Meanwhile as Fred lulled in silent contemplation, the Battery Commander was looking over the morning report. It seemed that they had picked up a new man. He was still at K-6 processing in. He would have to send someone to get him. The last time they left a new man there, he got into a bar fight and had his head split open. He didn't want to lose this new guy. He was an experienced radar operator and right now he was short. In fact he was always short, short of everything. One good thing though, he was also short in Korea. Thirty-two days and a wake-up. Then he could go home and see his wife and kids. A year was a long time to be away. Captain Green often wished he was an Enlisted man. They seemed to have it made. They just took things as they came. They seemed to adapt better. In fact some of them adapted so well they went "Native". They took Korean girlfriends and as often as not married them. They had their own hootches in the village and in a pinch, even drank the local rotgut. But in spite of all the hardships put upon them by cultural change, they seemed happy. They even seemed to thrive. The funny thing about it was that the soldiers that went native were always the most dependable.

He would miss this place in a way. The camaraderie and enthusiasm the men had were unlike anyplace in the world he had ever been. He wondered if it was the isolation of being a detached unit of two hundred fifty in a city of five million, or was it the women, booze and drugs?

That last thought reminded him of the surprise health and welfare inspection that they had lined up for today. The M.P. detachment at ASCOM was supposed to be bringing the dogs to sniff out marijuana. He hoped that nobody would be caught. He couldn't afford to have another security clearance pulled. He really did need every man he could get. He had let the supply sergeant overhear him talking with the First Shirt about it yesterday. He knew that word would be all over the Battery. He just hoped that the guys would take it seriously.

Tomorrow he had to go to Seoul and attend a staff meeting on site security. He didn't like to miss these meetings. The number of infiltrator incidents were up. Last week a boatload of North Korean sappers were intercepted within five clicks of B Battery further south down the coast. He hoped that General Emerson would skip this briefing. The good General was the commander of the Second Infantry Division that guarded Korea's border with the North. Life was hard up there an the DMZ, and General Emerson didn't make life any easier for his men.

You see, he liked football. He liked to see his men play football. The only problem with that was that his sense of fair play was a little extreme. To accomplish his training goal, every man in the division that didn't pull duty the night before ran five miles every morning before breakfast. The football rules were a little different than in the States.

The contestants played with boots, fatigues, helmets and full field gear. The size of the teams were only limited to the size of the company's or battalions they had on hand that particular day. Oh, by the way, no rules, just get the ball over the opposing teams goal line. That was it.

Broken bones were badges of honor. That was the whole ball game so they say. He even had a nifty little name for it. He called it Combat Football, and in the Second Division, it was the only game in town. The rumor mill had it that he wanted General Blake, the Eight Army Commander to require all units in Korea to play at least once a week:. Bad news travels fast, and every idea General Emerson articulated traveled at the speed of light. Captain Green grabbed his cap and walked out the door. Another day at Foxtrot had begun.

Patty still didn't know where he was. He remembered going into a club and being amazed. The glitter was unbelievable. There were mirrors all around the place with colored lights and strobe lights blinking to the beat of rock music. It was crowded as hell. The best part was that most of the people in the club were women. There were hundreds of women, all wearing sheer tops, miniskirts and high heels. They were all friendly too.

Everyone he came in contact with wanted him to buy her a drink. Except they said drinkee. He finally ended up with a tall girl dressed entirely in black. The last thing he remembered was that she was on his lap and Mr. Kim had a girl dressed in red on his. He remembered that both Mr. Kim and himself were very drunk.

Patty very slowly raised one eye. He looked at the ceiling, it was covered with wallpaper. He slowly turned his throbbing head to see who was lying next to him. He was surprised to see that he was alone. He sat up and looked around the room. A clock next to the bed said seven-fifteen. Holy shit he thought, he had to be back to process in this morning. He stated to panic. Were the hell was he. He didn't have the slightest notion about how to get hack to the base. He had to piss. He pulled the covers off and put his feet on the floor. He reached for his shirt lying on the chair next to the bed and put it on. He looked down for his pants. There were no pants. He took a better look around the room. There were no clothes, no personal things that suggested that anyone lived there. Patty heard a rooster crowing outside. Bending down he looked under the bed. Still no pants. Now panic was completely clouding his brain. What the hell was he going to do?

