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DUSTOFF is a parallel episode in the story of Fourteen by Eliot Moore. (eliot.moore.writer at dot com) *lt;/p*gt; Eliot has created a fascination story and characters and has very graciously allowed me to explore the edges
of his story, taking some characters to places where they cannot go in hs stories, and to create some new one
of my own.

As I am a hopeless perfectionist, no story is ever done, revision is frequent
Thus Dustoff will be found in its most current version and with some
some illustrations at:
https:wp.me/s3nYC8-dustoff*lt;/p*gt;
OBLIGATORY LEGAL NONSENSE*lt;/p*gt;

*lt;/p*gt; You know this is gay fiction, erotic (not so much in this story it*quot;s not really porn, though it involves homosexual relationships and erotic themes), but who knows, and we*quot;ll pretend you don*quot;t know so.... it may be unlawful for you to read this if your mind or weenie are too small or if you are too young or from a particularly unaccepting or intolerant country. Neither I nor Nifty can take any responsibility for any decisions you make to ignore those laws -- or this warning.*lt;/p*gt; You*quot;re going to read it anyway.*lt;/p*gt; Aren*quot;t you?*lt;/p*gt; Enjoy!*lt;/p*gt;
Will you join your fellow authors and readers to support Nifty? To contribute discreetly to the continuing operations of the Nifty Erotic Stories Archive website using a credit card or other methods of donation, go to**lt;/p*gt; http://donate./donate.html*lt;/p*gt;

*lt;/p*gt; Dustoff by Philip Marks
(gayadult49 at dot com)*lt;/p*gt;


T?t -- 31 Jan 1968
Republic of Vietnam

*lt;/p*gt; In his own mind, at least, T?t marks
the boundaries of the life and death
of Levi Fisher.

A long life and not always a bad one...
A long death... not necessarily a good one.*lt;/p*gt;
*lt;/p*gt; __________*lt;/p*gt;
*lt;/p*gt; *quot;Although the enemy has achieved some temporary psychological advantage,
he suffered a military defeat.*quot;*lt;/p*gt; General William Westmoreland*lt;/p*gt; __________*lt;/p*gt; The General could not be more right.
And he could not be more wrong.

Militarily the North had suffered a massive defeat. And thereby won the war.



The psychological advantage, it seems, was anything but temporary.



Really, nothing was going to erase the image of enemy invading the grounds of the U.S. Embassy just ten weeks after the commanding General said victory was in sight. Over 100 cities and towns were attacked, some were taken and held. At the Embassy the small team were routed out in a day; but to a growing segment of the American public, T?t demonstrated the resolve of the Vietcong and the tenuous control South Vietnam had over its own territory...
It took months for the entire T?t affair to end though most of the worst for the Americans was completed by late February when The Citadel at Hue was (destroyed) retaken. In the ensuing counteroffensive the VC were almost eliminated and the NVA in the South as well, there was almost nothing left, the barrel of the North*quot;s gun was empty and it took well over a year to reload. Well, there was T?t 1969. Another story.
Still, in the end T?t was the hammer that broke the camel*quot;s back...and if the hammer also shattered, what did that matter? Except to the hammer...



This is a war of attrition and attrition means the calculated deaths of boys, young men of all races and places, often to no immediate purpose or gain.



We have fought invaders in our land for eight hundred years.
Your leaders have lied to you. You are not close to victory.
We will not give up and we will not go away -- we cannot. *lt;/p*gt; This is our land.*lt;/p*gt; 1 December
Danang, Vietnam
0530 hours He had paid quite a bit for the long taxi ride to Danang from Saigon -- no, Ho Chi Minh City, he corrected himself, a thousand klicks and he had to pay for a round trip fare at least to get the driver back home. Given his last visit in *quot;72, Ho City seemed pretty apt. Well worth it, he thought. It had been tediously long, but he was able to nap quite a bit and of course this cut his trail at Saig-- Ho City. It would take the FBI a while to catch up and he*quot;d have taken care of business by then. He knew if they hadn*quot;t got him on the way in-country he*quot;d be good as long as he was careful.

The much cheaper alternative, a mere $44US, would have been a short flight, less than two hours.

