A Marine Called Jason
(Revised)
by: Peter

(© 2007-2011 by the Author)
 

The author retains all rights. No reproductions are allowed without the author's consent. Comments are appreciated at...

Chapter 12
Military Escort 

I was promoted to Sergeant and there was a celebration at the Dragonfly with some of the guys from the barracks. Most of the guys got laid, including me, but it wasn’t Ling. Later I went to Toby's to celebrate by myself more quietly. Toby looked like he wasn't feeling good.

"What'll you have?" he asked rather quietly.

 I gave him a blank look.  It was the first time he'd ever asked me what I wanted to drink. He always knew.

 "The same," I said with a curious look.

 He got my beer and instead of sliding it across the bar like he always did he reached over and set it squarely in front of me. I saw a sad look in his eyes and he glanced away from me a couple of times, like he was avoiding me. His mood wasn’t conducive to celebrating my promotion. I gave him another curious look and took a drink of beer, looking at him over the top of the bottle.

"You... haven't heard," he said finally in a soft, flat tone.

"Heard what?" I asked.

Toby released the air from his lungs with a pained look on his face.

"Heard what?" I asked again, now with panic in my voice.

He still hesitated, like he just couldn’t get the words out.

"Heard what, dammit?" I asked, and in those few seconds that lapsed I grew panicky.

"Jason's plane went down."

The air went out of me like a giant fist had slammed into my midsection and the blood left my head, leaving me light-headed. It seemed like everything around me stopped--literally ceased to exist--and I was sitting there alone in an empty limbo. I slid up onto the bar stool because my legs weren't going to hold me up.  I felt sick to my stomach.

"My Godd!" I whispered.  "He… he's... he's not….."

Toby just shook his head.

I downed the rest of my beer and Toby put a glass of whiskey in front of me and set the bottle beside it.

"I'm sorry, Brad.  I am so fuckin' sorry."

I sat there staring into the empty glass.  I needed a drink but I didn’t have the strength to lift the bottle to pour it. I gasped in deep breaths of air, trying to quell the sick feeling in my stomach.  I was going to lose it.  Toby poured some whiskey in the glass and I downed it.

"Where?  When?" I asked, setting the glass down with a loud crack.

"It’s fuckin’ crazy. They were on their way back, they were stopping for refueling and something went wrong.  There were only two survivors."

I wanted to ask if Jason was one of them; if he was just hurt, but I knew better. I put my hand to my head and closed my eyes tightly, fighting down the emotions that threatened to burst free. I couldn’t lose control. Not right there in Toby's.  Jason would expect more than that from me.

"He got to see his family, at least," Toby went on in a consoling tone, but if it was supposed to be any consolation, it wasn't.  Not for me.

"Geezuss, all that guy did, and he went down in a goddamned airplane?" I said.  Toby had refilled my glass and I gulped down another drink of whiskey.

"Do you need to use my rooms for a little bit?" Toby asked.

I shook my head.  "No.  No, I… I have to go someplace."  I poured myself another drink, downed it and stood down from the barstool.

"Brad... are you going to be okay," Toby said.

I waved him off.  I exited the bar and sucked in the night air, pungent with the odors of a city that didn't concern itself about air pollution.  It smelled good to me.  It smelled like war and I sucked it in like it was an aphrodisiac. I walked hard in the direction of the church. I needed God worse than I'd ever needed Him in my life and it wasn't all for good and holy reasons. I was angry. I had no right to be; I had broken two big promises to God.  But I wanted some answers as to why this stupid thing had happened, and I had a few things to say to the saints.  And the patron saint of military men... whoever he was... where the hell was he?  I wasn’t sure what a patron saint did; the thousands of good men being killed in this God-forsaken place didn’t give him good standing on my book.

I wasn't any calmer by the time I got to the church but I entered with the reverence and respect that had been instilled in me as a boy. I was angry, but you didn't show anger in the house of God.  I took a pew in the front and knelt down near the grotto of the saint I'd first prayed to for Jason's safety. I didn't look up at the statue.  Suddenly I didn’t have anything to say to him, and if he had anything to say to me, he could have God strike me down to get my attention.  I had questions for St. Sergius and St. Baachus but I didn’t voice them. I looked up at the crucifix instead.... stared at it for a long time, and felt a calm come over me.  There He was, hanging on the cross, dead.  Dead, like Jason. For the first time, I think, I felt bad that Christ had died, but God help me, at that moment I felt worse that He had taken Jason.  I don’t know what it was, but the tension left me and I realized that it wasn't all anger, but grief that consumed me. I felt comfort in the knowledge that Jason was with that man on the cross now, in His arms instead of mine, where he truly belonged, for I believed with everything in me that Jesus Christ and the soldier are the only ones who vow to lay down their lives for their fellow man and in that bond I believed that a soldier goes to Heaven without impediments, no questions asked.

