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 "God Damn fucking bees.  Where the hell did they come from?  We must have
hit a nest!  Someone get me a damn fly swatter so I can at least hit a few.
Shit I have been stung again.  Damn it!"

   "Franklin, wake up honey, you are having a bad dream.  Wake up baby."
Donna said.

   I finally woke up.  We had been together for almost thirty years and I
was always having that damn bee dream.  Sometimes it was different because
there were sometimes other things too, but always the bees.  They had
changed over the almost thirty years we were together but they were still
there.

   "Was it the bees again?" Donna asked with a smile.

   "Yes.  It was the `Killer Bees'" I said making us both laugh as we
remembered the John Belushi skit from Saturday Night Live.

   I got up and took a shower because it always helped after one of the
more intense dreams.  They came almost nightly, had since the accident I
had when I was eighteen and right out of high school.  I don't remember the
accident but I was in a coma for two years and then one day I woke up and
decided to go to college.  My body was heavily scarred but healed and my
mind was ready to go to work.  It was as simple as that for me.  I don't
know where my family was, I don't think I had one, but that did not matter
to me either.

   It must have been one hell of an accident because I was broken and
scarred up pretty good.  You could tell I had a lot of surgery.  I sure
hope I had a good time before the accident because I sure paid one hell of
a price.  Whatever it was I did I did not want to do it again.  Maybe I
would be a little less excitable and a little - make that a lot - more
cautious.  Boring and quiet can be a good thing.

   I wanted to be an accountant.  I can't remember ever wanting to be an
accounting in high school but now I did.  I remembered the name of the
school but little else about it.  The doctors said it was not unusual.  I
just wanted to have a nice life, a loving family, and house with a pool and
wear brown shorts with black sox and brown loafers.  Not really, but you
know what I mean.  Non-descript is what I wanted and what I was.

   "Fuck the damn bees are back.  They were thick and I just hated to get
stung, we all did.  `Anyone got another fly swatter mine is broken?' `Hey
you got one?' `Damn you got stung too.' `Someone toss one of those insect
bombs out there and see if that will get them away.' `Damn, damn, damn,
that just pissed them off more than ever.' `Have all of us gotten stung?'
`Where the hell is the bee keeper?' Whop - - Whop - - Whop - - Whop, over
and over.  `Shit that has to be the largest fly swatter I have ever seen,
listen to that noise.  I bet that gets rid of the damn fucking bees.'" The
dream went on and on.

   "Wake up Franklin, wake up.  You are having a bad dream." Donna said.

   "Donna they are getting worse all the time and I don't know why.  I even
mentioned them to the doctor but he says I just have an aversion to bees."
I told her.

   We had a son John, and two daughters, Paula and Billie.  Nothing much of
consequence happened to us.  Our lives were boring.

   We met and married at twenty, well I was twenty.  Donna was twenty five
when we married.  Back in the day there were a number of ways to propose
but I guess mine was one of the standards.

   "You're what?" was what I said.

   Even a moron will know that it was in response to the "I'm pregnant"
comment of Donna.

   We were married in a little church in the town where I was going to
school.  Everyone she knew was there and at the reception.  It was a low
key affair.  Like me she had no family to speak of and only her friends
were there but it was a very happy event.

   When I think about it I never went back to my home town.  I had moved to
go to college, a small Midwestern college with a town attached to it. 
Donna grew up there and had all of her friends around.  It kept her happy
so I was happy.  We moved into the same housing tract with her old friends
and settled into a life of marital bliss.

   So at twenty I was married and still going to school.  The year was
1973. I'm not sure how it happened but two years later I had a degree in
accounting and computer science.  Maybe the records were wrong but I had
enough units to get my B.A.  and a B.S.  in only two years.  I never
bothered to ask, I just got my degree and left.  If they made a mistake
that was their problem.  Why upset the cart with questions?

   Then I started my career as an accountant.  Not a glamorous accountant
that did all those tax and financial wizardry things and were in the news.
No I was a bean counter of sorts.  I audited things.  I was a C.P.A.  I
went into a place and counted.  I was usually alone and I counted alone. 
If there were two of us we could agree to a figure even if it was wrong. 
If there were two of us but we counted at different times then there was
never the opportunity to agree and the audit would be accurate.  It was
boring and I loved it.  No one fucked with me and I could move at my own
speed.

   "Fucking God Damn bees again.  Where the hell are they all coming from?
Stick up your hand and you can feel them hitting it and hard too.  Shit one
actually drew blood.  Whop - - Whop - - Whop - - Whop, over and over.  `Bee
keeper, get your ass over here.  Can't you do something about these fucking
bees?' Whop - - Whop - - Whop - - Whop.  `Shit you are noisy.  No don't
help me, fix the others first.  We have all been stung pretty bad.  The
fucking bees will not stop.  We must have run into a nest the size of
Arizona.  Put some of that stuff on the stings.  These must be killer
bees.' Whop - - Whop - - Whop - - Whop.  `What the hell is making that
noise?' Is that a bird flapping its wings?  Is that were all the noise is
coming from?  That is one fucking large bird.  Is it a pterodactyl?  Shit
look at that thing.  Damn it is shitting all over us.  Whop - - Whop - -
Whop - - Whop.  At least it helps keep the bees away.  Damn, stung again!
What the fuck kind of bird drops hot shit?"

   "Franklin, wake up honey.  This one must have been really bad.  Take a
shower and come back to bed." Donna said.

   When they were bad I needed a shower I would sweat like crazy, but only
during the last part.  My scars hurt too.  The people in my dreams, I know
there were people but they were ghosts, just shadows and odd shapes moving
through.  They had no faces, no specific shapes, like smoke or a cloud.

   Two years after John was born we had Paula.  Now Paula was extra
special. She was my princess.  I loved John but Paula, well she owned me
like her mother did.  It would be that way right up until she didn't.

   I was crazy about the kids and Donna too.  The kids I would just go into
their room at night and watch them sleep.  At times I would pick them up
and just hold them.

   Playing you ask?  My happiest times were playing with them.  Helping
them learn to walk, to ride a bike.  To throw a baseball and play catch.

   Buying frilly little dresses for Paula and Billie.  Watching them grow
and hoping they would have more than I had and a happy life too.

   There were neighborhood barbeques on Saturday where we all get together.


   Everyone had known everyone else forever.  They grew up together and let
me into their little group.  I liked them all but there was just something
that, well we all have those feelings.

   Maybe it was that I knocked Donna up and she had to marry me so fast. 
We had dated a few times and she was a decent enough fuck.  I don't really
remember about fucking too much before but she seemed to be OK.  But after
we got married she did not get into it that much.  I got some action but
there was no experimentation or rousing nights or days of sex.  It just did
not happen.  I just thought that was the way everyone lived when a woman
was pregnant and after the first child.  It was not like I did not try but
she always told me no.  So sex was infrequent but I had my children to keep
me happy and a calm life.

   I would hear the women talking.

   "Donna, Franklin must be the most boring man in the world.  How do you
put up with him?" I heard one ask.

   "Ladies, Franklin is a great husband.  Yes he is boring but he is the
perfect husband.  He does not drink or smoke.  He does not gamble and
brings his check home every week.  He never chases women and he loves me
and the kids.  Franklin is perfect.  And there are always ways to keep
myself entertained.  After all I have all of you.  I have some good news!
We might be having a new addition to the family." Donna said.

   All the women laughed and giggled and kept up the jokes and good cheer.
I was pretty happy myself.  Within a month it was Billie she was pregnant
with.  We had a big party and invited all of our friends.

   All of the friends had children about the same age and they tended to
congregate together in a pretty close knit group.  They had all grown up
together and now their kids did too.  I was the only new one.

   Everyone would kid me about being boring and I would just laugh.  I did
try to stay in shape.  I ran, it was boring and I loved running.  I tried
to get the kids and my wife and her friends involved but they just said no.

   Auditing warehouses and products requires some muscle to move things
around and count and I got plenty of physical exercise without going to a
gym.  Take your average warehouse full of thousands of things and then
count them all.  You begin to understand what I did.

   I did have some weights at home and I used them in the basement just to
keep in shape some more but that was about it.

   Oh there was school and plays.  Music lessons, dance lessons, soccer,
football, baseball, gymnastics, you name it and the three kids did it. 
Sometimes all of them and sometimes just one in one sport or thing, but the
three of them were always into something.

   Donna managed to keep busy as a stay at home mom.

   "Whop - - Whop - - Whop - - Whop.  `Is that a pterodactyl?  It sure
makes a lot of noise.  But those damn bees.  The bees are so thick you can
hear them and feel the air move.  `Bee Keeper!  Get the fucking bees away
from us!  Everyone has been stung.  This is dangerous here.  You should
know if you get stung enough it can kill you.  Not me, the others, they are
stung worse.  Fucking touch me and I will hit you with my fly swatter! 
Give the others the bee sting serum.  Don't give me any shit, I will
fucking hit you, now give it to the others NOW!  Dragonflies, where did
they come from?  Well at least they eat the damn bees."

   "Franklin, wake up honey.  Take a shower baby." Donna said still half
asleep.

   I did what she said and came back to bed.  I had a headache and my scars
hurt like crazy.  I hate fucking bees.  I told her now I was dreaming of
dragonflies and prehistoric birds.  I also began to remember snakes and
hogs and even dancing.  The dreams were getting crazier and crazier.

   "Why can't I remember the accident?" I asked the doctor as the wife sat
beside me.  "And those damn dreams."

   "I think the accident memory problem is probably post traumatic stress.
Maybe you will remember and then maybe not.  As for your dreams, I am not
sure but maybe they have something to do with the accident."

   "No doctor I don't know the fucking genus of the pterodactyl!  It was a
huge flying bird with leather wings.  No I don't know if it was a
Quetzalcoatlus or a pteranodon.  It was a fucking huge reptile with leather
wings and a wingspan about the size of a semi-truck.  I am an accountant
not a paleontologist!" Damn these doctors ask some stupid fucking
questions.

   The dreams got worse and but thankfully life was still dull and boring,
just like I wanted it.  I counted beans and I came home and sometimes we
had sex, but that was less and less as time went on.  I guess I was boring
there too.

   "Doctor why would I be dreaming about dragonflies and hogs, and snakes,
now it is snakes too and then there is the dancing." I asked.

   "What kind of dancing?  Ballroom dancing, dancing like in Saturday Night
Fever, what kind of dancing are you dreaming about?" The doctor asked me.

   "Well it is more like West Side Story, Sharks versus Jets." I told him.

   "Do you dance with anyone at all?" he followed.

   "Well this is kind of embarrassing but at times I think I am dancing
with other men.  It is not erotic kind of dancing but just holding each
other and moving." Looking at my wife, who is holding my hand, I continue.
"You know, my left hand holding their right hand.  My right hand touching
them.  Or a few times I am sort of doing a ballroom sort of thing where we
twirl around and I am holding them by the waist and he has his hands around
my neck.  I can't see faces or even real shapes but I know it is men.  It
is nothing sexual, but just strange and there are always the bees as part
of the dream.  Lots of times there are snakes and hogs and dragonflies and
we are always skidding on something.  It is like people say `skids' and we
start skidding." I tell my wife and the doctor.

   The doctor has no idea what to do.

   "Is he happy at home, does he do anything strange?" the doctor asks
Donna.

   "No, nothing at all seems to bother him.  His problem is the dreams and
he has them almost every night.  But other than the dreams, he is doing
well.  He is the same at home as he has always been all these years.  The
dreams don't seem to impact him when he is awake." Donna said.

   That was the last time I saw a doctor.

   We still did all the Saturday events that was the way the neighborhood
was.  We actually saw members of the group daily, but Saturday it was
everybody.  There were about twenty of them, not counting the kids.  It was
a very close knit group.

   We did the school things too.  There was the PTA, saving for college,
and even weddings.  Shit weddings were expensive.  Graduation gifts ate up
a lot of money but we had more than enough.  You can make a fair amount of
money counting beans.

