Zwylliger

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JimBob44
JimBob44
5,020 Followers

"Field promotion; promoted him tonight," Dwayne Jefferson laughed.

X.X.X

Stan, Sam, and Al were exiting the McDonald's in DeGarde, Louisiana and happened to see Paul filling up a customer's truck at the gas station.

"Hey, Paul, heard from Sheila lately?" Stan asked.

"Yeah, you hear from her, tell her I'm kind of wanting a little more of that pussy," Al taunted.

Paul put the nozzle back onto the pump, ignoring the three louts.

"Now, y'all boys just go on about your business, you hear?" Marlon Huvall, the owner of the Texaco ordered.

"And I'm kind of hoping for a little more of that sweet mouth, man could she suck a..." Sam laughed.

Sam's shin cracked as Paul drove the heel of his boot into it. Sam screamed as the bone tore through the leg of his jeans.

Stan clutched at his face as Paul's fist slammed into his sneering mouth. Al charged Paul and Paul sidestepped him, slamming him face first into the side of the pick up truck.

Mudder funker!" Stan sobbed, swallowing two of his teeth.

"Now, you just quit that," Marlon demanded and Paul quit kicking the prone Al.

"I'm goin' shue you!" Stan screamed

Judge Dan Robertson was very quick to indict Paul Zwylliger and Sheriff Herman Vidou read Paul Zwylliger his rights in front of his sobbing mother.

Marlon Huvall did testify that the three boys had taunted Paul but also had to admit that Paul had been the one to throw the first punch.

"The only punch," he conceded. "Shit, three big bullies, and one average sized guy and he took care of them, no muss, and no fuss."

Mrs. Zwylliger screamed and cried when Judge Dan Robertson handed down his sentence; Four years in the United States Armed Services, or ten to twelve in Angola.

"But he has a scholarship! He's going to college!" she begged the smirking judge.

"Well, isn't that nice? And if he survives Vietnam, maybe he can still go to college," the Judge said.

X.X.X

Paul continued to lead them through the jungle toward the battalion, ignoring the pain in his feet, in his atrophied legs, in his back.

"Hear them? He asked as they broke through the jungle.

"Hear what? I don't hear..." Lane Neiman asked.

"I hear them!" Lieutenant David Glass screamed happily.

"And so does half the fucking Viet Cong, cock sucker!" Paul hissed, slapping his hand over the man's mouth.

"Convoy ho!" Major Don Brady called out as he saw the eight men staggering toward them.

A Huey was called in to transport the men and Paul and Dwayne were unashamed to hug each other cry tears of relief.

Paul gave Major Brady the coordinates for the NVA encampment.

He knew that the villagers would also be casualties of the conflict and did feel some sorrow. There was a wedding planned three days hence, a young, not very attractive girl was betrothed to a young man from a nearby village and the families had slaughtered a pig for the wedding feast. He knew there would be no wedding and no feast.

As they were hoisted into the belly of the helicopter, Paul saw the three jets streak overhead, then heard the loud 'whump' of 1,000 pound bombs striking the ground.

No, there would be no wedding and no feast.

"Godspeed, Colonel," Major Brady saluted Paul.

"But I'm not..." Paul protested as the large bird lifted up and Major Brady's face disappeared from the open door.

Dwayne and Lane and Peter chuckled at Paul's consternation.

X.X.X

Paul had celebrated Christmas on base, sharing with a few of his buddies the tin of cookies his mother sent.

He celebrated his eighteenth birthday, crammed in the bowels of the USS Sam Houston.

As dank and miserable as the interior of the USS Sam Houston was, it was nothing compared to the misery of the jungles of Vietnam. It seemed that it rained constantly, and even when it wasn't raining, the very air itself was still wet and soggy.

Because of his high grades in school, and his high test marks in both boot camp and basics, Paul was made the radio man for his platoon. But even so, he was still expected to shoulder his share of grunt work.

He had been a smoker when he began his four year stretch, but after the third week of trying to light a sodden cigarette, Paul decided to quit the habit.

Lieutenant Bob Dow was rotated out at the end of Paul's first tour and Lieutenant David Glass was rotated in. Under the new commander of their platoon, it went from intolerable to excruciating.

Chapter 3

The eight of them were put on a hospital ship that sailed to Manila. In Manila, they were treated at the military hospital.

Paul's injuries and illnesses took nine weeks to treat; Lieutenant Glass's injuries took nearly twelve weeks.

