Friendly Fire
By
J. L. Kaye
Smashwords Edition
Copyright 2009 J. L. Kaye
Smashwords Edition, License Notes
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Prologue
Low lying seasonal mist rolled in off the Pacific as cool air above the water, driven by offshore winds, collided with warmer air rising on inland thermals that hovered over verdant spring hills along California Highway 1 near the small coastal town of Halfway. The dense fog obscured two tricked out 1975-model black Harley Shovelheads with extended front wheels. The bikes, their owners and two women hid in an oak grove on a private road. The black leather-clad bikers sat silent, their engines off, for several minutes as they waited for the owner of the cabin half a mile away at the end of two-lane rutted dirt path to appear and leave his place. One of the men, Marty Silverton, let his hands dangle over the high top chrome handlebars that formed a straight line up from the forks and ended at eye level.
He squinted to see through the gray of mid-morning, and said nothing. He already briefed the other three on his reason for being there.
Clyde Drain broke the silence as he raised a gloved right hand from his side and pointed down the ruts that stretched away from them into the dense mist toward the cabin. “Marty, you sure this is where that guy is? Doesn’t look the kinda place a war hero lives in.”
“Yeah.” Marty stroked his scraggly beard, beaded with moisture, as he stared off into the mist toward the barely visible cabin. “In town they said he teaches at the high school; so he should either be gone by now or leaving pretty soon.”
“And he’s the one who had you …”
“Busted for whacking off over a dead VC woman in Nam six years ago. That’s right.”
The two women exchanged glances and Phoebe, sitting on the back of Marty’s bike, winced.
“And when you see him …”
I don’t intend to see him, just let him know that someone out here has it in for him, that’s all. I want him to wonder who’s stalkin’ him.”
“Marty, must we sit here in this damp air when we could be somewhere warm?” The blonde on his bike had a sing-song nasal voice and tried to look around the broad shoulders to see his face, but he stared straight ahead, in a pretense that his eyes penetrated the dark gray mist as it poured in from the nearby ocean around them.
“I told ya, Phebes, and I don’t want to repeat myself, we’re gonna trash his life a little like he trashed mine.”
“Whaddya hope to get by that?”
“Revenge, Phebes, revenge.”
“Doesn’t seem like a good reason to take a chance on getting caught by bustin’ up his house.” She shrugged and slid backward off the Harley up and over the red tail-light and walked away and mist into the oaks several yards behind them, pulling a wad of tissues from her pocket. Moments later the three others stationed near the dirt road heard the sound of her water as it hit the soft ground.
Off in the distance, they heard the sound of an 18-wheeler working its way down through the gears as it rounded a bend on the main highway and then started the long climb up a nearby hill. Two cars approached the semi from the opposite direction; and when the headlights from the three vehicles met they brightened the air for a brief moment before all of them disappeared in their different directions along California 1. Phoebe rejoined the others, but stood away from Marty’s Harley and amused herself by stripping leaves from a low lying branch, after which she tossed them in disgust at her feet.
Clara whispered to the biker in front of her: “Clyde, I think I better do what she just did. I’m getting my period, too.”
He growled but the sound failed to form into words while he kept his eyes locked on the path ahead. As she walked off, she started to hum a tune. Marty turned and put a finger to his lips, but said nothing. She shrugged and stopped near Phoebe for a moment; they exchanged glances, and shook their heads before Clara continued off toward the back of the small grove, her fingers finding the wrapped cardboard tube in the pocket of her leather jacket.
“Clyde, I heard something.”
“I think you’re right Marty. Sounded like a car door, didn’t it?”
Clyde adjusted his heavy leather boots in the soft loamy soil as he strained to pick up more sounds from the direction of the cabin. Seconds elapsed and a car engine started, revved twice and then the sound dropped lower as the vehicle idled. Moments later, the pitch of the engine increased as a late model red pick-up, parking lights on, bounced slowly along the road toward them. As one, Marty and Clyde pulled their bikes further back into the grove to ensure they disappeared totally from view behind the low hanging branches of the oaks.
Their blind worked.
The truck rolled past them, a brightly tinted ghost with the driver looking straight ahead as the idling engine carried the red pick-up over the small rise that separated the coastal headlands from the highway. When the driver had passed them and out of view upon reaching the highway, he stopped, which brought a squeal from the damp brakes. Then he let the idle carry him through a right turn and out onto California 1 and he quickly worked his way through the gears as the pick-up truck increased speed and disappeared into the morning gloom.
“O.K., he’s gone. Let’s go to work.” Marty turned the key in the Harley’s ignition and started the motorcycle and positioned his fingers on the handlebars. The signature sound of the Harley reverberated off the foggy air and through the oak copse. Marty looked around for Phoebe, who ran over to him from her place in the oaks and dropped her hands as she jumped on the bike-seat behind him. Clara walked slowly up to Clyde and dragged her jean-clad rump onto the extended seat and tapped him on the shoulder to indicate her readiness.
Both women held their hands over their ears as the throaty roar of the Harleys drowned out the sounds of the surf and echoed among the stately trees. Marty and Clyde revved their engines several times before slowly engaging the clutches to let the low RPM take them abreast down the rough road to the cabin.
“Let’s make this quick. I don’t want to be around if he decides to come back early. Though he’s been out for several years, he’s probably still tough as nails like when he was CO of my company.”
Marty pulled ahead of Clyde and set the pace, bouncing along the ruts toward the cabin; Phoebe clutched at his waist.