The problem there is he would either have to present his real passport and leave a trail plus take the chance of being stopped on the spot; or present the forged passport and again chance being stopped. Either was a risk he couldn*quot;t accept at this point. The FBI shouldn*quot;t have the fake name but who knows what connections they would make, what unintended tracks his jackrabbit run had left? Not worth taking chances. And the long drive served his ends anyway.
He*quot;d arrived after nearly twenty-four hours in transit from Phoenix and, exhausted, got a hotel room using the fake passport for a day*quot;s rest before hiring the taxi. He paid for a week and engaged the taxi for a week too; no harm no foul. He didn*quot;t check out of the hotel in case they did track him there. Let them think he planned to return. If it bought a day it might be all he needed.
Still it was twenty two hours by the coast route with the stops he needed; both faster than inland and beautiful too; when he was awake and felt well enough to watch. He couldn*quot;t eat much, couldn*quot;t hold a lot down and had little appetite; but he had the driver stop for local food, he had wanted that again so much...there was so much memory wrapped up in it... the trip let him see the ocean all the way, several times at beaches he walked barefoot in the surf, let the humidity and heat and breeze and beauty of this once familiar land again wash over him, swallow him up and it was good.
It was why he came to this place
Part of why.
As response to the wilting heat the ocean breezes were welcome and mediated the wear on his body. He was no longer twenty-one he was seventy-one after all and, well, not in the best health.
At Cam Ranh Bay he stopped to walk the beach again, let himself enjoy the beauty of the land, the island jutting imperiously from the water, the cliffs at the land*quot;s end. It wasn*quot;t his favorite thing, but the harbor was busy, industrial despite the incredible physical beauty surrounding these man-made works. He looked within himself and found the confirmation of his planning -- with some relief. On this beach he sent the email that would end the issue of Jeremy, a prearranged signal the man in Arizona would understand. Would do what must be done, This was the worst part really, parting with Jeremy, harshly done. Why could he not have told the boy he loved him, before the ending? He shrugged. If it is in his nature to betray, why be surprised by this final betrayal.
He had forgotten too (not forgotten!) how deep in emerald beauty the land was.
He got the taxi to drop him at the Intercontinental, paid him off and sent the driver on his way back home with an extra (not as green) benjamin, then took a second taxi to again break the trail, and checked into a beach-side three star hotel... enough Western tourists so he won*quot;t stand out much, stay away from the five star places, they*quot;d look there first... used the fake passport again and talked to the concierge to arrange the services he needed.

The Greatful Dead Farewell Tour -- Opening Act, Levi Fisher he thought... then went up to his room, turned up the A/C, closed the drapes, put out the Do Not Disturb card and lay down, jet-lagged road-weary febrile fragile and old. It proved easy to sleep his day away. His energy is perilously low now, he has to be sure to string it out.
He must not run out before this trip is finished.
21 November 1967
(Ten Weeks Before T?t)
National Press Club
Washington D.C.*lt;/p*gt; __________*lt;/p*gt; I am absolutely certain that whereas in 1965 the enemy was winning, today he is certainly losing. We are making progress. We know you want an honorable and early transition to the fourth and last phase. So do your sons and so do I. It lies within our grasp--the enemy*quot;s hopes are bankrupt... We have reached an important point where the end begins to come into view.*quot;*lt;/p*gt; General William Westmoreland*lt;/p*gt; __________*lt;/p*gt; 12 December
Pittsburgh PA
0700 EST Good Morning, it*quot;s Thursday December 12. I*quot;m Cameron Westphal coming to you from the NCN Studios at Steel Tower Center in Pittsburgh, here is the early national news.

There are new developments in the search for missing Ohio teen Jeremy Gates. The fourteen year old disappeared from his home in Chillicothe early in August with what police call *quot;significant signs*quot; suggesting he had been abducted. Last week the FBI finally developed new leads to his whereabouts and the boy was positively sighted in Arizona.

Now the RV in which Jeremy was believed to be traveling has been located in a parking lot near Phoenix Sky Harbor International Airport yesterday afternoon.

But there is still no word as to the whereabouts of the boy. FBI sources privately say they don*quot;t have any indications that the boy is in danger but are increasingly frustrated that they cannot locate him when they felt they were within hours of finding him.

The FBI has broadened its international search for Levi David Fisher, the Boston surgeon Jeremy was with for at least some of the past several months, who disappeared and is known to have left the country. Sources close to the investigation who asked not to be named say the FBI believes Fisher has fled to Vietnam, but officially the FBI says Fisher is sought for questioning and is not a suspect in Jeremy*quot;s disappearance.*lt;/p*gt; With a live report from Arizona, here is our West Coast correspondent Jean Demery.*lt;/p*gt; 11 December
Danang, Vietnam
1830 hours The Mercedes was waiting in front of the hotel as he*quot;d requested, the woman came into the lobby to meet him, the driver stayed with the car. Hiring them for two days had cost him nothing by Western standards. He knew the car would be immaculate and crisply cool.
*quot;Mr. Harmon? How do you do, I am Le Ti Vu and will be your guide and translator.*quot;

He wasn*quot;t surprised that her English was excellent. She bowed her head slightly in the traditional manner and he responded likewise.
*quot;Thank you Vu, you ümitköy escort are very timely and I am pleased to meet you.*quot;

He did not offer to shake her hand, being a male.
*quot;Is this your first visit to Viet Nam, Mr. Harmon? I understand you have some special sites you want to visit, I will do my best to show you everything you desire. *quot;