With their unending compassion, Paul was shuttled right back to Saigon, then to another platoon under a Lieutenant that seemed to think if he was everyone's buddy, then they'd all have a much easier time of it.

The problem with Lieutenant Jarvis's strategy was that none of the men under his command respected him.

Paul had no respect for Lieutenant Jarvis when he arrived, and had even less after they walked into an ambush. Lieutenant Jarvis began screaming and crying and even dropped his rifle.

Paul was not going to be taken prisoner again and walked directly into the fray, rifle burping shot after shot as he slaughtered the NVA combatants.

He spotted movement in the bush to his right and tossed a hand grenade into the bush, while still squeezing off shot after shot at the attacking force on his left.

"God damn, mother fucker, you one crazy ass white boy," Boyd Waters laughed when the jungle was again silent.

: Uh huh, come on, let's get Lieutenant Nancy home and get him a new tampon for his pussy, huh?" Paul said.

Instead of congratulations or thanks, there was a member of the Judge Advocate General's staff waiting for Paul Zwylliger at their barracks.

"Corporal Zwylliger?" the man barked. "Or should I say 'Colonel' Paul Zwylliger?"

"Uh no, no, it's Corporal," Paul said, confused.

While being held in the stockade in Saigon, Paul found out that Lieutenant, now Captain David Glass, in an effort to cover up his own incompetence, had lodged complaints against Paul. Among his complaints was impersonating an officer.

The JAG office appointed an attorney that listened to Paul's side of the story.

"Well, if that's all there is to it, then I'm sure we'll be able to just have you demoted down to Private first class and..." the man said.

"God damn it, pencil neck mother fucker; you're not even listening to me!" Paul yelled at the man. "I did nothing! Nothing except for save his useless fucking ass! And now I'm being demoted?"

"Well, um, these are some um, pretty serious charges and um," the man said, shuffling through the papers.

"Get Dwayne in here; he'll tell you just how brave good old Lieutenant Glass was," Paul sneered.

"Yes well um, Corporal Dwayne Jefferson was um, he was killed in action, um, Twenty eight, August, Nineteen Seventy three, I'm afraid," the attorney said.

The other five men, however, did testify on Paul's behalf in front of the military tribunal and all charges were supposedly dropped. But Paul knew that he would never advance any further in the United States Army; it would forever be in his dossier that a commanding officer brought court martial proceedings against him.

X.X.X

Graham Johnson, knowing that he was on the inside track to becoming the next District Attorney for St. Elizabeth Parish was loathe taking the Zwylligers' case. Paul's parents were struggling financially and put a mortgage on their modest home; but they were desperate to have Paul's exceptionally harsh sentence overturned.

He did charge them a hefty five hundred dollar retainer, put the money in his pocket and forgot all about Paul Zwylliger.

Judge Dan Robertson did ask Sheriff Didou and his officers began a campaign of harassment against the Zwylligers. Mr. Sam Zwylliger found his car tail lights smashed, and then found himself being given a ticket for driving with smashed tail lights.

"But I'm going right down to the gas station have them fixed!" he protested.

After that, Sam parked the car in his garage. Still, he found himself with a police escort every time he or Alice left the house.

"Wheels of Justice Turn slow," was Graham Johnson's answer whenever Alice or Sam would call to see if there was any progress being made.

X.X.X

Paul was waiting for his next deployment and decided to see some of the sights of Saigon.

A hooker helped Paul get rid of his virginity and also introduced him to the joys of penicillin (although it would be a few weeks before he would find out about that).

A bar promised to have some of the most beautiful women in all of Saigon and Paul decided that he had seen very few beautiful women in Vietnam so he paid the ridiculous five dollar cover charge and entered the bar.

A girl danced very badly to Jefferson Airplane's 'White Rabbit' and peeled down her short skirt to reveal filthy cotton panties. A second girl, wearing only a long blonde wig gyrated and jiggled her rear end very close to a drunken soldier.

Paul found it all oddly stimulating and depressing at the same time. But since he'd blown five dollars to enter the dismal place, he decided to have a beer or two.

"Five dollars I suck you cock, I like suck cock," a girl offered as Paul approached the bar.

Paul shook his head no and ordered a beer. The beer was lukewarm but it tasted great to Paul.

"Come on, you fucking whore!" Paul heard someone scream at the girl that still wore the filthy panties.

Paul squinted through the darkness and haze of cigarette smoke and saw Captain David Glass seated at the stage area.

"Thank you, Jesus," Paul smiled.

"God damn it, five fucking dollars I better see some God damned pussy, you fucking..." David screamed then squawked as a sharp pain slammed into his back.