Thirty minutes later they walked out into the gray air after the four of them trashed the interior of the two bedroom cabin, breaking picture frame glass, dishes left in the sink and personal items. Grins spread across the men’s faces from releasing pent-up energy on the owner’s personal goods. Phoebe carried a bottle of whiskey and a jug of cheap wine from the liquor cabinet and Clara held a pillow case in front of her that had a sheet, glasses and snacks taken from the pantry.
“Before we leave, we’re gonna have a picnic courtesy of Captain Calvin Hampson at his private beach.” Marty howled with laughter and patted Phoebe on the shoulder.
“Is that a good idea? Shouldn’t we just get outta here and do that somewhere else?” Clyde looked anxiously down the road toward where they waited earlier.
“If he’s gone to work, he won’t be back for hours. Anyway, there’s two of us and only one of him.” Marty stuck his thumbs in his belt loops as he swaggered around the front of the cabin, kicking over farming equipment, stumps and rough-hewn chairs. “And we can handle anything he throws at us.”
Clara and Phoebe each shrugged as they held their spoils and waited for Marty and Clyde to set up on their chrome-clad Harleys before sliding behind the two men. The Shovelheads started as one and headed off at a slow speed, the riders’ heads thrust back in triumph. Before reaching the oak trees that formerly hid them from view, Marty made a wide right turn and headed toward the ocean over a barely visible trail. Clyde followed. When they reached the edge of the bluff, the two cut their engines, lowered kick-stands and waited for the women to step off the seats before the men swung their legs around.
Phoebe handed the whiskey to Clyde and carried the wine for herself. Clara hefted the pillow case and sheet she took from Calvin’s linen closet and followed after the other three as they dropped down a small little path that wound toward the pounding surf below.
Back at the cabin and hidden in the mist from the bikers, a swarm of butterflies lifted up and out of the milkweed that surrounded the house. Several of the Monarchs darted through the open door and into the cabin and surveyed the destruction while others waited outside, perched on a wooden railing that ran the length of the porch, their wings opening and closing in a slow, rhythmic beat.
“This will upset Calvin Hampson,” the Monarch said to his doyenne. “He will not be happy about this.”
“Is there anything we should do?”
“Perhaps not at the moment,” he said as he lifted off and fluttered outside to join the others.
Chapter 1
Late afternoon on a clear spring day in 1970, Captain Calvin Hampson, U.S. Army Special Forces, called his mother from a payphone at the military hospital in the East Bay near San Francisco. He startled her with his request: “Mom, I want to sneak into town, unnoticed, when I get home tomorrow.”
“Calvin, are you all right? I’ve been worried about you since you last called.”
“I’m fine, Mom. The Army formally releases me from active duty today, tomorrow at the latest, and I should be out of here and probably home well before midnight on whichever day they sign off on my paperwork.” The medics as well as the chaplains took a whack at me, he thought, all that remains is an out-processing session with the shrink and I’m through here. His eyes roamed up and down the corridor, the floor a dull green and white flecked asphalt tile with walls painted the same lifeless shade of green. Banks of fluorescent lights made the walls appear pasty to him. After a year of rehab, the aseptic smell of cleaning fluids no longer bothered Calvin.
“Your truck still running? Do you need money to get home?” She stood in the kitchen of the two bedroom cabin two hundred miles south of him and watched the sun burn its way through the haze that drifted across the shallow expanse of land between the window and the edge of the Pacific. She wiped her hands across her apron to dry them and hold the phone with a tighter grip as she listened to her son.
He knew she could not afford to help even if he needed it. “Mom, really, I’m fine. The truck works; I’ve got plenty of money, and the Army treated me well. They made sure my physical wounds are healed and, to make things right, promised to give me a good conduct discharge so I don’t have serve any time in the reserves; plus I’ll get all the free medical treatment I need through the VA if any residual problems ever flair up. You know, war-related conditions. Tomorrow, at the latest, if all goes well, I’ll be free and a veteran. Now don’t worry about me. I could even be there before twelve if they’re efficient.”
If they’re efficient, he repeated to himself. He paused and waited for an enlisted man to walk by, thinking as he did: That’ll be the day when the Army is efficient. I just hope she doesn’t do her “Hovering Mother Routine”, otherwise I’ll go Section Eight.
“What about Mattie? She’ll want to see you. When will you talk to her?”
“Haven’t said anything to her yet. She doesn’t know I’m coming home this soon. Let me surprise her when I get there, maybe in a few days after I rest up and get my bearings.” That would be worse, the queen of sarcasm rattling my cage before …
“All right, son. Anything you say. Do you want me to shop for anything? Are there foods you prefer or don’t want?” She looked back at the refrigerator and then across to her pantry.
“Thanks for asking, Mom. Nothing with rice for a while; otherwise, whatever you eat is always fine for me.” And fer chrissakes, don’t lay off the spices. I need something to kick-start my civilian life.
“Travel safe, Calvin. I love and miss you.”
“Missed you, too, Mom.”
“And Calvin?”
“Yes?”
“I’m relieved one of the men in my life came home safely from war.”
“I knew you’d say that.” He paused to let the lump in his throat diminish so he could close off the conversation. “Love you, Mom. Sleep tight. Be good seeing you tomorrow.”
“Yes, Calvin. I love you, and look forward to having you home again.”
This could be a long convalescence, not necessarily in time, either. He gently placed the phone in the cradle and stared at the dialing pad until he felt his heart-rate slow and his breathing come with more rhythm amid fewer gulps of air.
During his third trip to a remote province n the highlands, Captain Calvin Hampson received several wounds on a search and destroy mission in Viet Nam. The first bullet crashed into his leg and took him down; another creased his skull and that was the last he remembered, though he took other hits. For valor in battle on more than one occasion, his commanding officer recommended Calvin for the Silver Star with distinction immediately after medics airlifted him out of the jungles for medical treatment and rehabilitation in the United States, by way of Saigon and the Philippines. His second and final hitch ended about the time doctors finished patching him up. The evening before he mustered out, the command dangled a promotion to major if he re-upped, but he declined it.