*quot;I was here with the US Marines, Vu.*quot;
*quot;Welcome back, we see many American veteran of the war come to see our country again, and I can arrange to show you many sites related to the war if you wish. There are several local museums, the best is the Fifth Military Division Museum.*quot;
*quot;And perhaps you would like to meet some of our veterans as many American veterans often want to make those connections. If you wish I can make some arrangements and we could plan those visits together. I have a pamphlet also for many other attractions.*quot;
*quot;Vu thank you, I think we can discuss these options tomorrow; I would be fascinated to see the war from your country*quot;s viewpoint; to meet Veterans would be an honor and very moving for me. Over the next two weeks I am sure I will be using your services often,*quot; ..... He lied.
*quot;As it is late in the day Mr. Harmon, perhaps we can take you to a nice restaurant and show some of our night life, there would be traditional dance and song if you like, real Viet Nam culture.*quot;
She paused for the correct wording to assemble in her mind.
*quot;...or of course, Western entertainments are available.*quot;

The Western option could be as tame as a quiet jazz bar. He was old enough and seemed tired enough that he wasn*quot;t seeking the party girl circuit; but if he was, she had now delicately informed him that she*quot;d be able to get him to that too.

*quot;As it happens, Vu, I would like very much to be taken to the Temple at M? S?n this evening. I would like to stop for some food on the way, but nothing elaborate, just street food, noodles, pho. These will bring some memories that will be pleasing.*quot;

She hesitated, how to say this so he would not lose face...?

*quot;Of course this is famous, most beautiful place, many people wish to visit,*quot; she said agreeably, with a broad smile. Then diffidently, offhanded, *quot;It is open at six o*quot;clock in the morning.*quot;
*quot;Yes thank you, I quite understand this is irregular but I wish to go now, if it is possible, it*quot;s not important that it be open to the public when I arrive. In fact I would like to arrange some private time for my visit; M? S?n is a place of significant memories for me. I am sure you will be helpful in finding someone who can accommodate this difficult request. I realize an after hours visit may be an inconvenience to you, to the driver and perhaps temple guards or others; I wikd be happy to provide some additional funds to help overcome any issues.*quot;
Of course it was a tip to her, and would be a bigger one that the restaurant and show club would have kicked back to her. But doubtless it was a bribe for the guards and others. Bribes are quite expected, but must be done in a way that saves face and doesn*quot;t get the authorities involved...
Levi had ten crisp $100 bills in his pocket. Likely one or two would be enough, but to him, as long as he got the value he was seeking price was of no consequence.
24 March
Boston Medical Oncology Center
Boston, MA
1114 hours I*quot;m at BOC for a week of testing and chemotherapy. Probably some rad therapy too. I am in a wheelchair -- I don*quot;t feel I need it but there you go, it*quot;s required, and sitting in the central atrium, the spring sun warm on my back. It isn*quot;t a bad place, well, not bad, given that death is stalking me.
*quot;Doc?*quot;
I don*quot;t heed the fellow, I am absorbed in other matters, in a certain temple in Vietnam much of the time; obsessively so sometimes. And I get called Doc a lot.
*quot;Doc...?*quot; The voice is closer this time, less tentative, but a little quieter too, still I recognized in the back of my head that it was being directed at me. I was afraid it was being aimed at me. Like a weapon... actually. The guilt never really goes away. I*quot;ve been targeted before. A few mortars have landed.
*quot;I am sorry Doc, I didn*quot;t mean to disturb you but I saw you and I just had to -- I just had to come over and talk to you.*quot;
*quot;I don*quot;t recognize you young fella, you weren*quot;t in my platoon.*quot; He is maybe a few years younger than me, and I*quot;m not a spring chicken now.
*quot;Oh, no I wasn*quot;t but you saved my life anyway. I will never ever forget your eyes.*quot;
*quot;Sorry, when was this?*quot;
*quot;T?t. Danang. Dogpatch. I was Army, Doc, we were sent in to help when things got hairy. You were there but you were detached from your unit I guess.*quot;
That one hits [WHOOSH! BAM!] like an RPG...

Detached from my unit? Yeah. Hell yeah,

I was as detached as you can be considering I had just killed them all.
*quot;Charlie would hit, pull back, hit someplace else. You remember...*quot;
*quot;Memory*quot;s not always good these days; the chemo. Everything around T?t and after is mostly a blur...,*quot; I lied.
*quot;Doc, my Company was detailed to work with the grunts to protect the base; our brass sent my squad to scout Dogpatch and see if there were any gooks close by and maybe knock out rocket launchers. No rockets but we took fire, got pinned down, snipers on the roofs and trees. Our medic was KIA and a few of us were wounded. I lost a lot of blood... I was thinking I was maybe not gonna make it, Doc.*quot;
*quot;And there you were. Running down that street hugging close to the shacks, you just ignored those fuckers. I still see it sometimes in my sleep I see you hauling ass toward us, a M16, bareheaded, no kevlar, not even a cover; and you just ran like hell, across the street and behind a truck and some shacks we were hunkered in. It was like Charlie couldn*quot;t even get a line on you, bullets kicking up dust. Craziest, bravest, fucking thing I ever saw.*quot;
Brave. Fuck. Not brave. Crazy, yeah OK. Not brave.
Insane out of my head with grief and guilt -- that*quot;s not brave.
*quot;In no time you had me patched up, stopped the bleeding gave me morphine, and my buddies too. When we finally got a squad to kick Charlie off us, you came as far as the dustoff. I asked for your name. I asked if I was gonna live. You yelled at me.
*quot;Fuck soldier you*quot;re patched, you ain*quot;t gonna die, and I ain*quot;t good enough to make you pretty; so shut up, go back to the world, and have a good fucking life!*quot;
*quot;I remember your eyes when you pushed me up into the Huey. Those gray eyes... never got your name. Then I was off.*quot;
*quot;So I*quot;d like to have that name now if I may.*quot;
It is physically painful to answer him.
*quot;You don*quot;t need my name, soldier, I was just doing what I was supposed to do. What I needed to do.*quot;
*quot;Please, Doc?*quot; The voice is soft. I sigh.
*quot;Levi Fisher. Em Dee.*quot;
He laughed. *quot;So now you really are Doc!*quot; He laughed again.
*quot;Doc, my son, he*quot;s a nurse in infusions. You took care of me, and now I*quot;m going to see to it he takes care of you...*quot;

