The place: Lucy Liu, South Vietnam
The time: November, 1969
Theme music: “Purple Haze” – what else?

“And that’s my Bronze Star, my Silver Star, my Navy Cross and that big one is for having served in the Spanish-American War”.

“A very impressive collection of decorations, Mr Kerry” panted Seaman Jones, sweating and bent double under the weight of his commander’s gear. They were still lost and still hungry and still walking in circles. “Say, sir. Do you think I could have some water now?”

“Don’t be so selfish, Jones: I might need that water later. Now, let’s see: this is my Victoria Cross, my Croix de Guerre, the Iron Cross First and Second class, the Knight’s Cross with swords and oak leaves, the Order of Lenin, the Nobel Prize for Science, the Pulitzer Prize, the Grammy for best new artist in a non-soul category…”

“At least could I please dump some of this gear, sir? It’s awful heavy. Maybe the ski poles or the drum kit? Your dress whites? Or this crate of hair spray?”

“I can’t live like an animal, Jones!” snapped Kerry. “Its important for an officer to maintain certain standards, a certain quiet dignity, even under these difficult conditions, you dig?”

“Yes sir, I ‘dig’. Sorry, Mr Kerry. Say, Mr Kerry –look! Up ahead! It’s a village!”

“A village! We’re saved! Come on, Jones!”

“Sir, wait a minute!” hesitated Jones. “How do we know they’re friendly?”

“Of course they’re friendly! See that flag with the gold star on the red field? That’s the flag of South Vietnam”.

“Um, I think it might be North Vietnam, sir. Not South…”

“Don’t contradict me, Jones! I went to Fessenden, you know”.

“Fessawhat, sir?”

“Fessenden, you ignorant menial. It’s an exclusive boy’s school. Ted Kennedy went there too”.

“Not all that exclusive, then” muttered Jones but Lt (JG) Kerry was already gangling down the path, shouting and waving his arms. “Hello! Hello natives! It’s me – President Kerry! I’ll allow you to save me! Hello!”

“Oh man” groaned Jones.
**

Bound hand and foot, Kerry lay helpless on the dirt floor of the hut. The ropes bit cruelly into the New Englander’s flesh. His hair was all messed up and everything and he so hated that. Damn that Jones for getting me into all this trouble, he cursed silently. Sometimes he acts like he doesn’t appreciate just how important I am.

In the next room he could hear the guards giving Jones a thorough working over.

“Go ahead! Beat him all you want!” yelled Kerry defiantly. “You won’t make me talk!”

“Silence, American pig!” commanded a harsh voice. Kerry looked up into a pair of cruel eyes set in an impassive yellow face.

“I am Major Fang” hissed the stranger. “What is your name, imperialist lickspittle running dog stooge and lackey?” He blew a lungful of cigarette smoke into Kerry’s face.

Mmmm, menthol fresh, thought Kerry. “John Forbes Kohn –I mean Kerry” he answered. “Lt (JG) USN. Serial number 77196955…”

“Silence! We know who you are. We know all about you, shellac haired, prognatheous spoiled spawn of privilege!”

“Well, okay; fine. Apology accepted. If you could have the car brought around I’ll be on my way”.

“Silence! We require from you certain information. I want unit identifications, troop dispositions, information about unit strengths and materiel stocks. I want…”

“Okay, okay. Slow down, I’ll tell you whatever you want to know”.

“Silence! Wait a sec, I mean no, keep talking. Really? You would volunteer this information without duress? Some might construe such an action as treason. Does that not trouble you, John Kerry?”

“Naah. It won’t be the last time…”

As the final notes of ‘Paint It Black’ faded away on the soundtrack Lt (JG) John Forbes Kerry crept stealthily, or as stealthily as anyone who’s 6 foot 4 and completely uncoordinated can, through the bristling elephant grass. His shaking hand gripped his weapon tightly. In his other hand was an M-16.

It creeps me out when he does that, thought his companion, Seaman Jones. He’ll go blind if he doesn’t stop…

‘Quit silently disrespecting me, Jones!” hissed Lt (JG) Kerry. “Remember who went to prep school in Switzerland and who dropped out of junior high, you unlettered peon!”

“Sorry, Mr Kerry sir’ grovelled Jones. ‘Um, does the Lieutenant have any idea where we might be, sir?”

“Are you suggesting we’re lost, Jones? Are you? I’m an officer, you know”.

“No sir, Mr Kerry. It’s just that I think we might be going in circles, sir. I kinda recognise some of these landmarks, sir”.

‘Landmarks? Like what?”

“Like that tree over there where you carved ‘Kerry 4 Prez’ on the trunk, sir”.

“That’s a pure coincidence, sailor. Anyone could have done that. Lots of people want me to be president”.

“Yes sir. Whatever you say, sir”.

“And I know exactly where we are too! The enemy is…over that way!”

“So that means we’re going…?”

“This other way! Pick up my gear and let’s get cracking. See Jones, its called ‘leadership’. You stick with me, sailor and you’ll learn a few things”.

“About what, sir?”

“Caddying. Serving drinks. Shining shoes. Folding napkins. I can teach you lots of stuff appropriate to your lowly station in life, you dig?”

“I, um, dig, sir”.

“Far out. Listen Jones, I’ll level with you. We’re in a tight spot. This area is swarming with regular NVA, armed to the teeth and hopped up on Jane Fonda movies and Jefferson Airplane records. There are mines and booby traps on every path and on every tree. The fetid jungle air is heavy with the smell of corruption and decay. We’re miles from anywhere and we’re low on ammo, food and water. Most of us… won’t be coming back!”

“Us, sir? There’s just you and me…”

“Okay, make it ‘you’ then. Now take the point!”

Only you could make me laugh while being made to remember what a traitorous POS that scum**g is, and always will be. Just the thought of that bastard pisses me off to no end!