   When the family needed something I was proud to be able to get it for
them.  Yes at times I would have to work overtime and pick up the schedules
of others who were off on vacation or just sick.  Donna told me we needed
money and I found a way to earn it for the family.

   The house was paid for and we had added on but never borrowed on it.  We
had retirement accounts, well I did.  There were new cars and family
vacations too.

   "How do you put up with being married to someone so boring?" one of
Donna's friends asked.

   `I manage to find ways to entertain myself.  Franklin is good to me and
is not demanding.  I have money, a good home, and a man who loves me like
crazy, life for me is always good.  You ladies should be as lucky as me." I
heard Donna say.  Then she added "But then again you are as lucky as me."
They all laughed.

   "Really girls, he will do anything for me and my kids and that is all I
really want." Donna finished.

   Time went on and on.  We were near our thirty year anniversary.

   "Whop - - Whop - - Whop - - Whop.  `The others have been stung.  Bee
keeper, help them.  Where did all the damn bees come from?  Are you raising
bees around here?  Shit they sting everything they can.' `Hey, put some of
that insect bomb over there, they seem to have a nest there.' They seem to
be afraid of the pterodactyl?  Why would bees be afraid of a bird that has
been extinct for 85 million years?  Fucking God Damn bees, where are they
all coming from?  `Some give me another fly swatter.' `Who else has been
stung?' `Bee keeper, get those pterodactyls to chase the bees.' Whop - -
Whop - - Whop - - Whop." Another crazy dream but I was used to it now.

   "Hey Franklin, still dancing with any men as the bees sting you?"
Randolph asked.  Everyone laughed like crazy about it.

   I was a little taken aback that Donna would have mentioned it to anyone,
especially dancing with men, MY dancing with men.  It was something that
was supposed to be between us, not us and her friends too.

   I pulled her over to the side of the road on a drive back to the house.
We could have walked but Donna liked to drive over.  That way if there was
something they needed I could just drive out and get it.  I did that a lot
too.  "Donna, why the hell did you mention this to anyone?  This is very
personal!  You betray me and the trust I put in you when you do this." I
told her.

   Donna laughed at me.  "Franklin, these are our best friends in the
world. We do everything together.  We see each other everyday and we take
vacations together, and have meals with each other every day.  Franklin why
are you being an ass about this?  You are the one dancing with other men!"
Donna said.

   Well that was how it started.  It was the first time I realized that
someone else meant more to Donna than I did.  I don't mean the kids, I mean
other people.  I began to have doubts about US and then I started to get
suspicious.  I hated being suspicious, it means that my life is not boring
anymore and I really craved boredom.

   It took a few months but I learned everything I wanted to know once I
actually started looking and actually paying attention.  Had I actually
been blind all of these years?  When the time was right I confronted
everyone at one of their little get together events, which I had not been
invited to.

   I went into Robert's house without being invited.  In thirty years I
never walked into one of Donna's friend's house without being invited, but
they did it all the time to me and our house.  It was very interesting to
say the least.

   Inside the house was my loving wife Donna, her son John, and her two
daughters, Paula and Billie.  All twenty of the "friends", actually
nineteen; and Donna's adult children, of course.  They were all naked and
yes they were fucking like crazy.

   "Well you finally found out." Robert JOHN Wilson said.  Everyone laughed
as they looked at me standing there.

   "Come in Franklin and learn the truth about your boring life." Robert
JOHN Wilson added.

   "I believe you know my daughter Billie," Henry WILLIAM [BILLIE] Craft
added.  The laughter never stopped.

   "Let me introduce you to Paula's father" Donna said.  "But you already
know Grant PAUL Collins."

   Each time there was an introduction I was informed of a middle name that
matched the first name of the child I thought was mine.  The middle name
was spoken louder than the other part of the name.  But I knew the truth
before I got there that day, just barely.

   The wives were just as bad.  They were all fucking.  My ex-son was
married and thirty and his wife was there too.  The Ex-daughters were there
too.  Everyone was part of a swinger group; everyone but me.  I was boring.

   Now I knew why my ex-children all started to call me Franklin, and not
Dad or Father, as they did years ago.  Donna said it was just a phase but I
was hurt; still I let it go, then, not now.

   "Why Donna?  Why did you do this to me?  Why did you steal thirty years
of my life?  What did I ever do to you to deserve this?" I asked.

   Exasperation was on all of their faces.

   "Franklin, you are just boring, and you are a wimp.  You have no
passion. You can't seem to stand up for yourself.  You move through life as
if nothing matters at all, except the kids and I.  Maybe for someone else
that would be enough but it was not for us.

   "When we were all children we made a pact to always be together.  We all
lost our virginity with each other and kept having sex together.  There was
one more but he died, so we needed one more man.  You were that man.  That
made the group even again, ten men and ten women.  We thought we could keep
you in the dark forever.  I don't know how you found out but it is way to
late now.  You were kept in the dark for thirty years; you seemed to like
it in the dark.  Did you really think I wanted the genes of a loser like
you to pollute my children?  You are nothing Franklin.  You have no
backbone; there is nothing that you will fight for, nothing you feel
passion about, not even me and the children.  But I no longer care.  You
are bad at sex, you do a boring job, and you are not really more than a
good slave who supported me and my children." Donna said.

   "Donna I wanted to have more sex, I wanted to do more things but you
kept shutting me down.  Hell, I thought you were into necromania, you
hardly moved during sex.  I see you apparently don't have that problem
here. Apparently I was the only one you shot down as you sit there with a
cock still up your ass, cum dripping out of your pussy and cum on your face
from sucking one of your buddies off.  Why not me?  Why the hell not have a
full sex life with the man you married and who cared for you and your
children for thirty years?" I asked.

   "Franklin if I did what you wanted you would have wanted it all the
time. Then you would have found out I was having sex with my lovers here.
Then there would have been the chance you might have been the one to get me
pregnant and I could not take that chance.  And that memory thing, those
dreams, and those scars, did you really think I would find those
attractive? I picked you because I was already pregnant, you did not know
about me and my friends, and you were easy.  Sleep with you once, claim you
were the father, all was well and done.  I was not that far along so you
would never figure it out.  The baby would just be a little premature."
Donna said.

   "Is that all I ever was to you?  Someone to give you money and support
you while you had sex with your old friends and then get your children into
this sick life you live?  You called me Baby and Honey and held me when I
had those dreams.  What that all a lie too?" I said.

   "Don't be such an ass Franklin.  I liked you, sort of.  I was just being
nice when I called you baby and honey.  You did not seem to mind.  But
after a while, well you just disgusted me with years of those damn dreams
and dancing with other men.  What the hell were you thinking?  You have to
be kidding me.  Here you are some crying closet half fag dancing with men
in your stupid dreams, worrying about dragonflies, flying fucking
prehistoric birds, snakes and hogs and bee keepers.  You are a freak!  Well
the damage is done and there is nothing you can do about it.  If you
divorce me I will get half of everything and the home too.  Because we have
been married for so long you will have to pay me alimony until you die."
Donna added with an evil looking smile.

   "And your fuck buddies?  What about them, where they in on it all
along?" I wanted to know.  Actually I already knew but I wanted them to
admit it.

   "Franklin, they are not my fuck buddies, they are my lovers.  We have
all been in love since we were children.  You just can't understand love
like that.  You don't understand devotion to people you love." Donna said.

   Then her fuck buddies answered.

   "You bet we were.  You were the perfect dupe.  We were happily fucking
your wife as you worked away.  Then we started fucking your daughters too.
Our wives got to fuck your son.  Oups, he is not really your son and they
are not your daughters.  Once they learned the score your pretend kids
happily joined the club.  When we went on vacations there was always
someone with you so we could fuck Donna and later the daughters too.  But
then Donna would be with you and we would orgy by ourselves as you did that
boring husband and wife thing you insisted on doing every time.  Having
`alone' time, holding hands, kissing her hand and looking longingly into
her eyes.  Damn dude you are just so fucked up.  We would have invited you
but you are not really worth the effort.  The wives talked about it and
none of them would have fucked you so you were a no go from the start and
never got any further."

   This came from all of the men and women too, but in various parts of the
discussion.  There was more, a lot more, but it is not all worth repeating.
It is enough to say that they all disclosed their contempt for me, their
using my money to raise their children, and their helping each other keep
me in the dark.

   "Now that it is out in the open there is no need to hide anything.  Be a
good boy and go and clean up the house, I will be back in a few days and I
expect it to be nice and clean." Donna said.

   Everyone was laughing at me.

   Eventually I had everything I needed and I left and went home.  I still
remember the laughter as I walked out of the door without closing it.

   But as I walked out I turned to Donna and said:

   "You must be proud as you sit there getting fucked knowing that your son
and you get to watch that has been of a high school football hero, who made
John with you, sitting in a chair with his cock up your daughters ass.  Or
maybe John Jr.  likes to see Paula's father fucking his wife?  Hey John
Sr., are your other kids in this bunch?  John Jr., does your wife come over
when you are not around, like your whore mother does, and fuck your father?
This is what you gave me up for, betrayed me for?  You gave your children
away to people who treat you, and now them, as a cum bucket or in John's
case, a young dildo with a pulse.  I bet you actually picked out a mate for
John, just to make sure you had a person who could become new permanent
fuck mate.  Donna did you or your children ever notice that your fuck
buddies kids are not part of this group and ask yourselves why?  I know
their wives only had their husband's children but you played their whore
and their cunt.  These are the genes you wanted to pass on to your children
and grandchildren?  You wanted to pass on the genes of people who hate you.
Think about this slut, your chosen mate killed himself rather than marrying
a woman who got pregnant by John.  Didn't that give you a fucking clue you
stupid bitch?  Yes, I knew he killed himself and why.  It was not hard to
find out once I started investigating.  I'm just happy that I am not part
of their precious gene pool and none of the bastards will ever call me
father or grandfather."

   My little pen camera picked it up nicely.  It was a good thing I was
actually invited to stay, that gave me permissions to record everything
too.

   "Come back any time `cuckie'" John Sr.  said as I was walking out. 
"Bring a few friends next time.  Oups, you don't have any friends do you
cuckie?"

   Apparently John was right; I did not have any friends.  But I did have
six county marshals all with papers to serve on everyone, except the kids.

   "They gave me permission to let you in, they are all there." I said to
the group of law enforcement officers.

   In our county the Marshals serve process for the courts and they can be
privately retained to do just that.  I hired six of them to serve everyone
at one time and in one place.  I told you I was a bean counter.

   Now let me tell you that the screams of twenty three naked people as
half a dozen uniformed armed Marshals entered the place was deafening.  It
was even louder than them all going through orgasms together.  I had to
smile as I walked away unhurriedly shaking my head.  The restraining orders
would keep everyone away until the dust settled.

   The divorce was nasty and I did not do it in the same town I lived in, I
went to the county seat.  I went for a fraud annulment and based on the
evidence I got at our little talk I was able to hit the other "friends" up
for millions.  I already had the information but their confession was all I
needed to use in one little bit of dialogue.

   They all admitted they were in on the fraud from the beginning, that I
was specifically targeted, it was a conspiracy, from the beginning and they
admitted how they would keep me busy so that the others could fuck my wife
and her daughters.

   They talked about using me to pay for things for them and their other
children.  How Donna took our money to buy things for her fuck buddies. 
They talked themselves out of millions of dollars, all nineteen of them
did.

   I got the house, everything inside of it, all of our savings,
retirement, everything.  Since Donna and I were not married, the annulment
based on fraud took care of that, there was no community property.  Donna
owed me for raising her bastards as did their parents.  Needless to say the
bastards were not kind to me either.  They hated what I did to their mother
and their fathers.  But I was not done yet.  I was a bean counter and I
knew how many beans make five.

   In the end I got a little over five million dollars from all concerned.
That was fair after schools, vacations, college, weddings, and thirty years
of lies and deceit.  They were all in on the conspiracy so they all got to
pay.  I did not break them but I sure as hell put a nice big dent in them.
I have to admit that they were still friends and they all pooled their
money to pay everything off, especially after I started filing writs of
attachment on everything.

