Angus McCoy wasn't particular about what branch of the service he ended up in. After drinking all night on a Friday evening, he stumbled into the first of the enlistment doors he got to on the block of military enlistment stations. He did like the Navy uniforms. They were smart looking and he'd always like the gray ships he'd seen.

He'd read Moby Dick and Billy Budd. He never saw a whale and he didn't know how he felt about hanging men from the yardarms, but if it was within the rules, he could probably go along with it as long as it wasn't him being hanged.

Once he raised his hand and signed the paper, it didn't matter if he liked the uniforms or the color of the ships. He was in the Navy now.

Angus met Bostic in a good bar just outside of the naval base at Cameron Bay.

Angus didn't sign up to be shore patrol. He was assigned to the provost marshal's office. In a pinch, shore patrol took Angus with them when they were short a man, and soon he was given shore patrol insignias and patches, and he went out on calls when no one else was available.

Angus wasn't opposed to being a member of the shore patrol, but he didn't like arresting other sailors. He'd do all within his power not to make an arrest. Most men were guilty of nothing more than being drunk and disorderly. They were ten thousand miles from home. They knew nothing but sailors and goods.

Bostic got his back up if someone used the word gook. He was here to defend the Vietnamese from the Vietnamese. He called them Vietnamese. Angus tried never to say gook around Bostic, the only friend he had. He slipped up and Bostic gave him such a look.

Angus, being Bostic's only friend, had only one friend. That was Bostic. One evening in the first week after arriving at his duty station, someone pointed Angus to a bar where naval personnel drank. The place was empty as a sailor's pockets on the Monday after payday.

One table close to the bar had a sailor sitting there. Angus, being new, wanted someone to talk to. He sat down without being invited, which wasn't how he usually did things.

"I'm McCoy," Angus said, sticking his hand out across the table.

"Bostic," Bostic said.

"I don't know a damn thing about this berg. I was hoping for some tips."

"I arrived Tuesday," Bostic said. "I was hoping you'd give me some tips."

Both men laughed.

By the time they left, they'd agreed to meet there during their off hours. Bostic was okay, and Angus knew he shouldn't call Vietnamese gooks, but everyone did and he simply did what everyone else did.

"You jump off a cliff if they jumped off a cliff, McCoy?"

"Now, you're using logic. I joined the Navy. What do you expect?"

"I'd appreciate it if you called a Vietnamese by their name, and if you don't know their name, call them Vietnamese."

"I'm sure I'll slip up, but you can remind me," I told him.

Bostic was a decent guy. Angus would rather associate with decent guys. Unfortunately, sailors could get pretty far out there, and Angus was young enough not to notice or to care how far out there they got after a drink or two.

It did make Bostic the man McCoy wanted to spend time with, when there was time. Bostic had a good head on his shoulders, even when he drank. It helped keep Angus centered when they drank together.

There were few things Bostic got into that McCoy failed to appreciate.

As he became oriented to being in the shore patrol, as they were always short a man or two, McCoy became one of them. Mostly he dealt with sailors on the base, or near enough to the base it didn't take much effort to find them once the shore patrol was needed to smooth over one outrage or another.

It was when he ended up taking double shifts that Angus got into trouble. He wasn't smart enough to stay out of trouble when faced with trouble. He had a way he saw things going, and that's what he expected, except nothing ever went the way he expected.

It's probably what was meant by, on the job training.

After six months, Angus had settled into a routine that was fairly predictable and it suited his skills while giving him time to explore his environment. Little did he suspect that his time at Chu Li would lead him directly to a new career and his future wife, Mildred.

1971 Vietnam was relatively safe in or near most of the major population centers. General Abrahms protect and defend policies had replaced Westmoreland's wasted years of search and destroy, the body count war. Vietnamization was the operative word of choice to describe America's role once pacification was for the most part achieved.