Between Calvin and civilian life the last hurdle waited along corridor 4A, the ward where psychiatrists and psychologists met with patients. Psychiatrists got the tough cases that probably needed medication. The therapists got those less likely to be a problem for themselves or society. For his one and only session with a therapist Calvin wore khakis and buffed his shoes to a high shine, hoping to end his tour of duty and military obligation on a formal and proper note before being out-processed from the Army hospital.
Because no one else sat in the waiting room, Calvin assumed his appointment to be the last for the therapist that day. The name on the opaque-glass section of the door said: “Dr. R. Kingry.”
The civilian clerk seated at one corner of the pale green waiting room ushered him into the private office of the therapist where he stood inside the door and waited. After 12 months of convalescence, he expected all wards to reek of medical odors. Doctor Kingry’s office had a large vase of aromatic flowers sitting alongside the couch, out of context with the size of the government-issue Formica and metal table beneath it. The floral arrangement had more panache than anything else in the room.
Nice. First place that doesn’t smell of formaldehyde.
When the therapist joined him, Dr. R. Kingry turned out to be Regina Kingry, an attractive blonde female he estimated to be about the same age. Hmmm, tall, almost willowy, nice wide-open blue eyes. I like that. Shows interest. Somewhere in there is a pretty neat figure. She wore a white lab coat with captain’s bars and sat in front of her desk for the final interview and motioned for Calvin to sit in the armchair across from her, close enough for him to detect a perfume that rode over the top of the scent cast by the flowers.
In between the moment Captain Regina Kingry entered the private office and when he took a seat, she, too, made a quick appraisal of the other party and liked what she saw. Despite his old-style first name and what appeared to be a rural hometown in his records, he seemed to her to be quite “with it” and very attractive. She recalled seeing in the folder that he had a distinguished military career and fit the role-model of the all-American boy during high school and college, good grades, athletic hero and the like. That he went into Special Forces didn’t surprise her because many with similar backgrounds did, too.
She started as she always did with a compliment to the patient: “You’re a handsome man, captain. You should have no problem getting back into the social world when you get home. You are going home, aren’t you?”
“Yes, captain.”
“Doctor, please, captain.”
“Then doctor, you can call me Calvin since we are the same rank.” He liked her manner, comfortable and assured, and the way she looked directly at him when she spoke. Doctors in the other wards always seemed to be looking for the next patient. “And, after midnight tonight that will be the only name I respond to.”
“That when you’re officially RAD?” It’s a shame I only have this one session with him, she thought. I’ll bet he’s got interesting stories to tell and even more interesting issues. Would love to tap into his moral fiber, too. She licked her lips to moisten them for the conversation ahead of them.
“Yes, doctor, officially released from active duty, this date: April 30, 1970.”
“And how do you feel about that, Calvin? You seem pleased.” And somewhat pompous, too.
Because of her attractiveness and the sparseness of the room, he had no problem keeping his eyes focused on her as he talked. “I’m fine with it. I’ve got a lot of catching up to do with family and friends.”
“I’m sure you do. Tell me. Who will you spend the most time with over the next few weeks?”
“My mother.”
“Oh? Why is that?” That’s a surprise; I wonder what that means. She adjusted her position in the high-backed executive chair and leaned slightly forward and away from the desk, her legs still crossed for modesty.
Nice trim legs, dimpled knees. Bet she’s athletic, and with the flash of thigh, albeit brief, that must be her way of checking my testosterone levels. “It’s where I live; you know, permanent home of record. I’ll spend some of my convalescence time with Mother until I start work at the high school in the fall. Maybe by then I’ll be able to pick up the thread of a social life with a high school sweetheart; the girl-next-door-thing. Perhaps I’ll use some benefits and find a home for us and pursue the American dream, too.”
I expected something like that, but he doesn’t sound convinced that’s his best scenario. “Does that bother you? There seems to be an ironic twist to what you’re saying.”
“No, doctor. It’s the kind of normalcy I want after one scalp wound, three hits to the upper thighs and one bullet that passed completely through the fleshy part of my upper arm. Furthermore, I fully understand and appreciate why the chain of command wants me to keep my mouth shut about some trigger-happy bozo wiping out an entire village that consisted primarily of old men, women and children.” As soon as he let the words out Calvin regretted the slip.
“You sound bitter, captain.” She cocked her head to one side.
Calvin paused and watched as the backlight from the sun behind her formed a white rime on her profile. He squinted to study her features before responding. “Actually, doctor, let me cut to the chase for you. Angry. I think that’s the more psychologically correct term, isn’t it? Anger?”
“Clinically, yes. And you do seem a little hostile here, perhaps even toward me.”
And if we were in bed together, captain-doctor, it would be one helluva savage fuck. “Don’t interpret it that way, doctor. I’m disappointed in our system, our command for allowing a massacre of civilians in the first place; and then, more significantly, covering it up. It seems to me when a holier-than-thou-society goes to war for sanctimonious reasons we are obligated to operate at the highest moral and ethical basis possible. Is that not true?”
Hearing anger from a soon-to-be-out-processed officer did not come as a surprise to her. In fact, she questioned more intently those without any displays of anger, often referring them up the chain to the psychiatrists. “I understand what you say, Calvin. But …” Fortunately, with intelligent and perceptive guys like Calvin I don’t have to struggle against being a purveyor of the military line when meeting with them like this.