21 June 1967
1st Mar Div, 3 Bn, 9th Marines Kilo Company
Danang, Republic of Vietnam
2150 hours The lucky couple were just getting there, and the horny young Marines watching were hooting it up to beat the band, with me pretending right along with them. Then at the exact instant Benjamin Braddock got his first ever snatch, got it from the very un-virginal Mrs Anne Robinson Bancroft, the bullets started to rain down on us.
So much for fucking movie night.
Rounds popping up dirt around my chair. Another moment to remember... I ran for the fucking bunker like my ass was on fire. We had no weapons they hadn*quot;t issued any yet it was just my second day in-country and I didn*quot;t even bring my sidearm with me from the arms locker, who needs it on base? We were supposed to be *quot;safe*quot; here on the encampment next to Tourane. We all figured the VC to be charging in any second and all we could scrounge up were a couple pocket knives. Shit! What a way to die!
It turned out one very drunk sentry across the road at the Army Field Hospital let off a couple of clips into the air, gave us a lead shower.

Boredom man it must have killed more guys than Charlie ever did.
Welcome to the Suck. Day Two.
December 10
FBI Offices
Cincinnati OH
1000 hours SAIC Don Wickenheiser is a hard bitten guy. But every cop has feelings when there*quot;s a kid victim. And Wilson Jameson is normally a deceptively calm guy, but, well this case is thoroughly under his skin...
*quot;I assume you*quot;ve seen the DNA results on the sheets from the Winnebago, Don? Both the boy and Fisher left semen. Mixed. He was having sex with the boy. Two sources are telling me the boy is gay, so maybe he was willing, maybe he ran away to meet Fisher. I don*quot;t want to tell this to the parents at least not without giving them back their son.*quot;
*quot;We*quot;ve got to find him. I cannot, I just cannot go back to that boy*quot;s parents and tell them I*quot;ve come up empty. We cannot find the boy and Fisher is the only one can tell us what*quot;s happened to him.*quot;
*quot;I don*quot;t like Fisher for a cold blooded kid killer. But I*quot;m starting to wonder what alternatives are left. So much in this case makes no sense.*quot;
Jameson*quot;s voice from the speaker was very frustrated indeed.
*quot;The team looking into his background in Boston has talked to Fisher*quot;s colleagues and friends he*quot;s had at least two long term relationships, with adults. Found no kiddie porn in his effects so far but his laptop and phone went to Vietnam with him. No reputation as a chicken hawk,*quot; offered Wickenheiser. *quot;Of course that doesn*quot;t mean much, they hide it, or kids are just an added taste. But something about it doesn*quot;t smell right.*quot;
*quot;I*quot;ve been on the horn with Bill Nelson the attache in Hanoi, I told him I thought our best bet to find Fisher is going to be Danang. He did three tours in `Nam but his first and the roughest one, T?t, the loss of his platoon; got his Cross. That was all Danang. My gut says that*quot;s where he wants to be.*quot;
Jameson, sitting in a hard chair in the Chillicothe Police Detectives Squad room, pauses for a second of reflection.
And those are the guys he went to see on his grand tour. The Danang survivors. That*quot;s where he took the boy, to see them. So wherever he is going to end up, it must start with Danang.
Wickenheiser continued, *quot;The big problem is it*quot;s Vietnam. They*quot;ll look for him since we asked, but we don*quot;t have a warrant for him; unless we get one on the DNA which will be a big story in the news. Rough story. I*quot;d rather get a sealed indictment if we go that route... and you know, mixed semen sounds persuasive but without the boy to avrupa yakası üniversiteli escort testify it*quot;s two guys sharing a bed nothing more, really. But since the boy isn*quot;t in Vietnam, I doubt the Vietnamese will give it a lot of priority or resources.*quot;
*quot;Don, what about a flight to avoid prosecution warrant?*quot;
*quot;I don*quot;t see it helps. Sure we can get one on these facts but everyone will say `prosecution for what?*quot; and in fact Fisher clearly is not fleeing in my view, he*quot;s got his goals there, but he isn*quot;t fleeing. Hell he won*quot;t live enough to prosecute anyway...*quot;
He looked at the top paper on his desk.
Levi David Fisher
DATE OF BIRTH: 9-Feb-47
PLACE OF BIRTH: Boston, MA
HOME OF RECORD: Boston MA
Parents: Anne and David Fisher, deceased, Brockton MA
Levi Fisher enlisted in the United States Navy in March, 1967. *lt;/p*gt; *quot;Holy shit this case is the damnedest who-dunnit. What is he after? It*quot;s been fifty years what is still there for him?*quot;
*quot;That*quot;s one of the least puzzling questions Don.*quot; Jameson shrugged flegmaticaly. *quot;He*quot;s going there for the one thing that*quot;s made there. Memories. He*quot;s on that grand tour of his, looking for memories. Or maybe ghosts.*quot;
*quot;And I think there*quot;s no doubt at all that he*quot;s gone there to die.*quot;
So. What does that mean for Jeremy Gates, fourteen year old missing person?