The officers who dealt with the young Angus McCoy found him competent and someone they trusted to watch their backs in what was still a war ravaged duty station. The enlisted men saw him as fair but unyielding when it came to standard law enforcement. Angus had trouble with some of the rules that governed the off duty conduct of men stationed halfway around the world from home, and he called them as he saw them. As long as no one was getting hurt he saw no reason to inflict further discomfort on the men who manned the military bases.

During Angus's first few weeks, there had been a mortar attack on the base. Attack wasn't exactly the word he'd have used. Three mortars fell harmlessly around the athletic field just after sunset and by the time everyone had gotten to their prescribed defensive positions, the attack was over and the attackers had dissolved back into the bush. All three of the missiles had exploded by the time Angus realized what was going on. Now, except for drills, he never visited the bunkers. He found Vietnam to be a beautiful country full of handsome people but a bit on the hot and humid side, not the people, the climate.

It was a pleasant day in April when all hell busted loose in the well organized world of Angus McCoy. He'd been in country for almost six months. He was sitting at his desk in what was an expanding Provost Marshal's post, when the phone rang. He had been leaning back in his chair, picking up paper wads off a nearby desk, and tossing them across the room at a standard sized naval gray trash can he'd placed under the map of the base. By the looks of the floor around it, he wasn't much of a shot, but he mostly did it with his eyes closed to increase the challenge.

He immediately recognized the voice on the other end of the phone, though he detected it was stressed and the speech was hurried.

"McCoy?"

"Yeah, Bostick! What's your problem this morning? How can we of the Shore Patrol be of service to your lazy ass?"

"Is Brass Ass there?"

Much to his chagrin and in a weak moment, after too much Scotch, Angus had coined the term that was now a general usage form to describe the current and newest Provost Marshall. If Angus saw the world in black and white, Commander James R. Cochran saw it in black and blue. The standing joke at the office was, he'd arrest his momma for flatulence.

Of course, Angus knew this was an exaggeration, but only because Cochran's mother was dead. Angus knew that and he was positive she died giving birth to the son-of-a-bitch, who made everyone's life as miserable as he possibly could. Commander Cochran never met a rule he didn't love and he insisted each and every one was enforced to the max.

"Can you get out?"

"I'm off duty half an hour, if that's what you mean. The question is, do I want to get out. What's up, Bosco?"

"Two bottles of Ballantine if you come help me, McCoy?"

"I been up since we was getting drunk two nights past. I've been sitting here dreaming about that led rack I'm about to go get into as soon as someone decides to relieve me."

Seaman Second Grade Arnold Bostic was one of the few friends Angus had in Vietnam. He could be trusted in a pinch and while he crowded the rules every time he came in contact with one, he rarely broke them so badly that Angus felt compelled to lock him up. His biggest problems were gambling and drinking too much, but that was true of Angus and, he thought, at least half the rest of the men in the Nam.

"I need you McCoy. This is serious shit. There isn't anyone else I can trust with this one. My ass is hanging out here, man."

"You in trouble, Bostic? Don't ask me to be part of breakin' no laws, son. You know that ain't happenin'."

"No, nothing like that. I'm in over my head is all and I need someone with ice in their blood to bail me. Come on, McCoy, I'm begging you. Three bottles. Please!"

"You gambling?"

"No! Not even."

"Okay, shitwad, three bottles of Ballantine, added to the three you already owe me, and a box of cigars. I want those big black suckers you get from Da Nang. Those I want toot sweet, amigo. Comprenda?"

"You don't even know what I want you to do."

"Deal," Angus interrupted abruptly.

"Deal," Bostic said meekly.

"Look, Bostic, whatever it is, it can't be good. I'm not going to help you break any law and if you call me down there and that's what you got in mind, I'm not only busting your sorry ass but you're going to owe me the booze and the cigars to boot. You seein' the picture I'm paintin' here, Bostick? I'm in no mood to be toyed with."

