to join my new post."

"Me, I was thinking about saving the leave time for after I got my orders and shipped out," Dobbs said. "I told you that I really don't have anyone to go home to."

"Have they cut your orders yet?" Hauser asked. "Some of the brass said it was a good bet that Europe was in my future."

A beaming smile crossed Dobbs' face when he heard the news. "Great!" he exclaimed. "I'm on the short list for 7th Army too! I think the brass figured out that if they knew what was good for them, they wouldn't break us up as a team."

"So, why don't you come home with me to Saint Louis?" Hauser suggested. "You don't have any place to go, and we've been like brothers for the past two years. I don't think my mom or Joe would mind setting an extra place at the dinner table for a couple weeks."

Dobbs stopped in his tracks and turned to face Hauser. For a second, the Brooklynite's tough exterior almost softened and a tear formed in one eye. "You would do that for me, Conrad? Take me in like a brother?"

Hauser took Dobbs' hand into his and shook it firmly. "We're a team, remember? What's mine is yours."

Doggie Dobbs clapped Hauser on the shoulder and smiled. "Thanks, Conrad," he said. "That means a lot to me."

The two pals joined the other thirty-two men in their Special Forces training company that had assembled on the Fort Bragg parade grounds for graduation. The class had started with almost two hundred in the company. And for those last thirty-four, the arduous trials that had gotten them to graduation day were truly the worst the Army could devise.

-xxx-

...Most of the lucky washouts from the JFK Special Warfare Center classes simply got an RTU, or return to unit order. They went back to the Infantry, Cavalry or Field Artillery, or whatever unit they came in from, to serve out the remainder of their enlistment periods. Many of them got stuck on planes bound for Vietnam, to meet up with their old units as replacements for the wounded or dead.

The ones that were dropped for medical reasons almost always received Section Eight medical discharges soon after leaving Bragg. The trainers found every conceivable way to break the ones without the brass balls to go the distance. And they didn't pull any punches.

The graduating class had been advised on Graduation Day that three members of our company, the first three RTU's issued from our training company's ranks, had gone on to Vietnam and were already dead, thanks to the 1969 Tet Offensive. Graduation Day was a somber affair for all the men that received their green berets, me included.

-xxx-

The graduation ceremony was small, attended by a few families that were able to make it out to North Carolina. Sergeants Hauser and Dobbs stood next to each other in the second rank of graduates, just inside the cluster enough for the colonel in charge of the training not to notice them moving around a little too much when they should've been standing at parade rest.

Dobbs was just shuffling his feet from side to side and trying not to fall asleep standing up. Although he had gotten more sleep than Hauser after the pre-graduation tactical exercise the night before, fatigue was finally catching up to him.

Hauser, on the other hand, was scanning the crowd of visitors carefully, trying to pick his mother or stepfather's face out of the small ocean of people. He had hoped beyond hope that his mother was okay to travel with baby Vincent, although one letter from Joe Falcone had oddly alluded to the fact that mother and baby weren't having an easy time of their first few months together.

At least when I go home on leave, Hauser thought to himself, to try to shake off the boredom. I can find out what's going on with Mom and baby Vincent.

The Colonel in charge of the JFK Special Warfare Center wrapped up his speechmaking for the more illustrious of the spectators, and to the relief of the newly frocked graduates, made the presentation of the green berets quite brief. The top four members of the training company, including both Hauser and Dobbs, were recognized for their achievements and promoted to Staff Sergeants, amid the roaring cheers of the crowd.

And then, the hammer dropped.

"Now that the graduation ceremony has concluded," the Colonel said into his microphone. "We can get down to some serious business. I know a lot of you have been looking forward to planning some leave time, or selected your first postings in the Special Forces. However, I have some news."

"The staff has just received a directive from the Department of the Army, indicating that our forces in the Republic of Vietnam, despite being involved in a draw-down, are continuing to suffer massive casualties due to North Vietnamese military actions against the ARVN. The damage to our remaining formations, after three withdrawal phases, has affected the Special Forces advisors and instructors in country significantly. Those soldiers are still valiantly training the ARVN units and local villages to defend themselves against the Communists, for when American forces withdraw completely."

A collective gasp left the mouths of the training company's members, which was joined by concerned sounds from the gathered family members in the reviewing stands.

"Therefore," the Colonel continued. "By emergency order of the President, all leaves have been cancelled. You men will remain here at Fort Bragg for one week to receive Vietnam field issue equipment and weapons, and will take an intensive weapons familiarization course. Seven days from now, all of you will board a priority flight from the Pope Air Force Base Green Ramp, to fly direct to Tan Son Nhut Air Base, outside of Saigon. From there, you will be divided up as replacements among the elements of the 5th Special Forces Group or other priority assignments within the Military Assistance Command - Vietnam. Your tour will be approximately twelve months, if you survive that long in country. There will be no other relocations and all requested first postings have already been rescinded."

The Colonel waited for the information to sink in for everyone. Sergeants Dobbs and Hauser just gave each other simple glances in their peripheral vision and shrugged their shoulders imperceptibly.

"For those of you with guests at this graduation, you'll have the remainder of today to spend with them," the Colonel said. "For those of you who don't, I strongly suggest getting on the phones and contacting your immediate relatives by the end of today. I wish I had better news."

The Colonel's face saddened a bit, since he was one of the lucky survivors of Vietnam to come home and stay in the Army to work at the JFK SW Center. "Listen here, all of you soldiers. This is no bullshit. The average life expectancy of a new replacement butter bar taken under fire on his first combat patrol was /sixteen to twenty minutes/. Enlisted men fared no better, since there were a lot more to go around."

Many of the new operators shifted in their places and their eyes darted around to connect with their buddies.

"Vietnam is an organ grinder," the Colonel warned, "chewing up fine men and spitting out wasted souls and corpses. The only way to survive is to listen to the veterans, trust in your buddies, and to fight like you've never fought before. Sleep with one eye open at all times, and pray to God that the firebases supporting your fighting camp have good artillerymen on the guns. I wish all of you young troopers the best of luck, because you mud-eaters are gonna fuckin' need it. Dismissed."

-xxx-

God, I wished that my mom wasn't in the stands listening to the Colonel at that very moment. Even with Joe around to give her moral support and trying to explain away the serious words the Colonel had said, I don't think she would've kept her cool. Just because I couldn't pick them out, didn't mean that they weren't waiting to rush down from the stands onto the field with the other families, stricken with grief about my orders.

Thankfully, Joe and my mom didn't make the trip after all. It was easier to get on the telephone later, and tell Joe first, so that he could break the news to Mom and calm her down. It still made my heart break when I heard her crying on the other end of the line, while at the same time trying to nurse Vincent through a tough night of teething, or the "terrible twos", or whatever it was that was afflicting him at the time.

But I made sure that I called home. I didn't want Mom or Joe to be in the dark, and Joe was a good guy about it. He even said just about the same things the Colonel did about how to survive the 'Nam. I just hoped that I would be good enough to make it count.

Doggie Dobbs stood by me while I made the call. He didn't have any family to seek out; nobody in a quiet home someplace in New York to tell him that they loved him and wanted him to come home alive. He and I planned on taking out a one-night pass to go into Fayetteville and get smashed over a whiskey bottle, to drown our sorrows one last time in The Land of the Free.

Doggie Dobbs was the first soldier - no, strike that - the first person other than my mom to ever see me cry. I wasn't the first one to see him do it, but he said I was the only one who he trusted enough to cry in front of. I didn't know what to say.

-xxx-