I waited patiently for Gularte, sitting in the afternoon sun, rubbing my useless government pen with the fingers of my left hand. The pen wasn’t totally useless I knew, as its presence where it was found was very likely a valuable clue. Was the person who lost it not connected to the Marine’s disappearance, or did it belong to one of the people, or the single person, who invaded my beach to place personal materials there for unknown reasons? I thought while I waited. I believed it to be very unlikely that the three Marines carried any kind of pen, which then, if carried, would have fallen to the tracks. It was much more likely that some sort of professional carried such a pen and lost it inadvertently while passing along on the rail ties, or near them.
I heard the deep-throated beating exhaust of the Dodge before it arrived at the security gate. I wondered which of the other reserve officer’s Gularte would pick to be in the front seat next to him instead of locked in the rear. It was an interesting conundrum. The really bright but analytical personality, or the one with the expressive light behind his eyes. I put the pen back in my pocket and headed for the gate. The three had come in with me but there was no likely way the Marines would pass them without a long security examination and confirmation.
There were three Marines at the gate. A staff sergeant was present, having no doubt showed up while I was inside the compound. I presumed he was the detachment commander. No more a real commander than I was, of the reserve corps, but still. The Department Dodge pulled up to the gate. The sun shone perfectly down to make looking through the front windshield impossible without special glasses that I didn’t have. I walked up to the staff sergeant. I noted, as he turned and reacted to my presence, that his ribbons indicated that he’d been in the Nam. He held the Bronze Star with the combat V pinned into the center of it, and also a Purple Heart. He was one of ‘us,’ like Gularte and me.
“Staff Sergeant,” I said, stopping in front of him.
The corporal was at the window questioning Gularte, while the Lance Corporal stood aside, waiting to see if physical backup might be necessary. The Staff Sergeant had turned to face a potential threat from the rear. The gate guards, no matter who trained and led them, were a class act.
The staff sergeant saluted.
“I’m not in uniform, Sergeant,” I replied, instead of saluting back. Marines do not salute unless covered or inside unless armed.
“You were a Marine, sir?” he asked.
“Yes, Sergeant, I was,” I stated, without going further.
“I saluted you out of respect, sir, because you came from inside the compound. Everyone who works at that level we in security consider an officer and salute as a measure of that.”
“Thank you, Sergeant,” I replied, “those men are with me, and I’ll be departing with them. There’s no need for any clearance.”
I watched the brief conflict appear inside the Marine’s eyes. He was probably called upon to clear any and everyone who arrived at the gate, as security had done nothing but become more pronounced and intense since I’d been reporting to the compound.
The staff sergeant saluted again, and then turned to motion toward the lance corporal. He then walked over to the Marine and said a few words. The corporal immediately pulled back from the window of the Dodge.
I walked around the gate, which was still open-ended, although I figured that, with the growing security, the gate would become much more secure and closed-in as time went by. I went around and opened the rear passenger door but turned to wave at the staff sergeant before I stepped inside.
Herberich was in the other passenger seat. I closed the door, which automatically locked me inside. Gularte had chosen Steed to ride ‘shotgun’ with him. Steed was a lot more like him than Herberich, but Herberich, quiet as he was, might not have taken the choice as lightly as he portrayed. My getting in the back seat with him might just make up for the small slight, I thought.
“Station, Gularte,” I said, having no intention of working a shift from a locked in back seat in my civilian attire. “You take Steed out and I’ll work with Herberich tomorrow. Check the parking lot of the state park while you’re out there.”
“What for?” Gularte asked.
“Steed will fill you in, but if you find something then take great care,” I replied. “There’s some sort of game afoot and I don’t know what it is.”
“Outside the wire?” Gularte asked, his voice turning serious as he stared into my eyes through the rear view mirror.
“Yes, but no incoming yet,” I shot back, alerting him to the potential of danger but not anything imminent or life-threatening.
Steed got out of the Dodge and opened the rear door for me when we got to the station.
My Volks sat untouched in the parking lot where I’d left it. I got out, let Herberich know I’d meet him at four the next afternoon. I said nothing in the way of thanking him for his work because I didn’t want Steed to feel bad about the Bronco. The Bronco was truly my fault for letting him operate it under difficult conditions his first time out. I’d thank Herberich the next day.
I drove the Volks straight to the lifeguard headquarters to check on the Bronco reminding myself that I didn’t have much in the way of clothing, although I had a significant cash nest egg if I needed more. There was no point doing anything to the Bronco myself, however. I’d just upset Mitch.
Once home I filled my wife in on everything that had happened about the disappearance of the Marines. It was illuminating and disappointing, both at the same time.
“They’re dead,” my wife stated, flatly, “or they’d have turned up by now.”
“Most probably,” I agreed.
“They weren’t swimming and having a good time in the surf, no matter how adjusted on alcohol or drugs they were. Not part of the culture, the Marine Corps or any of that.”
“Most probably,” I repeated, waiting for more.
“Those cold-blooded people at the Nixon compound had something to do with it.”
“I don’t know,” I replied, backing off from either agreeing or wanting to agree about that conclusion.
She looked at me across the dining room table (there was no ‘dining room,’ really, just a corner off the living room) and stared into my eyes over the lip of her Manhattan glass. She carefully put the glass down before speaking again.
“Why are you risking everything we have for three dead Marines?”
I had no answer for her question. She turned away, and both of us knew she wasn’t expecting an answer, got up and walked into the kitchen. How could she possibly understand why I had to pursue the issue?