"Yeah, McCoy. I'm down past Che Lam. That little row of apartments on top of the businesses at the next corner. Upstairs and two doors down on the right. If you can bring a Jeep, that would help. I got to get back, McCoy. Hurry up, man, I need you."

"Yeah, Yeah, I just left. Brass Ass is going to shit himself if I take one of his Jeeps. You're a pain in the ass."

Angus dropped the phone down on its cradle. He stood and bent down to open the top drawer in his desk. He strapped on the Navy issue 45 automatic that he always carried when he went in to the ville, except when he was going to drink and gamble too much. He popped the flap open for easy access after securing the belt. Seaman 1st Class McCoy imagined that he looked a little like John Wayne in Flying Leathernecks. He admired the way the gun hung down low on his hip before swinging out the front door, looking up and down the dirt road that ran in front of the building for any sign of the 8a.m. shift that was never on time.

He didn't much like the locals because he didn't trust them, but he trusted himself even less when he was drinking around them. He knew someone was the enemy. He just wasn't clear which of the slopes in the ville were friendlies and which weren't. So the gun stayed locked up in his drawer when he ventured into the ville during his off duty hours.

Drinking had been a problem since he was sixteen, actually since he was eleven, but he liked to say sixteen because he figured that's when a boy was bound to drink if drinking was in his blood as it was in Angus'. He'd only just gotten it under control when he got his orders for Vietnam and drinking was about the only think you could do if you didn't fraternize with the locals, which he didn't.

Angus wasn't about to do anything illegal. He wanted to be a cop back in the world. He'd always wanted to be a cop and if not for the war in Vietnam he'd have been well on his way to fulfilling that dream. He saw Nam as a temporary but necessary disruption of his plans. Unlike many guys he knew back home, he'd do his duty to God and his country, returning to his own life when that duty was done.

It was a bright day when he got outside, though he stayed in the shadow of the overhang in the front of the building while his eyes adjusted. He squinted to filter the intense sunlight when he stepped onto the dirt. He fumbled in his pocket for the sunglasses he'd bought at the PX his first week there. He'd never worn sunglasses before Vietnam. He'd never seen sunlight as punishing as that light. Even with glasses it was hard on the eyes.

He walked to the row of Jeeps that perpetually sat in front of the Provost. He knew he was technically off duty, but Brass Ass insisted they were never really off duty, and that was good enough for Angus. He'd use that argument if it came to that. It would be a technicality that might initiate new and more specific rules according to Brass Ass, but for now he was technically on duty and technically using the Jeep in the performance of his duty.

He clicked the switch and his foot pressed the starter. It cranked the usual hesitant cranking before the engine chirped loud and squealed out a shrill whirring sound. He shoved it in gear and whipped back away from the building with a jerk before the Jeep lurched forward toward the gate and the ville. Immediately recognizing him and the Jeep, the swabby at the gate waved him through, giving him a snappy salute and a smile as Angus waved.

He looked at his watch and thought, 8:32a.m., I'll want to remember that for my court martial.

It was an odd thought for him to be having. He never believed he was doing anything wrong if you didn't count theft of a military vehicle and Lord knows what else Bostic would have in mind. He knew he was always on duty and this was a case of him going to the aid of another sailor to keep him out of trouble or assist him with his trouble should he already be knee deep in it.

Angus knew he should have asked what it was about before agreeing, but he knew not knowing or knowing as little as possible was his best defense. Besides, he knew Bostic would have come to his aid without questioning him about the circumstances. He didn't want to make a decision until he could see the situation. Bostic was a good guy and he wasn't going to get too far out of bounds, or so Angus hoped. Before he knew it he was passing the bar where they drank and looking at the apartments as he approached the corner.

He parked the Jeep directly in front of the building. It didn't look strong enough to stay standing on its own when he looked up at it and he was sure it leaned slightly toward the right as he turned his head in an effort to match the slant he saw. He tried to remember the directions Bostic had given him as he climbed the steps, keeping his hand near the flap on the holster. He saw the open door down on the right as he moved up to the second level. The silence was shattered by a scream, emanating from the room with the open door. With his hand now on his gun he swept through the door, not sure about what he was going to find on the other side.

