Read Online Nightmare Range by Martin Limon - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Martin Limon
Ads: Link
jarred to a stop.
Blind chance had determined that it would be Budusky’s back that hit the cement pole with the full force of our rolling bodies. I punched him a couple of times on the side of his head before I realized that he was finished. I got up in a crouch and checked his pulse. It was steady. I slapped his face a couple of times. His eyes opened. Before he could pull himself together, I rolled him over on his stomach, pulled my handcuffs out from the back of my belt, and locked his hands securely behind the small of his back.
I heard whistles and then running feet. The Shore Patrol surrounded me and then a couple of MPs. The MPs stood back, as if they wanted nothing to do with this.
I lifted Budusky by the collar and pushed his face back to the pavement.
“Why? Why’d you kill Lockworth?”
His face was contorted, grimacing in pain. His eyes were clenched. I lifted him and slammed him back again.
“It was your dad, wasn’t it? Your dad was a sailor. And he left you, you and your mother.”
It was an old story and didn’t take a great leap of imagination. An illegitimate kid from Norfolk, growing up to hate the navy, joining the army as an MP, finding his opportunity to take his revenge. A few bumps, a few bruises, a few dollars, and a sailorwould get over it. It was the least they owed him for what his dad had done to him and his mother. Until he went too far. And killed.
I heard Budusky talking. It was choking out his throat.
“He left us. So what’s it to you?”
“And when you last heard from him …”
“Yeah.” The tears seemed to be squeezed out of his eyes. “When the last letter came, he was on the
Kitty Hawk
.”
Ernie and I left the next day with the date for Budusky’s court-martial set for next month.
Back in Seoul the first sergeant requested that the venue be changed about sixty miles north, to Camp Henry in Taegu. Ernie and I had to appear in court as witnesses, and it wouldn’t be smart to give the MPs in Pusan a chance to get at us.
I could understand their feelings. They saw us as traitors to the Military Police Corps. Maybe we were.
But none of those MPs ever sat down to write a letter to the parents of the late Petty Officer Third Class Gerald R. Lockworth.
I did.
A PIECE OF RICE CAKE
I t seemed that half our blotter reports lately had something to do with gambling.
Maybe it was the beautiful autumn in Korea, when the green leaves of summer turn to orange and yellow and brown and people realize that they are heading for that long cold winter we call death.
“Take a chance! You only go round once.”
Not what Buddha or Confucius would have said, but this is the modern Korea and the rules are changing. And the GIs stationed here have nothing better to do than throw away their money.
I thumbed through the blotter reports. A Korean businessman busted in a poker game on the compound; an NCO Club bartender rifling the night’s receipts to cover his “flower card” losses; a GI collared running a shell game in the barracks. And so when the first sergeant called me and Ernie into his office and gave us our assignment, it didn’t come as much of a surprise.
“Somebody stole the football pool on the Army and Navy game over at the Officers’ Club.”
We stared in mock horror. Ernie spoke first.
“Has Eighth Army been put on alert?”
“Yeah, wise guy. On alert. This may not seem too serious to you two, but the Eighth Army chief of staff is about to soil hisshorts. ‘Besmirching the honor of the Army-Navy tradition,’ he said.”
Whenever they start talking tradition, honor, or country, look out for your brisket.
“How much money did he have invested?” I said.
The first sergeant sighed, took a sip of his lukewarm coffee, and ignored me.
“I’d put Burrows and Slabem on the case—they have more respect for the officer corps—but they’re on a case out at ASCOM City. So all I have left is you two.”
“Thanks for the vote of confidence,
Blind chance had determined that it would be Budusky’s back that hit the cement pole with the full force of our rolling bodies. I punched him a couple of times on the side of his head before I realized that he was finished. I got up in a crouch and checked his pulse. It was steady. I slapped his face a couple of times. His eyes opened. Before he could pull himself together, I rolled him over on his stomach, pulled my handcuffs out from the back of my belt, and locked his hands securely behind the small of his back.
I heard whistles and then running feet. The Shore Patrol surrounded me and then a couple of MPs. The MPs stood back, as if they wanted nothing to do with this.
I lifted Budusky by the collar and pushed his face back to the pavement.
“Why? Why’d you kill Lockworth?”
His face was contorted, grimacing in pain. His eyes were clenched. I lifted him and slammed him back again.
“It was your dad, wasn’t it? Your dad was a sailor. And he left you, you and your mother.”
It was an old story and didn’t take a great leap of imagination. An illegitimate kid from Norfolk, growing up to hate the navy, joining the army as an MP, finding his opportunity to take his revenge. A few bumps, a few bruises, a few dollars, and a sailorwould get over it. It was the least they owed him for what his dad had done to him and his mother. Until he went too far. And killed.
I heard Budusky talking. It was choking out his throat.
“He left us. So what’s it to you?”
“And when you last heard from him …”
“Yeah.” The tears seemed to be squeezed out of his eyes. “When the last letter came, he was on the
Kitty Hawk
.”
Ernie and I left the next day with the date for Budusky’s court-martial set for next month.
Back in Seoul the first sergeant requested that the venue be changed about sixty miles north, to Camp Henry in Taegu. Ernie and I had to appear in court as witnesses, and it wouldn’t be smart to give the MPs in Pusan a chance to get at us.
I could understand their feelings. They saw us as traitors to the Military Police Corps. Maybe we were.
But none of those MPs ever sat down to write a letter to the parents of the late Petty Officer Third Class Gerald R. Lockworth.
I did.
A PIECE OF RICE CAKE
I t seemed that half our blotter reports lately had something to do with gambling.
Maybe it was the beautiful autumn in Korea, when the green leaves of summer turn to orange and yellow and brown and people realize that they are heading for that long cold winter we call death.
“Take a chance! You only go round once.”
Not what Buddha or Confucius would have said, but this is the modern Korea and the rules are changing. And the GIs stationed here have nothing better to do than throw away their money.
I thumbed through the blotter reports. A Korean businessman busted in a poker game on the compound; an NCO Club bartender rifling the night’s receipts to cover his “flower card” losses; a GI collared running a shell game in the barracks. And so when the first sergeant called me and Ernie into his office and gave us our assignment, it didn’t come as much of a surprise.
“Somebody stole the football pool on the Army and Navy game over at the Officers’ Club.”
We stared in mock horror. Ernie spoke first.
“Has Eighth Army been put on alert?”
“Yeah, wise guy. On alert. This may not seem too serious to you two, but the Eighth Army chief of staff is about to soil hisshorts. ‘Besmirching the honor of the Army-Navy tradition,’ he said.”
Whenever they start talking tradition, honor, or country, look out for your brisket.
“How much money did he have invested?” I said.
The first sergeant sighed, took a sip of his lukewarm coffee, and ignored me.
“I’d put Burrows and Slabem on the case—they have more respect for the officer corps—but they’re on a case out at ASCOM City. So all I have left is you two.”
“Thanks for the vote of confidence,
Similar Books