The only thing in the room were the sheets on the bed. That would have to do. He was in trouble. He had no wallet, no pass, no I.U. Card. He was almost A.W.O.L. Deep shit Fallica, deep shit he thought. He pulled the blanket off the bed (it was more like a comforter) and walked out the sliding paper doors. Two small children were playing near an old red handled pump in the center of a courtyard. They looked at him and went hysterical. An old women came out of one of the rooms and when seeing him burst out in laughter. He walked over to her.

"Where is the woman that has that hootch?" and he pointed to the room he had spent the night in.

"Moolah." she said between fits of laughter.

"Do you speak English?" he asked.

"Moolah." She said again.

He looked at the kids who had by now stopped laughing. He approached the boy who seemed about seven or eight.

"Do you speak English"" he asked?

"Moolah." He replied.

"Moolah, Moolah, Moolah!!" Patty screamed. He was pissed.

This caused the three Koreans to erupt in screams of laughter. The more they laughed the madder Patty got. He walked toward the gate. He figured that these people were all mentally ill. As he approached the gate the old woman yelled to him.

"Where you go with my blankee?"

Patty turned hack toward her.

"Now you talk English." He said

"I talkee." She said.

"You understand my speakee?" he said.

"Sure G.I. You think I Stoopid?" She asked.

"Then where the hell is my pants?" Patty screamed.

"Moolah." She said.

"Moolah my ass. Where the hell is my pants. Where the hell are my shoes?" Where the hell is my wallet. Where the hell am I?" He felt like crying.

She hobbled over to the entrance of the hootch. Bending over she reached under a low porch and pulled out Patty's low quarters.

"You shoes!" She said.

Patty felt a small ray of hope stir inside of him.

"What about my pants and wallet?"

"Slickie girl takee. Sorry 'bout that G.I. Numbah ten slickie girl." She said simply.

Patty had already figured that out. He was dumb but not stupid. The old woman raised a finger and told him to wait. She returned in minutes with a sheet. A dirty sheet with holes.

"You takee this. Kajawa blankee. " And she reached out for her blanket.

Fatty considered this. He had no underwear on. He was about to explain to her that he had to go inside to change when she reached out and grabbed the blanket. Patty couldn't react in time and he stood naked with just his shirt on in the morning breeze. The kids by the pump were besides themselves. It must have been great entertainment. The boy started strutting around holding an imagined giant penis. Even Patty smirked. He grabbed the sheet from the old woman and wrapped it around himself.

Armed with the sheet he walked out the gate. He was determined to get back come hell or high water. Fuck that asshole Mr. Kim. He knew damn well he was new in country. Shit, he didn't even know if he got laid.

He walked down the alley until he heard street sounds and turned in that direction. Soon he saw a main street. He was hesitant about stepping into it, but he really had no choice, he just had to get back. He figured the M.P.'s at the gate would have a field day with him.

Patty no sooner got unto the street when a deuce and a half almost ran him down doing a good forty miles an hour on the congested roadway. He gave the driver the finger, almost dropping the sheet he had bunched at his waist. The truck skidded to a halt. The guy in the passenger side stepped out and motioned him to come over. Patty didn't know whether to run over or run away. The guy put his hands on his hips and cocked his head.

"You comin or what?" He screamed.

Patty ran as best as the loose sheet allowed. He reached the truck and looked at the soldier that motioned to him. The other G.I. looked back shaking his head.

"What the fuck happened to you?" he asked.

At that moment the cars that were being blocked by the truck started to blow their horns and drivers were swearing in Korean. The driver reached out and gave them the finger.

"Neemie sheemie peck peck poji da!" He screamed.

The G.I. shoved Patty toward the truck.

"We gotta truck on out of here." he said.

Patty climbed into the cab. Both men in the truck were snickering. Patty started to explain. They told him to shut the fuck up and get down on the floorboards because they were coming to the Main Gate. The driver put a lit bowl that reeked of pot under the seat. The truck soon rolled to a stop at the side of the guard shack. A swaggering M.P. came up to the drivers side.

"Got a trip ticket'" he asked.

"Yeah, but I left it under your Momma's bed." said the driver.

"Don't be a dick wise guy or I'll lock your funky ass up." The scowling M.P. replied.

The driver reached under the seat and pulled out an olive drab log book. The M.P. made a cursory glance and handed it back.

"Get the fuck away from my gate asshole." he said and walked away.

The truck took off with a lunge throwing Patty against the shift.