"Jesus Christ, Bostic, what the fuck have you done?" Angus bellowed as he looked around the disheveled room.

"Man, I'm glad to see you, McCoy. I don't know what to do, man. She's been like this for hours. I think she's dying."

"Do? It looks like you done enough, shit wad. Tell me you didn't?"

"It's been like this all night. I'm afraid to move her. I got to take her to the base hospital. Can you take us? You're Shore Patrol. You can make them! Can't you?"

"Yeah, pull the old forty-five out on them and say, deliver or else," Angus dropped his head and felt the exhaustion climbing up from his shoulders and into his neck. In his wildest dreams he'd never envisioned this was the trouble he was getting himself into. They were both in over their heads.

"Please, McCoy, she's dying here. I don't know what else to do. She needs a doctor. You can see that, can't you?"

He was wearing a wrinkled gray Navy shirt and faded bell bottomed jeans, no shoes or socks, and he knelt by the bed and stroked the wet hair of the small Vietnamese girl with one hand while resting the other on the pending eruption that Angus knew was about to cause a firestorm no matter if the girl died or not. He wished he could feel something for the girl, but he didn't. She was one of them. She'd some how drawn Bostic into her sorted little world and now Bostic would pay for the trip.

Angus elected to go to Vietnam but he didn't need to like it or the people. It wasn't his war and he wasn't worried about anyone but another sailor. He thought Bostic was smarter than this. How does an otherwise normal guy get himself suckered into fatherhood?

"Bostic, Bostic, she's in labor. I've heard lots of women do this without dying. I suspect most kids in this dump get born without doctors."

Brass Ass excluded, he thought in a second of delirium.

The girl had dark brown hair and orange freckles. He was maybe nineteen, maybe twenty, and she was, Lord knows how old she was. She was probably old enough to be their mother and still look thirteen. Angus knew there was no way to tell her age. He thought that she was very young because not only was she pregnant but she looked new at it. He could read the panic in her eyes, the fear in her face. He felt a twinge of compassion when he let his eyes meet hers.

Then he hardened and remembered that they came and sat in your lap after you got drunk. He didn't tolerate this proximity to him, but the young boys had difficulty separating the rules of military conduct from their needs once they had a few stiff drinks, which led to a stiffening in other parts of their body. This is what the young bar girls took advantage of and exploited for money and favors, and now his only near friend had fallen victim to their scheming.

There wasn't much but going without to tide a guy over until you could get back to the world. Some guys didn't have any trouble steering clear of the slopes but then there were the Bostics, who couldn't resist temptation. He was about to be a daddy and he'd leave some kid behind to never know him. Angus was angriest about that than the other. There were no feelings for the girl but he did worry about a baby that had yet to make an appearance. It seemed the most important element just then. For all the distance he kept between himself and the locals, he was a sucker for a baby every time.

Perhaps she would die before the happy event, he thought, and save us all a lot of grief. He wondered, could Bryan be arrested for assault with a deadly weapon if she died in childbirth.

Too long without sleep, Angus was only nineteen. At times his boy's brain took over his six foot two inch frame and two hundred pound body.

Humor struck at inappropriate times, like now, when a life was trying to get itself born. He was looking for a way to escape. He wanted it to turn out okay but without him being involved. He'd help, because there was no one else, and he needed to do it.

He wouldn't like it, but he'd do it.

"Isn't there a mommasone or someone like that who knows what she's doing? "

"Mometasone! Mometasone!" The girl gasped as her dark eyes opened wide and focused on Angus. "Mometasone," was her plea.

"They're all working. They came early this morning but they all left," Bryan said. "I don't think they expected her to do this yet."

