Another Place Episode 23

Another Place Another Time

Book One

Jake and Whispers

Episode Twenty-Three

Nine days later, I hitched a ride back to Bearcat on a Greyhound slick. Betty Ann would leave Vietnam in four weeks, and my tour ended in seven weeks.

A week and one patrol later the Commanding General of the 9th Infantry Division awarded Whispers and me a Silver Star. I don’t remember his name, but I do know how many days we had left in country when he pinned the medal on my chest. I also knew the medals I’d earned were going to complicate my great getaway a bit.

It’s fairly simply for a “regular” soldier to disappear discreetly, while processing out of the Army. However, as Captain Petty had pointed out to me, the Army no longer considered me a regular soldier. I had received many commendations from the LURPS, two Bronze Stars, a Purple Heart, and now a Silver Star. He said, “You’re not the only man with a Silver Star, but you need to understand this. Because you have one, the Army will want to know where you are. That means you are going to have to show up in Oakland as more than a checkmark on a travel manifest.”

“How can I do that, Captain? I’ll be on a ship with Whispers.”

He smiled reassuringly.

“This isn’t the first time we’ve had to do this, Jake. However, since we have a real advantage here, it will be the easiest. Here’s why. When does Betty Ann leave for home?”

I’m sure my confusion at where his question was leading was obvious.

“She leaves in less than three weeks,” I answered.

“That’s perfect,” he said, as the First Sergeant and Riley nodded silently. “Here’s what we have to do. Riley will get your records ready just as we had planned. However, they will not have your final out-processing paperwork from Oakland. You give the records and a set of your fatigues, a pair of your boots, and a cap to Betty Ann and she will take them home with her.”

He paused, then continued, “Now, here comes the sticky part, if there is going to be one. You need to give her the name of a friend who lives in the States, preferably one who is in the Army and one who will keep a secret. Your friend will take your records and your uniform and meet your plane from Vietnam. He will impersonate you for twenty-four hours, which means that he will muster out of the Army as you. He’ll even use the plane ticket the Army will issue you to fly to your home of record. Once he gets off that plane, you will be clear of the Army.”

He waited for me to digest what he had said and then he asked, “Do you have a friend who will do that?”

“Yes, Sir,” I told him. “In fact, he’s the man who is responsible for my being here right now, Captain Richard Kennedy. He can do it easily, and he will be glad to.”

That afternoon I caught a ride to Vung Tau with Colonel Cavanaugh. Betty Ann’s eyes lit up when I laid out the plan. “Jake, that’s great; it’ll work and, best of all, I’ll be part of it.”

I’d been writing Richard at least once a week, since I’d been in Vietnam. That’s why I felt the odds were the censors wouldn’t open a letter to him. However, rather than run an unnecessary risk, I just wrote and told him that Betty Ann was coming home in a couple of weeks and she would be in touch with him. By return mail, he sent his address and phone number.

I prepared a small gym bag for Betty Ann to carry with her. It contained my uniform and $4,000 in cash.

“You’ll have trouble explaining either one of these, so be careful.”

As I handed her the bag, I closed my hands around her hands as she held the handles.

She turned her face up and looked reassuringly into my eyes.

“Jake, I’m Red Cross not military. They don’t give us shake down searches like they do you guys.”

The toughest part of the plan was saying good-bye to Betty Ann, so I didn’t say good-bye. I flew on the chopper with her and another Doughnut Dolly who was also going home. It’s a twenty minute flight from Vung Tau to Ton Son Nut Airbase in Saigon. We sat on the passenger bench staring straight ahead and holding hands so tightly I wasn’t sure we’d be able to turn loose, but I didn’t care.

At Ton Son Nut, I carried Betty Ann’s duffel bag to the civilian departure area. She was right, as usual. She flashed her passport in front of a bored Vietnamese immigration officer and that was the extent of the check. At the civilian boarding gate, we hung on to each other until a ticket agent supervising the boarding shouted in Betty Ann’s ear.

“Lady, that noise you hear is the sound of your plane, and in thirty seconds it’s going to leave here without you.”

We loosened our embrace, so we could look into each other’s eyes.

“I’ll be there before you know it,” I said.

She wiped her eyes.

“I’m counting on that, Jake.”

A week later, I got a letter from Richard that read in part, “I talked to Betty Ann and then she flew down and had dinner with my fiancée Jane and me at The Oaks. We’re all looking forward to seeing you…”

I showed the letter to Captain Petty, The First Sergeant, and Riley. They were almost as tickled as I was.

**********

Probably, because I’d been through the get-away drill at least twenty times with other handlers and their dogs, there wasn’t a single hitch when it came time for me and Whispers to go. At least, there wasn’t a hitch after I managed to say good-bye to Captain Petty and The First Sergeant. That one was tough.

I realized the night before I left that in my whole life there had only been six people, outside my parents and Whispers, who supported me totally, all the time, no matter what was happening. They were Richard Kennedy, Henry Cox, Steve Petty, First Sergeant Conley, Corporal Riley, and Betty Ann Luther. It wasn’t easy to say good-bye to two of them that morning, but somehow I managed. Then I went to the kennel and told Whispers that I’d see him in a few hours. I threw my duffel bag in the back of the ¾-ton, and I didn’t look back as we pulled out of the company area; I couldn’t.

