Author's Note
This is a slow serial. I apologize that it is not being posted daily, but just this chapter has taken hours to write, read, rewrite, and reread. I appreciate the positive comments I have received, and hope those of you who tag along will enjoy the ride.
All characters, plot devices, names, locations and events are written by me and taken from my own knowledge of events that took place over 50 years ago.
Many of the people, places and events are real, and can be found by any historian that cares to take the time. I referenced my work from actual events, while shielding characters that do not need or want either of us invading their privacy and/or insulting the memory of their loved ones.
With the recent events in Afghanistan, I am doubly concerned that must protect and safeguard the memory of all those who have bravely served their country in a war that the vast majority of humanity will never understand or condone.
While I certainly cannot argue with the feelings of the latter, I cannot abide those of the former. The sacrifices of the soldier are easily understood for any true historian, and that sentiment remains true regardless of the righteousness of his cause.
I will never judge those who stand in harms way to defend their loved ones, but we all
must
hold to account the people who placed them there.
I will never apologize for my feelings in this regard, and to those who have given their all for me and mine, regardless of their branch of service, I offer my sincere thanks.
As always, these words are mine. This story is a work of fiction and I do not give anyone the permission,
either directly or implied
, to reproduce them without my express consent.
April, 1967 (Hiep Duc Valley, South of Da Nang, Republic of Vietnam)
Antenna Valley Pass was a hot, sweltering, humid and airless extension of Hell on earth. The tall grass and poor visibility made it a dangerous and unforgiving environment. The VC and NVA were moving weapons and personnel through the valley and intelligence suggested that it was a build up for an assault on the air base at Da Nang.
It was the year of Killer Kane, a time that would help define Marine Long-Range Reconnaissance Patrol (LRRP) operations for years to come. Case's team, along with members of team Countersign were planning to interdict enemy forces moving through the pass. The members of both Force Recon teams at Camp Reasoner were practically interchangeable. They also operated independently, but In this instance, he was advancing cautiously with a team of 8 Marines from both units.
Before the death of Captain Barnes, LRRP teams in I Corps were almost always used as observers. They would enter an area where there was the high probability that the enemy was moving combinations of men, guns, and food. They would set up Observation Posts (OP) and call for artillery or air strikes on observed enemies. Occasionally, they would set up an ambush or a snatch and grab in order to capture a hapless enemy combatant for the purpose of interrogation.
All that was changing. Killer Kane's members had decided it was time to take the war to the enemy. Their mission was no longer passive. Now, they were truly hunting down their enemies.
A lot has been romanticized about the deeds performed by these men, and others like them. The enemy soon learned to fear them. They were supremely skilled and could move with both stealth and swiftness which constantly confounded their enemies. They adapted to the conditions of the battlefield and were uncanny in their ability to improvise.
Quite often, these heroes performed deeds that were every bit as amazing as the feats dramatized in books, songs, and movies. Most of the time, however, they spent their time squatting motionless for hours while waging their war as much against the elements, as the enemy.
Leeches, insects, snakes, and the ever-changing weather took an enormous toll on both men and equipment alike, grinding down the body and spirit of these foolish interlopers who dared to wander into "Charlie's" jungle home. Hours of tedium and boredom would creep by, interspersed with moments of adrenaline-pumping action.
Vietnam brought about a new kind of warfare, and 1
st
Reconnaissance Company, USMC were slowly adapting and evolving as they began to master the skills they needed to excel at it. By the end of the year, LCpl. Francis Casey "Hard-Case" Hardin would become a battle-tested killer of men.
Walking point, Case examined the area ahead and froze. A rivulet of sweat trickled down the back of his neck as the Marines spaced out behind him reacted instantly, moving off the trail to either side and fading to nothing. Case gently eased to his left, cross-stepping in slow motion to avoid sound and any sudden movement that might catch the eye. It was almost a full minute before the voices which his subconscious had heard became loud enough for him to realize what had caught his attention.
A pair of VC in black pajamas walked casually down the trail where he had stood only minutes ago. Both were carrying knapsacks and weapons. The first held a French MAS-49 rifle that looked older than he was. The other held a Czechoslovakian Vz. 58 assault rifle that looked like it had seen heavy use. They seemed to be speaking casually as they wandered blithely down the trail, oblivious to the stealthy Marines only a few meters away, and equally ignorant of the proximity of their latest brush with death.
After waiting and observing for 30 minutes, the team decided to move off the trail and find a Harbor spot for the night. They also established a good OP overlooking several of the busiest trails through the pass, and began to consider possible ambush sites interdicting those sections of the trail for their use over the next few days. Months of living and breathing within the jungles of SE Asia had reinforced their grim recognition that "Charlie" no longer ruled the jungle. It was now "Killer Kane's" home, and they would prove to be inhospitable hosts.
Three days later, the team reached the LZ and returned to the base camp. All tactical aspects of the mission were deemed a rousing success and the fact that there were no casualties only reinforced that feeling. It took several weeks for the Battalion command to become aware of the most recent changes in tactical doctrine being practiced by their long-range recon patrol (LRRP) teams. However, since the tactics were so successful, it was deemed expedient to refrain from any complaints to the men operating in the field. In fact, as the accolades began to rain down from on high, the new tactical doctrine would eventually become common practice for LRRP teams within the Marine Corps.
September 26, 1980 (Houston, TX)
The Hog Pen
was a biker bar, which is to say it was a dive. Most average people avoided it, although some misguided fools might occasionally attempt to ingratiate themselves with those who frequented it, and (usually) would live to regret it. Despite its being a dive, or maybe
because
it was a dive, there were strictly enforced codes of conduct and dress, as well as a firm set of social and cultural proprieties.
Visitors were expected to ride Hogs (Harley-Davidson motorcycles). Most European motorcycles were tolerated (as long as they were large street machines), but frowned upon by the patch-wearing club members who considered themselves real outlaw bikers. All the club members wore a 1% er patch somewhere on his vest. This patch proclaimed that the wearer was a true outlaw, as they were deemed by the AMA (American Motorcycle Association) to be the one percent of motorcyclists who gave the rest a bad name.
Anyone else wearing a vest within the confines of the bar was...officially discouraged. They would quickly find themselves the punch-line in a bad joke that they could not understand. By the time they escaped (hopefully unscathed) they would forever divest themselves of any misplaced notions about the brotherhood of those who embrace the freedom of the open road. The reason is simple, really. A cut (vest) was earned not bought.
The cut told the world that they were unique. They were "the people your momma warned you about". They were misfits who carved out their own place without the patronage of anyone. They operated in their own world outside the rules of a society that they perceived as being every bit as confining and restrictive as a strait-jacket.
Most cuts (short for cut-off) were fashioned from a denim, or leather jacket with the sleeves removed, like a vest. Each cut had an assortment of patches that denoted who and what the wearer was. On the back of the cut was their club's insignia (patch), awarded to them when they were accepted as brothers by a unanimous vote of the other club chapter members. A semi-circular piece (called a rocker) above the club's patch proclaimed the name of the club. Another rocker below the club's patch told the chapter, or territory that belonged to them.
The more territory the club claimed, the more they had to risk to hold on to it. A club might claim a city or town within a state, and other clubs that claimed the same city as their home may willingly allow it. Other clubs might claim an entire state, but allow other clubs to operate in cities within that state. These loose friendships and shared territories were reinforced by partying together and making long bike trips (runs) to various parties at locations hosted by other clubs.
These social connections are called affiliations.