“Captain? Doctor? Don’t give me military doctrine here. I heard that up one side and down the other while in OCS and then during Special Forces training. I get nauseous at the thought of any more indoctrination sessions. The command lived it. Chaplains preached it. Our politicians pontificated on it. I bought into to it, originally. But the society I was sworn to defend and that I hope to return to as early as tonight doesn’t buy it and neither do I anymore. That’s why many of us who can still come home don’t return to the one we left, they go elsewhere; and that explains, to me at least, why there’s so much anger in the streets against us.”
“I understand, Calvin.”
That’s perfunctory. “Do you? Here we are across the Bay from San Francisco, arguably home of the anti-war community. Do you walk down the streets in uniform or do you change before leaving each day when you go out? How often have you heard the hate and venom from our own people about what we’re doing over there? When was the last time it was directed at you, personally; and you had to cringe or apologize?”
She winced because he had her on the change-of-uniform issue, even though she slipped into civilian clothes for different reasons, to be more attractive in hopes of meeting someone outside the Army. “Well, Calvin, you seem a little disturbed by …”
“Hypocrisy, doctor. I’m disturbed by hypocrisy; and if you’re going to lecture me about anything other than mental health, save your breath. I’m not interested.” Whew. Where did that come from? I may have succeeded in extending my stay here with that little speech. Captain Calvin Hampson, on the day of release from active duty, the stupid shit verbally baits a shrink and gets extended for “further treatment!” Though if it’s in intensive care with Dr. Regina Kingry, that would be alright.
He looked at his hands and wiped a pair of sweaty palms over the top of his khaki uniform, leaving a stain across the creased portion. Time to play it cool, Calvin. No more speeches. Just get out while you can.
She studied his facial reactions for a few moments, recognizing the wave of remorse that passed over Calvin after his spiel. With no more than a moment of reflection, Regina pulled a ballpoint pen out of her white lab coat and signed the bottom of the top form. Afterwards she slowly closed the folder and held it over a metal tray labeled “out”.
“Does that mean I’m out, too?”
His open features and honest expression of hope endeared him to her. “Yes, Calvin. Despite your peroration there, actually, because of it, you seem quite normal and not a danger to yourself or society. If you had laced your comments with excessive profanity, let spittle run down the side of your mouth, or turned purple, there might have been an indication of some psychosis and I would have had to reconsider and then bounce you to someone else; and that would be a loss for you and for me!” She thumbed the corner of the folder before dropping it in the basket, after which she looked up and smiled at him. “Tell me one more thing, captain.”
“Yes, doctor?” He debated on whether to place his hands on the edge of the chair to push himself up and out or sit still and see what else she wanted to say. He decided to remain motionless, frozen in a sitting position.
“Regina.”
“Doctor Regina?”
“No, just Regina.”
“Yes?”
“Calvin, what kind of a sex life do you think you’re ready for?” The question, though it surprised every patient who came through her office, always closed the formal part of Regina’s interviews. She used it to bring out interesting reactions from a wide range of men and even the few women who came before her at the time of their release. Almost every time when she asked it, Regina referred to them by their rank, not their first names.
“Beg your pardon … doc … sorry, Regina.”
“Among all the things I am empowered to ask you, I’m curious about how functional you think you will be in the outside world. Calvin, that aspect, how you see your sexual performance, probably tells me and my colleagues more about your true nature than any of the other areas of human existence.” Some call it voyeurism, others, like me, consider it an appropriate marker for behavior.
“I still don’t get you, Regina.” He stalled for time to consider an appropriate or at least calculated response to this unexpected question. The only woman he ever knew intimately, Mattie Terwilliger, waited for him; and, to be faithful to her, he resisted constant temptations presented by Asian women when on leave. That also allowed him to avoid any of the insidious diseases reputed to be everywhere in the region’s thousands of dens of iniquity that stretched from South Korea to India.
“Let me make it very clear, Calvin: do you think you are you mentally equipped to have a normal sex life?”
The follow-up question stunned him. “With?”
“That’s a fair question, Calvin. With any normal,” she paused, and waited a long moment before continuing with the thought, “female you encounter.”
He let that infectious high school grin creep across his face, the one that came close to seducing cheerleaders at Monarch High School and half the women in the senior class had he not been “taken” out of circulation by Mattie. “I guess you’ll have to define normal, Regina.”
She put two fingers on her lips, rested her chin in the palm of her hand, placed her elbow on the arm rest and let her eyes narrow slightly. With the other hand she gestured for him to continue.
This is a test. I know it. I feel it. In the absence of a verbal response from Regina, he continued: “That’s something that I probably need a little time to think over. If you’re ever down in Halfway, California, so named because of where we are; look me up. I’ll buy you coffee or anything else you’re drinking and by then will have had a chance to determine what civilian-normal is.”
Good answer, Calvin. Good answer. Sadly, I think this interview is over. I would have liked to spend more time with you and explore your sense of sexuality. “Captain Hampson.” Regina winced as she leaned back in her chair, the socket in the Army-issue chair groaned from lack of oil. “The only other thing they want me to find out is whether or not you’ll accept a promotion today to major in exchange for another hitch.”
Without a moment of delay he responded: “Captain, doctor, Regina, the answer is negative. But thank you for asking. If there’s nothing else to be discussed here, I think I should be on my way so I can get home at a reasonable hour.” He held both palms open in a gesture of supplication.
On his way up and out of the chair, Calvin muttered a pledge of silence about any missions he conducted in Southeast Asia.
As she stood up, she stopped him with a hand on his arm: “Calvin, what are you going to do once you return home and go forward with the rest of your life?”