"Get up man." said the driver. "Somebody's going to think you're doing something unnatural under there." They both laughed.

"Where you going' newbee." Said the other.

"4th of the 44th." Patty replied meekly.

"You sure are one sorry asshole." the driver said in a southern accent. "Some slickie girl run off with your wallet and pants?"

"Yeah, how did you know?"

They both started laughing.

"It doesn't take a fuckin' genius to figure it out.' said the man on Patty's right.

"Got to watch these heathen scum." said the driver. "Steal your fuckin DEROS if they get a chance.

"What's a DEROS?" Patty asked.

Both men looked at each other and shook their heads as if they were dealing with a hopeless retard. Patty flushed.

"DEROS" said the driver "means date estimated return from overseas. In other words, that's the day you get to go home. You really must be new. How long you been in country?"

"Three days." Patty replied.

"Three days and he's already fuckin' up. Better take care newbee. At this rate you'll be half dead by the time you're ready to go home."

The truck pulled to a stop.

"Ride's over man. Better sneak through a back door." And the man on the right opened the door and jumped to the ground.

"Hey, thanks a lot guys, you really helped me out a lot." Patty stammered.

"No sweat kid. Don't want to see nothing' happen to our replacements." He said an he climbed back into the truck.

Patty watched the truck move off down the road. Nice guys he thought, not noticing the Sergeant Major walking up behind him.

"What the fuck you doing soldier? Where do you think you are, Rome? Where the hell are your pants?" He screamed.

Patty turned around and saw the red faced Sergeant Major. He thought he was going to piss.

"I guess I lost them Sergeant Major." Patty didn't know what else to say.

"Well I suggest you find them. And when you find them I'd like you to put them on. Now move!" He bellowed.

Patty moved. He ran tripping over the sheet all the way to the transit barracks, stopping by the latrine to empty his bladder he thought would burst.

Every unit has a Murphy. Murph was a true blue fuck-up. He didn't try to fuck up, it just happened. He wasn't stupid, in fact he was really smart. The trouble was that his brain moved so fast it didn't have time to settle on one thing. Murphy didn't have any close friends. Everyone liked him, but they could only take him in small doses. He moved so fast and tried to do so many things, that whomever was with him would become exhausted.

He always seemed to be any place that trouble happened. Usually he had nothing to do with starting it, trouble just seemed to find him. Murphy would go into a bar to have a quiet drink, and the guy down the end of the bar that had a death wish would seem to zero in on him. I guess he just had the type of face you wanted to change.

Murphy wasn't big. He wasn't small either. He wasn't ugly, wasn't good looking. He was five feet ten with dirty blond hair and weighed in about one sixty five. The only thing he had to brag about was his dick. Murphy had a pecker that was at least ten inches long. In the morning he would make a ritual in the shower.

Every morning he would soap his member up and talk to it. Sooner or later somebody would tell him to cool it. That was when he would go into his act. He would walk over to the offended bather and ask him if his talking to his dick bothered him. Then he would proceed to tell the fellow that if he had a dick like his own he would talk to it to. Then he would try to show it to him. Petting it while talking to it in the name way a guy would talk to his girlfriend. The scene would always end up with the other guy admitting that yes, you have a big dick Murphy, just to get rid of him. This made Murphy happy.

Today Murphy was in trouble again. Everyone had gotten rid of their drugs and other assorted illegal objects. Everybody but Murphy. The Battery Commander shook his head from side to side as the big German shepherd from ASCOM alerted on his locker. The M.P.'s sent for him and he opened it up. Right on the top shelf was his stash. The M.P. reached in and pulled a bag of pot out that must have weighed three or four ounces.

The B.C. was pissed. Murphy was the best missile tracking radar operator in the unit. The First Sergeant was besides himself. He was a law and order freak. His time in service went back to the good old days where if somebody stepped out of line, everyone beat the shit out of him.

His name was First Sergeant Norman Marshal. Everyone at the unit called him Marshal Marshall, or just the Marshal. He was happy. He went off singing "They'll be a Court Marshal in the old town tonight." The Captain was disgusted with Murphy and told him so.

Murphy was disgusted with Murphy. He really felt miserable. you could tell that Murph didn't like to get into any trouble. He always got real quiet and didn't want to talk about it. After the M.P.'s and everyone left the barracks the guys ripped into him. He didn't even respond. Even though he was tremendously stupid and the trouble he was in was his own fault, all the rest felt sorry for him.

