The smoke curled up around his face as he cleaned his machinegun, the sound of hovering helicopters, blades whopping, in the background. His hands caressed the gun like a lover, full attention given to its deadly lines. Sweat poured down his face; his shirt was darkened with dampness, stained with grease, oils, and use.

As he was bent over the 55 gallon drum, cut in half and containing gun solvent, his thoughts turned to the show at the club that night. It was Veterans Day and, as usual, the beer was going to flow. It had been a long day; he had flown up thru the An Khe Pass seeing all the aircraft bodies littering the sides of it, delivering fresh troops and mail. It didn't feel like a holiday, just another lonely day in the Nam.

He smiled at the passers bye, greeting other crew members with some sort funny sharp remark reserved for his brothers in arms. His hands, wrinkled and dried out from the solvent, felt cool in the hot air – time to cool the insides as well.

Back home, the WW2 Veterans all dressed up, put on their medals, and were proud of their service. Perhaps bands and picnics were in the picture. Little did he know what was in store for him, when he returned...!

©Copyright November 11, 2006 by Fred Alvis