2 February 1968
Republic of Vietnam
1330 hours *quot;You had the incredible rose-colored reports coming from Gen. William Westmoreland, who was the American commander in Vietnam... [He was] assuring the American people that the end was near, that the enemy was really only capable of small kinds of ambushes in the far reaches of the country.*quot;*lt;/p*gt; -- Hue 1968 author Mark Bowden*lt;/p*gt;


*quot;To turn the war decisively in their favor they had to
achieve a masterstroke that would have the will-breaking effect on the Americans
that Dien Bien Phu had had on the French.
The masterstroke was Tet, 1968. *lt;/p*gt; --Neil Sheehan, A Bright Shining Lie.*lt;/p*gt; 11 December
M? S?n Temple
Duy Phú, Duy Xuyên District
Quang Nam Province, Vietnam
2200 hours Levi was never sure exactly what he should bring to this party. He hoped he didn*quot;t leave something critical behind, since he couldn*quot;t go back.
Some good Kentucky whiskey,
Maker*quot;s Mark; Kentucky lube of a special sort, he needed for sure.
A small brass brazier he bought roadside up the coast.
Picked up some charcoal, matches, kindling.
Three syringes,
Red -- Green -- Blue each marked with a bit of colored tape.
Ghosts.
Sure he had brought them to lay down in the temple, one last time.
Memories.
Thank god today he could lay them all at the foot of the towers and not have to ever pick them up again.
Nguyen Huu Tuan
Of the two boys he had loved, Tuan at least belonged here in M? S?n where they had made love once. Couldn*quot;t bring him here; nothing left of that boy. He was vaporized blood and bone and now just dust. Soon, dust off his shoulders, dust off his back.

As if. No way that will happen. Ever since the Year of the Monkey that monkey was on his back, dead or alive. Well no, dead, actually.
*quot;Tuan must have loved you. He got you to stay behind while he blew up the others. Why would he do that, Levi if he didn*quot;t love you?*quot; Jeremy was almost persuasive. Levi still, couldn*quot;t put his doubts down.*lt;/p*gt; Until today. Today he could put this weight down, everything off his back. Even Tuan.
Jeremy Gates
Even less of Jeremy here.
Jeremy he*quot;d had to leave in the RV, four months of memories... he was glad he*quot;d not followed through with that horrible plan, brought Jeremy here to die, or to have Jeremy watch him die. That was wrong. Fucking tumor must have made him think that one up. Jeremy couldn*quot;t die at M? S?n. Jeremy was best off in his tangerine tree...
Detritus
Mark 5 Bag, Medical, General Issue.



The little box was original the label was faded but readable, *lt;/p*gt; Bandage, Gauze, Roller Camouflage 2 inches by 6 yards. *lt;/p*gt; Fifty years old. *lt;/p*gt; The bag had proven handy for carting his supplies to M? S?n...and what else would a Corpsman use to cart supplies around in the Suck? Can*quot;t burn the bag, too big. And hey, what did the bag ever do to you? It earned the right to keep living.
Some surgical clips.
Original from the bag, these were the ones he*quot;d used on Jeremy actually when he betrayed him and mutilated him... more guilt; that was stupid; the boy had not deserved that, the pain and the distrust ...Levi thought again it must be the tumor, he was used to guilt so he didn*quot;t bother with denial, but this wasn*quot;t that... anyway clips can*quot;t burn he*quot;ll have to leave them on the temple floor...
An old, now discolored linen sheet with a cadeuceus on it.
Sheet*quot;s too big to burn, he decided as he unrolled the gauze and fed it a yard at at time, cutting each segment with his K-Bar, watching it flare up and crumple to dust in a second each time a yard hit the coals. The box followed.
Levi was hot, the fire was making him sweat, or the meds he*quot;d taken the first injection, the Red syringe, and it was kicking in; or that fucking spike in his brain that was trying to kill him. I*quot;ll put the stuff that won*quot;t burn on the sheet. Leave it here tonight, they*quot;ll trash it tomorrow. That*quot;s good enough.
Medals.
He couldn*quot;t leave the fucking medals behind, have them end up in some nephew*quot;s hands, let him think war is glamorous or about courage or god fucking forbid, about nobility. If ever a man knew what a lie that was, it was Doc Fisher. He was a Board Certified Specialist in Hypocrisy after all.
So he brought the medals. In fifty years he had only taken them out of their boxes that one time, when they gave him that ridiculous fucking gong and he had to wear the actual medals instead of just ribbons for the ceremonies.
Don*quot;t know why I didn*quot;t do this 50 years ago.
They*quot;d wanted him to go to the damn White House or the Pentagon, or at least Boston but he said he*quot;d decline the award, he wanted to decline it anyway. The only reason he didn*quot;t was because he*quot;d been talking to his boys, the unit he got shuffled to after he got out of the hospital and rehab and R had set him straight.
Levi grinned at the pun.. No one gonna set him straight.
Once they were in the paddies no one gave a fuck that he gave his fucks for guys. Oh plenty would give him shit for it but in fact, they didn*quot;t want to lose their Doc. Especially after T?t. He got some cred he knew he didn*quot;t deserve after T?t.
From T?t on he*quot;d outright tell them, wait until they*quot;d been in action with him once or twice so they*quot;d see what he would do, then. And also the only practical use for that Cross was when they saw the Navy Blue broad ribbon with the white center. Eyes opened. People deferred. Even grunts.