“Regina, I’ve made arrangements to resume my career as a science teacher at Monarch High when the term starts in the fall. The school district proudly meets its obligations to returning veterans and told me they are holding my position open for me, and I intend to honor their gesture.”
“I see. From one kind of public service to another. That’s commendable, Calvin. This country needs more people like you. Have a safe trip home, captain, and maybe one of these days I’ll take you up on that coffee …”
“Or something else.”
“Yes, or something else.”
“Hopefully, Regina, you’ll be a civilian by then.”
“Why’s that?” The question stopped Regina as she placed her hand on the door knob.
“It won’t seem like you’re checking up on me.”
She laughed. “It won’t be like that, Calvin. I assure you.” Her hand remained on the polished brass knob and Calvin stood back and waited for her to open the door. I really don’t want to end this session that way. After a couple of long seconds, she turned back to Calvin. “If you’re in no hurry, there are a couple of things I’d like to ask …”
“For what reason? Though not in a hurry, I thought we were through, captain …”
“Regina. And my next couple of questions will be brief and have very little to do with the Army but more to do with my practice when I, like you, am released from active duty.”
“When’s that?”
“This summer, and then I go into civilian practice.”
“Where?”
“Los Angeles area, where I’m from.”
He stepped back from the door and thrust his hands deep into his pockets. “OK, but should we put a time-limit on this?”
“I’ll do you one better, Calvin. When you’re ready to go, let me know and we’ll end the conversation right at that moment. Meanwhile, all of this is off-the-record and not official Army. Is that fair?” She pointed a delicate hand toward the chair he vacated moments earlier.
He walked back across the sterile room and sat in the same chair as before and nodded, glad to have a few more moments with an attractive and engaging woman who knew how to listen to him.
She took off her lab coat and hung it on the back of the door and returned to the chair at the front of her desk. He noticed that her tailored blouse, not military issue, accentuated a narrow waist and well formed breasts.
When comfortable in the chair, she broke the silence. “OK, Calvin, here’s my thinking about post-military life, and I’d like you to correct me if I stray too far off what you consider to be right. Will you do that?”
“Be honest, brutally so if necessary?”
“Yes, Calvin. If I make a comment or statements you consider being wrong, please challenging me on it, at the moment when I make it.”
He raised his hands slightly from his knees, palms open, to indicate she should continue. This could be fun.
“Good. Here we go.” She paused and looked up at the ceiling before taking a deep breath and directing her eyes directly at his. I wonder how long I can engage him here. He’s attractive and honest, which I admire on both counts. “Calvin, I think this war will end up creating monsters of many of the men stationed over there …”
“And women over there, too?”
“Fair enough. I guess there are many women who are enlisted persons and commissioned officers in Saigon.”
He nodded, recalling as he did tales of rampant nymphomania among some of the nurses in Saigon.
“Because this is a dirty war …”
“Regina, they all are.”
“Yes, but in particular this one is dirtier because of the lack of sympathy at home. The cause ceased to be noble, and even you, a decorated hero, don’t buy into the fiction. You guys over there do almost no right, and the frustrations, most of which those in my profession call suppressed when you become civilians, will eventually resurface at some point well after you and they come home in ways no one can predict.”
“Is that a theory or a fact?”
“Both. There are already some reports filtering back into the command that suggest many personnel, enlisted and officers, show signs of what some call post traumatic event stresses.”
“Sounds like a complicated term for a mental explosion …”
“Yeah, I guess the medical establishment, like the military, uses big terms to describe simple issues. But do you get what I’m saying?”
Calvin nodded several times as he thought about recent moments when he should have controlled his reactions, including during routine strolls around the grounds when he perceived someone slighted him in line or as he wandered throughout the hospital complex. At first he dismissed his behavior as typical impatience he showed while in the field when others didn’t agree with him.
“I suspect that a lot of men,” she stopped and then continued, “and women,” she looked for and saw his approval of the additional gender, “will be time bombs waiting to go off without knowing it. It is my hope to build a civilian practice around these situations.”
“How will you know who is that ticking bomb?”
“I won’t, and it’s inappropriate for me to make contact with any former patients, like you and others I’ve met while on active duty, to build my practice. But there are ways I can get the word out and make my presence known to professionals in the field who might, through their practices, see early symptoms and then refer their more troubled patients to me.”
“I get it. You’ll publish papers, sort of like academics do.”
“Very good, Calvin. I’m glad you made that kind of connection. Yes, that’s exactly what I’ll be doing; and more.”
“So, then, Regina, what are we going to cover here if you’ve got all that nailed down, at least in your mind?”
“I’d like to spend a few minutes with you in a role play, as if you were one of those likely to be set off by an innocent remark or gesture by someone else.”
“I don’t follow …”
“I’d like you to pretend to be someone who gets pissed off by someone on the outside and fake taking action.” She blinked her eyes several times as she realized Calvin might need more prompting than someone truly dangerous.
“Regina, that’s going to be tough, because I don’t know what could set me off, if anything could, to be violent. This is where your skills might be needed to find those among us who could be on the verge of being dangerous.” He turned his head slightly to the side and squinted. “To go off half-cocked takes some serious triggering event and, quite frankly, I don’t know what could take me out of my normal mode and into whatever you want to call it.”
“Rage will do for now …”
“OK, rage.”
“Calvin, because this is new to me, I don’t know what I could use to put you over the edge. And maybe it’s inappropriate to even go there with your medical situation being resolved so recently. Or, if the wounds are still tender to the touch, you might be the perfect man.”
“Perhaps you’re right, Regina, one way or the other. However, for the moment I don’t think I’m a good one because I don’t think I’m volatile.” He put his hands on the chair arms and leaned forward as if ready to leave again.
