It was one of those odd days, and it would end up being even more coincidental before it ended, a nice overly warm day in the spring of l976. Chris had gotten his Buck Sergeant strips and therefore was eligible now for additional assignments, duties required by sergeant level personnel, thus, this Monday he was given a special assigned to take some nuclear waste, consisting of several twenty-five gallon canisters, to the 69th Ordnance Group, some ninety-miles away. Along with the truck driver, a Private First Class Presley, and a Corporal by the name of Meeks, whom was his second, or back up guard, they both jumped on the back of the five-ton truck, the driver in the front, and in the late morning sun, headed out to the 69th, all three soldiers, with their M16 rifles by their sides: locked and loaded.
Sergeant Wright never really liked using his time for other than Surety purposes, such as guard duty, or delivering soldiers to prison, or even nuclear waste jobs , but it was part of the overall duties of sergeants now, as was other duties specifically for sergeants, and in a way he liked the idea of being a sergeant, and with such expectations, thus he took it with pride, not complaining: in addition, there were not that many sergeants with high security clearances on base, which was a requirement for the overall responsibilities of many needed tasks.
As they drove down the autobahn [freeway the young sergeant looking east for suspicious people and westfrom on top of the five-ton tuck down into their cars; also, often checking the twenty-canisters each holding twenty-five galleons of nuclear waste. It seemed to him some might be leaking around the seams of the top of two canisters, but they werent after closer observation.
At the 69th
Sergeant Wright had the driver remain in the back of the open truck, having it park close by the 69th Ordinance Groups main Mess Hall, while he and the corporal went into it for lun ch, it was 1:15 PM. He had notified the authorities on base he was holding the stockpile at its present location, by way of a phone located nearby. And they suggested he remain there while they send down a police escort along with additional guards to follow the truck to its destination-site. In the mean time, he need only remain at the Mess Hall, and the truck would be back in an hour or so, and they could head on back to the 545th. Accordingly, the Sergeant would bring a bag lunch for the driver.
As they walked into the Mess Hallstepping up and over steps and a ridge in the middle of the doorwaythe corporal following etcetera, they both, the assistant and the sergeant, disengaged the M16-clip-magazine of bullets from the rifle, putting them inside pouches on their ammo-belts, mussels down as they walked into the dinning area. Now looking back at the sun and its heat hitting the truck, it was refreshing to be out of the sun, therefore, he witnessed the driver talki ng to the Military Police, as he wiped his brow. Then he gave his rifle to the Corporal, and went in line along with other soldiers to get two trays of food. They had found a table somewhat close to the door; surprisingly so, since it looked quite jam-packed, for as Chris looked about, all the tables were now taken, funny he thought, humorous how did his eye catch this one. And then as he sat down with his two trays, a stranger from a nearby table stood up, it seemed obvious too obvious, or so the stranger made it seem that way, then he started walking over toward Chris table.
Can I bother you by asking you a question there: Buck Sergeant, ask the stranger, a Staff Sergeant, speaking in a Midwestern style, slowly with a middle tone to it. Said the sergeant without hesitation, since Chris nodded his head yes, with his eyes giving a signal of: sure, why not said:
Familiar, --you look familiar, he repeated himself for better clarification.
Chris took a great look, said with haste:
Whatyoumacallit, (a pause), youreare you, I mean you look like Whatyoumacallit, then it came to mind, the name, it got burped out: Chick Evens! said Sergeant Chris Wright.
Having said that, the conversation rang loud and clear, along parallels one might say, they were High School friends, and neighborhood friends: not one he [he being: Chris hung around with per se, but one that hung around the Cayuga Street Gang, the area the police called, Donkeyland, of St. Paul, Minnesota in the Mid-l960s. They had gotten drunk a few times with a group of people, and caused a little ruckus in the halls of Old Washington High School, off Rice and Cook streets. They both had been to Vietnam also, not together, but both there at different times; the last time they had met one another, was in Boot Camp, at Fort Bragg, North Carolina, in l969, he: Chick Evens was polishing his boots, when Chris showed up to say hello at his barracksat Fort Bragg.