I tried to fight down the emotions and the tears.  I didn't know why.  I don't know why anybody does that.  It's there and it's going to be there till you let it out or it's going to hurt worse if you don’t.   In my case I didn't let it out, it escaped on its own.  I started to recite the litany of prayers I'd learned as a boy… Hail Mary, full of grace…. but my shoulders slumped and I sobbed.  I lost it completely. I cried so hard, it hurt.

I heard footsteps coming into the church, then someone moved into a pew close behind me.  I didn't realize how close till I felt a big, strong hand on my shoulder.

"Hey, buddy…. excuse me… Geezusss, what's wrong?" he asked.  His voice was hard and deep. When I didn’t answer he got up and moved into the pew beside me.  He was a stranger, intruding on my space, yet I was grateful for his presence.  I was more grateful when I felt his arm across my shoulder and saw that he was in uniform.… combat fatigues…. and suddenly he wasn’t a stranger, and I didn't care that this soldier was seeing me cry.

"I know how it hurts," he said.

How did he know? He didn't even know why I was hurting.  But he did. 

"I lost my best friend a month ago. I’m still hurting," he said.

He wasn't a priest so I felt no need to confess anything about my feelings for Jason, to explain the depth of my feelings. It went deeper than that anyway, beyond the sex we'd shared.  The soldier was offering me compassion.  After a few minutes though, I wanted to be alone. 

When I began to regain my composure he asked, "Do you want to go have a beer or something?"

I shook my head.  "I want to stay here for a while," I said.

"Okay.  I understand.  I'll be at the Dragonfly.  I'll be there for a while." He went up to one of the grottos, lit a candle and knelt down.  There is something ultra-masculine about a broad shouldered, tough soldier on his knees.   After a few moments he got up and left. He nodded as he walked past me and I wondered who or what he had prayed for.

I sat in the soft dimness, letting the grief engulf me.  I didn't raise hell with the saints as I’d intended. I wasn't angry anymore.  Jason would've frowned on it anyway.  He would've been embarrassed with my grief.  But it was my grief, not his. I sat numb for over a half hour, not even trying to grab onto any of the thoughts running through my head.  I was just there, in a space with the heat of the candles warming it. Suddenly there was no real purpose or need and I didn't know why I was there.  I suppose I wanted to feel the warm embrace of an understanding being that would comfort me or make the awful truth go away.  But I didn't feel it.  All I felt was numb, and my own presence, very much alone, in the empty space, made hazy by the dozens of flickering candles.  Finally, I crossed myself and stepped out of the pew.  I still didn't look at the statue of the saint.  I wasn't angry, but I thought he had a lot to answer for.  I wondered if it was too late to meet up with the soldier.   

I walked the few blocks to the Dragonfly. When I went in he saw me and waved me over and signaled to the waitress to bring me a beer.

"I'm glad you decided to come," he said.

"I just needed a little more time back there," I said.

"Jack Burnside," he said, putting out his hand.

"Brad Courter." I sat down.

"I know it fuckin' hurts, man," he said.

"How did you know?" I asked.

"Because I just went through it.  I've still got the pain in the pit of my stomach. It's going to be there for a long time. Guys say it never goes away.  How'd it happen?" he asked.

"His plane went down."

"He was a pilot?"

"No, he was coming back from the States. He was a Navy SEAL.  He had just re-enlisted then he went home to see his family.  He was a sniper, for Chrissakes, he was a POW and he escaped, and he gets it in a damned plane crash."

“God, what a fuckin’ waste,” he said.       

“He would have thought so,” I said.

"Me and my best friend enlisted and came over here together," he said.

"How'd you get past it?"

"You don't.  You deal with it," he said.

I teared up once and Jack actually reached over and put his hand on mine. I eased my hand back.  “People are going to think something funny is going on,” I said.

“Guess what.  I don’t give a fuck,” he said.  Then he reached over and grabbed both of my hands in a tight grip.   

Sure enough, some wise ass walked by and said, “Why don’t you faggots take your lover’s quarrel outside.”

Jack was on his feet in a flash and had the guy by the throat and threw him back across the table. He grabbed his balls with his other hand.  “Watch who you’re calling a faggot, unless you want to eat your balls for chow,” he growled angrily as he gave them a hard squeeze.