She shook her head, and, as she did, a bang fell across her forehead; she used a puff of breath to flip it back up. How would you know whether or not you’re volatile? Even so-called normal men and women don’t know the answer to that. Maybe I should just let this go as an inappropriate candidate. “Let’s forget it. Though I really do appreciate your willingness to hang around a little longer and explore my notion with me.” She uncrossed her legs and put her hands on her knees, leaning forward as she did. “But promise me one thing, Calvin.”
“What’s that?”
“If you ever feel like you’re about to go over the edge for any reason and get violent, please promise you’ll call me, if for no other reason than to give me some documentary evidence that things like this can and will even happen to normal people like you.” She wrote her home number on the back of her Army business card.
“Normal.” He stood up, his abruptness signaled discomfort with the subject and, as he did, Calvin studied the card. “That’s fair, Regina. Is this how I will find you?”
“Until the end of June, then when I hang out my shingle I’ll be in the Los Angeles phone book, somewhere on the west side. Start with Santa Monica and work east toward Beverly Hills. Area code 213.” Regina stuck her hand out to shake as she stood and faced him.
“I promise. Though I suspect that if I ever get cross-ways with someone or something, as you suggest, there may be no warning because it will be a spontaneous act; perhaps based on reflexes.”
“What makes you say that, Calvin?”
“It’s never happened before, not even over there.” He pointed in the general direction of the bay outside her window and beyond. “Not even during high school and college when I went out for the football teams did anyone ever do something to trigger what you might call violent behavior.”
“Really, not even in Nam?”
“No, Regina, not even there. I guess I was well-trained.”
“What would you say if I told you your wounds were, in part, from one of your own men fragging you?”
“What do you mean? Do you know something I don’t?” He let her hand go.
“No Calvin, I don’t.” Damn, that one little reference to a possible incident in his files might not be known to him, she thought. I hope I didn’t open a can of worms.
“It’s ironic you should bring that up, because one of the medics that patched me up in the Philippines said it was odd that one wound went in and out in the opposite direction of the others. I figured it was because I spun around when hit the first time. Do you know or think …”
“I don’t think anything, Calvin. I just wanted to end this with an invitation for you to call me if you need any kind of help, whether it’s related to Viet Nam or not. And that comment about fragging was part of an attempt to stir up a reaction from you, that’s all.”
He remained silent for a moment as final thoughts from the incident in Quang Nai replayed in his mind. Nothing connected consciously and he shrugged his shoulders. “Guess that’s fair. Thanks for giving me some insight into what you’ll be doing in a few months.” He stepped toward the door. “Is that it, Regina?”
She nodded, but kept her hands to her sides and forced a smile. “Good luck, Captain.”
“Thanks, same to you. Captain.” That was unfortunate, could’ve used more time with her; and I’m the one who blew it. Oh well, guess it’s home and Mattie, now.
After he left the inner office she returned to her desk, waited until she heard the outer door to her offices close and made a note to herself, pulled out a drawer and tucked the slip of paper into her purse. What a waste. I sure played that all wrong. Regina, here was a perfect man for you to explore some really deep-seated issues with that could reveal more about your nature and you screwed up the opportunity, blew it. Maybe the next time I see him things will be different, or I’ll have a little more experience under my belt and then I won’t be so ingenuous.
“Oh well, at the rate I was going, I could have very easily cross over the line and created another conflict of interest: romantic involvement with a fellow officer and a patient. That’s, as they say, a bullet I dodged this time.” She shook her head. “Or that he helped me dodge.”
Chapter 2
On a dark gray Monday morning six years after Calvin Hampson mustered out of the Army and during a period when students from Halfway’s high school where he taught science had left for spring break the Friday before, the phone rang at Calvin Hampson’s place. He had dozed off on the battered cloth-covered sofa near his research station in the living room after a long night studying spermatophore from Monarch butterflies and his arm stiffened while he slept. As he rose unsteadily, stretched and walked across the room into the kitchen, the phone on the wall continued to ring with annoying insistence. When he reached the almond colored wall unit, the surly attitude that replaced his grogginess came through as he answered: “Calvin Hampson.”
Hesitantly at first, a female voice broke the moment of silence: “Is this Calvin Hampson, formerly Captain Calvin Hampson, Special Forces, U.S. Army?”
He shuddered when he heard someone bring his rank back up and branch of military service. Wariness replaced his surly tones. “Yes?”
“You might not remember me, but I’m Regina Kingry.” The woman paused. “Captain Regina Kingry.” Still no response from Calvin. “Doctor Regina Kingry, Calvin. The psychologist you saw up north six years ago before you were released from active duty? Remember? We both were ready to get on with our lives after Viet Nam?”
His memory locked in on that session before he mustered out and came home, an hour long session with an attractive lady-shrink. Following recall of the incident, he started to remember details from their meeting. “Oh yes. Regina. I’m sorry to be so thick; but your call came through while I was taking a nap.” He remembered more of her as his mind cleared. Average height. Attractive, in fact, very pretty face. Very well put together, though she wore a white official Army lab coat most of the time that did nothing to reveal her figure until she took it off when the formal part of the session ended. Sort of foxy. Were it not for Mattie, I’d have wanted to stay around for a few days more. “So, you’re finally going to take me up on my offer for a coffee. Are you here in Halfway?”
“Not exactly, Calvin.”
“Then where …”
“But I will be coming through in a few days and do want to see you, say hello and get caught up if that’s convenient for you.”
