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RECOLLECTIONS: Harassment: The Enemy Within

By Craig W. Geary

"I USED TO HAVE A FRIEND"

I used to have a friend named Shadow. I only knew him for a short time. I liked him though. He was an individual with a Capital "I." they didn't like individuals. He was one and they didn't like that at all. So, they killed him.

We met at Viking compound which was off highway 1, north of DaNang and just south of the village of Nam-O. We were both young—18 and 19, I think. We should have been in Intro to Something 101, but we weren't; chasing girls, but we weren't, eating Big Macs, but we weren't. We were in Vietnam as part of the American army of occupation. I don't know about Shadow, I can't ask him now, but I for one didn't even know there was a war going on when I enlisted. I'm pretty sure Shadow was a draftee, but as I said I can't ask him anymore.

Shadow has his quirks alright. He didn't talk much unless really prodded. The dogs really liked him though. Anywhere Shadow went there was at least one dog, usually more right behind him. I've always believed that dogs are pretty good judges of human character, and they were big for Shadow. Maybe it was his gentleness. Maybe it was because he saved part of his food for them or sheltered Lady when she had her pups.

Shadow was no trooper though. He was not enamored of the task our Army wanted from him. Like most of us, contrary to what we were told about our country's objective, saving the Vietnamese from outside communist domination, and by extension mom and Sis from commie hordes who "might land in Cleveland," what we observed and did made no sense and was singularly lacking in nobility. What I couldn't understand at that point was, if we are saving these people from a fate worse than death (eternal communist enslavement), why was it they didn't like us and would freely admit they wished we would quit destroying and poisoning their country—and most of all, go home. I'm not sure if Shadow understood more of the situation than I did.. We never got to talk about it.

I was on emergency leave to the "World," as we called it. I flew to the States on board an Air Force cargo plane filled with what we called stiffs, to attend the funeral of my older brother, when Shadow bit the bullet. Even here I can't be too sure, and of course I can't ask the most important participant in this tragedy. I remember what had been going on in the war between Shadow and the forces of death before I left. Now don't get me wrong; Shadow was no trouble-maker. He was hardly painting Viet Cong insignia on our bunkers. He didn't polish his boots a lot (yes, the American military is concerned about such mindless trivia even in war), his fatigues were not the picture of the model soldier either. He certainly was quiet though. Always had dogs following him around.

They started slowly—snide references and sidelong glances. Like any bully perceptive enough to know when a particular harassment wasn't working, the escalated. Extra duty was the preferred method of dealing with individuals short of the stockade. Even they realized Shadow's disregard for their conventions was hardly criminal, foreclosing the possibility of jail. Extra duty meant working an extra two hours a day above and beyond one's normal duty assignment. Usually it was timed to ruin any time off a person had. That meant, on weekdays after working from 7AM until 6 PM, doing whatever the lifer in charge felt like having you do between the hours of 8 and 10 PM. On Sunday, the one day off, working two hours in the afternoon. Initially, they had him doing odd stuff like cleaning the Commanding Officer's office. Shadow put in the time, but did not change himself in the desired fashion. More escalation. If we had a party, they would have Shadow painting the mess hall. Still Shadow went on being Shadow, and they didn't like that in the least. Their next tactic was to shake Shadow down at the drop of a hat, his person and quarters. Damn weirdo MUST be high on Marywanna. He wasn't. Light at the end of the tunnel. Too many dogs, all his friends. They killed the dogs. No change.

The last thing I remember was that they had Shadow on extra duty for three months straight. A normal dose is one week. Two weeks is a lot. The guy was nothing if not determined. It cost him his life. The 1st thing they had Shadow doing was half burying howitzer shell casings around the perimeter of the compound, the better to trip over on the way to the berm when attacked. The casings had to be just so—I saw them make Shadow replant the ones that weren't straight. Everyone knows you can't fight a war without the decorations like shiny boots, haircuts and shell casings around the company area.

The last time I saw Shadow they had him painting those same shell casings he had planted. I was in a jeep heading for the airbase in DaNang for a trip to the World. I didn't have time to talk to Shadow before I left, so I waved. He returned the gesture. I had a strange feeling that I didn't understand. I did not know at the time he would be dead and gone before I got back. He was.

One morning two lifers, one officer and one sergeant, were marching Shadow off for his third haircut of the day. (The "enemy" obviously had an aversion to killing GI's who needed haircuts.) half way across the flight line, with the company watching, Shadow must have made the determination that is just wasn't worth it. To the horror of everyone, he casually pulled out of the pockets of his voluminous tropical fatigues, a grenade. He calmly held it before him and pulled the pin. Everyone froze except the lifers who made a desperate attempt to get out of range. (A modern American fragmentation grenade will kill everything within fifty yards and detonates within four seconds.) The lifers didn't make it fast enough. Shadow just stood there.

There wasn't much left. But, most importantly, they taught him.

Any lifer will tell you, it was a lousy war. Damn politicians wouldn't let them do their job.

I used to have a friend..

Craig W. Geary
Washington, DC