   I even got an order changing the birth certificates as the original ones
were obtained through fraud.  Donna was required to return my name, but I
don't think she really wanted to keep it.  The kids lost my name too.  I am
not sure what it is now and I don't care.  For my part I lost their
addresses and phone numbers.  I also lost thirty years of my adult life.

   I did not want to live in the house but I did not really want to sell
it. I wanted to destroy it.  So a few weeks after the divorce was final and
I had my money I came back to the old neighborhood, much to their
amazement.

   I had a crew with me to knock the house down.  Donna went nuts as did
the kids.

   It was my final act of vengeance.  The house was worth about six hundred
thousand dollars on the market and boring me had paid it off before I found
out what was going on.  Donna wanted it badly as did the kids.  It was
where they grew up and all of their fuck buddies lived in the same tract.

   Eventually they induced me to let it go for one million one hundred
thousand dollars.  Yes, I jacked up the price and all of the fuck buddies
bought it.  They were smug about it too.  I was just as smug; I made an
extra half a million in three days of talking.  They agreed to a cash
payment and a five day escrow.

   Why would they do that?  That was simple, my house was the key.  It
abutted one property rear to rear, as well as the sides of two others.  If
someone else had bought it their little games would have been a lot more
difficult.  Their sex lives were worth so much to them that they paid big
time for it.

   Before I left I destroyed every picture, even the ones on the computers.
I destroyed every school project sent to "dad," or "mom." Every mother's
Day card, every Father's Day Card, every Birthday Card, every Christmas
card and every vacation card and picture.  What ever history was in the
house was now in the garbage dump or in the burn barrel.  When I turned the
house over to her it had all the furniture, my clothes, everything else was
there.  The refrigerator was full of rotten food and not a dish had been
cleaned since that day those many months before.  I did nothing to keep the
place up.  The yard was junk too.  It had no electricity, gas or water,
everything was turned off.

   I was kind enough to repaint thought.  I thought that was pretty nice of
me.  Every wall, and ceiling, and window and every piece of woodwork was
sprayed with a new coat of dull, boring, black paint.  Yes they knew about
it when they bought it.  Kind of hard to hide blackout windows.

   Donna got the house back and lived there.  It became their party house
so the fuck buddies would all get a key.  Donna kept the place up and
became their personal whore or house keeper.  Hey that is what she and the
rest of the women were anyway.  She never saw it that way but I sure as
hell did.  She did not see that it was only her kids that were part of the
group even after I told her.  She thought it was only because they were
special, but it was because they were stupid enough to believe the shit
their whore mother told them.  It was only her daughters that were whores
for her friends and it was only her son that let his wife get fucked, even
by his own father.  Donna was never the brightest light in the firmament.

   I had quit work and just left, I left everything except the money.  I
even left my clothes.  I left everything that would remind me of that life;
I even left things I forgot I had.  If they had been important I would not
have forgotten them.

   I drove all night and stopped in a cheap motel and in the morning I
stopped at Walmart and got some cheap pants and shirts, and new underwear
and everything else I would need for my trip.  I threw away the clothes I
was wearing when I left.  I wanted nothing to remind me of them or those
thirty years.  The car was a rental and I changed cars that next day too.
It was the equivalent of stomping the dust from my feet.  It is a bible
thing, look it up.

   Two days later I was in Our Nation's Capital and at the door of the
Pentagon.  Ok I was not really at the door; I went to an annex and filled
out an application, giving them the Day's Inn I was staying at as an
address and my new cell phone number.  Yes I had tossed the old one; they
used it to track me when I was not home.  They thought of everything.  I
found that one out during my two month investigation.  I used that to my
advantage.  It had call forwarding and I just left it where I wanted them
to think I was and I had full rein to follow them and be where they did not
want me to be.

   The DOD hired me the next week.  It was a strange interview.  I was a
bean counter and the DOD has one hell of a lot of beans to count and they
are all over the world.  I was a CPA and had good auditor references
though. I gave them work history and everything else.  Despite all of this
I had a very strange interview.

   I was asked if I was going to use Veterans Points Preference to get the
job but I told him about the accident and my being in a coma for two years
and not actually going into the military during Vietnam.  He smiled and
excused himself.

   A few minutes later he came back with a couple of files and read them to
himself as I watched from the other side of the table.  Then a man in a
Navy uniform came in and took my fingerprints with some type of computer
print device.  They looked at the screen and nodded to each other.

   "Welcome to the Department of Defense Mr.  Hill," the man said to me
with a warm welcoming smile and a handshake.  "Is there anyplace you think
you might like to start?"

   "Well yes there is.  I did not think I would be asked where I wanted to
go but to be honest I have lead a very sedate and somewhat boring life and
I would like to experience a little adrenalin rush once in a while.  I want
to go to Iraq or Afghanistan where I can be the most good." I replied.

   I don't know why I picked the DOD or even asked to work a war zone but I
did.

   I had been married in 1973 and it was now 2003 and the war was just
beginning.  I wanted to do what I had never done.  I was tired of being
bored, I wanted action, and I wanted to go to war, even if it meant
counting fucking beans.

   If you pressed me I think I wanted to die but I was too cowardly to do
it.

   "I think that can be arranged Mr.  Hill" the interviewer said.  "You
sure you would not prefer something more sedate?"

   I advised him that sedate was not what I was looking for.  They smiled
and said then it would be as I asked.  The Navy man, wearing a very funny
gold emblem, like an Eagle holding an anchor or some such thing said
"Welcome Aboard" and it was over.

   A few days later I was fitted with body armor called Dragon Skin.  I had
to pay for it myself.  It was not standard issue and the troops were not
allowed to use it after a while, but I liked it.  Maybe it was the name,
"dragon." They also sent me to school for weapons training.  This part was
strange because I was a civilian DOD employee and all I was going to do was
audit assets in the theater of operations.  The body armor I could
understand, the tactical weapons training was a mystery.  When I asked why
I was told:

   "We think you should." Some soldier said.

   What the hell.  I was no longer living a boring life.  I carried twin
.45's in my back so I could pull one out with each hand, and a M16A4.  Many
of the younger guys liked other weapons but the M16 felt comfortable in my
hands, so I used it.  Lots of guys carried the Ka-Bar for a blade but I
preferred the standard M9 Bayonet.  I was not Rambo but I was not going to
get killed because I could not defend myself.

   They trained me in how to use each weapon and I surprised myself at how
easy it was to learn.  My instructors acted like it was expected.  No pat
on the back there.

   I first went to Afghanistan.  I was one of a number of people on the
team.  That was the fist time I freaked out.  We landed so we could take
other transport to our base of operation.  From there we would visit
smaller bases or supply points.  That was when I heard it.

   We had just gotten onto our transport when I heard it:

   "Whop - - Whop - - Whop - - Whop,"

   It was the sound of the rotor spinning as the blades cut through the
air. Not identical to the dream but damn close.  The chopper was just
sitting when we got on board but they started it and after the whine of the
jet engines waking up the sound came.

   "Whop - - Whop - - Whop - - Whop,"

   "Well I must have heard it someplace.  After all dreams are about what
we know, even if it is not about what we do or did.  This is my pterodactyl
sound.  Large leather wings cutting through the air.  Mystery solved, that
is where I heard the sound and used it in my dreams.  I must have heard a
military helicopter before someplace else even if I don't remember it." I
thought.

   The dreams, yes I still had them but now there was not some lying
fucking whore calling me baby and holding me like she actually cared about
me pretending to want me to feel better.

   We hit a number of bases, if that is what you can call them.  If we had
assets there I look and counted them.

   I learned a few good lessons right up front.  Islamic's are not for
sale, but you can do a short time rental.

   They were the best allies money could buy but only in the short term. 
"The enemy of my enemy is my friend." If their enemy was our enemy they
could be rented.

   The dreams continued.  Now the smoke people took shapes and even some
form of faces.

   I was now an old man with children, well certainly old but only "almost"
with children.  If you were thirty you were "dad" to them.  If you were
forty, "gramps" was the term.  If you were over fifty, you were "Hey
fucking old man."

   Most of them were babies.  Well some were eighteen with children
already. Some were eighteen with a couple of children already.  But they
had a determination to win, to protect the man to the left and right, to
follow orders, to move forward or the side if ordered, but never to
retreat. Watching them move in battle formations, maybe a squad, or a
platoon, or even a company, was like watching a deadly choreographed
ballet.

   They say that when Emperor Tiberius was a soldier that his drills were
like bloodless battles and his battles were bloody drills.

   That was our troops in the field were doing, bloody drills that had been
done hundreds of times before the blood and did not change just because
there was some blood now.

   Yes, it was a ballet or dance of death they did and it was with deadly
precision.  I wondered how they would feel about it when they grew old. 
How they would feel knowing that for a brief time in their lives they had
to be civilized people doing uncivilized things.  I looked and was pleased
that I never saw joy in them when they had to act with deadly force.

   Still they were children and I hoped they would handle it later in life
and be the people they wanted to be, not the people they were forced by
circumstances to be.

   The dreams continued, dragonflies, hogs, snakes, skids, bees,
flyswatters, and pterodactyls.  They were all still there but for some
reason the intensity lessened.  Faces appeared on the smoke people,
children's faces.  Just young children, eighteen, nineteen, maybe twenty,
but children just the same.  Not the same children I was with now, but not
anyone I ever knew.

   I counted money, bullets, belts, knives, rockets, pants, sox, boots,
bottles of water even Kotex.  We had females in the field.  Water
containers, portable showers, soap, hand cream, you name it we counted it.
Why?  We were operating in an area unknown to us and we needed to know in
advance what we would need tomorrow, next week, next month, next year.

   The figures changed all the time but the DOD needed to be ready and
prepared.  You realize we do not shit bullets or rockets, or jet fuel or
anything else.

   We have to plan to get it, stock it, ship it, and take into
consideration accidents that prevent it from getting to the next point.  It
all has to be ordered in advance too and usually to the lowest bidder.

   People talked about Halliburton and no competitive bidding.  How the
hell many companies on the face of the earth have the assets to rebuild a
fucking country and at the same time train the locals to keep it running
and operational.  Not many people know this but it was Bill Clinton that
got Halliburton on the list for non-competitive bidding on contracts.  They
were a direct appointment company.  Until she died "Lady Bird" Johnson was
the largest shareholder in Halliburton.  You remember her husband,
President Lyndon Baines Johnson, as in "hey, hey, LBJ, how many kids did
you kill today?"

   I am in country about four months when there is a bit of a problem.  We
are ambushed.  Not a big surprise for anyone.  I do have guards with me as
I move from place to place.  At times I was allowed to operate on my own.
Why send a team when one man can do it in a few days and not create a
problem.  I don't even remember my GS but I always have guards with me.  It
seems to be standard.

   It is not significant fight except to those of us fighting it.  The
bullets start flying in great quantities and then I hear it.  I hear bees.
As the bullets fly overhead and all around I hear the buzzing of the bees.

   We return fire, and I get into my first firefight.  I am surprisingly
calm for all of the noise and apparent confusion around me.  I am not the
target, I am "A" target.  The soldiers around me move in their deadly
ballet and I follow despite being told not to.

   It is like riding a bicycle, I move into line, I watch my flanks, I call
out when I see movement to the left flank that would indicate an attempt to
flank us or call our attention when the real area of attack is the other
flank and it is a diversion.  I follow orders.  I call for covering fire
and suppressing fire, I respond when others do the same.  I watch our 6 and
cover the men to my right and left flank.  The training pays off, the
drills pay off, we move as one.  In less than five minutes it is over.  The
enemy just disappears into the desolate countryside littered with rocks,
boulders, and depressions and caves.

   After that day the dreams almost stop.  Within a week I usually can't
remember any of the dreams unless I really concentrate, they are all but
gone, replaced with the reality of war.

   I still travel and count.  I move into Iraq for the same reason I went
into Afghanistan, I count things.