I ts me, and thats you, you all right, said Chris, adding, Small world Id say, as he wiped his mouth from the spaghetti he had just swallowed.
Chris then asked Staff Sergeant Evens, with a wave of his hand to join them, and Chick pulled up a chair, as they both noticed Chicks friends went on talking about whatever they were talking about. Both old friends become quite comfortable of one another within a few minutes and both delivered an update report on their lives. Chris knew, soldiers often ran into old Army buddies as years went by, for this had happened in Vietnam as well, where he had met, better put, ran into a friend who owed him money, $2 to be exactbut he wasnt from his state. In any case, it wasnt all that unusual, especially when they were in the same MOS [Military Occupation, and both Sergeants were in ordinance field, but the chances of meeting a friend from your home town, and High School, seemed too coincidentala long shot, but none the less, it was a s it was. And here, the two sergeants talked about old times, simple things men talk about, as: camaraderie took place; a beam of pride, and a nice break in the everyday life of both of them.
13.
Between Fights
Chris sat reflecting upon his Army career, his travels, his back home city lifehis old friend came to mind, Chick Evens also, as the sound of crash and a bang come from a room down the barracks hallway. Chick was a poet of sortshe rememberedin his neighborhood, kind of a singing poet if he recalled right; he had also taken karate up, and for the most part was just a down-home good-old-boy, a friend from High School. It was funny seeing him in West Germany on one of his assignments a few days earlier, while delivering nuclear waste to the 69th Ordnance Group, of which his unit, the 545th Ordnance Company was under. He remembered him being a little hot tempered at times: save for the fact he was hard to get mad in the first place, but once mad it wa s hard to settle him downan emotional character he did have, not like his brother, who was calm like a stonebut then, that was him: yet, given time, hed cool down. For the most part, Evens was a discovery in himself thought Chris.
They were bothhe and Evensin all respects, developing alcoholics: they loved to drink back in those days, what my have been referred to as, the good old days of the neighborhood, and then being in the Army, it also contributed to its ongoing love affair if anything, with the bottle. Again, Chris was disrupted from his meditation from a bang down the hallway, it sounded as if a fight was going on: a bash came, as if it cracked the wooden door to one of the rooms of the barracks framed arches. He opened his door to his four man room, and looked down the hallwaysure enough the sounds were from way down the hall: the sides of the walls were two-tone green and pale-egg white above the greens that went up the rest of the way of the wall, and ac ross the ceiling and down the other side; the noise was coming from the very end room it seemed, on his right hand side, it was the middle of the afternoon. Again he listened intently: surely a fight of some kind he construed: he knew of three Army guys in that room, a Mexican who was always bragging how tough he was; a Southern whitecalled Red who sold dope to everyone who wanted it, if he wasnt strung out on it himself; and a black man Chris never really knew, just seen, he was big, but seemed harmless; all the same, he always was loosing his strips, from Corporal one month to Private the next, matter of fact, he had seen this very thing in his closet, that is: two sets of dress greens, one with private strips on them, and one with Corporal strips on them, thus saving time for running back and forth looking for a seamstress, and having them sawed on--: Chris walked back into his room, shutting the door behind him, sat back in his chair, and all of a sudden an incident occurred to him.
Chris was brought back to when he, Chick Evens, Johnnys girl, Karen, and the Shadow, Chris girl [she was called the Shadow because she followed Chris around all the time, like a shadow would; they were all in a bar in St. Paul, called Brams, before he went into the Army, specifically. In any case, during this time, Hells Outcast, came in, a motorcycle gang, and out of nowhere, Johnny and the gang started a fight with someone, Johnny being friends with them. Although Chick knew them, he never hung around with them, and so the brawl broke out, without Chick or Chris getting involve, and to Johnnys dismay, it seem a bit too pious. None the less, his girl was safe within the stall with the two, as the bar became more destabilized by the minuteit was as if the Gladiators of Rome had opened up the gates to the Coliseum for a festive-fight. From all corners of the bar, came: glasses flying, beer bottles and alike crashing recklessly everyplace, flying fra ntically by everybodys heads, bodies. People being knocked down, punched; people yelling, screaming.