“The pen says a lot,” she concluded, doing something at the sink, not turning to face me. “Those men on the estate, they’re up to their necks in whatever happened, but there’s no chance those boys are alive and you’re playing with something hotter than fire, not that I can stop you,”
I knew she was right, about everything she’d said, as usual, but I still had a hard time accepting the fact that some of those around me might totally lack any moral or ethical code. The Chief I trusted. He’d gone along with me. Haldeman had given me a job and that job branched out to give me some self-respect and humanity back in a world where I wasn’t a good fit anymore and knew it. Ehrlichman was Haldeman’s almost unwilling henchman, but I got no vibes of evil emanating from him. Mardian was a hard ball player and quite possibly capable of anything. Nixon was some kind of autistic damaged but functional creature, at least judging from my brief encounters with him.
All in all, however, I read no murderous intent that I could detect, and I’d experienced plenty of murderous intent in my life. I headed down to the lifeguard headquarters first thing in the morning. It was Sunday, but I had a feeling that Mitch might be working away. I didn’t have a remote for the gates so I parked at the base of the pier, my “Fraternal Order of Police” sticker showing brightly red in the rear window of my car so I wouldn’t get a ticket if one of our officers didn’t recognize a fellow officer’s off-duty vehicle.
I crossed under the sub sidewalk bridge, walked up to the pier entrance and then headed over to the building. Two-person volleyball in the sand was going on in both courts nearby as I passed them to get to the only bay door that was open.
I entered the work area where the Bronco sat, the entire vehicle up on stands that were at least four feet tall. All four of the big puffy sand tires were off and parts appeared to be strategically strewn all over the concrete floor surface. I peered around the edge of the driver’s side of the Bronco expecting to see Mitch laboring under the hood. Not only was Mitch not there, neither was the engine.
I walked around the left front fender to see Mitch hard at work, leaning over the missing engine. The V8 was mounted on a stand three feet off the floor, looking like it was on display, while Mitch worked with probes, rags and other penetrating tools on the top of it.
“It’s not the water,” Mitch said, looking up, “it’s the sand. Not enough water reached the cylinders to matter but the small bits of sand the water brought with it will score the cylinder walls and that’ll be it. Any more water and you’d never been able to back out of the surf, but I’m afraid I’ll have to pull the heads, get new gaskets, clean it all up and then put it all back together.
“How long?” I asked, with some relief. The Bronco could be saved, quite possibly in short order
“Scalzo’s auto should have the gaskets on hand in the morning,” Mitch said, his full intent on what he was doing to the engine. “If all goes well, and they’ve got the parts, then this thing should be better than new by tomorrow afternoon.”
“I can’t thank you enough,” I said, my breathing settling down from seeing the mess the Bronco had at first appeared to be when I’d come through the door.
“It’s going to cost you, though,” Mitch said, catching me by surprise.
I didn’t reply, wondering if he was making some mechanic’s joke. Mitch worked for the city and took care of all the department vehicles. He’d no doubt been a part of souping up the Bronco’s engine before I’d arrived to assume control of it and start the beach patrol. He continued to work away, as I stood waiting. He wasn’t kidding, I figured after a bit, but his request and any discussion of price seemed totally out of place. The Bronco wasn’t mine and I couldn’t figure out any way he might have come to understand its survival and rapid return to service might be vitally important to me personally.
“You’re selling them life insurance policies,” Mitch said, finally and matter-of-factly.
“Yeah?” I replied in question, mystified.
“I want one,” He said. “I don’t want to pay for it though, so you’ve got to figure that out.”
I was more than surprised this time. “Are you ill?” I asked, a conclusion I’d already learned from Chuck Bartok about anyone who came up to request a life insurance policy was probably dying of something.
“No, it’s for my wife,” Mitch answered. “She’s got this cough. It’s been coming and going for a long time. We’ve got two little ones and if something happened to her, then I’ll be between a rock and a hard place.”
I thought fast, putting numbers together, approximating the woman’s age, as I’d never met the woman. The rules would allow the policy to be issued through underwriting if she was any age close to Mitch’s so my usual twenty-five-thousand-dollar policy would come in at about two-hundred and fifty dollars a year. My first-year commission would be just over a hundred and thirty dollars, the second year fifty dollars, if the policy renewed and Mrs. Mitch remained alive. There were health questions but my notes to Chuck wouldn’t have to have the persistent cough in them. Bartok was a stickler for detail, particularly in the answers to questions in the non-med part of the application. The information from Mitch was hearsay so the real answers to the coughing question would have to be his wife’s. At that coverage amount and premium level no medical physical would be required, however. Cash for the first year’s annual payment, which I had from Haldeman, was readily available.
“First year premium I’ll cover,” I said to Mitch, “but you’ve got to pay twenty bucks a month out of your bank account for the second year and beyond.”
“Deal,” Mitch replied, without looking at me.
I’d have to find time to get over to where Mitch lived in San Juan Capistrano, to take the application information. I absently wondered, while I watched Mitch’s meticulous work on the engine, whether Tom Thorkelson, who’s agency I was fast becoming a big sales producer in, had any clue as to how I was going about selling the company’s products. There’d been nothing in his very professional sales course to describe trading to sell a policy or forcing guys to buy just because they couldn’t stand the pressure of riding around with someone that was either pushing the products on them or, worse yet, pouting because of their failure to purchase.