Riley dropped me off at the 90th Replacement Battalion in Long Binh. I signed in and picked up my flight assignment voucher, meal tickets, and a few other pieces of paper that were essential to my getting home, in the way that my orders said that I was traveling. Then I went to the NCO Mess hall and chased some unappetizing food round my plate for half an hour. Finally I picked up my duffel bag and walked out of the compound. At the main gate the guard called out, “Hey, Sarge, are you Jake?”

I waved and he called to the MP directing traffic in the middle of Highway One, “Hey, Lewis, he’s the one. Get him across the road.”

Lewis blew his whistle a few times, which stopped the traffic in all four lanes, and I walked across like somebody special. As I stepped onto the shoulder on the opposite side of the highway, I heard Lewis call out, “Good luck, Sarge.” Then he blew one loud blast on his whistle and in seconds, traffic was moving as though it had never stopped.

In five minutes, I ducked into the cool dimness of the Buddhist temple I’d only previously seen from the outside. A monk in an orange robe appeared in front of me. He smiled, bowed, and motioned for me to follow him to a small room off the main room. I spent the afternoon in that place of peace. The traffic outside was barely audible, the air lightly touched with incense, and the world was a million miles away.

I didn’t know how much time passed before the monk rose effortlessly from the lotus position that he had assumed as soon as we entered the small room. He didn’t look at a watch or clock; he just smiled knowingly and motioned for me to follow him. We stepped into the main room at the exact moment Riley pulled off the road in front of the temple. I bowed to my host, threw my duffel bag on my shoulder, and in seconds I was in the back of the ¾-ton with Whispers heading toward Saigon. We couldn’t get in the front because Captain Petty, The First Sergeant, and Corporal Riley filled the cab of the truck. So much for my tough good byes of the morning, I thought.

I passed all the paperwork I had picked up at the 90th Replacement Battalion through the open rear window, to the First Sergeant. He told me that they would take care of everything. There was another round of goodbyes in front of the house across the street from the pier, despite Riley’s protests that we didn’t have time for all that ‘girl stuff.’ Finally he dumped the clutch and the ¾ ton shot into the traffic of the busy street. I waved until they were out of sight, and then Whispers and I went into the house to await darkness, which would hide our boarding.

The freighter was clean and shipshape, and the Captain and crew were most hospitable. At 0400, we cast off and began moving slowly down the Saigon River. At daybreak, we passed Vung Tau and moved into the South China Sea. After a few hours steaming through a serious chop, I knew that seasickness wouldn’t be a problem for either Whispers or me. That handled the last unknown of the journey.

In Hong Kong, after much bowing and exchanges of gratitude, I left the Thai Freighter and boarded a Scandinavian-registered containership bound for Vancouver, British Columbia. Before I got onboard, I found a hotel with overseas telephone service and placed a call to Minneapolis. The connection wasn’t great, but I didn’t mind. Betty Ann’s father answered the phone, and I asked for her.

“Is this you, Jake?” He asked hesitantly.

“Yes, Mr. Luther, it’s me.”

I could hear the relief in his voice.

“Where are you, son?”

“I’m in Hong Kong, Mr. Luther.”

In the background, I could hear Betty Ann say, “Daddy, Daddy, let me talk to him. You’ll have plenty of time to talk to him when he gets here.

Then she was on the line.

I don’t remember much of that conversation. I told her when the ship would dock in Vancouver, and that I would call her as soon as we were there. Then I said, “Betty Ann, I love you.”

And she said, “Jake, you are my whole world. Tell Whispers hello and, sweetheart, you two travel safe.”

The Norwegians believe in schedules. We slid into our berth within minutes of our published docking time. I passed through Canadian customs as easily as I had gone through every other checkpoint on the trip. As soon as Whispers and I were outside the customs building, I stopped and took a deep breath of the clear Canadian air, and looked to the left for a telephone booth. Whispers whined, and I turned to the right to see what had caught his attention. Thirty feet away and closing on me rapidly was Betty Ann Luther of Minneapolis, Minnesota.

********

Betty Ann’s mother and father, Carolyn and Carl, had driven the fourteen hundred miles from Minneapolis with her. It didn’t take me long to realize that they would have driven to Vietnam for her, if they felt it was necessary.

On the four-day trip back to Minneapolis we talked about everything, while Whispers made himself at home in the back of the Luther’s station wagon. He looked like he had occupied that same spot every day of his life.

Betty Ann told me that, subject to my approval, she had made some plans for us.

“First,” she said, “Captain Cox and Captain Kennedy are handling all the arrangements for a small, double, military wedding at the base chapel at Fort Benning, Georgia.”

“Wait,” I said, “Double means two…”

“Oh, I forgot to tell you, Jane and Richard decided to join us. Richard said they would save money that way, but I don’t think that’s the reason.”

We both laughed and I said, “That’s great! Now that part’s cleared up, go ahead.”

She looked at me and smiled, and I didn’t care what was on the schedule as long as we were together. She told me that two days after we got to Minnesota, we were going to fly to Columbus. She added that she had arranged with Delta Airlines for Whispers to join us in the passenger cabin. At that point, Whispers, who I thought was asleep, barked. We laughed.

Breathless, she stared at me and managed to ask, “Well, what do you think, Jake?”

I looked into her eyes and said, “Betty Ann, I think I’m the luckiest guy in the world.”

Now, sitting in our living room, more than thirty years later, I know that I was right.

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