The Storm

Henry then spoke up. “We drove off base and headed for Saigon after our guys were stitched up. We got some rest, along with food and water. Saigon was good, because civilian American contractors were everywhere. War is good business, and those sharks in Saigon knew how to make money on vice and contraband, working with the locals." "We stayed as far away as possible, other than gettin' new civilian ID’s and some fresh clothes to fly out stateside. We stayed there long enough for our guys to travel out, one by one, to the states on different flights, and not to raise suspicion from their bandaged wounds, or as a group of civilian-dressed military types flying out together. Since we were considered dead to the military and Uncle Sam, we all just headed to what we called home." "The only place that I had a connection to was Ruby, here in the inland swamp area of Louisiana. I kind of figured, that anyone would be hard-pressed to find me here and the Ruby folks just know me as 'Henry'. That’s about it. And here we are.” Gunny spoke up. “Captain, have you heard anything from anyone from the team or any calls from suspicious char acters trying to glean information from you?” “No” Henry replied, “Just some young crazy journalist from Brooklyn named Zach Taylor came by to get a report from this here storm. Other than that, nothin'.” I just smiled with a sheepish grin to them both. ‘Well, Son, that’s our story, and I hope that you heard it well,” Henry said, “and it’s a story you can’t write about. Do you understand? Our lives are in your hands, and you’ll just

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