Medics Wild by Darrell Bain

Author:Darrell Bain [Bain, Darrell]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: General, Fiction, Literary Criticism, Humor, War & Military, Vietnam War; 1961-1975, Medicine; Military, Americans, Vietnam, Medical Care, Vietnamese Conflict; 1961-1975
ISBN: 9781931201278
Google: Ko9xAAAACAAJ
Amazon: 1931201277
Publisher: Twilight Times Books
Published: 2004-11-15T00:00:00+00:00

After sick call the next morning, Williard financed Heavy, who had already spent most of his month's wages on beer, and they strolled down to the heavily barbwired and sandbagged gate. After passing through the double enclosure, Williard negotiated a fee for the both of them with one of the lined up scooter drivers. Military vehicles were not allowed in Binh Hoa. The scooters were three wheeled vehicles, the front wheel supporting the driver on a narrow seat as he steered the contraption with bicycle type handlebars, while the back two wheels carried the load of a passenger compartment sufficient for three or four bodies, or a load of black market PX supplies to go to the city if no riders were handy. There was a catch to going into Binh Hoa, for the medics at least. Since theirs was the very last compound in the string of compounds stretching to the northwest which made up the Long Binh complex, and was separated from the main compound by a stretch of Viet Cong infested jungle, the scooter drivers never ventured off the main highway unless they could get back to it before dark. That limited the men to only a few hours of revelry, but usually that was sufficient, since they were almost always half potted by the time they arrived anyway. In fact, Heavy hooked a couple of quarts of formaldehyde-tinged beer from a convenient vendor while Williard was negotiating the scooter fee. As they climbed in, he drank from one and handed the other to Williard.

"Christ, Heavy, can't you wait til we get to town. This shit is as warm as fresh piss."

"Take a swallow or two, Sarge. You won't notice after that."

Williard did. Heavy was right. The aldehydes and ketones in the beer quickly dispelled any concern about the temperature of the brew. He sipped as they bumped along the laterite road, then tilted the quart bottle for a hefty slug once they gained the smoothness of the main highway. From there, it was only a half hour to Binh Hoa. He rode and sipped on the beer, not having any thoughts in particular, just letting his mind drift. He certainly wasn't thinking of the bullet holes in the dispensary's vehicles. Bullet holes seemed inconsequential compared with the explosion of a five hundred pound bomb, and mulling over the deaths he had inadvertently been involved with had caused him to forget how Colonel Pinkerton felt about the sanctity of military vehicles.

Since He and Heavy had skipped chow in order to beat the rush of headquarters clerks, supply clerks, off duty medics from other compounds and all the other rear area soldiers out for an afternoon of hooking and drinking, Williard had the scooter driver let them off at a restaurant in town he had heard of. It was a relic of the French occupation, back when the country had still been called French Indo-China. He ordered a steak while Heavy, flush with funds from Williard's pocket, had lobster thermidor.

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