*quot;I*quot;m a faggot, I got my last platoon killed. You probably shouldn*quot;t trust me. Truth is, I don*quot;t give a fuck if I get killed, I just don*quot;t want to die for nothing though. I*quot;ll die to patch you if I have to. I promise you*quot;ll never have a better corpsman, and I*quot;d walk through Uncle Ho*quot;s front yard to get to you if I had to. Until I*quot;m dead you are gonna get everything I can give.*quot;

He meant it and they knew it.
For the rest of that first tour he*quot;d refused to even carry his sidearm. They protected him, surrounded him, he worked, had to focus, couldn*quot;t afford to be looking over his shoulder. Not for Charlie, not for them. His faggotry might not be popular but his skills were and they believed he wouldn*quot;t ever let them down.
On his next tour he decided the sidearm might be useful for his patients. And he carried an M16 sometimes because Charlie targeted guys without them. He never had time to shoot at anyone and he didn*quot;t want to, but he did qualify as a marksman.

He volunteered for every shithole mission, took every dangerous patrol, refused to allow other corpsmen to take parole rotations with his platoon, and his boys, they surrounded him, protected him. And he did the same to them.

Fuck some of them said they loved him. Sloppy-drunk-no-sex-love but love all the same...
His mind strayed to a few times, to furtive kisses in the dark jungle, a warm body clinging to him for just a moment, one queer sailor, another scared shitless lonely nineteen year old Marine... Sometimes he*quot;s share a muddy foxhole with another Marine, hardly any of them had any problem with huddling together for warmth. Or cuddling together, which was indistinguishable...
Too bad, too late. If they*quot;d cared enough about my being gay I*quot;d have been gone before I murdered the platoon. One word up the chain of command and I*quot;d be on the next plane back to the world. Tuan would have had to go who knows where.
But it never happened.
O*quot;Connell had said, *quot;Look Doc, nobody in their right mind really wants to earn one of those things. They think they do, they maybe wet dream about it or jerkoff when they are alone, how all their high school buddies will fawn all over them, wide eyed, mom and dad so proud -- but you*quot;ve seen it, they get into combat and learn what bullshit is. Fuck, one mission where you come running home with wet shit rolling down the inside of your pants leg, then winning medals is the last thing you*quot;ll ever think about. Anybody who goes out looking for medals, shit get the motherfucker out of my platoon, he*quot;s gotta to be a nut case, get us all killed while he looks for glory.*quot;
*quot;But the thing is, they don*quot;t give those to you.*quot;
*quot;I know you think they do. But they give them to the corps, to flash the parents and the dumb fuck seventeen year olds at the recruiting offices; they do it to honor the grunts, the limp dicks in your platoon that got blown to hell by that boy and can*quot;t do one damn thing to earn a medal on their own. And me. You get them for me, marine.*quot;
*quot;I*quot;m I*quot;m a squid, not a Marine, Sarge,*quot;
*quot;The fuck you say, Navy, you*quot;re a Devil Doc and a Marine. Every way that counts, you are a Marine. And you know it and so do all these boys. Especially all these boys who aren*quot;t dead and need you to get your medals,*quot; his hand swept around the momentarily empty squad bay. *quot;Preferably while you*quot;re still breathing, you know?*quot;
*quot;It*quot;s not about what you did or about you at all, it*quot;s about honoring everyone and every fucking stupid half-assed thing they do for each other. You cannot turn that shit down. You have to accept it and pretend you deserve it and make it worth having for all those kids who died and all the ones who are going to die. And especially the urfa escort ones who might live because some fucking idiot Corpsman heard about you and thought somehow it made sense for him to run across an open field under fire to treat a half dead jarhead.*quot;
*quot;It*quot;s not for you it*quot;s for them.*quot;
*quot;Christ I think you are fucking eejit Levi for what you did, you fool. I love you for it too, really I do. But it was stupid. Look after your own faggot ass fergodsake. We need you.*quot;



So he stood there in his dress whites, Donald Duck cover on his head, chest clinking with this stupid hardware and let them pin the big navy blue one next to the rest and fortunately he didn*quot;t have to smile.