Regina’s voice sounded brighter than when he met her the one and only time during his final formal interview. He recalled she also seemed to come across as all business, her kind of business; warm and personal in a very professional way, though he also detected a hint of the flirt in her before she cleared him to return into the civilian world. That come-hither demeanor beneath her bearing resonated well with him and perhaps he also sensed something about their conversation that made her as uncomfortable as it made him.
“That’s fine, Regina. It’s a light week for me. Are you still on active duty or …”
“This is not an official call, Calvin. It’s purely social. I got out of the Army shortly after you did, and now I’m in private practice.”
“As a shrink?”
“Yes, as a therapist, mainly to those in the entertainment industry. As I told you, I intended to open my practice down here in the Los Angeles area and I did, true to my word.”
“What happened to former military personnel with that post traumatic thing you talked about?”
“Got involved in backing up a colleague whose clientele comes mostly from Hollywood. I never had a chance to get that line of practice established. What about you? Did you go back to teaching?”
“Sure did, though right now the students are away on spring break. When are you coming here? If this week, I have plenty of time; but when they return next week my schedule gets a little rough.” I could use a little distraction from the same-old, same-old.
“Actually, this week is exactly what I had in mind. I’m driving up from Los Angeles to San Francisco on Thursday. Is that a good day for you? I’ll be coming through Halfway about 11 in the morning.”
Thursday. Thursday. No students or staff duties. Mattie’s gone. He looked back at the long hardwood table where he scattered his research materials from the wall to the edge of the platform. “Let me check my book and see. Can you hold for a moment?”
“Sure, Calvin. And my time on the road is quite flexible, so if you need to make it earlier or later Thursday I can do either. I’d like to get caught up on how you’re doing, but want to assure you this is not a professional visit, nor does it have anything to do with the Army.”
That’s a relief, though there’s not much she could do on either count anyway. I’ve been out, even unaffiliated with the reserves, and not recallable for the past six years. “I understand, Regina, and am glad to hear you say that. Hold on a moment while I set the phone down and check my calendar.” He didn’t need to look because he kept the week wide open on purpose to get one suite of studies completed on the mating cycle of Monarch butterflies. The calendar affirmed for him that Mattie picked the same week to be away visiting relatives back east. She left Sunday night and told him she’d return the following Sunday, but “too late to get back together”. As he picked up the phone a moment later, he sounded more upbeat, anticipating a pleasant reunion to break the bachelor routine: “Regina, Thursday anytime works for me. And your suggestion of about 11 in the morning works well, which would put you about five hours from most places in Los Angeles. That means a six o’clock departure for you. Is that alright?”
“Perfect, Calvin. Gets me out of here before rush hour gets ugly. Where do you want to meet? Is there someplace in your town like a coffee shop or …”
If I meet her here, someone will tell Mattie and I’ll have some explaining to do. “Actually, Regina, there’s not much in Halfway to recommend, and, unless you’re planning on taking the slow road along the coast to San Francisco, it might be better if I meet you on US 101 over in Paso Robles. That’ll be more convenient for you and it’s not more than half an hour for me, anyway.”
“I’m glad you said that, Calvin, because I’m unfamiliar with the roads there and might have had a problem finding a route from the coast back inland. Your suggestion sounds fine to me. Name the place, give me directions and I’ll be there.”
“There’s a Denny’s at the first off-ramp just as you enter town from the south …”
“I’m sure I can’t miss that. See you then.” She stopped for a moment. “And, Calvin?”
“Yes?”
Her voice softened on the other end of the phone and he detected a hint of a plea. “This really is social and not professional, so you can drop your guard. I’m more interested in how you’re doing as a person and just getting caught up than anything associated with you or me being former military officers.”
That’s a relief. “Thanks, Regina. I’ll look forward to Thursday with your promise of a bias toward the social, then.”
“Do you think you’ll have a problem remembering me?”
Calvin thought about saying something provocative and decided against it. “No, unless you’ve had plastic surgery or gained or lost an inordinate amount of weight, I think I can recall what you look like. It’s only been six years, Regina.”
“Just wanted to be sure, Calvin. And, no, I look the same, though maybe with a few more wrinkles; and my weight has not changed one pound since on active duty. To help you, though, let’s see, I’ll be wearing jeans and a T-shirt; driving clothes, you know. My hair is the same color of blonde, though maybe a little longer than when you saw it. And you?”
“Limp is gone. Body, hair color and face the same. More wrinkles, little less hair.” He ran his hand through the tousled blonde hair, a cowlick danced on the top of his head.
“Good, then we won’t need to waste time talking about the ravages of time.”
He chuckled. “Based on what you’ve said, time has not ravaged you. Look forward to seeing you again, Regina. Drive safely.”
“Thanks, Calvin. See you Thursday, 11 AM.”
Though he knew he could drive the distance to Paso Robles in half an hour, Calvin allowed twice that amount of time to reach the Denny’s because of the coastal fog. He passed the copse of oaks on his property where the bikes hid, didn’t see them and kept his eyes riveted to the two-rut lane that connected his cabin with California One. Over the top of the small rise, he stopped to adjust his seat and then proceeded to the intersection with the main highway, his wet brakes squealing as he braked before entering the state highway that connected him with Halfway to the north and Morro Bay to the south. He failed to hear the Harleys start up over the screeching sounds of his brakes. By the time he put his foot on the gas, his engine noise and the fog muffled the Harleys as they cruised toward his cabin.
Barely a mile after leaving the small path that linked his cabin with the main highway, Calvin turned east and took another state highway that connected the coast-route with one of California’s vast agriculturally dominated inland valleys. As he drove higher in elevation, the fog that hung under a low layer of overcast clouds cleared. When only five miles from his property he burst out into the sunshine and drove in the clear the remainder of the way, getting to Paso Robles and the Denny’s there well ahead of schedule.