The guy yowled with pain as he thrashed and kicked to try to get out of Jack’s grip, but Jack cut off his air with his hand around his neck. I jumped up and grabbed Jack’s arm.

“Hey, it’s okay.  He didn’t know.”

Jack eased his grip around the guy’s neck but as he brought him up off the table, he shoved his knee into his groin for good measure.  

“His buddy just bought the farm, prick,” Jack told him, shoving him away.

“Aww, fuck, I’m sorry,” the guy moaned.

“It’s okay, man,” I said.

“Can I buy you a drink?  I am such an ass. Please, let me buy you a drink,” he begged.

I said okay and he went over to the bar and came back with two beers.  “I’m sorry.  I apologize, to both of you. Seriously, I'm sorry.”

“It’s okay,” Jack said, sounding rather impatient as he waved the guy off.

We talked for over two hours and I felt better, and maybe he did too.  Maybe Jack needed me as much as I needed him.  We promised we would stay in touch; meet up at Toby's sometime.  He said he had been to Toby's once but he heard it was a gay bar.  I told him I'd heard the same thing but I had never seen anything out of place there and that seemed to satisfy him.  At least he never suggested meeting someplace else.

I dug out Jason’s letter and went to Colonel Brown and requested leave to escort Jason back home and asked him to arrange it if he could.

"You knew Petty Officer Seaborne?" he asked as he looked over the letter.

"Yes, sir, very well."

"I'll see what I can do," he said.

A couple of hours later, he called me into his office. "Get your shit together, your orders are being cut; you're the escort," he said. "I'm giving you some extra time so you can go see your family while you're there. You'll need to go over to his unit and pick up his personal stuff.  Take one of the Jeeps."

"Yes, sir."

"And Courter, go through his stuff carefully, make sure his mother doesn't get something she shouldn't," he said.

"Yes, sir."

I found my way to his unit, showed the lieutenant my orders and he had a young PFC show me to Jason's bunk and foot locker, although I knew where it was. He carried a pair of cutters that he used to cut the lock.

"You need anything, let me know," the PFC said.  "You want some coffee?"

"Yeah, thanks."

He came back with a cup of coffee.

"You need anything else, let me know."  He came back a few minutes later with a form on a clipboard.  "The LT says you need to list everything and sign for it," he said.

“Even the stuff I don’t send back to his parents?” I asked.

“No, don’t list that stuff. Just get rid of it.”       

I began making the list, in detail; his shaving kit, shorts, T-shirts, socks, a few letters and pictures, a watch, a choker necklace, the presentation boxes containing his medals. It didn't surprise me a whole lot that there wasn't anything in Jason's locker that his mother shouldn't see, after I confiscated four condoms that I put in my pocket. I doubted if they would be any great surprise to her but she didn't need to have those and I didn’t list them on the inventory sheet. I noted on the form who all the letters were from and if there were any pictures in the envelopes. On the very bottom of his footlocker, tucked under a pair of athletic shorts I found his tattered jockstrap. My heart surged with emotion as I picked it up. I almost held it to my face to capture his smell but I caught myself.  I also found an envelope with the words, "In case of my death deliver to Cpl. Brad Courter at Intel, Saigon."  I smiled.  I was a sergeant now. 

I felt a chill holding the letter in my hand. We had never discussed the letter or Jason’s arrangements.  It was a moment or two before I could bring myself to open it. A twenty-dollar bill fell out. 

Buddy,

I hate to put this burden on you, but you're the one I want to handle it.  If you can't do it, I'll understand, but I'm asking you.  I won't get sappy, but I want you to know that you've been the best buddy I ever had; like the brother I never had.  I know, I've got a brother, but you're a lot more of a brother than he is.  Don't bother trying to make my folks understand any of this.  I don't expect them to. You understand,  and that's what matters; that and what I stood for are not forgotten.  And I know you will make sure that what I stood for is honored. You know what I want; full military honors.  And that's not just for me; I want it because it’s for the rest of the guys who are still fighting and dying over here.  I want my death to mean something, Brad. It has to mean something, otherwise what the hell was it all for?  I'm not sure mom or my dad will want the flag.  If they don't, you take it.  It does not go to my brother!   He would probably burn it, and it would only mean more to their cause that it covered my casket.  Being with you was great, in every way. You taught me a lot and you gave me a lot.  I only wish I could have given back just a fraction of what you gave me but you knew I wasn't built that way. 