Big silent type except not so big the Globe and Navy Times reporters thought. Couldn*quot;t get ten words out of him for their stories.
After that medals just kept coming and he kept accepting them, O*quot;Connell had sold him.
Thank fucking Satan none again as big as that BFD Cross, his only Cross to bear was the one; but he kept coming back, volunteered for a new tour each time as soon as he was eligible, kept trying to make amends for murdering all those boys on the first day of T?t; assuaging his guilt, expiating, trying to somehow save enough lives to outweigh the ones he knew he owed on the other side of his ledger. Impossible. In his whole life he*quot;d probably saved a thousand or even two and healed five times as many, and in his heart knew that did not outweigh Tuan who blew them and himself all to hell.
And every time he did, well they piled some more of those fucking medals on him. They were almost as back-breaking as the platoon. And now he could lay them down. Lay them all down.
Tuan, the platoon, the ghosts, the medals, the memories, everything.
First he burned his real passport and all the paperwork he had with him.
In his back pocket is a sealed envelope addressed to the US Consul. He is Mark Harmon, Stillwater, PA. (Yeah, Levi still has a sense of humor). Harmon has no living family, no heirs. There is an International Draft on a Paris bank for 1000 Swiss Francs for cremation and spreading of his ashes, anywhere in Vietnam will do. It is ten times the likely cost. The letter directs any unspent funds be donated to the Da Nang Association for Victims of Agent Orange.
He put his fake passport in the bowl next to burn it up. If they identified him as fake right away they*quot;d stop everything too soon. He figured they*quot;d identify him before it was done, but he*quot;d at least try.
He thought about burning the bejamins but decided that was a waste, he*quot;d leave *quot;em next to the bowl and let whoever encountered them deal with them as they would.
He figured he*quot;d burn the citation and the ribbons next. No way to melt the medals down. But the suspending ribbons were fabric, they*quot;d flame fast. So Levi fed them to the fire slowly, in order of the Navy*quot;s prescribed precedence, lowest to highest.
What a clusterfuck of irony this is.
All this shite for a guy who joined the Navy just to stay out of Vietnam and combat altogether. A little fucking 21 year old selfish little pansy who should have come out and taken his 4-F like a man but no, not Levi Fisher... too idealistic, too self centered too ambitious, too unwilling to let his parents down, too afraid to let his real self out of the closet...fucking coward.
The first best lesson he got in the war was to do his homework.
If I*quot;d enlisted to be a Navy Nuke this never would have happened, I*quot;d have spent five years in air conditioned spaces on ships and ashore and fat paychecks at least fat for the military, and be nowhere near anything that was going to shoot at me...
But no, I didn*quot;t bother to find out that Hospital Corpsmen didn*quot;t just work in hospitals and ships. No. They had to fucking live and die with Marines because who the fuck knew Marines didn*quot;t actually have medics??
You watch the movie, they yell *quot;MEDIC!!*quot;
OK maybe sometimes they yell *quot;Corpsman!*quot; I don*quot;t know, but if I saw that what would I know? It*quot;s the Marine Corps, isn*quot;t everybody a Corpsman?*quot;

For sure I never saw a movie where they yelled *quot;Hey Sailor!*quot;
He giggled. That Red syringe was pretty good stuff.
I didn*quot;t do my homework so there I was.
In the paddies. In the Suck. In the Marines. In the Navy.
Village people need not apply. Hmmm that wouldn*quot;t have made sense in *quot;68...
He realized fatigue was closing in on him, making his mind ramble. Time to get on with this.
Good Conduct Medal
He paused at the irony in that one... the only one he hadn*quot;t actually *quot;earned*quot; or *quot;deserved*quot; according to the rules, his conduct was anything but good. The only one didn*quot;t make him puke, made him laugh instead.
He was a man comfortable with his own hypocrisy and this one he*quot;d have laughed about over a beer with Jeremy and Tuan and even Neil (fucking) Jardine that asshole. It was a bright flash of light and smoke.
The one medal I want I can*quot;t get, it*quot;s the one I get for saving Tuan.
Or for killing him sooner... give me that one... I*quot;d trade everything for that one.
(But then, what of Jeremy? Would he end up in one of John*quot;s unmarked graves, in a forest in Pennsylvania?)
Campaign Medal... Vietnam Service ... NDSM ... Navy Achievement ... Navy Commendation ... Bronze Star with the *quot;V*quot; on it ... Purple Heart .... Navy and Marine Corps Medal ... and then that last one, the *quot;wet*quot; Cross...
Wait did I get the order right? He wasn*quot;t feeling bad, just hard to focus. Well this was petty much foolproof going forward...
Each medal he fed into the fire, atop the charcoal chunks, hot and red. The combustibles flared up immediately, a flash and a puff of smoke, the medallions, the clasps, the stars and oak leaves to signify multiple awards of the same medal, all slipped down to the bottom of the bowl.

