Read Online Deros Vietnam by Doug Bradley - Free Book Online

since the slant eyes didn’t much want to drink your juice, I did a little experimenting.” Swenson waved his hands like a magician. “A splash of vodka, some salt and pepper, a little bit of Worcestershire—a dash of oregano, and voila.”
    â€œVolia what?”
    â€œVoila this,” Swenson handed a repurposed can to Myron. “The Clamato Cong cocktail.”
    Myron handed the drink back. “How dare you,” he blustered. “You had no right. These cans were for me and my, for me and my…”
    â€œThey were for Mai all right,” Swenson interrupted. “You wanted to get into her pants and you wanted more room down there to fool around.”
    Myron was speechless.
    â€œSarge, after a while you’ll realize that the bigger the load the better the ride,” Swenson licked his lips. “Lock and load.”
    â€œWhy, you no good, cheating, vulgar …” Myron was turning from red to blue to purple.
    Swenson squeezed Myron’s arm.
    â€œDon’t pull that holier than thou shit with me,” he snarled. “We’re both after the same things—a little nookie and some relief from this fucking hellhole. I’m no goddamn saint, but neither are you.”
    Myron started to speak, but Swenson cut him off.
    â€œAnd remember, I know about all your special shipments and your sorry-ass crush on Mai. I have friends in high places.”
    Painfully aware that all was lost, Myron felt like crying.
    â€œChins up, Sarge,” Swenson beamed. “I can cut you and your buddy in on this action. The wetbacks over at the Motor Pool can’t get enough of this Clamato cocktail stuff, so you just keep the cans coming and I’ll keep those taco troopers slurping it down. Everybody wins!”
    Abruptly, Myron pulled a Myron—he spun around and walked away. Nothing had gone right, but the hell with it. He still had his love for Mai and their future together in America. He’d complete his Army paperwork and drop it off at headquarters the next morning. It helped that Myron was well acquainted with DOD Reg 7000.14-R, Volume 7B, Chapter 1, Initial Entitlement—Retirement. He would fill out the necessary paperwork faster than you could say “Richard Milhous Nixon.”
    That would get the retirement clock ticking. And that nice little ring he’d bought in Saigon last week—he’d give that to Mai tomorrow, too.
    Yes, tomorrow would be better, Myron consoled himself as he turned in that evening. But he hardly slept, awakened by dreams of having sex with Mai in all kinds of public places—the mess hall, the tarmac at Tan Son Nhut, in front of the Statue of Liberty. After he dreamed of making love to Mai on the lawn of his mother’s house in Oak Grove, he had to wash the sheets.
    * * *
    Myron was up before reveille the next morning, completed his mess hall rounds in record time, and marched to company headquarters to deliver his retirement paperwork. He decided to swing by the NCO Club on his way back to his hooch to see just how much Clamato juice Swenson was hoarding. He didn’t trust him, and he knew his nemesis wouldn’t be here at this early hour, so he could avoid the usual confrontation.
    Myron tiptoed behind the kitchen toward the supply room and freezer. There was the long ash of a barely smoked Marlboro in an ashtray on Swenson’s desk. His heart stopped.
    â€œLock and load,” Swenson’s voice piped up from the supply room. He came out to greet Myron.
    â€œYou’re up early,” Myron stammered, glancing at Swenson’s pants.
    â€œAre you admiring my pecker, Sergeant Swoboda?
    Myron flinched. Swenson laughed.
    â€œIt’s all that fucking Clamato juice,” Swenson explained. “Man, that shit makes me horny as hell.”
    Myron remained stoic.
    Swenson put his arm around Myron’s shoulder, gave it a little press, and started to escort Myron out of his