One of the best things I’d learned in the Thorkelson sales school was to keep what was called a ‘day timer.’ With those little daily records, which I’d come to start filling in with attentive detail, I couldn’t fail to keep appointments of any kind unless I wasn’t paying attention.
Gularte called me on my home phone. I figured he was at the station. There was no car at the state park lot, just as I had thought. If the men at the Western White House were involved then the three Marines hadn’t parked there to get to the beach and drown while swimming in a disturbed surf line that even I wouldn’t go out and encounter, and I was a great team and open ocean swimmer, ever after the surgeries and my recovery. My wife had taken Julie to Coronets, a small five and dime kind of store located only a couple blocks from our apartment, so I was able to openly ask Jim why he hadn’t simply come by instead of calling.
“Your wife,” he said, keeping his voice down on the station phone he was using.
“My wife?” I asked, dumbfounded.
“She’s like, well…she’s like…she looks kind of right through me.”
“Really?” I blurted out. My wife was the neatest, quiet and most wonderfully soft woman I’d ever met. “What might she see by looking through you, as you put it, that would bother you?”
There was a silence on the other end of the phone. Finally, Gularte blurted out only one word, “stuff.”
There was no point in talking further so I hung up the phone. Steed plowed the Bronco into the surf the day before, the Chief was being strange, with Haldeman and Ehrlichman even stranger, and then Mitch’s request and now Gularte’s unfathomable comment. It’d been a hell of a two days, and the second day wasn’t over. I had to go back out with Herberich, and since the Bronco was down that meant getting a patrol car to work the streets.
I worked out by getting my shorts on and running the beach. I almost always ran to the compound and back, but with what had happened past the state beach I ran the other way, toward Capistrano Beach. Five miles wen by in just under forty minutes, which was pretty quick for me, but the time had passed like no time at all, my mind lost in trying to comprehend the mystery of ‘my’ Marine’s situation.
I met Herberich at the station. The black Dodge was prepped and ready for service with Herberich already standing by. We went out and roamed the darkening streets, getting ever more familiar where all the streets, all mostly empty, were located and how they differed in small details. Answering a call was not something that could effectively be done by resorting to map reading. We had to know ins and outs and intricacies of almost every street, road, and ally of the city, and how those interacted with the freeway that ran north and south right through the center of it.
I got home late, the beach rough and windy but Herberich so interested in everything, and interesting himself, that I’d wanted to continue living up to my word and also his training.
Before retiring I shared the rest of the day’s and night’s events with her in bed. She wondered about whether I should have taken the hit for Steed’s driving or slipped out of that potential trouble simply by telling the truth about what had happened. I thought about it as I closed my eyes, but I knew, in spite of her bringing up the option, that that course of action is not one I’d ever have gone with.
When I got up in the morning, I was barely showered, shaved and dressed before the phone rang. It was Pat, the Chief’s secretary. The Chief wanted to see me right away, which was unusual and therefore ominous. I got into uniform as fast as I could, my wife having ironed everything earlier. I drove the Volks as fast as it would go up to the station halfway up Avenida Presidio.
When I walked in, I knew I’d been right about the phone call, whatever the Chief wanted to talk to me about wasn’t good. Pat, who usually greeted me with a smile failed to do that, instead she was faintly frowning when she waved me into the Chief’s office.
I inhaled slowly and deeply as I moved though the Chief’s open door. The man sat, as usual, lankily sprawled back in his expansive executive chair. He was staring out the window toward the parking lot, obviously lost in thought. I decided to wait until his attention came back to the present time and location from wherever it’d gone.
“Sit,” he finally said, turning the chair and putting his elbows on the leather covered top of the desk, a pose not unlike Ehrlichman’s on my last trip to see him.
I sat down in the leftmost straight back chair and waited.
“The three Marines are dead,” the Chief intoned, flatly. “Their bodies showed up offshore not far from the San Onofre nuclear plant just south of Trestles Beach. The investigation is over and Hoodoo’s standing down. The rocks where the bodies were found is just on the border but inside Camp Pendleton. The Marines will be handling everything from here on in.”
I sat unmoving, not replying or speaking in any way. It was all as my wife predicted. The investigation was being moved so whatever happened would only be looked into, if at all, by an agency other than the police department that had discovered the evidence of the missing Marines. The investigation was being totally dead ended. The bodies had somehow floated two miles or more in a direction that ran opposite of all known and observable currents running exactly in the other direction. My disappointment was complete and I knew my control of facial expressions wasn’t good enough to keep it from the Chief. He was a good man. That he was going along with the charade was surprising, but I knew, in order to secure his cooperation, whatever forces were involved must have a good enough reason for acting as they were, or he wouldn’t cooperate.
I took the U.S. government pen out of my pocket. I’d never shown it to the detectives or anyone else other than Steed, Herberich, Haldeman and Ehrlichman. I tossed it onto the desk in front of him. The Chief looked me in the eyes, and then down at the pen.
“Are you…” the Chief started to say.
I held up one hand, smiling inside myself. I knew in my heart of hearts that the Chief thought that my tossing the pen indicated my intent to resign.
“We found it on the tracks not far from the scene down on the beach,” I said, lowering my hand.
The Chief picked up the pen and examined it, glancing over at me when he was done.
“No prints,” I said, answering the question that was written across his facial expression. “Those were destroyed by Haldeman when I showed the pen to him.”
“Damn it to hell,” he breathed out, worrying the pen in his right hand, absently, like it was there to be used instead of the indicator it appeared to be.