Chris heard the bartender say, I called the cops, theyre on their way, a nice kind of warning for some odd reason, in hopes there would be no retribution afterwards most likely. Johnny was drunker than a skunk, and Karen was observing everything around Johnny, worried for him, yet not sure what to do; the Shadow was ducking, yet nothing had come to their booth, not yet anyhow; and Evens just looked at every move that was taking place in the bar, Johnnys eyes caught hisEvens, Johnny the instigator for the most part, and Evens friend; he looked like a drunken saber-tooth lion to Chris.
Said he [Evens, looking at Johnny about ten feet away:
We better get out of here before the police come, at that moment he gave Chick a smiling-smirk ((if not a sneer)), and resumed fighting. From Chicks peripheral vision, he did a double take along side of his shoulder and th e booths edge of the seat,--hence, towards the back of the booth a chair came flying; someone near Johnny had thrown it, or possible Johnny himself, possible anyone could have: and so it was, that someone had picked it upthe chair, noticing this one lone booth was not involved with the happy-go-lucky, dangerous fun, and wanted to insure they got their fatebut somehow, Chick quickly threw up his forearm, blocking the chair as it flipped against ita moment prior flying in the air towards the heads of the whole booths; and as he blocked it, it fell onto another table: his forearm being a bit bruised. Then Chick got up, asking the three folks with him to get the hell out of there before it was too late, accordingly, making it to the door, as the police sirens were becoming louder in the background. He quickly grabbed Johnny, at Karens request, throwing him into the cab and onto the floor, pushing him down with his foot as he tried to get up; whereupon, a policeman came and as ked, looking into the cab, before it could take off:
You see Johnny Low? Chick replied, last I saw of him he was sick in the bathroom, then the police took off, and Chick told the driver to get moving, and he did.
--Chris looked out his barracks window, leaning on the sill, looked down and around at the busy and bustle below, then, triumphantly he leaned over to his radio, turned it up louder, drowning out the trouble-making angels of gloom down the hallway.
14
The Female Specialist Specialist Jacksonat the 545th
It was getting about that time for Sergeant Wright to head on back to the states, he had stayed forty-three out of his to be forty-four months at the 545th Ordnance Company; he had seen much happen in that time span. He had arrived a Corporal, and made Buck Sergeant, and was going up for Staff Sergeant soon, he would make it before he went to his next duty station he knew, possible in two months. His career had started at Fort Bra gg, as a Private, and on to Alabama, where he became a Private First Class, and then on to the 545th as a Corporal, where he made Sergeant, and hed be now assigned to Italy, after a short stay in the states, thus, where he would make Staff Sergeant.
As he continued to pass all the Surety Inspections, he had noticed that when he first arrived there was only one female on base, of which was in the Mess Hall, now there were several, some with technical positions, in the back area working on nuclear bombs; they were from all walks of life, and races: Black, Mexican and White women all working together, things were sure changing he told himself; matter of fact, he had heard that the 545th had received women now in the company on experimental bases to see how they would intermingle: even the MPs had one. It was a novelty for the most part yet, and the men liked it, yet the problem was arising where to put them all. This was the beginning.