"Bostic, I don't know anything about this place. Go find a woman, any woman. We can't do this alone. I don't know what to do and you sure as hell don't know what you're doing. Find a woman!"

"Can't you drive us to the hospital. They can't turn her away in this condition," Bryan said. "I'll take my chances. We don't have to say it's mine. We found her like this. Please!"

"You're asking for a boatload of trouble, asshole. Fraternizing with gooks isn't going to cut it on the base. If you keep it to yourself, no one knows. This! This is your suicide. You can't let the Navy know this is your kid. If she goes to the hospital they're going to question her until she tells. They will find out you're the daddy."

Angus noticed her eyes opened wide again when she heard the word gook. She understood what it was all about. She knew who she was and she knew who they were. There was no hiding from the truth just then. It was all a matter of need. She gave the GI what he needed and he made life a little easier for her. Besides a few words they didn't even speak the same language, but it wasn't talking that got them into this mess. Her eyes weakened again as Angus considered the options.

"I don't care. She needs help. Somethings wrong, McCoy. I'll marry her. Whatever I've got to do. Just help us. I love her. Don't let her die. I can't watch her suffer any longer."

"You're heading for a world of shit. We got to get this baby born and you got to steer clear of any idea you're the daddy. They find out it's your kid and your chicken fried goose is cooked, asshole. You hearing me, Bryan?"

She moaned as Bryan laid his head against her stomach while holding her hand. His eyes were filled with tears as he felt her pain. Each moan brought a wince to his face. Angus started to weaken and then he remembered all the things he knew about American men having babies with Asian women.

"Let's get the fucking show on the road, Bisquick. I'm leaving if you don't get on the stick, toot sweet."

"I got to go, baby. He's okay. Okay. He'll stay with you. I'm going for help. I'm going for a woman."

"Mometasone," she said, repeating the word with scared eyes riveted on him. Her voice had weakened. The panic had gone out of it.

Bryan dashed out as the girl squirmed in the bed. Angus stood over her as her eyes opened and stayed on him as she moaned loudly, grabbing her stomach and closing her eyes again, she rolled back in forth in some agony Angus couldn't relate to.

"Breathe in short breaths," he found himself saying softly. He leaned over her, moving the wet hair off her forehead, feeling his first empathy for her as a human being. He was imitating something he remembered from a movie.

She watched him carefully as he took quick breaths. She followed his lead and they both were blowing quick puffs of air. He took the towel off the bed and carefully wiped the sweat from her face, pushing the matted hair out of her eyes once more as she tried to follow his instructions.

When she tried to smile she couldn't get beyond the word gook before she remembered the contempt in this man's eyes. She watched him cautiously as he seemed to be trying to help. She was suspicious of him as she was of all GI's. She'd been told to avoid physical contact with the Americans in particular, but Bry had seemed so innocent, so nice, and he was kind to her. Now she was going to have his child, a child that would never be welcome in her country. She winced and cried out when another wave of pain came upon her. It was accompanied by a second more emotional pain.

She loved Bry even before she took him to her bed. She wanted to make love to him and it was even better than she thought it could be. This was not the intended outcome but neither of them did a thing to prevent it. This isn't what she'd seen coming from their love. At sixteen she hadn't seen much beyond her passion for the beautiful sailor and she was sure he didn't look beyond his passion for her, but now there would be another life to consider, a life she was responsible for.

Her cries broke open her thought about the Americans. They were growing louder by the time Bryan charged back through the door with another, even younger girl. She rushed to the bedside of the pregnant girl, kneeling beside her as they chattered much too fast for either man to pick up anything they were saying.

The new girl started yelling and pointing and pulling the two men toward the wreathing girl.

"I think she's trying to tell us she's having a baby. Couldn't you have found someone that had some experience at it, Bosco? You're useless. We're going to have to do this ourselves."

"No one else is here. They're all at the base laundry. Quit complaining and help me. Help her. Help Sue Lee, Angus."