   The supply depots get bigger, the number of things to lose track of
grows larger.  The number of things to be stolen increases.  If we did not
need the supplies we would not have them.  Well maybe some idiot hit the
wrong button or copied a stock number down wrong, any number of things can
go wrong and they do.

   I continued to report, picking out things in the theater that are not
needed and reporting on things needed but are not here.  I am one of many
doing this never ending job.  I am creating a data base for continued war,
being part of it is not my business.

   But I now go on patrols.  I tell my superiors I need to see the outlay
of assets during a routine patrol, but I just want to get out of the
warehouse.  I know the drill.  A dancer can move to the music even if
others don't hear the music, but the dancer does.  It is the same on
patrol. We all hear the music and move to it.

   I am still solitary and don't talk much but I watch, make notes, write
reports and fill out forms.  The Department of Defense loves forms.  Now
they are on a computer and they get downloaded into mine and I upload the
completed forms to the DOD via satellite.

   There are diversions, bees everywhere, some people get stung, I get
stung.  Nothing bad, just a bee sting, but I let my superiors know.

   I have been here for over four years now.  Now I am not part of a team I
am a team.

   Originally I was part of one, then I lead a small team and then I was in
charge of a number of teams and now I have become a team of one.

   War has become home to me.  War is my price for the dreams not coming
back every minute of every day, of my memories of the last thirty plus
years not coming back and swallowing me up into the black abyss of
melancholy.  Evidently I am not supposed to die here because I am still
alive.

   After four years, countless firefights, we are not allowed to call them
battles, being wounded again and again, none serious, I am still alive. 
This has resulted in the saving of one life, mine.  I am still going in and
out of depots and reviewing records and files and documents and shelves
full of things an Army needs to operate to fulfill its mission.  Ok it is
not all an Army, there is a Corps too, the Marine Corps, and the Navy and
the Air Force.  Everyone is here playing war games, deadly serious war
games.

   I get no pleasure out of battle or the taking of life, but I get
pleasure out of not always having the dreams and it is the price I gladly
pay.

   I am now fully equipped for battle.  For some reason I am not bothered
by the brass.  A high ranking DOD employee, a GS what ever the fuck it is
that I am, rates a lot of deference.  One Major did start to give me shit
but soon he was transferred out.  I don't know why, I just know the
problems stopped.  Even the Seals treat me well.

   I don't tell anyone how to do their jobs, I just help when I can.  I
learn the area, make notes about how much of what ever it is we need and
then see if we can get it.

   I have no friends here, I don't try to make any.  Friends leave, they go
home to wives and children, this is my home.  What I have is lots of
enemies.  The rule comes into play.  The enemy of my enemy is my friend, so
at times I have pseudo friends.  I would still die for them and more
importantly, I kill for them.  They are fellow Americans and I care about
them.

   The faces of the kids change, the mission changes in the news but on the
ground, here in the sandbox it is the same mission it has always been. 
Break things, make widows and orphans, get home alive, that is the mission,
everything else is just bullshit.

   I enter the new depot to confront a new Sergeant Major.  Someone who
will give me the standard lecture, someone I will have to put in their
place.  I am tired of the bullshit, just like everyone else.  It will have
to be done so I do it.  After a while we will reach an accommodation.  It
will be simple.

   "Get the fuck out of my face, let me do my job, you do your job, what
ever the fuck it is, and we will get along." I tell them, all of them.  The
faces change but it is all the same.

   I used to pussyfoot around about it and now it just flows out like water
from a spigot.

   I meet Sergeant Major Claw.  I lay it out.

   "Get the fuck out of my face, let me do my job, you do your job, what
ever the fuck it is, and we will get along."

   "Listen you civilian maggot" the Sergeant Major says.  "This is my
fucking house, my fucking rules and I say what and when."

   The Sergeant Major is so close we are like boxers at a weigh in.  I can
feel those lips touch mine as the Sergeant Major does a head move to the
left and right as the yelling continues.  Being nose to nose it is almost
expected.  It is the equivalent of telling someone to knock a chip off your
shoulder or spit across a line.

   I am actually getting hard.  Not heavy, not chubby, but fucking hard as
a rock.

   "Don't give me that military shit Sergeant Major.  My jurisdiction is
right here up your ass if that is where I want to be.  Whatever you have in
this place is mine to monitor, count and observe." I move closer as I yell
so our lips actually touch as we yell.  It is electric, cosmic, it is the
big bang for me.

   "Listen maggot, you don't touch, you don't look, you don't even breathe
on my, hear me, MY, war toys, until you ask and I give you permission; and
then only if I want to." The Sergeant Major says.

   Then the Sergeant Major turns to walk back to what passes for an office
in a war zone supply depot.

   I want that ass so bad my cock is ready to break off.  Bend that
Sergeant Major over a desk, one swipe of my blade and the pants are gone
and my cock is looking up close and personal at its target.  One push
forward and those lips part and my white cock is home.

   Then one more swipe of the blade and the back of that uniform is cut in
two and I will hump into that thing like a dog with a bitch as I reach
around and work the shit out of those two "B" cup tits.

   Shit when the Sergeant Major turned around even with a flack vest on I
could tell she had one hell of a set on her.

   She turned and looked at me.  "You got a problem civy?  Get your ass out
of my depot."

   I do have a problem.  She might be able to turn around but the minute I
do she is going to notice that I have a tent in the old pants.  Looking
straight at me she can't see it, but sideways, hell she will know in a
minute.

   She turns back and heads for her office, mumbling something about maggot
civilians, her depot, and shaking her head back and forth.  Her posture is
perfect and at five foot five she keeps herself tall and erect.  Her hair
is short, straight and glossy black.  I bet she is one hundred and thirty
pounds, not too heavy for a soldier.  Age, I would say she is about forty
five, ten years my junior.

   I peg her as an American Indian, a "feather" Indian not a "dot" Indian.
Ok I am supposed to say some PC crap about Native American but they just
came over from the Bering Straights a few thousand years ago, so nothing
Native here as far as I am concerned.

   I get the hell out of the area.  Any other Sergeant Major and I would
have been down his throat, unfortunately what I wanted to put down her
throat would be illegal unless she agreed and even then half the countries
of the world would imprison us for it.

   I did what any self-respecting quasi soldier would do, I found a patrol
and went out.

   [Sergeant Major Claw: My name is Sergeant Major Iron Claw.  Yes it
sounds like shit to white eyes but fuck them.  When I was born I grabbed
onto my grandfathers finger so hard he called it an Iron Grip, so I became
Iron Claw, at least to him.  My parents thought Irene would work better but
grandfather would forever call me Iron Claw.

   [Sergeant Major Claw: I am a northern Blackfoot.  It was lucky I was
born in the part of our range that is in the United States.  I am full
blooded Blackfoot.  My father's name was Claw, for the Bear Claw you get
for bravery.  He had been young, pink skin to match that of my mother.  He
was not a warrior and did not follow the old ways and neither did my
mother. I don't know if that was the reason but within one month of my
getting out of the hospital they drove off, after leaving me with my
grandparents and just kept driving until they ended up in the bottom or an
arroyo.  No one is sure why they went there but tire tracks seem to
indicate some slight disturbance in the force grasshopper.  [Yes it is a
mixed metaphor.] They were pushed into it.  They died immediately.  From
that time on Grandmother and Grandfather raised me.

   [Sergeant Major Claw: Grandfather taught me the old ways.  There are not
many of us left and we have a large number of us in Montana.

   [Sergeant Major Claw: For all my life I have been Iron Claw.  My
grandfather was a warrior.  His body bore the scars of WW2, he lied about
his age so he could make the D Day invasion.  He was in Korea and Vietnam.
He bore his scars with pride.  Grandmother could be seen lovingly touching
them and looking with pride around at the other women.  Grandmother has a
warrior for a mate.

   [Sergeant Major Claw: I became a warrior.  At eighteen I went into the
Army and went into places that no woman should go.  I was in Kosovo, and
Montenegro.  I fought hard and got stripe after stripe.  I never opened my
legs to get promoted, I never had to.

   [Sergeant Major Claw: While in the Army I went to college.  I ended up
with a Masters in Warehouse Management.  Yes there is a science to it and a
wrong way to do it.  If you don't already know that then you are not
someone to tell me how to do my job.

   [Sergeant Major Claw: I was fucking proud of my American Indian
Heritage. It took America four years to beat Germany and Japan, it took
them 400 years to beat my Indian ancestors.  I am proud of my heritage. 
Fuck that old white man.  This proud Blackfoot woman is not going to let
him get the best of me!  I am no ghost dancing fool to let myself get shot
and not fight back.]

   I was back that evening and went into the depot and who the fuck do you
think was there, SGM Claw.  The bitch has a bed set up and is sacked out,
in full battle uniform.  She is up and at me like I was the enemy.  In her
hand is her .45, one just like mine.  A Model 1911 .45.

   "Easy SGM I am just making sure the depot is secure before I turn in.  I
stay here every night.  Now I can check that off my list.  This is a first
for me.  A depot under constant observation not by some PFC but the NCOIC
herself." I lied.

   I wanted her like I never wanted anything.  I had a small room inside of
the depot itself and I headed for it.  She just looked at me as I walked
away.

   This was a major depot compared to the others in the area but definitely
not the biggest.  It had some Lieutenant Colonel someplace but I never saw
her but I was not there all the time.

   My life with Sergeant Major [SGM] Claw is head on head, waiting to see
which one of us gets a headache first and can't play anymore.  The fights
go on every time we meet.  It is fortunate there are no duels allowed.  I
would be dead already.  She would challenge me, I would accept and not lift
a finger except to protect her.  I would die rather than hurt her.

   I move through the warehouse, looking at everything, making notes,
counting, going over the computer records.  Looking at the sign out sheets,
making sure nothing leaves unless it is supposed to.  Watching procedures
to supply troops in the outlying areas, transport methods.  Was the
paperwork correct?  Did they have emergency distribution systems in place
in case they had to bypass the system?  You don't want soldiers in the
field in battle and demand paperwork to re-supply them, but you would want
to know what was going and what is left and why.

   I move from one depot to another but always coming back to SGM Claw as
it is my base of operations.

   [Sergeant Major Claw: That fucking old man does nothing but piss me off.
Why the Army allows him to be here is beyond me.  Some stupid civilian who
has nothing to do but pretend to be a soldier and maybe get a real soldier
killed.]

   There are patrols, and firefights and blood in the sand.  There are bees
and stings, just like the dreams.  Many things are like the dreams but not
the same.  Now we have snakes but they are Cobras and there are hogs too,
but Wart Hogs.  When the dreams started there was no such thing as wart
hogs, but now there are.

   [Sergeant Major Claw: That fucking old man is back.  I have checked him
out.  Once an Army Major raised hell about his being out on patrol with the
men.  The Major was reassigned to a desk job in the pentagon, his dreams of
promotion to Lieutenant Colonel and then becoming a Colonel dashed.  He
will retire a Major.

   [Sergeant Major Claw: That fucking old man has something going for him,
even the damn Seals treat him with respect.  I can't find out why but I
keep looking.]

   [Sergeant Major Claw: My life is the Army.  I have had sex and I have
been looking for my warrior just like grandmother found hers.  But
grandfather tells me that I will never find him.  I tell him of my wish for
children and he smiles and says there will be children.  "How can there be
children if I can't find a warrior to be my mate?" I ask him.  He just
smiles and says nothing.  Sometimes that damn Indian enigmatic crap just
pisses me off!  Now that time has passed for me.  At 45 I am too old to
find a mate, much less a warrior like grandfather.  He sits around with his
life long friends, fellow warriors, with his shirt off.  His scars show the
battles he has fought and been victorious in.  Victory is measured in being
alive after a battle and being wounded.  Warriors like him no longer exist,
at least not for me.  Yes there are younger ones, here and elsewhere but I
am too old for them and they are too young for me.  I guess grandfather was
wrong about this as my change has taken place and children will not come.]

   "Now my dreams are full of the Sergeant Major.  Months of dreams fill my
head and my fantasy." Franklin says to himself.