Chris had gotten a ca ll from a friend of his, a [Chief Warrant Office, CW3 McDaniels, that his new Technical Nuclear Weapons Specialist had arrived, and she was a woman; and that they needed him to get her, her clearance right away: a Top Secret clearance, and would like it processed as fast as possible. This was not a new thing for Chris to hear, for the most part, everyone felt their people had, or should be given top priority; although Sergeant Wright didnt let on to this, he let the people think he was going out of his way just for them, and sometimes he would. In point of fact, it could take weeks, to get the process done, and sometimes days, and sometime even months. And a few times hours. This time the CW3 McDaniels, wanted it in hours, saying he had most of the paper work completed on her alreadyand this was true. Well, thought Sergeant Wright, why not try to accommodate, for he was one of the few officers that would boast to the Commander, and inspectors when they came down from Washington D.C. to check on his records, boast about how good Wright was, that he was the best in his field; so it was easy for the sergeant to go out of his way for him, most willingly. And Wright never forgot that.
Corporal, McGee [his assistant, asked the Sergeant,
I need you to hand carry this paper work on Specialist Jacksons through the process of getting her a top secret clearance so we can get her into the site working on them bombs, ASAP!
No problem Sergeant, Ill review the records, finger print her today, and tomorrow morning go down to Battalion and see what I can do. And so it was done, and Specialist Jackson got her clearance to work a little faster than the average person and Sergeant Wright got a phone call from his friendly Warrant Officer thanking him. Often times the name of the game was as it always was, you rub my back, I rub yours, and for the most part it worked.
Specialist Jacksons Surprise
It was midday, and all of a sudden the siren went off, an alert was in progress, which happened frequently. In the process the front gates got locked, and the back area site was locked down alsothe guards in the back area positioned themselves with their rifles and M60 Machine Guns, and all the Army personal on the site readied themselves for the ongoing mock drill; everything was to be secured and checked out in case of a real alarm, yet this alarm like all were either orders from Battalion, or Group level, and sometimes from even a higher echelon: but bogus for the most part. In the mist of all this everyone ran through their barracks and down to the Arms Room to get their weapons, and were instructed when to form a formation to get instructions for what the next step would be. Normally it would entail all to be prepared for an attackthat wasnt really an attack, to Sergeant Wright, a waste of time again hed tell himself and his men, but he had no choice but to play the game, normally if hed find out about when the drills would take place, hed have something to do that day at Higher Headquarters, and be far away from the mock-emergency. Again, this of course was a trial, or dry run alarm to see how fast the site could be secured.
In the process, the orderly room got cramped with personnel, where at this point, about fifteen soldiers, three of them women, had to stand in the hallway waiting to see either the First Sergeant, or the Commander. Sergeant Wright being one of the fifteen, needed to see the First Sergeant on where his team should be, possible securing the records after the formation. As they all stood in the hallway waiting, a black soldier stood directly across from Sergeant Wright. She had big breasts, he had never seen her before, must be the new one he thoughtJackson maybe, and then he had seen her name tag: E. Jackson, her rank being Specialist-Four, equal to a Corporal. He found himself staring at her for some odd reason, possible at her bi g breastshe told himself; possible in a daze thinking on the situation in addition to those big breasts she had, that covered her upper section, from her neck seemingly to her bottom rib.
Something wrong Sergeant, said a voice: still in a daze, and almost on top of her breast with his eyes. [A pause. She comments again, What you looking at SERGEANT! The sergeant looked up, right into her eyesa long pause took placeYou see something you like Sergeant? She was a bit rude he thought, no need to be that way, she had only needed to wake him up he thought. A few people started looking their way, said the sergeant: Yup, Im looking at the door knob right byby your shoulder thereSpecialist! She looked with a smirk at him. He looked with a smile at her. Then he looked again, and again and finally started to look away toward another person when she asked:
Now what Sergeant?
Whats the E. for?
You got my file, why not just check it out? and turned her head way from him: evidently she knew who he was, that being, the Surety NCOIC. Thought, Sergeant Wright: thats what I get for getting her, her clearance right away.
See Dennis' web site: http://dennissiluk.tripod.com
Author:: Dennis Siluk
Keywords:: Chapter Story
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