Assassin's Redemption: Stolen Memories, #1 Read online

  Stolen Memories: Assassin's Redemption

  Stolen Memories, Volume 1

  Richard Allen Evans

  Published by Richard Allen Evans, 2016.

  This is a work of fiction. Similarities to real people, places, or events are entirely coincidental.

  STOLEN MEMORIES: ASSASSIN'S REDEMPTION

  First edition. September 14, 2016.

  Copyright © 2016 Richard Allen Evans.

  ISBN: 978-1536542301

  Written by Richard Allen Evans.

  Table of Contents

  Title Page

  Copyright Page

  Dedication

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Conclusion

  Further Reading: Only When I Dream

  Also By Richard Allen Evans

  About the Author

  To my wife Joy: Thank you for believing in me.

  Chapter One

  “I don’t think about it much to tell you truth. That’s way above my pay grade. Besides, I’m just another ignorant hillbilly,” the soldier said as he popped open the tab of an ice cold can of Pabst Blue Ribbon.

  The chilled metal felt good in the sweltering heat and humidity of the June morning. By now he was used to the seemingly endless drone of choppers taking off and landing at the firebase.

  Off in the distance, a radio blared “I Fought the Law” by the Bobby Fuller Four. It was all part of the American experience in Vietnam — at least it was for that American.

  The soldier in front of him shook his head as he opened his own can of PBR.

  “You ain’t ignorant and neither am I. Even hillbillies like us know enough to have an opinion,” said the other soldier.

  Taking a long pull from the can of beer, the first soldier belched before he spoke.

  “Why we’re here ain’t important Bud. Making it back home to my wife and son – that’s all that matters,” said Sgt. Charles “Chuck” Fullbright.

  The other soldier — Sgt. Lucas “Bud” Rivers — eyed his friend.

  Fullbright was a big man at 6’4 and 225 pounds. His closely cropped hair was dark brown and his eyes were bright blue, almost violet. With a square jaw and broad shoulders, Fullbright could have easily been a stand-in for Chuck Connors.

  “I understand that. You know as well as I do I’ve got a girl waiting for me in Williamsburg. Hell, you’re going to be my best man,” Bud said.

  Bud was about 5’10 and weighed 170 pounds. His buzz cut showed light brown hair and his hazel eyes had a glint in them.

  Fullbright grinned as his friend bobbed his head to the music.

  “Like that song?” He asked.

  “Best thing I’ve heard since Buddy Holly died,” Bud said with a grin.

  Fullbright shook his head with a laugh. The song had to sound good to for Bud to laud such praise upon it – his nickname came from being such a huge fan of the late Mr. Holly.

  “Only 65 more days – for you anyway,” Fullbright said.

  “More like 64 days, 12 hours, and 53 minutes,” Bud said.

  Fullbright shook his head.

  “Feels like we’ve been in country for 10 years,” he said.

  It was Bud’s turn to nod.

  “And that’s why I don’t care about why we’re here. Fighting communists, supporting a crooked government, making LBJ money – it don’t matter to me. When I leave here, I’m leaving it behind me for good. I won’t even think of it when I get home and I don’t want to remember a day in this shithole,” Fullbright said.

  “Me either, but we still have a ways to go yet,” Bud said.

  “At least you get to go home a week before I do,” Fullbright said.

  “Don’t worry. We’ll hold off on the wedding until you get back but we’re gonna start the honeymoon as soon as I get back to Williamsburg,” Bud said with a grin.

  Fullbright chuckled.

  “Yeah, I imagine so,” he said as he drained the contents of his can.

  “Think they’ll keep you out in the field once I’m gone?” Bud asked.

  “Don’t know. Wouldn’t give me much time to work with a new spotter but you know the Army,” Fullbright said as Bud nodded.

  The two sat silently for a couple of minutes watching choppers take off and land.

  “What do you plan on doing when you get home?” Bud asked.

  “Have a decent breakfast,” Fullbright said and Bud chuckled.

  “You know what I mean. What kind of work you plan to do?” Bud asked.

  “I ain’t going in the mines, I’ll tell you that – and neither is my boy. Piss on that,” Fullbright said and Bud nodded again as he reached for another beer.

  “Don’t blame you. I ain’t either. I saw my papaw die coughing up that black shit. It ain’t gonna happen to me,” he said as he popped another top.

  “I’ve been thinking about it. I could always go up north to Chicago or Detroit and get a factory job — some of the boys I went to high school with did that but I hate the thought of leaving my dad all alone in Kentucky,” Fullbright said.

  “You could always take him with you,” Bud suggested.