There was a loud shriek as Angus and Bryan stood as helpless witnesses to the impending birth. Somehow Angus found himself between the girls legs as the head of the baby was starting to come into view. The girl wreathed and wailed as he kneeled with his hands placed close, but not too close, something like a catcher waiting for the throw to the plate. Only the catcher knew how to catch and Angus was less than sure about what it was he was expected to do.

"Stop!" Angus yelled. "Whatever you're doing, stop it now. I can't do this, little honey. Don't make me do this."

The new mother wailed, the young girl yelled, Bryan stood catatonic watching the two beefy hands waiting for the tiny pitcher to pitch.

"Don't do this here, sweet heart. Please don't," Angus pleaded as one of the baby's shoulders started to appear. "Oh shit. Here it comes. Bryan, I'm having you fixed after this."

"Just do it, Angus. Just do it."

His eyes grew wide as saucers as the girl started giving up the baby in a convincing way. "This can't be happening," he insisted, feeling the slimy mass touch his flesh for the first time. "Nothing this size could come out of someone that small. This is impossible."

In spite of his denial, the baby continued to make his entry into the world. The mother screamed, the little girl yelled, Bryan cried, and Angus said, "I'm sure as hell glad I don't have to get this thing back in there. Look at the size of it. Bryan!"

It was then that Angus remembered the punch line in that movie.

"Push. Push. Push," Angus instructed as the baby was filling his ready hands.

The baby was visible almost to the waist when the little girl yelled, "Pull, GI, you pull now," and then she started ranting in that lingo that sounded more like animals.

"Push little darling. Push."

She pushed. Angus accepted the rest of what the small girl pushed out of herself.

Angus was horrified at the slimy mess he was holding. It took a minute to see beyond the slime and find the baby. It was then he smiled. He'd done it. They'd done it. He had a baby in his hands. It was a very quiet baby.

The umbilical cord trailing from him to her. It was lifeless and blue and covered in a disgusting film. It wasn't alive. There was something else that needed to be done.

It was a horrible thing to have in his hands. Then he remembered the rest of the movie about the baby being born and he held the baby in one big hand and slapped it into life, as it took one deep gasp.

"Yaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaah!" The baby said with incredible volume as the mother tried to focus on it, smiling a weak but approving smile.

Angus smiled at the baby, Bryan smiled at Angus, the new mother smiled at Bryan, and the little girl stood in the corner of the room screeching but she was smiling too.

"Damn bravest thing I ever seen," Angus said.

Angus held the baby to his huge chest.

"Damn girl deserves a medal. How can anything this size come out of there? If men had to give birth, there wouldn't be no one getting themselves born."

Bryan started to laugh, looking the baby over. "It's a boy," he said in awe. "It's a little boy. Thanks, McCoy, I knew I could depend on you."

"I don't think she thinks he's all that small, Bosco."

"Did she do good, or what? Look at him Sue Lee. He's our baby."

"Damn if you don't deserve a damn purple heart, little honey," Angus said to the beaming mother as he handed her the child for the first time.

"You are deserving the purple heart, McCoy," she said, smiling from ear to ear.

"She knows some English," Bryan explained as he kneeled lovingly beside them. "She's bleeding, McCoy. We've got to take her to the hospital. Please! I'm not afraid."

"It's not good. She's getting pale, Bosco. There's too much blood," Angus agreed.

"What do we do?" Bryan asked, his eyes pleading for help.

The young girl had disappeared and then returned waving a pair of industrial sized scissors that seemed almost as big as she was. She raced over to the bed and held out the scissors while picking up the umbilical cord. "Cut damn quick," she said.

"No fucking way," Angus said, grabbing the scissors and pushing the little girl back across the room. "Little honey, we're going to take you down to the Jeep. We've got to have the doctors check you out. I'm not turning a baby I helped get born over to a little kid.

"What do you want me to do?" Bryan asked.

"Start my Jeep. I'll carry them down the stairs. Go!"