I got up to leave, not having anything else to say, leaving the useless pen with him. I waited for a brief few seconds to see if he was going to require that I give some sort of ‘yes, sir’ assent to his order to stay out of it, but he didn’t. I turned and walked to the door of his office before he spoke.
“The bodies are still fresh at that location,” the Chief said, his voice low. “They’ll probably be there until late in the day. You go out to the Marine gate, get access to the base, and then drive over to the nuclear plant. You’ll see all the men and equipment setting up to study the scene and move the bodies.”
I couldn’t believe my ears. Hoodoo was off the case, the Marines were taking over, the dead bodies were miles away and the Chief more than seemed to be encouraging me to check it all out. I turned fully to face him, bracing both hands against the wooden frames of the door.
“Who would I be?” I asked, beginning to comprehend the fact that the Chief was being forced to end the investigation, but not totally.
“You’d be my observer, simply there to see what the result of all this is,” the Chief said, his voice likely modulated almost too low for Pat to make out, in spite of her nearly miraculous hearing ability. “No police uniform and no official status. If they don’t want you there, telling you to go, then you’re out of there. No international incidents…not on my watch. Only you, with your strange status or identity, can get anywhere near the scene.”
“I want to take somebody with me,” I replied, letting the Chief know I was going to go.
“You’re not going, if you go, officially, so you do what you want, take whomever you care to take, except not one of the detectives. Your expiration of active service from the Marines is in two weeks. Your record shows that you’ve got more medals than Audie Murphy. This might be the last time you get to wear that uniform and those medals.”
I didn’t have more medals than Murphy, nor the Medal of Honor, but I caught the Chief’s drift. He wanted me to use my Marine uniform to get through the security the Marines would have around the scene. Once again, I was struck into silence. I had to think about the situation. Not about going. I was going. About the uniform. My wife would have to know and that was good, but I couldn’t take Herberich or Steed. Herberich the genius who’d found the pen and Steed the terribly nice guy. I needed something and someone else entirely.
I said nothing, hoping he wasn’t expecting some response, like I would agree to go to the base under false pretenses. I had to think about it and consult with my wife. I had no idea whether she’d think it was a good idea, even though I knew my mind was pretty set on following my internal decision.
I got into the Volks and sat thinking. I turned the ignition key but not all the way. The local radio station up in Santa Ana came in loud and clear. The song playing took me back to the valley. A song with lyrics that somehow fit. “To everything there is a season, a time to be born, a time to plant, a time to kill, and a time to laugh…” I turned the radio off, wondering which of those times I was in.
“There’s a time to every purpose under heaven,” I murmured, remembering the other words to the great biblically derived song. I thought about the mission I knew I was going to perform, unless my wife totally wouldn’t have it. I didn’t need to name the missions anymore. I had no audience of waiting Marines striving with their entire beings to survive and return home alive. I only had three dead Marines, a dead audience, but that wasn’t something I wasn’t used to, especially at night.
Pat, the Chief’s secretary, stepped out of the back door of the department. It wasn’t quitting time, I knew. She looked all around the lot before her gaze settled on me sitting inside the Volks, at which point she began walking directly toward the car.
She walked directly to the driver’s door, as I brought the window down.
“Mind if we talk a bit?” she inquired.
I was struck. Up until now, the any communication I’d had with the woman was single word or single syllable. Why she, of all people, would want to talk to me, I had no idea.
“Okay,” I replied, weakly.
She walked around the front of the car, opened the passenger door and then leaned in.
“Mind if we talk in here?”
I nodded my head. How could I mind. The impressive and imposing woman could have told me to do just about anything she pleased. Although more than twice my age, she was still very much a powerfully intelligent and attractive woman.
She settled in and closed the door.
“Mind putting your window up?” she asked.
I turned the handle, wondering about whether the development of her asking denoted the transmission of some ominous or damaging information.
“I have to know,” she said, and then waited, looking over at me,
I looked straight ahead, purposely not turning to look at her.
“Which time under heaven?” I unconsciously whispered out, my mind still on the song’s lyrics.
“What?” she asked.
“What do you want to know?” I asked back.
“About the Marines,” she replied, surprising me again.
There were all kinds of reasons why I probably shouldn’t say a thing about that issue or situation, I knew, but the woman was a key person in a key position, and I could always feel her approval radiating out toward me. I made a snap decision.
“I don’t believe the Marines drowned, not without assistance, anyway. I think they were killed. The President’s Chief of Staff and his top advisor have something to do with what happened, or in covering it up
I gave the Chief the government pen we found. It could have been anybody’s since governmental employees use the beaches too, but the coincidence of a shiny new pen like that falling onto the tracks very close to the folded towels and personal effects is pretty small. Somehow or other, I think the government is involved in the missing, and now dead Marines.”
I stopped for a few seconds, trying to decide if I should go on.
“As you probably heard, I’m going out to the area where they found the bodies, although even that may not be the ‘scene of the crime,’ and that’s about it.”
“Would it be all right if I told Hoodoo?” Pat asked, after a slight delay, her tone one of such sincerity I didn’t want to say no, even though I badly wanted to.
“He’s old and retiring,” she said, “but he was a Marine a long time ago and I think the way this case has been handled is hurting him a lot. He’s also quite smart and has a ton of experience.”
“The Chief wants to be my only resource for information,” I said, stalling for time to think about what she’d asked. In reality, the chief had never asked me to keep anything confidential. And Pat had only ever helped me and never asked for anything. Her greatest help had, and continued to be, the tacit silent support I always felt.