  “He’d never leave his place. He worked too hard for that house and 15 acres of land,” Fullbright said as he picked up a few pebbles off of the ground.

  “Well, there’s always college,” Bud said.

  “I can’t afford to do that,” the big man responded.

  “Use the G.I. Bill — that’s what I plan to do until I can figure what I want to do,” Bud said.

  “I can’t support a family and go to school,” Fullbright said.

  “Maybe your wife could get a job and help out,” Bud suggested.

  Fullbright shook his head.

  “No, she’s already done enough with me over here. All I’ve ever seen of my son is the pictures she sends. I want to take care of her and make up for the time I’ve spent away,” he said.

  “According to my sister’s last letter, my brother-in-law Dan got a job in a machine shop down in Tennessee; a little town called Stone City. She said they’re always hiring everything from truck drivers to machinists. That’s a pretty good haul from Silver Creek right now but if they ever four-lane the Dixie Highway it might not be too bad of a trip,” Bud said.

  “What’s the name of the place?” Fullbright asked.

  “Raven Manufacturing. Defense contractor. They make everything from gun barrels to canteens. You being a vet might help too,” Bud said.

  “Defense contractor huh?” Fullbright asked with a chuckle as he looked around the fire base. “Sounds like steady work.”

  “I’m sure it won’t be as lively or fun as it is here at Firebase Lola, but it’s bound to pay better; probably smell better too,” Bud said as he tossed the empty can away.

  ***

  Almost exactly two months later, Bud settled in behind the sand bags facing the southwest of the firebase.

  “Two more days of this shit and you’re home free,” Fullbright said without taking his eyes away from the dark jungle expanse in front of him.

  Bud joined him in peering into the darkness. On the surface it seemed that keeping watch on a night so dark was a pointless exercise but both had been around long enough to know the enemy was always ready to attack but especially on such nights. The darkness was Charlie’s friend. Too many American soldiers had already paid the ultimate price for not paying enough attention to the sounds and smells of t
he surrounding blackness.

  “I’m looking forward to it too. Think we did any good today?” Bud asked.

  “Bagged a V.C. officer – a major I think. Didn’t seem like it was worth two days of hiding,” Fullbright said.

  “No but like you’ve always said our job is to pull the trigger, not figure out why,” Bud said.

  “I’m just sick of killing,” Fullbright said.

  “So am I,” Bud said softly. “You know, I used to love to hunt – deer, squirrels, rabbits, turkey - you name it. Now...I can’t stand the thought of hunting anything again. I think I’ll stick with fishing.”

  “Laying on a riverbank watching a rod and reel don’t sound bad at all – especially right now,” Fullbright said.

  “I know a few spots on the river around Williamsburg. When you get home we’ll lay out all night and catch some catfish,” Bud said.

  “Trot line or reel?” Fullbright asked.

  “Hell, both. We’ll skin and fry right there on the river. Fry up some taters and hoe cakes. What a spread,” Bud said.

  “Hush. You’re starving me to death,” Fullbright said with a laugh.

  “One more thing to look forward to when you get home,” Bud said.

  “Yeah, it is. I can’t wait to teach my son how to fish or gig frogs the way my daddy taught me. I spent a lot of nights on creek banks growing up. Good times. My boy’s gonna know that life too. Did I show you the last picture Trish sent?” Fullbright asked.

  Bud opened his mouth to speak but his words were cut off by the shrill whistling sound overhead of enemy mortars.

  “Incoming!” Shouted several voices at once.

  Fullbright and Bud both ducked behind the sandbags in an effort to make themselves as small as they possibly could. As explosions rippled around them they felt the earth shake violently and were pelted with dirt, small rocks, and various debris. Screams of the wounded as well as the smell of cordite, blood, and other foul odors filled the air.

  “Medic!” Came the shout from several locations as .50 caliber machine guns and M-16s fired in the direction from where the mortars were fired. A flare climbed into the night sky as Fullbright and Bud raised their weapons — standard issue M-16s — and began firing.

  “Holy shit! Look at ‘em!” Bud shouted over the din of battle as he saw thousands of V.C. pouring over a nearby hill, charging the firebase.

  Fullbright didn’t answer as he calmly began dropping the oncoming enemy one at a time. Another American .50 caliber opened up as waves of the enemy fell, many on the barbed wire that surrounded the firebase. Undaunted, the enemy simply used the dead as bridges over the wire.

  Bud lobbed a grenade and then another. He picked up his weapon and started firing again. He could hear mortar fire from behind and off to his left. The enemy was launching an assault from all directions.