   [Sergeant Major Claw: That fucking old man is back but different.  He
has the look.  He comes in and looks right through me this time.  I heard
it was a bad trip and that things went poorly for a group of young
soldiers. I also heard that he managed to save a few.  I don't know why but
I look to see if he is well.

   [Sergeant Major Claw: It is late, the depot is closed up unless there is
an emergency.  He walks past me dropping his web gear but keeping his
weapons and strips off as he heads for the decontamination shower we use
for ourselves.  His weapons go in with him.  Two .45's, and an M16 and his
M9.  He sets them down and stands under the water.  I see his naked body.
He is scared, old scars and new ones.  This is not an accountant's body,
this is not a bean counters body.  I don't care what he has told others
about a car accident, I know scars, I have seen them all my life.  This was
no auto accident, these are battle scars!  These are scars that are only
found on a warrior's body.

   [Sergeant Major Claw: He washes his short graying hair, nothing vain in
that.  He does not try to be a old man looking young.  It is his hands he
keeps washing and looking at.  That too is something I have seen before. 
He sees what is not there but never will wash off.  He sees blood.  It does
not matter that no one else can see it, what matters is that he sees it. 
He takes his M9 out of the scabbard and I watch the blood wash away from
the blade and handle.  There is no pleasure in his eyes.  He does not even
seem to notice that I am standing there looking at his body.

   [Sergeant Major Claw: He turns and looks at me, almost like he did not
know I was there, but then I realize he knows everything that moves around
him.  He looks into my eyes and sees my fear.  I am afraid and he knows it.


   [Sergeant Major Claw: The sharp blade changes position in his hand.  It
is ready to strike downward and I know the position.  He moves at me
quickly, still wet from the shower.  I feel the blade move and the flat of
it against my neck.  The blade moves from gullet to gusset.  I feel the
sharp blade as it kisses my skin, cutting through everything that is
unnecessary.  Our eyes never stray from the other.

   [Sergeant Major Claw: My lips find his as his blade then turns and cuts.
The razor sharp blade cuts as intended.  Nothing can prevent it as it
slices through my blouse, bra, belt, and trousers, all the way to the
gusset of my panties and then slightly up.  An upward motion does the same
to the rear of the trousers.  I am now wearing the same uniform but split
in two.  My arms go around him and I pull him down to me as I fall back
onto the blankets next to the showers.

   [Sergeant Major Claw: I would like to say it was romantic love, but it
was not.  It was white hot passion.  He entered me without foreplay, I did
not need any.  I wanted him in me NOW!  The steel blade forgotten lay at my
side.  Trust, he trusted me.  But I am pierced by a lance that goes not
just into my body but my soul as well.  My warrior has found me.

   [Sergeant Major Claw: We both came fast that first time.]

   "How long has it been" she asks.

   "Thirty four years." I responded.

   SGM Claw looks at me.

   "Long story.  Short version, wife was a dead fuck for me but a thirty
year swinger slut for her eighteen fuck buddies while we were married and
for another ten before we married.  Three kids, none of them mine, I did
not know and when I did I divorced her.  Four years since the divorce and I
never even got a hard on until I met you." I told her.

   She looked down at my shriveled cock.  "Then you should be more than
ready for a second time."

   [Sergeant Major Claw: What the hell was I doing?  I went down on the
slimy white cock and sucked it clean and hard.  I wanted him again and
again.]

   I watched as she sucked me hard, it did not take much.  I can't remember
getting a better or a worse blow job, as far as I knew this was my first.

   As she was sucking me hard she smiled up at me.  I was amazed at what I
saw.  I had seen video of Donna and her fuck buddies and they never had
that look.  I saw lust with them but not what I saw with Irene.

   With Irene I saw a mother looking at her new born baby; I saw a bride
looking at her husband, a groom looking at his new bride; an old man
holding hands with an old woman as they walked in the chill of an April
morning, still so very much in love after fifty years together.

   I saw love in her eyes, and playfulness too.

   She ran her tongue over my pink helmet.  She smiled at me.

   "Looks like I just scalped a white man," she said with a giggle.

   I guess it sort of did, I thought with a chuckle.

   "Come now my grey haired war stallion, your mare needs mounting." She
said as she turned to show me her butt.

   I had been called many things in my life but never a stallion.  It was
lovingly said and meant that way.

   "Take me, I am yours." She added as I mounted her.

   Her skin bore the ravages of age and some battle scars but to me it was
perfection.  I ran my hands over her body and felt her moan more than heard
it.

   I was up over her and she rose up like a mare on her hind legs and I sat
back on my haunches.  Our movements causing her to become more fully
penetrated by me, and increasing my passion.

   In this way I could run my hands up from her mons to her face, feeling
every inch of the body she now offered to me.  We touched, she turned her
face and we kissed, and I found myself lost in the pleasure of her passion.

   I could feel her orgasming and I knew I was close, too close for such a
short amount of time.  We melted into the other's body.

   I pushed her forward and pulled out.  She looked back in shock, not
expecting this.  I moved quickly down and spreading that perfect ass and
moving her legs, found my mouth at her lips, and allowed myself the
pleasure of her taste and the sight of her fine sparse hairs moving to the
ministrations of my tongue.

   I might have never done this before but I knew what I was supposed to do
and I did it as best I could.  She orgasmed over and over.

   I turned her over and returned to my original target and I watched as
her body told me what was working and what was not.  I hoped she saw the
love in my eyes that I saw in hers.

   We stopped long enough for me to move to her stopping briefly to enjoy
her breasts, I would come back to them.

   She kissed me in great haste, not caring about where my lips had been.

   "I love you." I said.

   "I expect you do, and if you ever stop I will scalp you for real, my
grey stallion." She said back.  "There will be no herd for you.  One mare
is all you get but you can ride her at will."

   This was a dream come true for me.  This is what I wanted that first
day. This is what I wanted all my life.

   Moving her hips until she found what she was looking for she raised up
and impaled herself on my rigid cock.  When her hips fell so did mine,
keeping the penetration intact until we reached a mutual rhythm of
pleasure.

   I now understood the name, Iron Claw, she had them.  I would have more
scars made by her claws and her teeth but they were lovingly given and I
accepted them as that.

   I did not last long and soon flooded her again.

   We were alone, which was lucky.

   "Maybe you should just let me get undressed next time." She said to me.

   "No, I don't think so.  I am going to keep you naked." I responded.

   "Don't think the Colonel will like that." She told me with a giggle.

   [SGM Claw: I called grandfather and told him what had happened, that I
had found a warrior.  I told grandfather all about Franklin, but only after
he gave me permission.]

   "Franklin, you have told me all about your life with Donna and your
accident and your dreams, but some I don't understand.  My grandfather, who
raised me, understands dreams better than anyone I know.  Even the bible
talks about some having the ability to read dreams.  Even Abraham did it.
May I tell my grandfather and see what he says.  I need to tell him about
us anyway.  But I will only talk about the dreams if you permit it." Iron
Claw said.

   This was the first time anyone who knew of my dreams asked permission to
talk to someone about them.  Before it was just done.

   "Yes, if he can help then good for him.  I don't have them all that much
anymore, but I would like to know what they mean." I told my love.

   [SGM Claw: So grandfather, what do you think they mean?  And what about
his scars and his thinking they came from an auto accident when I can tell
they didn't.]

   [Grandfather: Iron Claw, his spirit is troubled but you are helping him.
He is the warrior you were looking for but never found.  He found you and
took you.  Without knowing it he took you in the old way by fighting and
then claiming you as his prize.  Everything will come to pass that is
supposed to come to pass.  Concern yourself no more about this.]
[SGM Claw: There are times grandfather that I wish I never taught you
about Skype.  You still drive me crazy with that mystic stuff you tell me.
I would not believe a word you say were it not that what you say always
comes to pass.  [This got a laugh out of grandfather] Now let me talk to my

grandmother so she can learn the good news directly from me.]

   [Grandmother: Iron Claw, I am hear and heard it all.  You will make me a
great grandmother soon, and I hope you will not keep my great grandchildren
too far away from us.]
The conversation went on for a while as such things do and would

continue to do every few days.

   From that time on we, the Sergeant Major and I, were lovers.  I called
her the Sergeant Major when I spoke of her, which was often.

   She marveled at my scars and said they were beautiful.  I was no pink
skinned child and she wanted me, just as I was.

   We had our jobs to do and we did them.  I did not neglect anything and
when the day was over there was always more work but always time for us,
even in a war zone.

   It was three months into our affair of the heart.  She asked and knew
all about my life and I hers.  I was still amazed that she did not find my
accident scars ugly and would gently and tenderly finger them and kiss
them.

   Sergeant Major Irene [Iron] Claw, U.S.  Army, was the love of my life.

   Then it all came to an end.  It was early in the morning.  It was
nothing special.  She was outside and I was in the depot checking in a new
shipment when the shooting started.

   I was always armed and I ran outside to see a chopper coming down hard.
You could tell it had been hit as the rotor was disabled, probably a shot
to the engine.  However it happened it had been hit.  About a hundred or
more insurgents were on the attack.  Evidently the chopper was hit as an
unplanned target of opportunity as there were no scheduled flights into or
out of the base.  There was a lot of birds in the sky, I sure as hell did
not know why.

   Irene was running toward the chopper, firing that .45 as she went.  I
saw her drop one magazine and put in another.  She was heading for the
middle of the invading hordes.

   I ran in her direction, shooing as many as I could.  They had apparently
caught us flatfooted.  Between mess time and changing of the guard there
was a small window of opportunity and they found it and took it.  It did
not always happen but when it did they were ready and attacked.

   There were a few of us there but not enough.  If we could slow them down
the others would respond quickly.  We had not minutes but seconds.

   I saw Irene fall.  I saw the bullet hit her and watched it lift her up
and move her back.  I headed for her, nothing else matter.  My anger
boundless.  I only cared that MY Irene was down and I was going to avenge
her.

   I reached her in less than five seconds.  She had fallen back on the
secure side of a small berm.  They had been digging slit trenches and there
were berms all over the area because they did not want to actually make a
hill that groups of people could hide behind.  It was good thinking.

   I dropped to one knee and still firing checked Irene.  She was alive,
the vest must have slowed the bullet down, but she was going to hurt. 
Handing her one of my .45's and an ammo pouch full of magazines, hers was
gone someplace after she was hit, I told her:

   "Kill anything that comes over that berm, even if you think it might be
me, because it wont be."

   I ran toward the enemy firing at one until they fell and then changing
targets.  The only thing I cared about was Irene and saving her.  I would
either stop them or split them up.  Either way Irene would live.

   By this time our forces were moving in my direction.  The enemy was
falling fast but one man was getting closer and closer.  He shot me with a
pistol, but it only slowed me down, I was running on anger.  How dare
anyone try to hurt my Irene.

   My M16 was out, my .45 was out, I went to the M9.  He and I met in our
dance to the death.  My left hand grabbed his right, something was in it. I
felt his body impact with mine, it was hard and lumpy.

   He was a bomb.  I had to stop him from going into detonation mode.  I
held his right hand closed around the device, it was a dead man switch, or
at least I hoped it was.  It would blow up when he let it go.  I sure as
hell hopped it would not blow up if I squeezed it closed.  I was lucky, it
didn't blow from my pressure.

   The men from the helicopter were getting closer and my dancing partner
tried to move off in that direction.  I remember this dance, I knew the
moves.  With my left hand on his right we waltzed to his death.  My right
hand came up and caught him under the chin, the blade of my M9 entered the
soft skin and disappeared into his brain through his lower jaw area.

   His eyes opened wide, he looked into my face and saw his own death, it
did not phase him, he was prepared to die, he wanted to die.

   A few more inches and I saw the light in his eyes go out.  My forward
movement allowed me to lift him up with my blade now in his brain.  I ran
forward, fell just before I reached the deep trench and rolling our bodies
allowed his to fall into the trench as I held his right hand in mine.

   Bullets tore into my side and I released my dead captive to fall into
the trench and as I did there was a loud explosion, I felt more pain in my
sides, and then it was dark and calm.