“You’re talking to me, and I think you’re telling the truth,” Pat replied, using her perpetual smile of sincerity on me.
“I can’t take him,” I said, after a few seconds. “I’ve got to go to the base incognito. Hoodoo’s not a fish that can swim in that sea.”
“I know that, but can I fill him in?” Pat continued, working a verbal stiletto slowly into my heart.
“Okay, you can tell him, and I’ll update you both, but you have to tell me any conclusions you come to, as well. I can’t afford to lose my job. I can’t afford, even more, to get caught crossing Haldeman or Ehrlichman.” I said the words softly, thinking about how big a mistake, or a series of them, I might be making.
I didn’t know any of the people around me very well, and Hoodoo, among them all, except for possibly Gates, had let it be known to my face that he didn’t care for me at all.
“Thank you,” Pat whispered, opening the passenger door to get out. She turned, with the door still open, and leaned back into the passenger compartment.
“You didn’t make me promise to not say anything to anyone,” she said, her voice nearly a whisper.
“No, I didn’t have to,” I replied.
She closed the door, as quietly as the cheap Volkswagen door could be closed and walked toward the rear entrance to the department. I watched her go, wondering how the Chief had found such a wonderful talented secretary.
I couldn’t think of myself as a friend of hers, but I believed deep down that she was an ally. Possibly, I wouldn’t have to deal with Hoodoo in person at all, either. I shook my shoulders and shivered a bit. I had to move on.
I drove toward home. I had to get my uniform ready and call Gularte. He was off duty, and I hoped not hung over as hell. I wanted Herberich, or even Steed but I didn’t need investigative talent. I needed a backup I could count on no matter what the threat or circumstance. I was about to enter enemy forces ‘outside the wire,’ and I wasn’t about to do that without flank security.
Gularte answered the phone. I filled him in with what I wanted after asking him if he still had his full Class A green Marine Corps uniform. I knew he’d been discharged and some Marines, upon expiry of active service immediately gave away, sold or trashed their uniforms.
“We’re going to Pendleton, faking our duty status, our purpose for being there and just about everything else?” he asked after I’d finished filling him in on the mission.
“Well, not exactly,” I said, stalling for some time to come up with a good reason for doing what we might be about to do.
“Not exactly, Junior?” he shot back. “Not exactly, like in grenades and artillery, or not exactly like in truth?”
Gularte wasn’t usually deep, when it came to figuring things out, but this time it was like he’d stepped off the deep end and I was paddling in the shallows. I decided to be more direct.
“I need backup,” I replied.
“That’s all you had to say,” Gularte said, with a deep laugh. “We can’t exactly take a patrol car, or our personal vehicles. We need a look. Can we get the Chief’s duty vehicle, by chance? It’s so plain that it’ll pass for being a spook car.”
Spook car, I thought, shaking my head. Was I making a mistake having the wonderfully damaged combat vet backing me up. He had to know there was no real threat that might come about because of our mission to the base, which he didn’t really know anything much about it, but I could feel him reaching out from the A Shau Valley. There was always a threat. It was just that the threat hadn’t manifested itself yet. The sounds of the artillery impacting, the sounds of the small arms ground fire played across the hills and valleys of my mind…they were calling us back.
This is great stuff.
I’m no editor but here are a couple of notes you might consider.
“You’d be my observer, simply there to see what the result of all this is,” the Chief said, his voice likely modulated almost too low for Pat to make out, in spite of her nearly miraculous hearing ability. “No police uniform and no official status. If they don’t want you there, telling you go, then you’re out of there. –( telling you go,) {telling you to go}
“I don’t believe the Marines drowned, not without assistance, anyway. I think they were killed. The President’s Chief of Staff and his top advisor have something to do with either in what happened or in covering what happened up. –( something to do with either in what happened or in covering what happened up.) {something to do with what happened, or in covering it up.}
I gave the Chief the government pen we found. It could have been anybody’s since governmental employees use the beaches too, but the coincidence of a shine new pen like that falling onto the tracks very close to the folded towels and personal effects is pretty small. Somehow or other, I think the government is involved in the missing, and now dead Marines.” –( but the coincidence of a shine new pen) {shiny }
Spook car, I thought, shaking my head. Was I making a mistake having the wonderfully damaged combat vet backing me up. He had to know there was no real threat that might come about because of our mission to the base, which he didn’t really know anything much about, but I could feel him reaching out from the A Shau Valley. There was always a threat. It was just that the threat hadn’t manifested itself yet. The sounds of the artillery impacting, the sounds of the small arms ground fire played across the hills and valleys of my mind…they were calling us back. – (up.){?} – (he didn’t really know anything much about,) {he really didn’t know much about – or – anything about}
Thank you for your keen eye. Corrections have been made, Mark
Jim
Dear Dan:
Your diligent and accurate work have helped make this ‘project’ possible. That you work relentlessly to help for no compensation whatever is beyond thanks. We couldn’t do it without you!!!
Semper fi, and thanks from the very depths…
Jim
Another chapter that kept me on the edge of my seat even though it was published on Monday and i didn’t find it until this morning ( Thursday ) . a great solid you are doing for Mitch and his family and i hope it turned out well for his wife . Your Chief has your back but the surprise is Pat who asks for the favor of keeping Hoodoo in the loop even if it is through back channels so to speak , which has to be be somewhat of a sticking point for you considering how he treated you and your “Mexican Clone ” Gularte . Now what intrigues me is your appraisals of Haldeman , Erlichman and Mardian in all of this . Now whoever planned the murder of the three Marines not only over planned it but under planned it as well , because they missed very important details that would jump out at even the lowliest of grunts . Who had a bad enough grudge against these Marines that they wanted them dead ? Killing someone is a pretty drastic measure when there were certainly other means of taking care of the problem by simply discharghing them from the service . or if matters warranted they could have been court martialed and sentenced to the brig . and following their sentences dishonorably discharged .