My GI insurance is made out to you since you’re responsible for everything.  After everything is paid for, give what's left to my parents.  Take the twenty bucks and have a beer on me.  Take what you want of my stuff.  I would like for you to keep the medals and my discharge papers unless my dad and mom ask for them, which I'm sure they won't. There's another sheet attached to this letter that gives you full authorization to take care of everything, including the final arrangements.  Didn't want to include it here because what I've said here is none of anybody else's business.  It's been a hell of a ride, Marine, and I'm honored that you were there with me. Take care of yourself.  Stay safe, and say hello to Toby for me.  I love you, man.  I know you told me that once but I never said it back.  I do, though, and I’m saying it now.

                                                  Your buddy,

                                                              Jason 

Tears were running down my face and I stayed knelt beside his footlocker for a moment to regain my composure. I felt a hand on my shoulder. It was the PFC.

“Can I get you anything, Sergeant?” he asked quietly.

“No, I’m okay. Listen, could I have another one of these inventory sheets? I screwed this one up,” I said.

He brought me another sheet and I started over again, this time leaving off the medals and ribbons he said I should keep. He would have a set on his uniform.  I also kept a choker necklace, two pictures that he was in, his athletic shorts and his jockstrap. These were all things that meant more to me than they could ever mean to anyone else. Then I inventoried the stuff on the shelf and the stuff hanging on the rack at the head of his bunk.  It was mostly uniform shirts and pants, caps, gloves and such.  Another guy came into the hooch in full combat gear and walked past me, didn’t say a word. I wondered if he didn’t know Jason had been killed; maybe he was just getting in from a patrol and hadn’t heard. He looked beat. He shed his gear and started taking off his clothes. Suddenly I recognized him. He was the guy I’d sucked off over by the ammo dump. He grabbed a towel and headed out of the hooch. Our eyes met for a second as he walked past me and I was sure he recognized me.  He paused and turned around, with the towel slung over one shoulder.

“Sorry about your buddy,” he said.

I glanced over my shoulder. “Thanks,” I said. He stood there, in a stance that made me wonder if all he was doing was showing off his body, trying to tempt me.

“Did you and him ever hook up?” he asked bluntly.

“No,” I said, without looking around.

“Too bad. Too damned bad. He was a fuckin’ stud. Hell, there were times when I was tempted,” he said. “You taking him back?”

“Yeah.”

“It’s not going to be pleasant back there,” he said. “He was a fuckin’ hero if I ever saw one.  Don’t let ‘em take that away from him.”

“I won’t. Guaranteed,” I said.

He didn’t say anything else and I looked around to see if he was still there. He was looking at me.

“When you get back in country and get settled back in, look me up,” he said. “If I’m not around, ask for Gary; leave word.”

I let my eyes rake over his naked, muscular body, his chest glistening with sweat.

“Okay, I will,” I said. I watched him walk out of the hooch, my eyes lingering at the very masculine frame through the screen door.  I had no intentions of looking him up when I said it, but maybe I would.     

I double-checked everything then found the PFC and told him I was finished and asked if he could get me a duffle bag to put everything in.  I couldn't find Jason's duffle bag.

“It’s under his mattress.”  It was Gary, coming back from his shower.  “He always kept it under his mattress.”

"Okay, forget the duffle bag.  Do you want to go through the stuff and verify my list?" I asked, handing the PFC the clipboard.

"No. If he trusted you, I do," he replied and signed off on the sheet.

I breathed a sigh of relief; I didn’t want to have to explain the things that I hadn’t put on the list.

“I didn’t list these,” I said, taking the condoms out of my pocket to show him.  

“Right. His mother doesn’t need to have those little mementos,” he said. 

“Did you know him?” I asked.

“No, not really. I just came in country a few weeks ago. He was out a lot of the time.  Wish I had, though. I heard a lot about him.”

I knelt down and pulled the duffle bag from under the mattress.  I felt something in it.  I dug around and pulled out his KaBar knife and an NVA bayonet wrapped in a blanket.

“Shit, I didn’t list these,” I muttered.

Gary stepped over beside me and quickly wrapped them back up in the blanket and shoved them back into the duffle bag.  “Fuck it, keep ‘em,” he said under his breath.  The towel he had around his waist came unknotted and fell to the floor.  I picked it up. I was looking squarely at his manhood.  

“Those things will mean more to somebody back home, and if you list them and turn them in, somebody else will just grab ‘em,” Gary said.  “Hell, he was your buddy, you keep ‘em yourself.  He would want you to have them.”

