Guard Mount, Cu Chi RVN 1969

Everyday the same darn thing. Darjeeling would get ready for guard mount at 4:00 pm. And everyday at 4:00 pm the monsoon rain would come in, drenching the thirty or forty soldiers standing at attention and staring straight ahead until Major Foxx came around and inspected weapons, uniforms, and boots and generally made snide comments to each and every one. All this while it poured down rain on him, his Sargeant of the Day, and every soldier out there. Even the vietnamese dogs had more sense.

Now Darjeeling was not the strackest soldier who had ever worn a uniform. He wasn't even close. Where most everyone else had starched fatigues and spit shined boots, Darjeeling didn't. He pulled his fatigues out of the laundry bag (where the Chinese Laundry had neatly folded them) and he pulled on his boots in the same condition they were in the day before which meant that they were dull and cracked from trying to spit shine them that one time when they were brand new. As he walked the two or so blocks to guard mount, he puffed on a Park Lane. Now a Park Lane was a fabricated marijuana cigarette with a filter. The marijuana in it was the highest grade Thai marijuana and the cigarette tube even had a gold marijuana leaf embossed on the end nearest the filter. You could get Park Lanes in Cho Lon or Saigon proper with a few dollars worth of script or by trade depending on what you had to offer. All you had to do was step up to the cigarette kiosk (they were everywhere) and say, "A pack of Park Lanes, please." and hand the shopkeeper about three dollars of script and you were on your way. Just like buying Pall Malls or Muleburros as Darjeeling called them. Then you could buy this little bottle of essence called Dao Dai Lac and put a drop on the gold leaf for a menthol and other spicey high to boot. Darjeeling liked Park Lanes and the Vietnamese liked selling them to the likes of him. It kept the average GI high enough and provided a nice economic boost to the local economy.

Today Darjeeling had had enough of Guard Mount in the Rain. He had previously done a pretty good Fred Astaire the last time he was on guard mount and had come real close to getting an Article 15 for his performance. He was lucky that Major Foxx was a Fred Head as Darjeeling called him and he actually laughed as Darjeeling cut through the puddles of water, in and out among the other troops standing in line. He used his M-16 for the umbrella handle sans umbrella and used the toe of his boots to splash water on the Sargeant of the Day while dipping and singing and rolling his helmet down his arm, catching it in his hand. Major Foxx grabbed him by the arm and pulled him up to attention suppressing a laugh as he did. "Darjeeling! Grab hold of yourself, man," the Major said as he turned and began guard mount inspection. Darjeeling was lucky that day that the Major was in such good humor. So as he made his way past the mess hall he stopped in and picked up a case of oranges that he had bartered for with the head cook. Hoisting them on his shoulder he walked the final fifty yards to the guard mount area, a concrete slab in the middle of the company area. He took his customary place in the back row and placed the crate of oranges on its end directly behind him nearly out of sight.

Major Foxx was not in a good mood. In fact he was gunning for gigs as everybody said. Any little thing out of place could get you extra duty or even an Article 15. Today he was gigging everybody and even Darjeeling in his euphoric state of mind knew this was serious. He shuddered a bit as he thought that maybe he had made a mistake. "Nah," he thought to himself, "On second thought this will do the old man good, just like Singin' In The Rain." As they lined up, the clouds lined up and as they were called to attention, the rain came to their attention in heavy, cold drops that splatted on them with a vengence from above. Major Foxx and Sargeant Wurmerscherch made their way through the ranks, ever closer to Darjeeling, calling out gigs that Sargeant Worm, as he was called, wrote down on a clipboard of sopping wet paper with a government issue pen that worked about one third of the time. Darjeeling had told The Worm one time that the Army should invent a pen that writes under water. This had brought about the response that the Army had already invented such a pen but that they were unable to requisition them during the Monsoon season and the pens were therefore unauthorized. The Worm was now in front of Darjeeling. The Worm was a German with a German accent. Darjeeling had once accused him of being in the Luftwaffe which had caused the portly sargeant to give Darjeeling the privilege of changing flat tires on deuce-and-a-half trucks for two weeks. Backbreaking work in the heat of the day. It did nothing but strengthen Darjeeling's resolve. He vowed to bring the sargeant to his senses or his knees whichever came first.

"Darjeeling!"
"Yes, Sir Major Foxx, Sir!" Darjeeling saluted as he looked at the two of them who now resembled Zorror and his side kick Pancho from the old Zorro TV series he had seen as a kid.
"Sargeant Wurmerscherch, write this man down for the following: Unauthorized hippie beads, unshined boots, unkempt fatigues, sideburns too long, mustache drooping below the corners of the mouth, and bringing an unauthorized crate of oranges to guard mount."
"Yes, Sir Major Foxx, Sir!" Pancho echoed.
"Darjeeling, take off those unauthorized hippie love beads right now. And what is with the oranges, if I might ask?"
"Sir, these aren't hippie love beads, these are special beads that bring rain sir. See how good they work? And the crate of oranges is for the little people, sir, as gifts. I was hoping to get to guard the cemetery again, sir, if you don't mind."

Major Foxx knew what Darjeeling was talking about. Smack dab in the middle of the 25th Supply and Transportation Battalion area was the family cemetery of none other than Ho Chi Minh, Uncle Ho as he was known, and every day the Vietnamese who worked in the battalion area filed past the cemetery on their way out to the main gate. Uncle Ho's ancestors were buried their and every year during the season of Tet, or Lunar New Year, the Viet Cong vowed to come and take back the land of the remains of Ho Chi Minh's people. This guard mount was significant because it was the beginning of Tet and rumor had it that a division of North Vietnamese Army regulars were making their way down the trail toward Cu Chi like they had done in the Tet Offensive of '68. Major Foxx had been there and he shivered as he remembered the outcome that year ago when he was just a captain. He looked at Darjeeling. He knew that Darjeeling was high. And yet, there was something about the young man that he liked even though he knew that Darjeeling was the epitome of the bad soldier. Worse than Beetle Bailey, worse than Sad Sack, Darjeeling could be the knew comic book inspiration of sloppy soldiering.