Dear Chuck, readapting was going on at full speed, as my mind twisted and turned as I fought to not apply the tools, talents and experiences of what had helped me survive the A Shau. You are so great in the way you have written this comment to encompass that.
Semper fi, my friend,
Jim
Jim,
This chapter is full of lots of little surprising twists and turns. And each one–while presenting obstacles and opportunities– slowly pave the way to peeling more layers of the multiple faceted onion skin to expose the core.
Superb writing. Love it!
You paint a delightfully detailed picture of the physical scene itself and all the associated sights and sounds involved. We see it and feel it. We do experience what you see (saw). But we see more than that. Your skillful writing also allows us to be keenly aware of the inner picture of what was going on in your mind and your thought process and to be aware of your emotions as you wrestled with new challenges, as you doggedly and skillfully interpret, analyze, and begin to figure out what your action plan will be to accomplish your mission. It is always interesting to see how you manage to wiggle through various “tough to navigate” personal encounters with the people who you cross paths with during your daily adventures.
An unsolved mystery, potential danger from multiple angles, appearance of new “friendly forces” who may prove valuable to you, knotty problems to overcome as you go forward. While I have some reservations about being beside you on this particular adventure, at the same time I eagerly await mounting up and going along on this ‘mission’. And, if I could, to somehow provide you backup and “have your six.” But just like we “ghost soldiers” who slogged with you in the A Shau Valley as you recounted and relived your experiences there, we gear up and lock and load and follow you faithfully during your engagements with ‘enemy forces’ during The Cowardly Lion. We are still all in, LT.
It continues to be a helluva ride that I and others have become pleasurably addicted to. Keep ’em coming, Sir. Can’t wait for my next literary fix.
God Bless.
Dear Walter:
There are comments and then there are comments. Since I began writing about the war and the other things I’ve had 24,571 comments. All of which have been answered. Your comment is the longest, the most professionally written (which is not anything of a requirement on here) and the longest. Wow. You are a writer. No question. You are also most complimentary about the work, and I can’t tell you how much this comment, and those that are straight from the shoulder and heart of others before this, means to somebody like me. I wonder, at times, whether it’s worth it to continue, as life comes at me in both good and bad batches, just like other PTSD effected on here…and those that care about them, or us. Thank you from way down for writing this and I hope you don’t mind if I share it.
Most Sincerely, your friend…old friend
and Semper fi,
Jim
Thank you for your kind reply.
My comment is yours to use however you wish.
Dear Walter, and so I did. Can’t thank you enough, old friend.
Semper fi,
Jim
Nixon, an autistic damaged but fuThatnctional creature? That might keep me up nights exploring a whole new aspect of the psychology of political players.
I didn’t do any deep thinking when I wrote that about Nixon, but in reflection, it’s an awful accurate portrayal of this strange human being, but so
very valid…as it played out over time. He did write to me in the front pages of his books, liked he’d heard and known me…which was also strange.
What the hell, maybe those books will be worth money some day…especially as we move along toward his resignation and what happened there.
Thanks for the great comment.
Semper fi,
Jim
You have done it again, I came away from this chapter nervous, tense, and trying to focus like I was headed out on a mission where the bad guys lived. It was always the same I think to prepare you for what was coming.
Thanks so much for that compliment Warren. There are so many sincere veterans on this site and it’s always so supportive
to come on here and read comments like this one. I actually pay to produce my works, instead of the other way around,
so the real return is on the comment section of this site. Thanks so much.
Semper fi,
Jim
Love your work. Keep it coming!
Suggested edits
There was no car at the state park lot, just as I, and my thought. If the men at the Western White House were involved then the three Marines hadn’t parked there to get to the beach and down while swimming…
Bill
You are absolutely correct and probably figured that out before I did in my rendition in the chapter. My wife realized before me, as usual.
Thanks for the predictive comment.
Semper fi,
Jim
I’m the same as Peter – Three Marines, purportedly drowned? Some involvement by civilians, connected how?
Deep stuff for sure!
Chapter 20
James, Some minor editing suggestions follow:
He held the bronze star
Capitalize
He held the Bronze Star
I closed the door, which automatically locked me myself inside.
Maybe drop “myself”
I closed the door, which automatically locked me inside.
I filled my wife in on everything that had happened about the disappearance of the Marines was illuminating and disappointing, both at the same time.
Seems like two sentences
Period after “Marines”
Add “It” to start new sentence
I filled my wife in on everything that had happened about the disappearance of the Marines. It was illuminating and disappointing, both at the same time.
murderous intent in my life.I headed down to the lifeguard
Add space after period
murderous intent in my life. I headed down to the lifeguard
didn’t recognize a fellow officers off-duty vehicle.
Possessive of officers – officer’s
didn’t recognize a fellow officer’s off-duty vehicle.
at the state park lot, just as I, and my thought.
Maybe drop “, and my” Replace with “had”
at the state park lot, just as I had thought.