All the while he was talking, I was listening with my eyes shifting nervously, trying to avoid the display of manliness in front of me.  I felt guilty over the thoughts I was having. I suddenly realized how it must look, me down there on one knee, with Gary standing naked right in front of me, and I stood up.

“Can I have my towel?” he said.

“Oh. Sorry.” I handed it to him.

He smiled.  “I think we recognize each other, don’t we?”

“You looked familiar when you came in the hooch,” I said.

“Should’ve looked real familiar just a minute ago,” he said with a tight, knowing grin.

“That’s what I thought,” I said.

“I know it’s probably not the time, but if you need to get your mind off of things, maybe I could offer some distraction,” he said.

“Boy, I would like to,” I said. “But… no, it’s not the time.”

“I understand.  Maybe some other time. Like I said, look me up when you get back in country.”

Before I closed the duffle bag I dug out one of the olive green handkerchiefs.  Outside I scooped up a handful of dirt and tied it in the handkerchief and stuffed it in my pocket.

Back at my barracks I took out the medals, the KaBar knife and bayonet, and the other things I had left off the list. As an afterthought I also took a pair of his briefs and one of his Navy SEALs T-shirt.  If anyone said anything, I would simply say I took them.

That night was a quiet hell for me. 

Next day I went to see Toby just before time to leave, wearing full dress blues.  I didn’t know why, I just needed to be in a familiar place where Jason and I had been, with someone who knew him.

“Damn! Don’t you look studly,” he remarked. He got me a beer but I turned it down.

“I don’t think I should be drinking,” I said.

“It’ll be waiting on you when you get back,” he said. “When are you leaving?

“In a couple of hours.”

Much to my surprise, Toby came out from behind the bar and gave me a bear hug.  Fuck, he felt good.  His body was hard as a rock.

“I’m sorry as hell,” he said. “But keep it together.”

“I will.”

“I wanta know when you get back, first thing,” he said.

“This’ll be the first place I stop,” I promised.     

When I got back to the barracks, my Jeep and driver were waiting to take me to the airport.  I went inside and got the duffle bag and the driver took it and hefted it into the Jeep, then we were on our way.  I wasn't prepared for the scene that greeted me when I boarded the big C-130.  It was full of flag-covered caskets. I thought it odd that I was the only non-crew in the cargo hold. The engines came to life and the plane shuddered. 

"Grab a seat and strap in," someone said.

I asked him which one was Jason Seaborne.

“I couldn’t tell you,” he said.

“Can you find out?”

“Hey, we just fly ‘em home.  It’s up to the guys at the other end to sort ‘em out,” he said.

I saw red. I grabbed him by the front of his shirt. “He was my best buddy!  I wanta know who I’m sitting with!  Find him!” I yelled in his face.

He reared back, surprised. “Disengage, Marine,” he said calmly as he gently removed my hand from his shirt. That’s when I noticed his rank. He was young but he had more stripes on his arm than I ever hoped to have, and I had laid hands on him.

“Sorry, Sergeant,” I mumbled, stepping back with my hands up. “Sorry.”  I turned and sat down with my head in my hands.

“Sit tight, Marine. I’ll see if I can locate your buddy.”

“I’m fuckin’ sorry, Sergeant,” I said again.        

“It’s okay. I shouldn’t have been so crude.  I should have known you're escorting somebody back. But we take so damned many of them back, if you let yourself think about it; that there’s a GI in every one of those boxes…. and you think about their families.… well, sometimes it’s easier to think of it as just another cargo flight. That’s how we get through it.” 

The sergeant came back with the manifest and went up and down and between the rows of caskets, checking each one till he came to Jason’s.

“Right here,” he said, laying his hand on the casket.

I moved down and squeezed into a space not meant for passengers.

“I’ll get you a blanket.  It’s going to get cold up there,” he said.

He left and came back with a blanket.  "You'll need to be strapped in till we're airborne," he said.

“How come I’m the only escort back here?” I asked as I settled into one of the canvas and web seats along the side of the plane.

“The manifest says you requested it.”

“Yeah, I did, but nobody else did, with all these?” I asked with a wave toward the caskets.

“Not everybody flies back with the body.  Some fly commercial and meet the body at the other end.  And a lot of times the assigned escort is already stateside.”

“I’m sorry I lit into you like that,” I said again.

“I’ll get over it,” he said with a chuckle. “Take care of your buddy. I’ll be back to check on you.”

To be continued... 

Posted: 02/20/15 rp