"Should have left you to die in that river, you fucking backstabbing shit," David heard someone hiss in his ear.

David staggered to his feet, and then collapsed to the filthy floor of the bar.

Paul went to the restroom, emptied his bladder, and then washed his knife in the sink.

Paul returned to his seat and was not surprised to see that his beer was already gone. He ordered another and watched, with amusement, as two portly Vietnamese men dragged Captain David Glass out of the bar.

"Had too much, huh?" Paul asked the bartender, nodding with his head toward Captain David Glass as the bartender put the foaming glass in front of him.

"Yes sir happens all the time," the man shrugged.

"Five dollar, you fuck me ass, I love cock in ass, feel so good," the girl offered Paul and frowned when Paul shook his head no.

"Four dollar?" the girl bargained.

"Mui, you stupid girl," the bartender yelled at her in Vietnamese. "Four dollar? You need twenty dollars tonight, you never going make twenty dollars!"

"Five dollar up the ass, huh?" Paul asked, pulling David's wallet out of his pocket.

"Yeah, five dollar," the girl agreed happily. "I like in ass, feel so good, you good lover, yeah?"

Paul peeled a ten dollar bill out of the wallet and showed the girl the ten dollar bill. Her eyes gleamed. Paul held onto the gill tightly.

"Where?" he asked.

"Here, come sit table," the girl said and pulled him to a dark corner of the bar.

She unzipped Paul's trousers, spit on her hand, then smeared her spittle on the head of his cock, then sat down on his lap, facing away from him. Paul wasn't sure if he really was in her ass or not, but really didn't care; it was David that was paying for this. Even though he'd just ejaculated less than two hours earlier with his first hooker, Paul did not last too long and the girl sighed happily.

"Here, keep the change," Paul said, slapping the ten into the girl's hand.

"No change," the girl barked all business now.

"Fine, fine, don't care," Paul said and, after pulling all the money out of the wallet, dropped it on the floor and kicked it under the table.

Stepping out of the bar, he could see four Vietnamese men stripping David's body of his clothing. One of them looked at Paul and nodded when Paul smiled ands shrugged his shoulders.

It would be morning before David's body would be picked up by the United States Army and they would discover the two stab wounds in David's back. An autopsy would reveal that both kidneys had been sliced through.

By the time of the autopsy, Paul Wilier was fifty miles away, under Major Brady's command.

X.X.X

"State Attorney, Ziggler speaking," a bored man intoned into his telephone.

"Uh huh, uh huh, I see, okay, we'll look into it," John Ziggler promised, hung up and called Sheriff Herman Vidou to check into Alice Zwylliger's complaint. A second phone call to Graham Johnson's office yielded even less information.

John Ziggler wrote out the complaint, wrote out the responses he'd gotten, and stuffed it all into a manila folder and forgot about it.

"No shit?" Sheriff Herman Vidou snapped when Judge Robertson call about the call from the State Attorney's Office.

"Take care of this, NOW," Judge Robertson demanded.

X.X.X

"Ready, Colonel?" Major Brady asked.

"Don't start that shit," Paul smiled.

"Still cannot believe that little piss ant turned fink on you like that, Major Brady laughed and lighted yet another cigarette.

"Yeah, well, takes all kinds, huh?" Paul said and moved forward, eyes never ceasing their search of the jungle.

"Down!" he suddenly screamed and the eleven men did exactly that.

A millisecond later, the eerie twilight of the jungle was lighted by a barrage of flashes, and then the flashes of return fire began.

Paul instinctively tossed a hand grenade toward where he had seen the movement that had alerted him. He felt the concussion a split second before he heard the bang and then there was total silence.

They did not move for several minutes, until Major Brady ordered one of the black men to survey.

"Fuck, why you always sending me?" the man grumbled, but crawled on his belly toward where the gunfire had come from.

Ten minutes later, the man returned, walking upright.

"Was three fucking kids," he said, voice thick with emotion. "Didn't even look ten years old. This is just some fucked up mess, man. Just some fucked up mess."

He elbowed Paul.

"Was your grenade got them, Colonel; they was in a pit. Our bullets wasn't nowhere near them."

"Don't call me Colonel; it's Corporal," Paul wearily said.

"Uh huh," the man said, and then turned to Major Brady. "Give me a cigarette, huh?"

Chapter 4

The cause of death was listed as 'accidental' and the St. Elizabeth Parish M.E. did not need to perform an autopsy on Sam or Alice Zwylliger. Their mangled bodies left no doubt to the cause of death.

