By: Col. Brunhilda 'Iceberg' Buriman, ret.
Sorority Sister of Pi Loda Cum
Chapter One: Little About Dude
We were relaxing, so to speak, in a brothel located along one of Saigon's seedier strips, one of the few places we patronized for pleasures otherwise difficult to find in the jungle. The outfit took up every room and balcony, and even the roof. I was kneeling behind a lovely lady facing in the direction of Sarge. He was working up a storm behind his favorite pet, the brothel's one eyed mama-san. As usual he sported his belt and trusty forty-five, neither of which he ever removed, well almost never. He loved that 1911 Army forty-five, and so did mama-san. It was typical in every way except for one thing, its water-proof vibrating handle.
On several occasions he'd told me of how his father had it modified before handing it down to him, but he always began the story just before bedding down, after finishing a bottle of bourbon, before tucking the gun under his pillow for the night. Other than how dangerously exciting the piece was when used for sexual pleasure, he spoke of how important it was for him to pass it down to his daughter. When he spoke of her, I got the feeling I'd meet her someday.
A loud eddy filled the room, swirling about us, caused by my partner's gurgling challenge to scream while holding a mouthful of sperm I'd fed her a few minutes ago, and the Sarge's animated rodeo-style mating, in which the constant sound of gun fire and choppers swooping overhead were drowned out of existence.
Without warning, the attack came out of the tunnels, lasted ten minutes, and passed. Bewildered and in pain, I looked around to find the bodies of my childhood buddies, or parts of them, and their lady friends lying lifeless around me. Johnny's legs were hanging from the banister, the head of his lady friend yet attached to his organ. Everything was blood, there was no need to call out, I knew they were dead, every one of them, everyone but me.
We'd just been destroyed by an elite group of Viet Cong guerrillas and I knew damn well the entire platoon had been wiped out. The Sergeant and his lady had taken the brunt of an exploding grenade which landed between their legs. Shrapnel tore through their bodies in so many places they were unrecognizable. My left arm was numb and my body felt as if it'd been stabbed repeatedly. Automatic weapons' fire, explosions, and the sounds of men screaming orders were everywhere around me outside. I could tell the battle had moved deeper into the jungle, away from me, and I noticed Sarge's forty-five on the floor in front of me.
"Sarge," I whispered to myself, picking the weapon up into my hand. "Sarge," I whispered more quietly then before.
"Fuckhead," I heard his ghost say. I listened to the words of a dead man, a man who'd taken me under his wing, who'd yanked me out of childhood and taught me to stand on my own two feet. A man who'd become the mother and father I'd never known, my guardian and mentor. I could never have imagined it ending like this, with Sarge torn into little pieces. I wanted to save him like he'd saved me, but try as I may, I could move little.
"Sarge," I said a little louder.
"Dude, just get that piece to my daughter," the ghost ordered.
Fighting pain I took a slow look around through thick smoke hoping to find where the voice came from, or better still a medic, or someone who could help. For several minutes no one and nothing moved, everything around me lay silent, and my eyes came back to realize I was yet buried balls deep in a dead woman.
"Listen to me boy," the ghost went on. "When Grandfather comes for you go with him," it said, confounding me with words that lacked meaning, confusing my already clouded mind. I yanked my cock free of the pussy before rigor mortis set in.
"Sarge," I asked him in despair, but he ignored me to reiterate his command more carefully.
"Obey Grandfather as you've obeyed me!"