Sitting at the rear of the roadside restaurant that catered to travelers who used one of California’s main arteries between San Francisco and Los Angeles, he watched cars come and go in the parking lot, mostly sedans and compacts. Smells of cooking grease suspended in the unmoving air and burnt coffee pervaded the restaurant’s atmosphere, but after ten minutes he didn’t notice the stale aromas. Busboys and waiters, many of them refugees from farm-families, moved through the Denny’s pouring and often missing coffee cups, leaving streak-marks on tables and occasionally breaking a dish and glass as they carried buckets from the nearly empty dining area to the kitchen.
At precisely 11AM and after two near-misses on refills of his coffee cup, he watched a late-model silver Porsche enter and park in a remote corner of the lot.
Doesn’t surprise me she’d be driving a sports car of some kind, Calvin thought. He watched the driver lean over and look in the rear view mirror, adjust her hair, put on lipstick and check make-up. And right on time. He checked his watch, still worn military style on the inside of his wrist.
Two minutes later, when satisfied with the way she looked and of her privacy in that part of the lot, Regina Kingry slipped off her bra, tucked it under the seat and smoothed out her t-shirt. Then she stepped out of the sports car, leaned back in to grab her bag and walked with an assured and purposeful stride toward the restaurant.
When she entered, Calvin stepped out of the booth and waved to get her attention, noticing as he did that the bag she carried looked like a combination purse and briefcase, or a purse large enough to be a briefcase. As she approached, Regina’s face broadened into a wide smile accenting the twinkle in her cool blue eyes. The unmistakable shape of firm nipples told him right away of her braless state and that forced him to struggle to maintain eye-contact.
“You’re looking well, Regina.”
“Thanks, Calvin,” she said as she thrust her hand forward to shake. “You are, too. Still trim and fit as if you just left active duty.”
He motioned for her to slide into the booth and did likewise across from her. Ten minutes later, after they ordered and got the preliminaries about her car and the drive north from Los Angeles out of the way, Regina looked around to make sure she could speak in a normal voice. The nearest customers sat four booths away. None of the kitchen help worked in their area. She asked: “So, Calvin, tell me how are you really doing?”
Oh, and I expected this to be social! “Thought you said this was not a professional visit.”
“It isn’t. I’m curious how an attractive and many-times decorated officer with a unique personal history living in an out-of-the-way corner of California manages his life now that the war is over and many of the negative feelings about Viet Nam have subsided.”
“That’s a lot to chew on. I’m afraid, Regina, I lead a rather dull life. At school teaching five days a week, conduct research into Monarch butterfly mating rituals, and …”
“Still seeing the same lady? Your high school sweetheart?”
He nodded.
“When someone tells me their life is dull, I hear a cry for help, not a simple observation on where they are. Why do you think it’s dull, Calvin?”
“Guess I might have over-stated that and used the term in reference to how your life might be going, being in the field you’re in and the place where you live and work. Did you open your practice in West L.A. as you planned?”
“Yes, that’s where I both live and work. And, Calvin, fixing the broken psyches of megalomaniacs in the entertainment industry might not be any more interesting than what you’re doing. Some of what my patients are really into far from the fan magazines and glitz and glitter of their professional personas is so commonplace and routine there that I often wonder how much more interesting things might be if my they were mainstream everyday people like you.”
“Mainstream? As in rural America?”
“Yes, Calvin. Normal people like you with normal problems, like adjusting to changes in their life, coping with the loss of loved ones, and the like.”
“Well, I can’t comment on the differences, obviously, since my only exposure to your clientele might have been if any were in my command. And based on what I’ve read, none were near me, at least. They spent a good part of those years protesting the war.”
“Or evading it.”
“You’re right, Regina, evading it. Does that make it hard for you to work with them, being war protesters, and all?”
“No, Calvin, it doesn’t any more than being unsympathetic to the war, myself, made me insensitive to issues that might have affected people like you when you were in.”
“I don’t follow.”
“Calvin, I’m a professional and found it easy to subordinate my personal views so I can be of help to my clients, whether I agree with their lifestyle, attitudes, values or what they’ve done to themselves.”
“Guess some of that’s hard for people like me out here in the boondocks to accept, but I applaud you for being that way if you can help others and not let your personal feelings get in the way of doing it. Must create a bit of conflict inside, doesn’t it?”
“Somewhat.” She looked away. “But that’s part of the challenge of being a professional in this field. When I help them get over some of those problems and shed whatever baggage holds them back, I feel better for it, too.”
Calvin’s eyes followed the movement of a busboy as he made an imperfect attempt to clean off the booths near the door. Her voice brought him back into their conversation.
“But none of this is what I want to talk about, Calvin. I’m on vacation and want to think about other things than work.”
“Sorry.”
“Oh, don’t apologize. It was all part of the icebreaking routine for two people who haven’t seen each other in six years or so.” She smiled and reached for the water glass without taking her eyes off Calvin. She cupped both hands around the glass and took a long sip, however, when she pulled it back from her lips, it tipped forward and a thin stream of water spilled down the front of her t-shirt. It immediately revealed, in bas relief, the nipple of her breast. “Oh, that’s clumsy of me.”
Hmm, and interesting to me. “You want a jacket or something to put on?” He pulled his windbreaker alongside him up off the seat.
“Yes, it might be chilly until my shirt dries.” She smiled, but without a touch of embarrassment over the spill or the enhanced revelation of a very well-formed breast. “Calvin, as long as part of my soul is being barred here, there’s something else I’d like to share with you.”