Across the Pond

The Nam 1970

The bunker was on the east side of the hill. Off in the distance, beyond fields that were painted every imaginable shade of green, I could see the South China Sea. I sat on top of the bunker, lit up a Salem, and took in the view. I wondered what was happening across the pond in the States, or as we called it the "World". Home was a place so far away that the sun had already come up on the east coast and set on the west coast. Home was a place so distant that our today was its yesterday.

I exited my perch and entered the bunker. Card and Rapoohie were making a tin of c rat coffee. When the coffee was brewed strong and black, Rapoohie strirred in a healthy shot of E & J brandy. He took a swig, wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, then passed the tin to Card. A Marine dozed in a darkened corner, his head resting on a flak jacket, his feet propped up on a case of c rats. Sam Hutton was reading a tattered and dog earred paper back copy of "Soul On Ice."

Hutton put down his book when he saw me enter the bunker. He raised his fist and made the black power sign, before he lowerd his fist he offered it to me. We shook hands in a long and complex manuver called the "Dap."

The Marine who was dozing had a thread of drool dangling from the cornor of his mouth. He let out a grunt and a snore. Card cut a fart and laughed. "What a trip," mumbled Rapoohie. "Yeah," I replied, "give me a hit off the coffee." This was our home now. It was just another day across the pond.

EKS4003

69-70

Done