The Storm

Henry then broke the silence and inquired again, “Whose askin'?” Another long pause . Then there was a total change in the tone of the mystery man's voice as he spoke up again: "It’s me, Sir, Master Sergeant Gunny Sanders!” It was like he was presenting himself to a commanding officer! Little did I know that he was! I was bewildered as I stared at the hardwood floor, to say the least, and relieved at the same time. How do these guys know each other? How? Henry spoke up next. “ Well, I’ll be! If it isn’t ole Gunny Sanders in the flesh! Can my friend get off of this floor now, Gunny?" “Absolu tely, Captain. By all means. Have your little friend stand up.” I was a little offended, but what do you say to a guy that a few seconds ago was going to kill you. We now both stood, and the voice stepped into the light of the doorway, revealing the frame of a hulk of a man over six feet tall. "You've gotten older, Sanders, but just as mean, I can tell. I thought they killed you off in NAM,” Henry responded. “They tried and just thought they did. They didn’t want me messing up their sorry operational plans, just like you would have done, Captain, but here we are.” I was witnessing a reunion of sorts, and I was full of questions. “You know him, Henry?” I asked, afraid to address the other man as yet. “Yes, Zach," Henry replied. "1965. Hell Week, Coronado Island training station. Gunny and I trained together." “You guys trained together?” I asked. “And fought each -other," the man replied, "and almost died together."

I now had a story! My curious, journalistic nature kicked into full gear. I now had a story that I wanted to know all about

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