   Whop - - Whop - - Whop - - Whop - damn it where are the bees coming
from? Lt, stay down, you hear me?  Bullets are everywhere, we are getting
hit from every side.  We sure as hell stepped into the shit this time.

   Flyswatter, I need a flyswatter.  More ammo, someone toss me a
bandolier. Johnson, Roberts you are with me.  You other guys watch that
left flank.  Suppressing fire, to the left flank, Williams, Lt., you are
not going anyplace, wait here and fire at anything to comes from the right.
Someone hit that tree line.

   Oups that made them mad, hit them again.

   We have Cobras inbound.  We have Cobras inbound.  Less than two minutes
out.  Pop smoke, let them know where we are.

   Johnson, Roberts, blades only.  Hit them fast and quietly.  Lets turn
them that away.  Kill anything that moves.  No prisoners, no help, if they
are down make sure they are dead.  Be silent and let them see us pop up
from no where, kill fast and disappear.  Stay low until you can kill
someone.

   Bees all around.  Bullets flying everywhere.  Our .223's sound different
than the 7.62's from an AK.

   It is only a bee sting.  Kill that son of a bitch.  Cut his fucking
throat and put the blade into the back of his neck.  Johnson to your left.
Your other fucking left Johnson.

   Johnson you jack off with your right hand the other one is your left,
moron.  Quit laughing Johnson you are going to get yourself killed.

   Roberts what the fuck is Johnson making all that noise about?  He is
laughing.  "Sarge, he says he jacks off with his left hand."

   OK idiots, back to our lines.  Charlie was upset and worried they did
not hear us but they see the dead.  It slowed them down Lt.  We got time
Lt.

   Cobra's firing, cover your necks that hot brass will burn the shit out
of you.  Cover the wounded if they can't.

   Slicks inbound; repeat slicks inbound, get ready to move.

   Watch each other.  Wilson grab Johnson and drag his sorry ass back here.


   Don't you die on my you mother fucker you fight it - don't you dare die
on me or I will find you in hell and kick your ass ever minute for
eternity. Don't you fucking die on me.  Now you know why you need to know
left and right.  Yea, it is a fucking ticket home you asshole, just hope
you don't get wrapped in a body bag.  Quit fucking laughing Johnson, you
Moron.

   Bee keeper, Bee keeper, medic, medic, get your ass over here.  Not me,
Johnson.  Take care of Johnson.

   Hit them with the bloop bloop [M79 grenade launcher.] In the tree lines,
we need a secure LZ.  Lets move toward the LZ, carry anyone you can, drag
them if you can't carry them.  No one is left behind even if they are dead.

   You dead mother fuckers get your asses up and start helping with
carrying the wounded ones.

   I am going to move into the bush for a minute or two.  I will use a few
AK's, they will never know it is me until it is too late, they will not
hear the M16 they will hear their own weapons.

   Try not to kill me thinking it is them.  When in doubt fucking shoot I
will take care of myself.

   Watch the Lt, stay low, keep down in the smoke.  Charlie can see it just
like the Slicks and Cobras can.

   Bee keeper, bee keeper, get your ass over here.  My men are stung.  Move
it Medic, help the others first.  Too damn many of us are shot.  Not me the
others; do the other first.  Don't let them bleed to death while you fuck
around.

   Ok Lt, Ok.  You will be the last one off the field.  Yes I promise.

   Come on, time to dance.  Put your arms around me I got you.  Don't worry
about the bees they can't sting you, I am between you and them.

   Yes I got them all off the field.  Your first battle and you did not
lose a single man.  Your command is shot to hell but any battle you can
live after is ok.

   You are going to have to learn to write those letters some other time,
not today Lt, not today.

   Dragonflies inbound.  Stay down the hogs are right behind them.

   How the hell did you squids get your asses caught here?

   Come on Lt., stay with me.  The chief is down but not out.  Stay with
me.

   God damn it, not me the Lt.  I will put a fucking bullet in you if you
do anything but save the Lt.  Court marshal?  Not going to do you much good
if you are fucking dead.

   It was jumbled and out of sequence and order but it was all there. 
Everything was there, even the dancing it was there.  It happened, it
happened.

   "Come on baby, it is ok, you are ok, come on baby, stay with me, stay
with us.  I want it all - I am greedy.  Not just the money, I want it all.
Come back to me."

   "Who the fuck said that.  Not that cheating cunt Donna.  No, it is
someone else, I love her.  Someone else.  Babies crying, someone else."
Franklin thought.

   "Come back baby, it will be ok.  You are doing fine.  Come back to us."

   "Who the fuck was talking to me?" Franklin thought.

   I woke up to the light.  Irene was there with me.

   "Hi Irene.  I remember it all, everything.  Snakes, hogs, bees, hell
everything.  Maybe not in sequence but everything is there.  I did all this
before didn't I?"

   "Yes baby you sure did." Irene answers.  "My brave stallion is a war
horse."

   Then I see the ring on her finger.  "Irene, are you married?  How long
have I been out?"

   "You were out just a little over a year and yes I am married."

   I did not feel like saying it but I did.  "Good for you.  You deserve a
good man to spend your life with.  Is he in the Army?"

   "Yes he is Franklin" she says with a smile.  "He is a Command Sergeant
Major.  And he is a hero too." She replies.

   Just then an officer comes in.  "Sergeant Major, how you feeling today?"
He asks.

   I don't respond waiting for Irene to respond and he taps my foot.  " I
asked how are you feeling today."

   "I'm feeling better, I guess.  Have we done this before?" I finally
answered.

   "Yes we have.  You tend to come in and out.  You talk for a while and
then you go out and come back.  [Looking into my eyes] It looks like you
are doing better.  Your body is healed, you have been with us for a year
and all the holes are patched up.  No more leaks." He added with a smile.

   Looking at Irene he asks:

   "Does he know anything?"

   "He doesn't have a clue." She says.  "I should go slow but I think I
need to just dump it on him."

   I hear the sound of babies.  Irene goes over and picks up not one but
two babies, one in each arm.

   I see them and my heart aches.  They are just so beautiful.

   "How old?" I ask.

   "Three months." she says.

   "This is Franklin Jr., and this is Edna.  They are fraternal twins. 
They are yours.  Actually they are ours.  I must have gotten pregnant
within a few days of the attack.  I did not think I could have children
anymore.  You definitely knocked me up.  And yes I am married to an Army
Sergeant Major and he is a hero.  I am married to you and will be until the
day you die." She added.

   "And I found your will, and I don't want you fucking money after you
die, I want it all NOW but you have to be there with me or I don't want any
of it." Iron Claw said with a smile.

   Then she put a baby in each arm and I just looked at them.  I had a lot
of questions but not now I didn't.  Now I just wanted to look at my wife
and our children.  They were beautiful, just beautiful.

   "I did DNA for you." Irene said.

   "I don't need it, I know already." I told her.

   Then I felt it on my hand.  Irene smiled and looked when I did.  There
on my left hand was a simple gold band.

   I thought, "How did we get married and when?"

   In my arms were my two children and at my side was my wife.  How can
life get any better.

   Six months later:

   They were all at Donna's house for a Saturday get together.  There were
the nineteen original members and John Jr., Paula and Billie, along with
John Jr.'s wife.  The group was still at twenty three, but only Donna's
kids were part of it.  The other nineteen never had THEIR children there,
except those bred with their whore, Donna.  Even then they were just
someone for the original group to fuck.

   They were watching the big screen as they fixed food and began to get
ready for the weekly fuck fest they always had.  Oh, there were others but
this was a regular Saturday thing where everyone came.

   On the TV came the announcer talking about the President of the United
States going to award the Medal of Honor to Command Sergeant Major Franklin
Hill.

   At the mention of the name many of the twenty three began to listen, up
until then it was just background noise.

   "They can't possibly be talking about our Franklin Hill, he was not in
the Army." John Sr.  said.  John was the big high school football hero.  It
always irked him when someone he knew was bigger, or better, at anything.

   Then a picture of Franklin Hill, in an Army Uniform, wearing the
stripes, star, and wreath of a Command Sergeant Major appeared.  Three
chevrons up and three down, with a star in the center and a wreath fore and
aft of the star.  His chest was full of medals and he was smiling, a real
happy smile.  The next picture was of him with two children and a pregnant
woman, also a Sergeant Major in the Army.  Franklin did not looked bored or
boring anymore.

   The twenty three were stunned into silence.

   The announcer speaks.

   "We have with us today General Hanagan of the United States Army, and
Admiral Wilson, United States Navy, both Retired.

   "Before The President of the United States Presents the Medal of Honor
to Command Sergeant Major Hill, we have the privilege of speaking of two
officers that spent time with the Sergeant Major in Vietnam." The announcer
said.

   "Vietnam?  Franklin was in Vietnam?" Donna said.

   "Gentlemen, I understand that both of you served with Command Sergeant
Major Hill in Vietnam.  Tell us about it." The announcer asked.

   General Hanagan: "I served with then Sergeant Hill when I was a second
lieutenant in Vietnam.  Sergeant Hill was on his second tour, and I had the
honor of being his platoon leader.  The Platoon Sergeant should have been
an E7, but Hill had the position.  He was waiting for his Staff Sergeant
stripes; they came a few days later.

   Funny that he always had some book with him.  I asked him about it and
he said the Army let him take classes for free and he was going to take all
he could.  He said he wanted to be an accountant.

   Well, things were turning to crap in the field pretty fast by then. 
Congress was about to cut off funding for Vietnam, we were moving people
all over the place, from company to company and brigade to brigade and even
major commands.

   So I end up with a small platoon, which was actually three, six man,
squads.  While most companies had two hundred men a LURP company, actually
it is spelled LRRP, was three platoons of eighteen men each.  I had just
gotten out of the 5th Special Forces Recondo School in Nhi Trang, Vietnam.
Man did I think I was something.  By then we were all Rangers assigned to
the 75th Ranger Regiment.

   Anyway the war was in its last year but we were still fighting, even if
most of it was a rear guard action.  There were eighteen of us on a Long
Range Reconnaissance Patrol [LRRP].  We did not usually go out in that big
a number but this time we did.  We were deep in the bush when we heard bees
swarming.  Hill always called them bees.  That was the sound he heard when
the bullets started flying all around you.  Other people called them other
things but Hill called them bees.  He said it was because they not only
buzzed but stung you too.

   Well we were deep in the bush when we got hit.  Apparently the NVA was
pretty close in, and that was who we were scouting for but we never
expected them to be there in force looking for us.  Maybe someone at the
base camp, a clean-up worker or someone, tipped them off.  At least we
could radio in that the enemy had been located and in strength.  There was
always a bounty on Americans, even at the end of the war.

   The firefight lasted over an hour.  I was shot and Hill took command. 
He ordered one of the men to use the M79 Grenade Launcher and hit them hard
around a specific location and we poured what we had into the area.  It did
not do any good.  They kept coming.  Hill said it was like we just made a
bee hive full of bees mad.  Eventually we were running low on ammunition
and Hill and a few others went hand to hand with a few that got close.  He
gave us his ammunition and he went for the blade.  Hill was always good
with a knife.

   I saw Staff Sergeant Hill with one NVA and they both had knives.  Who
ever was on the other side must have been having the same problems and was
using blades the same as us.  This chess game was not good, there were not
enough of us to trade them one for one.  Hill was holding the NVA soldier's
knife hand with his left, and striking with his own blade with his right.
He killed the one man and then another.  Before it ended he had actually
killed three of them.  Hill never faltered.  He told us his job was to get
us home not to get there himself.  He was deadly with a blade.  He was even
wounded out there in the no man's land.  Later I told him it reminded me of
that movie, West Side Story where the Jets and the Sharks were fighting.

   Hill had two men with him and that black humor took over and they ended
up laughing in the middle of the damn battle.  That was Hill.  He could
break the tension and still keep you focused.  He would even smile but it
was not real.  It was more like a bad actor trying to convey emotion, you
knew it was fake, but he tried.