Marines hadn’t parked there to get to the beach and down while
Maybe “drown” instead of “down”
Marines hadn’t parked there to get to the beach and drown while
Five miles wen by in just under forty minutes,
“went” instead of “wen”
Five miles went by in just under forty minutes,
every street, road, and ally of the city,
“alley” instead of “ally”
every street, road, and alley of the city,
which was unusual and there ominous.
Maybe “therefore instead of “there”
which was unusual and therefore ominous.
My disappoint was complete and I knew my control
Maybe “disappointment” instead of “disappoint”
My disappointment was complete and I knew my control
I took the U.S. government pen out of pocket.
Add “my” in front of “pocket”
I took the U.S. government pen out of my pocket.
“Are you…” the Chief started so say.
“to” instead of “so”
“Are you…” the Chief started to say.
“Whom would I be?”
“who” instead of “whom”
“Who would I be?”
If they don’t’ want you
Extra apostrophe
If they don’t want you
saying you go
This works but maybe change to:
telling you to go
I shook my head. How could I mind.
Shook (side to side) usually denotes negative
Nodded (up and down) denotes affirmative
I nodded my head. How could I mind.
what happened or in covering what happened up.
Maybe move “up” to after “covering”
what happened or in covering up what happened.
but the coincidence of a shine new pen
“shiny” instead of “shine”
but the coincidence of a shiny new pen
I
couldn’t think of myself as a friend of hers
Backspace to connect sentence fragments
I couldn’t think of myself as a friend of hers
Gularte wasn’t usually deep, which it came to figuring things out,
Maybe “when” instead of “which”
Gularte wasn’t usually deep, when it came to figuring things out,
the sounds of the smaller arms ground fire
“smaller” works relative to artillery
Else “small arms”
the sounds of the small arms ground fire
Blessings & Be Well
I thought I replied with my overwhelming thanks, Dan, but when I checked I could not find my comment.
Thanks!!!!
Jim
Damn LT I can picture Haldeman in a Gestapo trench coat
Yes, Tony, he was very much made up of that Gestapo attitude and material.
Semper fi, and thanks for the comment.
Jim
edit suggestions …
map reading. We had to know ins and outs and intricacies of almost every street, road, and ally* of the city, (alley)
coincidence of a shine* new pen like (shiny)
Chief had found such a wonderful talented secretary.
I ***
(no space here !! )
couldn’t think of myself as a friend of hers
So impressed by the mind reading ability of your wife !! LOL, and now Pat wants in on the goings on, good grief how is all this going to play out with the 3 “dead” Marines showing up opposite of current flows too ??
Keeping me on the edge of my seat once again James !!
Semper Fi
Thanks again, SgtBob. Corrected as suggested.
Dear Dan, and I thought I’d edited three times and the copy was pretty clean. Not!
You eye and intellect is so much more refined than my own.
Thank you, my friend
Jim
Jim, there are a number of misspellings and corrections to be made before publishing in the book, but I’m no editor and am glad you put this out here for us to soak in, warts and all. Keeps me coming back for the next chapter, time after time.
Thanks
Dear Christopher. Yes, I am the only official editor and I’m lousy. DanC and others really help and there’s this Marilyn Silverman in New York who’s undertaken cleaning up the
final corrections before the book goes to Amazon. Thank God. Thanks for the help and letting me know.
Semper fi,
Jim
Like Mike said, it’s getting to be like down in the valley. I also check my email for any sender named Strauss, and drop everything.
Although I catch them all, you have so many capable grammarians, I don’t mention them. (Except things like the difference between faints and feints, which wasn’t in the story itself)
Is there any other windshield besides “front”? (I know I’m weird)
Thank you again for such riveting stories. Keep up the good work.
TimP: There is indeed only a windshield in a vehicle. One. Not front or back. You could not be more correct. We use this expression in our culture, the front windshield without
really thinking about it. Once, I was teaching my tiny daughter at age three about upside down. We had a big wooden kindergarten block. I turned it over and said “upside down,” and then
turned it back and said “right side up.” She sat there thinking, then turned the block both ways, saying: “upside down, up side up.” I was struck. She was a correct as you are in this comment.
Thanks for looking a things the way you do and writing about it on here.
Semper fi,
Jim
my anticipation is palpable
somethings dont add up yet they do
given the time of the story there was no love llost for black Marines in garrison by either side
racial relations or racial hostility was all over Pendelton
and I never saw a black Marine swimming or at a beach in the world so i am vey curious as this story develolps
i find my experience in the Corps at this time shapes my outlook on the story it was a real education and even though leadership said only color in the Corps wS green thT was to quote ill Barr bullshit
the world did show colors
magnifico
Dear Rich:
What a wonderful lengthy soliloquy about your own life and my story, sort of entertained.
Thanks for the compliment inherent the length and quality of what you had to say. I’m sure
other readers looking in here will find it interesting and cogent too.
Thanks, my friend,
and Semper fi,
Jim
Jim, you keep me sitting on the edge of my chair awaiting the next shoe to drop. I know exactly how you felt when faced with your choices in that situation.
I’ll be in LkGnva in July would love to shake your hand.
Semper Fi
Dear Rob:
I will be most happy to receive you here in Lake Geneva. Every once and awhile a vet comes by and it’s always a great time.
Thanks for the terrific compliment, as well.
Your friend,
and Semper fi,
Jim
You need a playbill to keep up with this drama! Man do you get yourself in deeper and deeper. Awesome read keep up the fantastic writing. I await your next chapter with trepidation!! Semper fi sir!!
I waited through this time, back then, with a whole lot of trepidation too my friend. Thanks for the great compliment
and I write this night because you guys on here won’t let me do anything else.