The worst part about getting busted for any type of drugs was that it meant you had your security clearance lifted and you couldn't work on the hill anymore. The "hill" was the integrated fire control area. It had nothing to do with integration or fires. That was where the radars that guided the missiles were. The IFC area. The launching area was five miles down the road. That was where the BIFFI's worked. Biffi stood for Brute Force and Fucking Ignorance.

The launching area had three crews. They worked eight hours on then were off twelve. The next day they worked twenty four hours. The next day they were off. It wasn't great work pushing missiles around but the hours weren't bad.

The guys on the hill worked twenty-four off, twenty-four on. Three hundred sixty five days a year. There were only two crews. Most of the time the two crews hardly knew each other. The only contact they really had was when they would either relieve the other crew in the morning, or get relieved. Once in a blue moon they would get a deep maintenance status that would allow them to turn off the power to the equipment and work a regular week of eight hour days. That hadn't happened at Foxtrot in over a year.

The rivalries between the two crews was intense. It took a certain amount of proficiency to run a crew drill and pass a combat evaluation. The way it worked was that an inspection team from Battalion level or higher, would walk into the communication corridor unannounced, and blow the siren. The crew would have fifteen minutes to run all their pre-firing checks, track a target, and fire a missile. One major screw up from any of the ten men manning the positions, and the unit would get an unsatisfactory rating. This would mean that the entire unit would be called out of action until they were revaluated again. Sometimes that could take weeks, but usually the combat evaluation team would be back the next day. The U.S. Army only had five Nike Hercules surface to air missile sites in the country.

The Battery Commander was the one who suffered the most if the crews failed to pass a Combat Readiness Evaluation. He would be relieved from command if the battery was continually called out of action for not passing CRE's. This did not look good on his Officer Evaluation Report.

It could cost him his career.

The crews knew this. The launching area crews didn't have that much to do so if they screwed up it was unusual. The guys on the hill had to do and remember a lot. It took alot of concentration to pass a crew drill. If anything, it was the most important job in the entire battery, and they knew it. This is why only the most intelligent soldiers became 16C's. This is also the reason they became Prima Donnas. Usually, if they were good operators, they could get away with anything, but not getting caught with drugs. Murphy had gotten caught.

The battery seemed to be built on the side of a mountain. Everywhere you looked you saw steps leading to one building or another. The orderly room was the building closest to the guard shack. He didn't see anyone waiting to greet him so he slung his duffel bag over his shoulder and walked in.

Nobody was home in the Orderly Room either. He dropped his duffel and walked to the rear. The arms room was empty also. He shrugged his shoulders and walked to the front again. There were three desks. The one closest to the door said First Sergeant. A door behind the desk had the words Battery Commander. He knocked on that door. Nobody answered. He was mildly surprised. It was two O'clock in the afternoon and the place was deserted. He sat down at one of the desks and waited for somebody to show.

Sitting with his feet propped up on the desk, Patty noticed something on the desk closest to him. He got off the chair and went over to it. Sitting on the top of the desk in plain sight was a bag of dope. Patty picked it up and peaked at it. There must have been five or six ounces of pot inside. As Patty was looking at the weed, he heard somebody walking up to the door. Getting paranoid, he stuffed the bag into his shirt.

The door opened up and a Korean with a shotgun looked at him. Patty was taken aback.

"Who You?" asked the Korean.

"I'm Spec Four Fallica." Said Patty.

"You Newbee?"

"Yes." Patty answered.

"You Looking for First Sergeant? First Sergeant in Mess hall with M.P." The Korean said. "You come I show you."

Patty picked up his duffel bag and followed the Korean out of the door. They walked around the building, past a sign that said barber shop, to a walkway that led to a set of stairs that went straight up. Patty moaned to himself.

"You go up to mess hall, top of stairs." And the Korean pointed toward the top of the stairs with his shotgun.

Patty thanked the man and began climbing up to the top. Halfway there Patty remembered the bag of pot stashed in his shirt. He stopped and stuffed it into his duffel bag. Putting one step in front of the other, he reached the top.

The top of the stairs emptied into a road. On the other side of the road the messhall stood at the top of a smaller set of stairs. Patty proceeded to climb these. When he finally stood at the messhall door he was completely winded. He took a deep breath, opened the door and entered the messhall.

