A Murder of Men

It was the war of Vietnam in 1966. The Americans and their dreams were getting desperate and times got hard. Even America was starting to recruit the good people of Italy. Two of these men, Fred Johnson and Pierce Spicolli. Fred Johnson had an American father and was brought back to Italy on those terms of American citizenship. His mother, Sophia was a drunk after Fred Johnson’s father, Christopher Johnson had died of cancer due to smoking cigarettes for a long while. Fred and Pierce were good friends and were also related to each other through their mothers’ side. Pierce was brought up good and book smart, meanwhile Fred was just the opposite. Fred didn’t want to admit it but a long time ago, Pierce’s family took Fred in because he had hit his mother and had run away. Not that Fred was a bad boy, he had wholesome relationships with each of his girlfriends the problem was that Fred couldn’t keep a relationship. The ship “Darla” came and Pierce and Fred ran up to the port with their bags. The war in Italy was just over what with the mafia and Pierce and Fred were recruited as Marines. Pierce was twenty-eight and Fred was in his late thirties. They were going to Vietnam to kill the yellow man for thee American dream. Pierce wasn’t fully American but he was promised as a soldier by the president of the U.S. his American citizenship once he got done serving. Pierce married the same day Fred did to a woman named Martha while Fred married her best friend Mathilda. They were both happy couples until the war of Vietnam in 1966, June 1st, when Fred and Pierce were forced to join.

***

A year later onboard, Fred was tugging and nudging at Pierce to get up. “Pierce!” Fred hissed at him into his ear. Pierce was half asleep with his eyes opening halfway and then shutting. “What Fred?” he groaned irritably, his speech slightly slurred. “Izza-war over?” he slurred. “Pierce!” he hissed. “It’s time to wake up! Of course the war’s over dimwit! We’re going home!” Pierce got up and went over to the deck of the ship with Fred dragging him over. Pierce looked around him. He saw the men were playing cards on a round, wooden table gambling. Mostly for loose change and cigarettes. The sergeant was asleep, drunk and slumping on a wall on the floor with a bottle of whiskey. The general was looking closely, studying his cards. The lieutenant raised his cards to the ceiling and looked at them.

“Well general.. .. ” He grimaced waiting for an answer. “I guess I won.” The radio started playing a couple of American classics announcing, “Here playing is a classic hit by Frank Sinatra form the Colombia Years!,” The classic drumroll starts as the announcer on the radio said, “That Old Black Magic! Next up, Gerry and The Pacemakers!!!” As Frank Sinatra sings on the radio, Pierce comes out surprisingly from the steam filled shower with a towel draped around his ass and his genital area. Pierce looked tiredly looked around and saw Fred as he had slowly put on his clothes, a picture of his wife on the small brown wooden dresser. As he hung his towel, Fred quietly came in as Pierce stared into the distance. After a while, he asked, “Fred?” Fred looked at him. Pierce was still staring into the distance. “You know my wife is a very beautiful wife.” Tears were rolling into his dark-brown eyes. “Fred? If you make it, tell her I couldn’t.” “But Pierce,” Fred eagerly said. “You know we’re gonna make it through this one like we always have!” Pierce peeped in through the door that Fred walked in. The sergeant asleep on the floor had died. Pierce looks solemnly at Fred. Nobody noticed the plague but Pierce that had broken throughout the ship. \\\”Well ya know Fred, all wars can’t be won.” Pierce hurriedly went back into his headquarters while Fred tried to reassure the remaining soldiers that everything will be alright. Meanwhile, while Pierce was quietly sleeping, he dreamt of coming home to his wife; her hands folded in her lap on a chair and a warm fire burning in the fireplace; the joy sparkling in her eyes as she enfolded him in a tight hug with her lips gently pressing against his. Pierce had awoken to the sirens of the ship wailing. The last thing he heard from Fred was “Holy shit,” as the ship was bombed.

***

Martha and Mathilda were at the train station. Martha startled by the honking holler of the train coming in as she waits for her husband to get off the train and earn his American citizenship. Hours passed by. Martha ran up to Mathilda. “Mathilda! Is Pierce coming home yet?”

Mathilda handed her a newspaper with disappointment and tears on her face as she sobbed and ran off into another compartment completely hysterical. Martha took the newspaper and saw the heading with worry creased upon her face. She too started sobbing. The headlines wrote “‘Darla and Company: Sunken Ship.” Martha held Mathilda up and carried her onto the train. As soon as she placed herself down onto the seat, she plopped both her hands and the open newspaper on her lap and tilted her head slightly sideways to a green meadow with very few sparsely scattered trees and bushes. Martha had tears running down her face. Sadly Martha had died silently asleep on the train . ..

Ma’am!”

The train conductor bad announced after they had stopped when a few fields and villages had passed by.

“Ma’am?”

He checked her pulse after a few attempted tries at waking her up. Martha had died quietly with her hands on her lap, eyes closed. Meanwhile, Mathilda started screaming and shaking her shoulders.