Semper fi,
Jim
Holy crap!
A get two word compliment Harry.
Much appreciated.
Semper fi,
Jim
From yiur response to pete sounds like your a JUGELER in this outlandish Circus? Your two boys from the compound spent thier terms not far from me in N.J., at what has been termed a “COUNTRY CLUB” for a Federal Pen!!
Dear Harold, these two boys as you put it were not exactly genetically provide with much of sense of honor or integrity.
They practiced what is called ‘situation ethics’ in their very real world where they were nearly all powerful.
Strange to be around people like that…and a little terrifying from time to time.
Thanks for the great and much appreciated compliment…
Semper fi,
Jim
Fantastic chapter.
Two words that mean a whole lot Harry. Mean a whole lot to me, anyway.
I motor on, driven by the ‘steam’ power of your and other vets compliments on this site.
Semper fi,
Jim
“ I only had three dead Marines, a dead audience, but that wasn’t something I wasn’t used to, especially at night.” LT, this is every bit as intense as anything you told us about being down in that damned valley. This continues to be one hell of a ride, and I for one am thankful that I discovered your story, all those years ago. Semper Fi.
Mike: Stole your comment and put it up on Facebook. Hope you don’t mind. Just too well written and too real.
Thanks so much.
Your friend, and Semper fi,
Jim
I’m honored Sir. I’ll hump the Prick-25 anytime you need a radio operator. SF.
Mike. I love it! I don’t think they are using that ald but so dependable radio anymore, but what the hell, we’ll go to a gun show.
Thanks so much for this great comment.
Semper fi,
Jim
They had switched to the Prick-77 by the time I got to the Corps, same radio just solid state internals. I can only imagine what they’re using these days. I’ve often thought, as I mess around on my phone with Google earth, Man, with something like this I could put 81s or CAS in somebody’s back pocket! Semper Fi LT.
Mike, yes, us old timers cannot even imagine what is being used now. Drones, GPS, cell technology and WiFi. Wow.
I wonder how artillery is really conducted today. Thanks for the data and the response.
Semper fi,
Jim
Jesus Lt, I can’t even breathe sometimes when I read what you write! Yes I know you are unraveling a tale that has purpose and direction… keep going. I’ll be right here waiting.
You are one class act Christopher and you write a compliment like very few before you. I am glad to have you there,
and here in your way…as we travel on this continuing adventure.
Thank you!
Semper fi,
Jim
Wow! That is a helluva chapter! Am eagerly anticipating the unfolding.
The next chapter goes up either this evening or tomorrow morning.
Thank you for wanting and expecting it. It’s an interesting one, to
say the least.
Semper fi, and thanks a lot.
Jim
“Five miles wen by in just under forty minutes”. Should be went
Fixed it. Thanks, Sam
When you got the call to see the Chief “…..was unusual and there ominous”. Should be therefore?
Corrected thanks to your sharp eye!
This sounds like attempting to take the cheese from a trap without triggering it. The tension is high and all battle stations are ready for incoming.Apparently you did’nt end up the fourth man
Thanks Carroll, as in Camp Carroll I presume. No, I am still here but went through some harrowing stuff,
even after I got home, to be here. Thanks for noticing and commenting like you did on here.
Semper fi,
Jim
Like a good TV series, you keep us hungry for more and impatient for the next chapter.
I’m enjoying it immensely.
Thank you
Thank you Ron! I would hope for a television series as the cinematography would be quite stunning and informing.
I’d love to help build the set for the compound! But, here we are, ready for another chapter to go up tonight or
on the morrow. Stand by, my friend,
and Semper Fi,
Jim
That Gularte is a good man. The Marine Brotherhood is strong! Even Hoodoo. Leave no one behind.
Michael, I don’t believe there’s any other service on earth that is the equivalent when it comes
to sticking together, even after separation from active service. Marines are always either on or ready
for active service and that’s a distinguishing part of being one. Hoodoo did not come around so much
as he was forced by his Marine background and belief to let me into his tribe and inner acceptance, and I him.
Semper fi,
Jim
Wondering what the hell is going on here??? Why 3 dead Marines? You spin one hell of a story here. Just keep trying to figure out where this is going and what happens next, know nothing happened to you as you are still here.🇺🇸
Dear Peter, thanks for your sincere and deep interest. One must consider all the potential results when defining the words ‘happened to you.’
Yes, it was a wild time. I was totally unimportant but vitally important, depending on place, organization and the situations I was trying
to juggle all at the same time.
Thank you.
Semper fi,
Jim
You’re standing in deep water surrounded by alligators, non friendly. Be extremely careful.
Truer words were never spoken, as they pertain to my situation.
Even though I was no longer living in terror, like in the valley, or sometimes the hospitals after,
I was many times afraid.
Thanks for the great perceptive comment.
Semper fi,
Jim
Upon arriving home, I go directly to my computer and check mail for one thing , Sender James Strauss.
If another chapter is there, everything stops. Sometimes even for awhile after reading the last words .. I was 28 about the time your story began . Living in California. This has been like revisiting those years as I recall what I doing at the time .. Thank you for among other things, a time machine.
Charley Blunt
What a wonderful compliment Charley. I mean really…to the extent that I copied it to all my social media sites. Nobody I know in the
writing business gets thase kinds of straight from the heart compliments. You force me to forge on into this night and chapter XXI is
almost done thanks to you and the wonder of the vets who’ve taken me under their wings on here.
Semper fi, my friend,
Jim