It was a typical messhall, not much different from the ones they had at his old unit. He had walked into the door that led to the serving line. Looking toward the rear of the messhall he saw a group of people sitting at one of the tables. He walked over.

As Fatty approached the table he heard the one with the bald head laughing above the conversation. He noticed the First Sergeant pins in his lapel. Patty didn't like the looks of him. He had a scarred, mean looking fare. His lips, even while laughing seemed to be curled in a perpetual scowl. He had big bushy eyebrows and a body that was running to fat. Fallica decided that he didn't like him very much.

"So this asshole Murphy is finally going to get his. Serves him right. That's the kind of scumbag that's fucking up my Army." The First Sergeant said to the group.

"Excuse me, I'd like to see somebody about processing in?" Patty said.

The First Sergeant turned and stared at him. The table fell silent. Fatty didn't know it but he had just made an intractable mistake. Nobody interrupted the First Sergeant, at least nobody interrupted him in Korea. Back in the states he answered to his wife. She was a beast. Here in Korea he was safe front her grasp. Now a little newbee pipsqueak was in front of him trying to steal his thunder.

"What's your MOS specialist?" The Battery Commander spoke from the head of the table. He sensed that the First Sergeant was going to rip into this new guy and he didn't want to see that happen during his first day at the unit.

"l6C, Sir." Patty said.

"Good, a 16 Charlie. Great. You can take that asshole Murphy's place. I hope you are not a hippie dopesmoker like he was." The First Sergeant said.

"Is First Sergeant, not was. We didn't execute Murphy, in fact we haven't even charged him yet. Let us not put a poor impression on this new soldier. Granny, show this specialist to the IFC barracks and have him report to the orderly room tomorrow morning." The Commander rose from his chair and extended his hand to Fallica. "Welcome to Foxtrot." He said.

"Thank you Sir. Glad to be here." And with that Patty turned to follow the man the Commander had called "Granny". As Patty walked away from the table he heard somebody say mockingly "Thank you Sir., just fuckin wonderful to be here." Patty was sure it was the First Sergeant.

Patty followed the man up another set of steps. This one was worse than the others. It seemed to go straight up the mountain. The man he was following had no trouble and was fairly bounding up the steps. Patty was huffing and puffing as he reached the top.

"This here's the Headquarter barracks he said. The one just below us is the security barracks. The site M.P.'s stay in that one."

"Where is the IFC barracks?" Patty asked between breaths.

"We still got another set of steps. Tired?" Granny asked with a smile.

"Yeah. I'm tired. Don't you ever get tired of playing mountain goat?"

"I did when I first got here. Sometimes when I'm hung over it gets to me, but I guess I got used to it. You will too." He replied.

"I'll never get used to this." Fallica said.

Granny had left him here with no instructions. The barracks seemed empty. He dropped his bag and walked down the hall.

Patty looked into each cubicle as he walked, trying to gleam some insight into the people he would be bunking with for the next thirteen months. Most of the cubbyholes had walls covered with pictures of cars or girls in various states of undress. Some were barren and Spartan looking.

Fallica was disappointed that the barracks were devoid of people. He hadn't expected a welcoming committee, but he did have a million questions to ask. One question he had was where the hell was he going to sleep? All the bunks were taken.

Fallica walked to the end of the barracks. A screen door was slightly ajar. He opened it and walked out onto a porch set on top of a cliff. At the bottom of the cliff was a good sized stream. It was really pretty, Fallica thought. He glanced down at his watch and noticed that it was almost four P.M. He wondered what time they served dinner. He stood gazing at the stream when the door opened behind him. He turned and saw five or six men come out to the porch.

"Hi!" Patty said, stretching out his hand to the guy closest to him. "Names Fallica. Just got in from New York."

"Hi Fallica who just got in from New Yawk.' said the man, ignoring his handshake. 'I'm Murphy, and I just got in from being busted." and with this Murphy turned and looked dejectedly toward the stream, putting his chin in his hands.

"Don't mind him" said another walking up to Patty with his hand outstretched. "I'm Wagner, but they call me Kool McKool. You can just call me Kool."

Patty took his hand while sizing Wagner out. He was short, about five-seven. He wasn't fat, but he was kind of round. He had creases around his eyes that his mother used to call laugh lines. Fallica decided that he would like him.

"Got busted? For what?" Patty asked.

"Pot, grass, hootch, weed. What business is it of yours" he said irritably. "Anyway, it doesn't concern you."