   We put out a call and soon had inbound help.  The first to arrive were
the little Cessna A-37's.  They are small jet trainers but were now
equipped for battle and were well armed with bombs and miniguns.  The army
called them combat dragons, pilots called them Super Tweets, but we called
them Dragonflies.  They don't have much range but they got in fast and gave
us some time.  It slowed down the NVA reinforcements too.

   Then the Cobra's got in and lit the entire jungle up.  There must have
been a dozen of them making runs until the Slicks arrived.  Where a Cobra,
AH-1, is a Huey with electric miniguns, like in the movie `Predator' and
lots of firepower, a Slick is an unarmed Huey, actually a UH-1 but we
called them a Huey too.  A Cobra minigun can shoot 4,000 rounds a minute
from each gun and it was still using the larger 7.62 NATO rounds.  It was
built on the old Vulcan Principal, but with smaller rounds.  The principal
is simple, it is a Gatlin Gun with lots of ammunition and an electric
motor. It will never overheat at 4,000 rounds a minute.  A Cobra carried
two Miniguns each, plus anything else we could strap on the things

   You get 8,000 rounds a minute out of one Cobra and you get a few of them
up there and it literally rains hot brass down on you.  You have to cover
up or get your ass burned.

   A Slick is an unarmed Huey and a Cobra is a Huey with miniguns and a Hog
is a UH-1 Huey but with rockets.  There were a lot of variations and even
other names, but you get the idea.  If you could put a weapon it you did.

   Slicks were for transport and we sure as hell needed it.  Despite being
wounded himself Hill got the men moving to the Slicks and I ordered him to
let me go last.  During this time the Cobras had backed off but the firing
started again so Hill took a few old AK47's from the enemy dead in the
field and returned fire, and actually attacked the NVA advanced groups who
were trying to cut us off and take down a few Slicks at the same time.  It
was a damn dangerous time for everyone.  Hill continued his own attack
until almost everyone could board.  He was hit twice doing this but he
provided enough fire power to slow them down.  They were just too close for
the Cobras to help.

   Then he came and got me.  He had to pick me up by the waist holding my
web gear and I had my arms around his neck with what little strength I had
left so I would not just fall over backwards.  I was bleeding out.  He was
about five foot nine and I doubt if he was more than one hundred and twenty
five pounds and he actually carried me to the slick.  You have to remember
that he was wounded then too.  Then he stood on the skid and dropped me a
little, until me feet touched the ground.

   "Sir, all of your men are accounted for and are already boarded, you may
now leave the field" he said to me and then he literally tossed me onboard
while still standing on the skid.

   He told me that now I could say that I was the last man on the field. 
That was Hill for you.  He took care of his men and me.  He knew it was
important for an officer to be the last man to leave the field of battle
and then only after all of his men were taken care of and were off the
field.

   I recommended him for the Medal of Honor.  He saved us all.  I later
learned that he got the Silver Star.  He saved all of our lives that day, I
am glad he finally got The Medal.

   I tried to find him later to thank him but he was in the field, his
wounds were not serious enough to get him a ticket home, or he did not want
one, but I kept looking for him and then I learned that he got out and no
one knew where he was.

   He sort of had the look.  You see it every once in a while.  Some men
get it when they get orders, or when the patrol starts or when the shooting
starts.  Some never get it at all.  Every man is different.  Some lose the
look when the fighting is over and some will take a week to lose it.  They
are in a special place, a place where civilized men hide when they have to
do uncivilized things, like kill other men, sometimes in the hot blood of
battle and sometime times it is in cold blood before a battle starts and
you are moving in to take out sentries or other observers.  I was with Hill
for more than a month, he never lost the look.  He was always some place
else, but the warrior was always there for everyone to see and the warrior
was always ready to react.

   It has been over thirty years, I see the look is finally gone when he
holds his children or looks at his wife.  It is good to see him happy."

   [By this time Donna and her fuck buddies and her three children sat in
stunned silence watching the television.]

   And Admiral Wilson, you served with Sergeant Major Hill too.  Would you
care to tell us about it?

   Admiral Wilson: "My time with the Sergeant Major was not much different
than it was with the General.

   I had just made First Lieutenant, that would be a Captain in the Army or
Marines.  I was operating a Seal Team that was not supposed to be there. 
Officially we had removed all active platoons in December 1971 but we still
had `Advisors' there until March of 1973.  My team was part of those
"Advisors."

   The area we were operating in overlapped with some Army LURP areas. 
During one month we got pretty friendly with a young Staff Sergeant named
Hill.  We did the usual banter about him being an Army puke and we were
Squids ready to be eaten and stuff like that.  We even got into some good
fights together.  Not fights with each other but with the enemy.

   It was the last one that almost killed us all.

   Ten minutes into a fight we were not supposed to be in and we were
getting ambushed and flanked.  There are times when sheer numbers control
and this was one of those times.  Hill just showed up.  He was like that,
this was part of his area and he patrolled it like a cop on the beat.  He
came in heavy.  You would have thought he was a full company or a platoon
at least but it was just him.  He made one hell of a lot of noise.

   I went down and so did my Chief and strangely enough that left Hill as
senior.  Everyone knew him so it was natural.  He moved the men around,
stopped a flanking movement, and lead an assault against a weak flank of
the enemy.  The speed of Hill's movements scared the shit our of the enemy.
They must have thought, at least for a few minutes, they had run into a
full company.  In the end we were all shot to hell.  Bullets were flying
everywhere and Hill kept talking about the damn bees swarming.  He was like
that, he was making jokes but without smiling.  I never saw him smile or
joke around with anyone outside of battle, but during combat he seemed to
calm down, more like deadly calm.  He would make you concentrate by saying
something funny, but he was deadly serious.  He even made a joke or two but
I had the feeling it was just to calm the rest of us down enough to do our
jobs and get home safe.

   It was a replay of what the General said.  This time when the slicks got
there Command Sergeant Major Hill was going to be treated first and he
threatened to shoot the Medic if he treated him before everyone else got
treated.

   We were lucky that we were in I Corps area and the First Cavalry was
close and fully armed.  They had been ready for a different mission so they
just moved to us.  The Dragonflies came first followed by the Hogs and then
the Cobras.  The slicks were close behind.

   Hill was shot to hell that time.  He drug me to the slick and he and I
were the last men to leave.  He picked me up and literally ran keeping his
body between me and the enemy firing at us from his back.

   Like with the General he made sure my boots were the last ones in the
mud.  For an officer to be the first to be on the field and the last to
leave is a big deal, Hill made sure that happened for me.

   He told me he was really tired of this and wanted nothing more than to
go home, fall in love, get married, have a bunch of kids and be the most
boring man in the world.  He had enough damn excitement to last a lifetime.
He intended to forget he was ever in the Army or in Vietnam, or that he had
ever killed anyone.  It was not even going to be a memory for him.

   Well it was about three months later that Hill and I crossed paths
again. Like the General I recommended Hill for the Medal of Honor.  Three
months later we were standing in the Pentagon where the Secretary of the
Navy awarded him with the Navy Cross.  Funny that an Army man gets the Navy
Cross, but he was fighting with Navy men and I was the officer that
recommended him for it and it was Navy men that he saved, so he got it.

   Hill was quiet but respectful.  I would have thought that he would have
been more, well, happy.  I sure as hell would have been happy getting the
Navy Cross.  It is only one step below the Medal of Honor.  Hill never even
smiled except when they wanted to take his picture and they told him to
smile.  Somber was his mood, yes somber.

   It was his last day in the military.  When the ceremony was over Hill
was dismissed.  He could have stayed and been a big hero to everyone but he
just left.  Before he left I took off my Navy Seal Badge and handed it to
him.  He did not say a word, but he sort of smiled and nodded, and then he
disappeared.  I saw him a few hours later waiting at a bus stop by the
Pentagon, dressed in civilian clothes, a pair of Levi's and some long
sleeve tan shirt.  I stopped and smiled and asked him if he wanted a ride.

   "Sure" he said, as if I was a stranger, not the man whose life he saved.

   "Where you going Hill?" I asked.

   "How did you know my name?" he replied.

   I was surprised but I remembered what he said and decided to play along.


   "It is written on your duffel bag." I said.

   He looked over and shrugged.

   "Where you headed?" I asked.

   "Greyhound or Trailways , either of them.  I am going to go to college
out west." Hill said.

   "Which college?" I asked, just to get him to talk.

   "One out west." Was all I could get out of him.

   We drove in silence until we got to Greyhound.  He thanked me and got
out leaving his gear in the car.

   "You forgot this" I said pointing to the duffel.

   "Not mine" he said.  "Never been in the military.  Just got out of the
hospital, been in a coma for two years after an auto accident, never
served."

   "Well this one is yours, it has your name on it, `Franklin Hill' was
stenciled on it." I said and handed him a box that I knew was full of
awards and decorations and letters of commendation.  This box had no
indicia it was military anything, no rank or serial number, nothing of the
sort, unlike the duffel bag, which had all of that on it.  I had seen the
box before, he had it with him, as well as the duffel bag back in the
Pentagon when he got the Navy Cross.  It was a large brown heavy manifest
type box with twine around it, not tied as a Navy Man would, you
understand.

   "Yea sure." He said.

   Then he picked it up like he never saw it before.  He sort of moved it
all around, shook it, looking at the sides as well as the top and bottom.
He looked again at the name, and it was his.  He shrugged again and without
smiling or saying anything else to me he turned and walked away.  The box
held the Navy Cross and at least one Silver Star, a bunch of Purple Hearts,
and only God and the Department of Defense knew what else he won in those
two years.

   I remembered what he said to me that day he saved my life as he carried
me from the field and into the slick.  He was just going to forget it ever
happened and move on.  I guess this was his first step.  The man saved my
life and my men's lives and if this is how he wanted to do it I was not
going to argue with him.

   It was the last I ever saw of him, until now.  I kept his duffel for
almost five years, sort of out of respect, and then I gave it to good will
after I looked inside to make sure nothing embarrassing was in it.

   There was not one personal thing inside of it.  No letters or pictures,
not even photographs of men he served with.  There were no tags on the
uniforms, no dog tags, it was as if Hill was never there, like he never
existed.

   But there was something that was really strange in it, text books.  The
Army had a program where you could take free courses and get college credit
and the duffel was full of text books, history, English, but mostly
accounting stuff.

   You have to remember how it was then.  Now you return from a war zone
and there is mandatory time on base and you get some help adjusting.

   But every war before then they just sent you home.  WW1, WW2, Korea and
Vietnam, one day you were fighting, watching your friends die and killing
to stay alive and the next day you were back in the world.

   One day you settle problems with an enemy by killing him and then you
have to be nice and never get angry enough to kill.  You hurt inside but no
one can see it so everyone thinks you are ok but you are far from ok, you
are hurt, injured, damaged.

   I have seen stranger, but that is how a hero is.  He does his duty and
leaves it behind to live his life.  He would have left his medals there in
the car if I had not told him to take them.  He was done and he was moving
on.

   I did not know if he really thought he had been in a coma for two years
or just made it up, but if it helped a hero fight the pain I was not going
to tell him it was wrong.

   About then his Ex-son John remembered something he saw years ago.

   "I remember that box" John says.  "I found it years ago and dad told me
it was nothing important and he took me out to play catch.  When I looked
for it again it was not there, but I forgot about it.  Maybe he left it."

   No one would ever know if Franklin actually remember what was in the box
and consciously moved it or something deep inside of him that kept him sane
and defended him against those old memories told him to move it without
knowing what was in it.  If you asked him today he would not even remember
the event.

   John went down stairs to find it.  It never dawned on him that he used
the word "dad" instead of Franklin.

   He came back with the box as the President had just finished awarding
Franklin the Medal of Honor for the second time.  Not since "Pappy"
Boyington, had a man been awarded the same Medal of Honor twice.  The first
time "Pappy" was awarded the Medal it was awarded posthumously, along with
the Navy Cross.  The second time President Truman awarded it to him was
after "Pappy" was found alive after spending twenty months in a Japanese
Prisoner of War camp.  They thought he was dead.  So he got it the first
time as a dead man.  Pappy always thought that was funny.  He came back
from the dead to get it again.