Sheriff Vidou did not waste any manpower searching for the hit and run semi that had run into the couple as they left St. Richard's eleven o'clock mass.

Graham Johnson, as the newly appointed District Attorney, did promise to find the driver responsible.

The bank foreclosed on the Zwylliger home and Judge Dan Robertson bought it for his mistress, Pamela Smith. The thirty five year old black woman was very appreciative to finally have a house for herself and her three teenage daughters.

X.X.X

"Good luck, Colonel," Major Brady smiled, saluting Paul Zwylliger.

"Fuck; quit calling me that!" Paul hissed, afraid some upper brass might overhear the man's jest.

"Son, I, and our men? We weren't following my orders, we were following yours," Major Brady said seriously.

"Still, man," Paul complained.

"Good luck at home, son; real sorry for your loss," the Major said, saluted again and marched away.

The flight over the Atlantic took several hours and Paul found that while the USS Sam Houston had not been built for comfort, the transport aircraft was even more miserable. But it was quicker by days.

Even though he had slept a few hours during the flight, Paul was exhausted when the craft landed. Another, smaller plane, equally as uncomfortable, took him to the San Francisco airport.

"Hey, man, fucking baby killer, man," a bearded man sneered at him.

Paul looked through the man and his two younger female companions. He was exhausted, hungry, tired, and just wanted to get a meal, a shower, and some sleep. His flight to Baton Rouge's airport was not until the following morning so Paul's first priority was to find a motel with a restaurant. A confrontation with three filthy hippies was not a priority with him.

"Fucking rapist," one of the girls sneered and then the bearded man spat on him.

Paul's fist connected solidly with the man's mouth.

"See, man? That's what's wrong with you, man! Everything's about violence, man! Can't even sit down and talk about it man! No, man! Got to hit! Got to shoot! Got to kill, man!" the man sobbed as blood spurted from his lips and gums.

"I served our country and did nothing to justify your spitting on me," Paul said, grabbing the man's face and using the man's filthy hair to wipe the spit from his uniform.

He then shoved the man backward, toppling the man and his two companions.

Some people applauded Paul as he marched out of the airport.

Two hours later, just as he was leaving a greasy spoon diner, Paul spotted the man and his two companions. The man approached a second man, slipped the man some money, and accepted a small package from the man.

His blood boiled with rage; the man and the two girls had not been content with their harassment of him at the airport. The three had followed Paul, shouting insults and one of them had even thrown some rotted fruit at him. Of course, they ran whenever he gave chase.

The greasy spoon staff had not helped his mood at all; the waitress curled her lip at the sight of his fatigues and the cook scowled at him from the rear of the diner. Several customers glared hatefully at him as well. Leaving the waitress a one cent tip had done little to improve Paul's mood.

Paul followed the trio until they entered a crumbling brick building.

He gave the three of them twenty minutes then entered the building.

Their apartment was easy to find; the stench of marijuana mixed with cheap incense was overpowering. So were the strains of Joan Baez through poorly constructed speakers.

"See, man, it's like, you know, I'm looking at those stars? And I'm just looking at them and it just comes to me, man!" the bearded man was babbling as he pumped his cock in and out of the blonde girl's pussy.

Next to them on the filthy mattress was the brunette; the bearded man's semen still oozing from her slit.

"And I'm like, far out, man! I am a part of this, you know? The stars? I mean, they exist because I'm looking at them, and I exist in their circle, man!" the man babbled as the brunette let out the marijuana smoke she was holding in.

"Far out," the brunette sighed.

"And I'm like, man! I'm part of the stars man!" the man went on.

"Fuck man, how much acid did you drop, man?" the blonde asked, enthralled with the man's monologue.

Paul picked up a large knife from the counter of the kitchenette.

"And this planet men!" the man said. "I mean, look at like Jupiter! And Saturn! No one owns those, man! No one owns them, you know? So how can anyone say they own this planet, huh? Like, who gave them the right to say 'I own this piece of the Earth,' huh? Where'd they get that right, man?"

Paul noticed that the brunette was staring at him, but did not comprehend that he was really there. To her, he was just a part of her hallucination.

She let out the marijuana smoke then stuck a finger into her nose.

"I mean, they can't say they own this; no one owns this, it's free, man," the man went on.

"Wow!" the blonde said.

Paul slashed through the man's throat, ending the man's drugged rambling. The blonde looked at the red blood that was splashing onto her with fascination.

JimBob44
JimBob44
5,020 Followers