Patty saw the misery in Murphy's eyes. He wished he could help him. Fallica was a soft touch for hard luck stories. His own life had had it's ups and downs.

"When did this happen?" He asked.

"This morning." answered Wagner.

A light bulb went on in Patty's head.

"How much pot did they get you for?" he asked.

"Enough asshole. About a quarter of a pound." Murphy was irritated at this intrusion on his misery.

"Anybody want to get stoned?" Fallica asked brightly.

"Sure Newbee, we'll just go down to the orderly room and ask for Murphy's pat back because we got nothing to smoke. I'm sure that the Marshal would hand it right over." quipped a tall lanky boy behind Wagner.

"You guys got no pot?" Fallica was enjoying himself.

"You are brain dead." said Murphy.

"Didn't we tell you that they pulled a bust today? We got rid of everything." Wagner said with exasperation.

"This boy needs a check up from the neck up." said the tall skinny guy. Everyone laughed.

"Hey Murphy, if they bust you, are they going to ship you out of the unit?" Patty asked.

"No, maybe not. Probably stick me in the mess hall or the Motor Pool." Murphy replied.

"Hey, no more twenty-four on and twenty four off. Shit, no more hot status!" said Wagner.

" Yeah, no more shitty hour checks and crew drills!" said the skinny one.

"No more shifty chow in mermite cans!" said a fat guy from the rear of the group.

"Great you guys, just great." Murphy said. "No more hangin out on the hill for midnight meetings in the guard shack. No more days off running with you guys in town. Just great."

Everyone shut up as Murphy's head went down again. In a low voice he continued:

"Who's gonna take care of my MTR? Who's gonna get you guys to go boulder rolling? Who's gonna take care of Fred?"

"Fuck the MTR, fuck rolling boulders, and especially fuck Fred!" said Wagner. Everybody except Murphy laughed.

Patty knew the MTR was the missile tracking radar. He didn't really know about boulder rolling.

"Who the fuck is Fred?" he asked.

"You'll find out." said the fat one. "Better hope he likes you."

"Fred's a dog.' Wagner said, "A big mean fuckin' dog that chews up boots and wallets and leaves pecker tracks on everybody's blankets. I hate Fred."

"Yeah, well, everyone else likes him. Fred's great. He's the only one that can keep up.' said Murphy defensively, 'he's the only one that will stand up to the lifers. Fred's just like us. He can't help it if he gets the clap all the time. He only leaves pecker tracks on your bed Kool. He only sleeps on your bed 'cause he loves you. And you hate his guts. Fred's just like a lot of women. If you treat him like shit, which you do, he loves you. If you treat him good, he doesn't give two shits about you.

"Fred only likes me 'cause I get him high." Wagner replied simply.

"The dog gets high?" Patty was amazed.

"Yeah, Fred gets high. He also fucks all the girl dogs in the vill.

When you go down there, see how many dogs look like Fred." The fat one said.

"He bites lifers too.' said the skinny one. 'Anybody E-6 or above that he doesn't know. Fred don't like strangers, and if you happen to be a lifer stranger, you're a goner."

"I've been here more than an hour and nobody has offered me anything for my head." Patty said.

"We got beer in the fridge. You can help yourself." Wagner replied.

Patty walked back into the barracks, and located the refrigerator, He then walked back to his duffel bag and removed a small package and stuffed it in his shirt. We walked back out to the porch.

"Hey, this is a great place to get high. You can see if anyone is coming up the steps."

"Yeah genius, this is a great place to get high if you have anything to get high on." said Murphy. 'What did you say your name was, Einstein?"

"Hey Murphy, if you lose your clearance, does that mean you'll go to another barracks'" Patty inquired.

"Yeah, why? want my bunk?" Murphy had his back up.

"Well, I wouldn't mind a small place of my own." said Fallica.

"You'll have to share one with a guy from the other crew until you been here awhile. That's the rules." Said Wagner.

"If I could get Murphy off the hook, I'd bet he'd give me his bunk. Patty said.

"Listen asshole, if you could get me off the hook I'd give you a blow job in front of the whole Battery. But you can't get me off. Nobody can. I'm just an asshole that got caught dead to rights.

"That's because you don't listen." Wagner said.

"I know, I know." Murphy said tiredly.

"Got any papers?" Asked Patty.

"Got any smoke?" Asked the fat boy.

"I got smoke if you got papers."