   The President told of how he was in a helicopter on an unscheduled and
secret visit to the troops, it was an adjunct to one he was publicly on to
a close country, when a lucky shot disabled the helicopter engine.  The
chopper went down and before his Marines in the other helicopters could get
down he was under fire.  He and his other advisors and Secret Service
Agents ran toward a set of buildings as the chopper now became the focal
point of the attack.  There was nothing on it to indicate it was the
President's but he became a target as his Secret Service detail surrounded
him as he ran which made the attackers think he might be someone important.

   The President continues to speak:

   "As we were running for cover we saw Command Sergeant Major [CSM] Hill
attacking the enemy all by himself, at least in the beginning.  Then I saw
a downed soldier and Hill stopped for a few seconds, gave that person
something and ran toward the enemy.

   "Hill was shooting the enemy with deadly accuracy, almost every shot hit
the target.  This allowed the other American soldiers to regroup start
their assault too.

   "Then Hill ran out of ammunition and attacked a man using only his
knife. Even at that distance it was clear that the man was a walking bomb,
just from the way his clothes moved and you could see something attached to
his chest.

   "Without regard for himself but thinking only of others Hill grabbed the
detonator which was in the mans right hand with his own left hand and
killed the man with his knife and then carried him over to a trench where
the explosion did little harm.

   "The other attackers attempted to kill Hill by shooting him several
times so that he would drop the man and the bomb explode.  Hill was shot
several times but refused to stop until everyone was safe.

   "But that is not all he did.

   "When we finally reached him he made a request.  The soldier he stopped
for is now too a Sergeant Major Hill, but was then Claw.  He asked that he
be allowed to marry her before he died and then asked that I bring him back
into the Army so that she would have his Survivors Benefits pay.

   "Fair is fair, I brought him back in as a Command Sergeant Major and did
the fastest marriage ceremony in history.  I said "Do you take" twice and
getting two yes answers they were married by the President of the United
States.

   "Now I understand, by the maternity uniform that Sergeant Major Irene
Hill is wearing that we have two more little Hills on the way.  That makes
four now.

   "It is men like Command Sergeant Major Hill who come when their country
need them and then go back to regular life without mentioning their
heroism; that is the backbone of America.  We are proud to have him serve
with us and for us.

   "This time we are not going to let him go though.  We are keeping him in
the Army, he is home.

   "In the audience is his bride's grandparents one of whom is familiar to
many of you.  Master Sergeant Strong Bear, who is himself a Medal of Honor
recipient, would you please stand so that we may all honor you.

   [Master Sergeant Strong Bear was the man Franklin would come to think of
as his father-in-law.  It had only been a month after Franklin finally came
back into the world that he and his wife and children traveled back into
Montana to meet her relatives on the reservation.  While there on medical
leave Franklin and his bride were joined in the traditional Blackfoot
Marriage Ceremony.  It was at that time, only four months after she gave
birth, that she became pregnant again.  Their children were inducted into
the great Blackfoot Nation.

   [Iron Claw beamed with the news of the pregnancy.  She was a Blackfoot
bride, a Blackfoot mother and the wife of a warrior, whose scars of battle
proved his worth to the members of her tribe.  To her each scar was a
beautiful reminder of how brave her husband was and that her Grey Stallion
was her man forever.

   It was at that time that Franklin and his bride had the following
discussion:
[Franklin: My love I worry about you being pregnant again.  I cannot
give up making love to you but I am afraid that after this you will get
pregnant again and again.  Maybe I should get fixed so that will not
happen.
[Iron Claw: Husband, would you make me wedded to a gelding rather than a
stallion?  We shall not quit making love and I shall have as many children
as the Spirit allows.  I have a warrior as a husband and I want the world
to see that he is a warrior at home as much as he is away.  And that was

the end of the conversation.]

   [There would be no more children after the birth of the second set of
twins, also a boy and a girl.  They too would become members of the
Blackfoot Nation.  These two would actually be born on the reservation and
Franklin would be there during the birth to cut the cords and breathe life
into them.  Other than their mother the first person whose skin they felt
was that of Franklin.  Franklin was a doting father and husband.  For the
next ten years the family would travel around the world as part of the
military mission.  Because of his devotion to his country and his bravery
in battle, Franklin and his bride would always be posted to the same
location, although assigned different duties.  They finally retired on the
same day.  Franklin was never again allowed to enter a war zone, despite
his attempts to obtain such an assignment.  He was a national treasure as
far as the Department of Defense was concerned.  Their children would grow
up on military bases all over the world and when the time was right two of
them entered West Point and two Annapolis, all four as a result of
Presidential Appointments.]

   Back to the present:

   The president continues to speak:

   "And Command Sergeant Major Hill, I want to advise you that a Sergeant
Major is a Sergeant Major, command or not, and your wife has date of rank
on you, so you better follow her orders."

   While everyone was laughing and clapping and the formal ceremony had
ended and the President and the First Lady were being greeted by the many
people there, it was after all a political event as much as one to honor
Command Sergeant Major Hill, things were happening away from the levity of
the moment.

   It was then that John Jr.  opened the box and inside were Franklin's dog
tags and some boxes with medals and ribbons in them as well as citations.

   They put them all out on the large table to look at them.  They found
the Navy Cross and the Silver Star, but they were not lonely.  Inside were
a number of Bronze Star Medals with little small "V" devices attached to
them signifying they were given for Valor in Battle.  There were Army
Commendation Medals, Navy Commendation Medals, even an Air Force
Commendation Medal, all with the "V" devices attached.  It was not unheard
of that a service member of one branch would get a medal from another
branch for something that was done in the service of that other branch,
unusual but not unheard of.  There were a number of Purple Hearts.  When
you got three you were supposed to leave the theater, Franklin had six. 
Some were gotten when he was operating with Navy Personnel and others at an
Air Force Base he helped to defend during an assault, so they never all got
into his 201 file at the same time.  No one actually realized how many
times he was actually wounded.  That accounted for all of those scars. 
Some were bullet wounds, some from exploding devices and others from blade
wounds in hand to hand combat.  For what ever reason Franklin chose to say
it was an automobile accident, rather than the truth.  Maybe he really did
not remember.  Maybe the dreams were his way of remembering the horrors of
battle, but no one will ever know.  There was also a Good Conduct Metal. 
There was a Combat Infantry Man's Badge as well as a Gold Badge with an
Anchor on it with an Eagle, Trident and some kind of Pistol, the badge of a
Navy Seal.  No orders accompanied this last badge, but it was obvious it
was the one the Admiral gave Franklin that last day.

   There were also a number of Medals awarded by the Republic of Vietnam to
Franklin.

   Each Medal was accompanied with not only a written citation but also the
paperwork that lead to the recommendation of the award too.

   The General and the Admiral were wrong, the paperwork showed.  Franklin
did more, so much more.  There were testimonials from other members of the
teams he was on when he got the Silver Star and Navy Cross.  The General
and the Admiral saw only one side of the story, the other men saw more, so
much more.

   By this time everyone around the table was reading one of the papers and
looking at all the medals.

   John Jr.  look at Donna and then to the fat blob that frequently fucked
his young wife and his young sisters and asked:

   "This is the man whose genes you thought were superior to Franklin's?"

   The last thing in the box was at the bottom.  It was an envelope
addressed to:

   "My Children"

   John Jr.  opened the letter and read it aloud.  A letter written by a
twenty year old boy to his future children.

   "My dear children, I hope I have children.  I am writing this to you on
the eve of my leaving the Army.  I have done some things that a civilized
man should not do and just because it is war does not make it right.  They
were things I had to do, but I hurt inside at having to do them.  Being
young does not make it right, but I will try my best to do right from now
on.  It is never to late to try to do what is right.  I am going to put it
all behind me and do my best to forget it ever happened while atoning for
it too.  But before that happens I want to leave you with some words that I
hope to live by and I hope will have meaning for you.

   The value of a man or a woman is not what is found inside of a box, or
in words written by someone on a piece of paper, or things to wear so
everyone will know what you have done, but in how he lives his life, day
after day.  It is in how he treats his friends and strangers too, but most
important it is how he treats his family.

   It is how he shows them love and devotion by always putting them first,
no matter what the cost to himself.  It is icing on the cake that they love
him so much that it does not matter how much money he makes or how smart he
is, but just because he is who he is and because of that, every day of his
life he does the best he can for them and they do the same for him in
return.  That is the measure of a person.  I hope I have lived up to that
for you.

   May God Bless you and keep you and may He forgive me for what I have
done to my fellow human beings in war.  May He never have to have to
forgive you for what you do because you live a just, upright and moral life
as a good human being and a loving parent and a faithful husband or wife.

   Your Loving Father

   Franklin

   John and his half sisters were crying when the letter was finished.

   "I'm finished here, anyone coming with me?" John said as he carefully
picked up all of the papers and documents and putting them back into the
box in the order they were originally in.

   His sisters got up and walked out the door with John, his wife stayed.

   Three days later a box was delivered to the Pentagon, addressed to
Command Sergeant Major Hill.  Inside the outer box was a brown box tied
with twine.  It was duly delivered unopened to Command Sergeant Major Hill.

   Inside was the contents it originally contained and a brief typed note
found in an envelope under the twine but not inside of the box.

   "This is not for us.  We wish to god it was but it isn't."

   The letter was unsigned but Franklin Hill knew who it was from.

   Four months later John was single and he and Paula and Billie had new
names.

   "We can do better, be better, this time.  We can be like dad wanted,
like he showed us." He said to his sisters as they all slowly walked off
together.
Epilog:
It was a few months after I got my original awards back that I showed
Strong Bear the letter.  We were all sitting around the fire on a warm
summer day.  There were probably fifty or more of us, it was a common meal
and everyone was there to enjoy the evening.  Iron Claw was there, looking
beautiful as ever with our children.  I loved to call her that.  She was
due soon.  Her pride in me was obvious as was her grandmother's in Strong

Bear.

   My love for her showed in her being pregnant again and our children.

   I showed Strong Bear the letter I wrote as a child to my children.  He
read it and smiled and passed it around.  I was a little taken aback that
such a personal letter would be shared without my permission.  But my
surprise was even greater when it came back to him.  Much to my chagrin, he
tossed it into the fire.

   "Words on paper mean nothing, you wrote that yourself.  Show your
children yourself, show them by how you live your life.  You already know
that too."

   He was right of course, he was always right I would come to find out.

   And for the next thirty years Iron Claw and I did just that.

   And in case you are wondering about Donna, she did not live long after
all of this came out.  A year of so after it all happened someone sent her
video's of her "lovers" talking about her and what the really thought of
her.  She was just something to fuck, meat to be devoured as they chose. 
They talked about how they got her to have children with them and then
fucked her children.  How they used her and her children for years as sex
toys.  It was also posted on the internet and copies were sent to all of
the neighbors.

   Donna killed herself.

   When she was found she was holding one picture; it was of her, Franklin,
and the children, at some amusement park.  Everyone was smiling and
laughing and they all looked happy.  No one knows where she got the
picture, or even who took it or why she kept it.  It was buried with her.
Only two people solemnly followed the casket to the grave site following
the service.  They were the only two to attend.  The guest sheet simply
listed them as Grey Stallion and Iron Claw.

   A few weeks later a number of video's hit the internet of the nineteen,
now eighteen, swingers all having sex, including with their own children
made with Donna.  There were thousands of hours of sex sessions.  The group
had been recording them for years and now they were out.  The last part of
every recording was where they talked about Donna as a their stupid whore,
and a picture of her body and the autopsy report listing the cause of death
as suicide by poison.

   The group broke up.  They were ostracized in their own home town and
many moved away and the rest became reclusive.  For the rest of their lives
those videos seemed to appear where ever they moved to.

   No one knows who sent the videos or who posted them or who was sending
them out to the new neighbors of the swingers whose quest for personal
sexual pleasure destroyed the lives of so many innocent people.