While he was thinking about it he dropped the Red syringe in. It took a bit, burned with black, stinking, plastic smoke. Somehow that too felt right.
What I got out of Vietnam was what I suppose we all got. Love. Betrayal. Love is always betrayal, isn*quot;t it? Death. We all got death one way or another... Levi*quot;s mind keeps wandering now.
And I loved him.
Love him.
Love death betrayal... Can*quot;t separate them any more.
Yeah. Tuan was the whole fucking package. He loved me, maybe, he betrayed me, for sure, and he died, indisputably.
Love is always betrayal, Jeremy had learned that, he was awfully young for that lesson and Levi regretted what he*quot;d done, but face it, Levi taught him, taught him well, Levi is a natural teacher of this for it*quot;s in his nature to betray.
He*quot;d folded the damn citation up and stuck it in his wallet at one point so it was pretty crumpled and wrinkled and limp from the humidity. The others he*quot;d just tossed in a waste bin at Tan Sohn Nhut when he landed. The boxes he*quot;d tossed at a Walmart lot a week or three ago... This one he*quot;d wanted with him. This one deserved burning...he*quot;d saved it for last.
My fault. I keep hurting, killing, lives or souls, no matter how long I*quot;ve been at it.
Can*quot;t seem to stop.
Oh well, yes.
I can actually.
For distinguished devotion to duty, extraordinary courage and disregard for his own personal safety the President of the United States of America takes pleasure in awarding *lt;/p*gt; The Navy Cross to *lt;/p*gt; Hospitalman Levi David Fisher *lt;/p*gt; Flames lick papers edge. The remains of joss sticks in the temple add to it, the air is sweet and redolent. The smoke is to the heavens in this space, high to the overarching stars. Perhaps it will summon Tuan. Or blaze a trail for Levi to follow.
... extraordinary heroism and dedication .... unable to rejoin his unit ... through a hail of withering fire to render aid ... self-treated his wounds ... again and again exposing himself to enemy fire ... grenade fragments ... treated the wounded ... he could no longer maintain consciousness himself... daring initiative and exceptional courage in keeping with highest traditions of the United States Naval Service. *lt;/p*gt; Levi took the second injection, the bit of Green tape marking it as he had planned. His pharmacist friend and fellow vet had provided all Levi needed, had understood what a man, a fellow marine with a brain tumor would need for this very special dustoff. But Levi was careful that only he himself could be tracked back to the actual ingredients.
He dropped it into the brazier. The effects of both actions were swift, he felt the weight of life leave him, felt light as a feather, drifted with the smoke to the stars. *quot;Smoke*quot; he thought as words on heated air rose, from before to after, he followed to Tuan,
joined once again.
The third, Blue, the last, will come in about two hours when Green begins to wear off. That one will be even more swift. But he wanted to have this time in the euphoria, time without the pain, time to speak to Tuan and all the other ghosts before he became one.
It was about time Tuan showed his skinny, sweet little ass, fifty years of one way talking was at an end. Levi has some questions. He*quot;s gonna get some damned answers.
And there is a little time left to think about Jeremy*quot;s equally sweet little ass. Levi has some time, hopes Jeremy too will share Levi*quot;s last dustoff in his sweet tangerine way.
-30- *lt;/p*gt;


Dustoff, the radio call sign given to the first helicopter medevac unit in Vietnam, the 57th Medical Detachment in 1962. The Navy Support Activity controlled all call signs in South Vietnam, allowed the 57th to adopt the callsign *quot;DUSTOFF;*quot; as the countryside was then dry and dusty, helicopter pickups in the fields often blew dust, dirt, blankets, and shelter halves all over the men on the ground. Throughout the Vietnam conflict all evacuation helicopters took the call sign *quot;DUSTOFF*quot; followed by a numerical designation; both ground and aviation units refused to refer to these evacuation helicopters by any other callsign.*lt;/p*gt; In addition to being a callsign, the term is adopted to describe the event or process of a field medical evacuation.*lt;/p*gt;

*lt;/p*gt;

*lt;/p*gt;

*lt;/p*gt; This episode should properly be dedicated to the Combat Medical Corpsmen of the US Navy



For more information
Some of the more inspirational anecdotes were adapted from
The Last Patrol
Other Info:
1968 in Vietnam
Tet Offensive
What is a Navy Squid?
Warriors in their Own Words: A day in the life of a Vietnam War combat medic
Military Victory But Political Defeat: The Tet Offensive 50 Years Later
Defending Danang, Tet Offensive
Americans Remember the Battle for Hue
The Battle for Hue, 1968

*lt;/p*gt;
If you are interested in other stories I*quot;ve written here are some fty//gay/adult-youth/i-can-see-clearly-now.pdf*lt;/p*gt;


*lt;/p*gt;