"We got papers if you got smoke." Wagner said pulling out a pack of top cigarette papers.

"I never want to see anymore pot for the rest of my life!" said Murphy as he started to walk away.

"Wait a minute Murphy. I think you might like this. I think this might be your brand." Patty was all smiles.

"You really know how to get on someone's nerves don't you. Why don't you just leave me the fuck alone." Murphy said.

"Wait a minute. I'm your friend. You don't realize it but I am. Just wait a minute until I get this out of my shirt."

Everyone waited with their eyes glued to Fallica as he wrestled with the package in his shirt. Looking Murphy in the eyes he pulled it out. Murphy looked at the bag and back to Patty and back to the bag again. A brief smile crossed his face.

"Where did you get that?" He asked.

"Who cares!" said the fat boy, "Let's get stoned!"

"Where did you get that?" Murphy asked again.

"I just kind of found it." Fallica said shrugging his shoulders.

"Where did you 'just happen to find it'?" Wagner chimed in.

"On the First Sergeant's desk!"

Patty was an instant hero. Murphy was instantly Murphy again.

"I'll take my pot back if you don't mind." He said. putting out his hand.

Patty was a little surprised at his attitude. Murphy's manner suggested that Patty had stolen something from him. The others must have thought the same, for all eyes were turned an Murphy. All the faces seemed to have the same expression. Everyone waited for two words. Wagner said them:

"Fuck you!"

"Fuck me? " Murphy said pointing towards himself with the most innocent face he could muster.

"Fuck You!" They all shouted.

Murphy laughed. The rest laughed. Patty surmised that he had just witnessed a ritual of sorts. What an odd bunch of guys he thought. The rest of the afternoon was spent talking and getting stoned.

Every guy on the porch had a tale to tell about Foxtrot. Every tale was different, yet every story had the same thread of absurdity that made it seem that they were all taken from a madman's journal. Each story would begin with a witness. The story teller would ask one of the guys if he remembered the time that so and so did so and so. They both would laugh and both would tell the same story together. After a short time, only the original speaker that brought up the incident, would continue. it was entertainment. It was the history of the place.

Fallica listened intently. He started to realize the life was going to be a little different here than he had imagined. He couldn't believe the things they were telling him. But he couldn't disbelieve it either. Every thing was an adventure here. These guys were excited. This was the first time he had ever heard G.I's talking about where they were stationed and leaving out little details such as work, sergeants and officers, and the chow in the messhall. Everything Patty heard about was centered around a place called the Seaman's Club, a place called the "Yellow House", and a bar named "Whiskey Mary's".

Patty learned their names. Besides Murphy and Wagner, the tall skinny one was named Larson, but everyone called him " Rope" because of his build. The short guy with the big hands and the hillbilly accent was called "Big O". His real name was Reeger, hut everyone called him "Big O" or just "O". His name came about because he had dentures that he never wore. He also had a big mouth, and when he laughed his mouth formed somewhat of a circle.

The little fat guy was Phillips. He was the youngest of the group besides Patty. He was from California. He did not fit the surfer type however. Patty liked Phillips. He had a good sense of humor and a lot of energy.

The big quiet guy in the back was also from New York. His name was Tim Purvis. Everyone referred to him as "Vitaman Tim" or just the "Vitaman". This was his third tour in Korea, and he was getting short.

The small black guy was named Toomer. He didn't say much. He just kept laughing at the stories that everyone told and finished can after can of Old Milwaukee. Patty wondered where he put it all. He was only five foot one. He was a rip. Every time he took a sip of beer, he would wipe his mouth with the back of his arm and smack his lips.

Patty was doing a little lip smacking of his own. It kind of crept up on him but pretty soon he was more than just a little drunk. Between the dope smoking and the beer, the world looked a hit foggy.

Somebody suggested that they go have dinner at the club. Patty wondered what club they were talking about. He went with them, down the steps, past the Mess Hall, toward the gate. The Club was next to the Guard shack across the street from the Orderly Room. They went inside and Patty saw a long bar with a small stage and about ten tables. To the side was a small dining area with four small tables. A huge Rock-Ola jukebox stood next to the stage. Patty sat down with the rest at the table closest to the jukebox. Patty remembered little of the next few hours except that he drank more than his share of Falstaff, and that he ate a hamburger. He remembered climbing up the steps to the barracks and plopping into the nearest empty bunk he could find.