  The enemy line surged forged as other soldiers joined Bud and Fullbright’s position. They too tossed grenades and fired M-16s into the crush of screaming humanity. A third .50 caliber was set up to Fullbright’s left and started banging away at a rapidly shrinking front line.

  Fullbright replaced a clip.

  “Damn! This is my last one!” He shouted as he kept firing.

  Bud quickly tossed his last clip to his friend’s side and kept firing.

  “Ammo! We need ammo!” Get some clips over here!” He yelled.

  Bud squeezed the trigger and his rifle merely clicked. He drew his .45 semi-automatic sidearm and started firing. He glanced over to Fullbright and saw him doing the same thing.

  “How many pistol clips you got?” Bud asked.

  “Three! You?” Fullbright asked.

  “I got one left!” Bud screamed over the noise.

  “Ammo! Dammit, we need ammo!” Fullbright yelled.

  A young PFC was 20 yards away with two ammo boxes when a spray of enemy bullets found him. He crumpled to the ground, blood pouring from his chest.

  Fullbright and Bud looked at each other. Bud tossed his last pistol clip to his friend.

  “I’ll go!” He shouted as he took off low and fast toward the fallen private.

  Fullbright popped the last clip into his .45.

  “Don’t get shot in the ass!” Fullbright screamed.

  As bullets tore up the ground around him, Bud grabbed an ammo box in each hand and turned to make his way back. Suddenly, the earth rose up to meet him as he heard the explosion almost simultaneously as he felt it. Bud was lifted off of the ground and thrown backwards. The ammo boxes flew from his hands and felt something hammer into his left ribcage as he hit the ground with a thud so hard it knocked the breath out of him. Dazed, gasping for air, and unable to stand, he looked to his former spot on the line. It was now a crater and next to the hole was the unmoving body of Chuck Fullbright. Bud tried to stagger to his feet. Two retreating soldiers – one white and one black – each grabbed an arm and began dragging him away from the area.

  Just as the enemy started to enter the outer perimeter the deafening sounds of rotors filled the air. American gunships showed up and started spraying destruction from above. Door gunners cut the V.C. attackers to shreds. The onslaught evaporated quickly as an American rifle company rushed to the lines Bud and Fullbright once occupied. Rocket fire from the choppers made huge gaps in the V.C. lines. The enemy retreated as choppers started firing rockets in the direction of enemy mortars.

  Still bleeding from his nose and mouth, Bud gasped for air. He was in agony and feared he was only minutes from death. He tried to climb to his feet but a medic gently pushed him back to the ground.

  “Whoa Sarge! Be still! I need to check you out!” The medic shouted as the sounds of battle started to abate.

  “I...need...I need to check on,” Bud coughed and the pain in his ribcage made him see stars.

  “Don’t talk! Just be still until I can check you out! I think you might have some broken ribs, so don’t move, okay?” The medic screamed.

  The black soldier — Sellers, Bud believed was his name — spoke up.

  “He was carrying ammo boxes to the line when the mortars hit. One went off right in front of him,” he said to the medic. The soldier and the medic looked back to the ammo boxes and they could see shards of shrapnel embedded in one of them.

  “Sgt. Fullbright,” Bud said weakly. “Check on Sgt. Fullbright.”

  The medic looked to the two soldiers who had drug Bud away. The white private — Sizemore, Bud recalled — answered as he knelt down next to him.

  “Fullbright bought it. Sorry Sarge. Crying ass shame,” Sizemore said loudly but with as much sympathy as he could muster given the situation.

  “Sgt. Fullbright was a sniper and Sgt. Rivers here was his spotter,” the private explained to the medic. The young medic looked to Sellers.

  “I’m giving him a morphine shot. Stay with him until I get back or until the Evac choppers get here,” he then turned to Sizemore. “Show me where this Sgt. Fullbright is. I want to be sure before we put a toe tag on him.”

  “Hang in there Sarge. Evac’s gonna be here real soon and haul you out of here. You’re on your way home,” Sellers said with a cheerful a grin as he could offer.

  The words, “Fullbright bought it,” echoed in his mind as he slipped into unconsciousness.

  ***

  The young soldier couldn’t remember much. An explosion and pain were all that came to mind. When he woke up the first thing he saw through a blurry stare were the bright lights of an operating room. In years to come that moment would alternately become both hazy and vivid, but a haunting memory nonetheless.

  “Relax Sargent. You’re going to be okay. You need to rest,” said a voice with a peculiar accent. It reminded him of an actor trying to exaggerate an English speaking man with an Asian accent.

  The soldier tried to speak but couldn’t. He could not make out the face, only the white surgical scrubs and mask.

  “Please don’t try to talk. You’ve suffered extensive injuries in a mortar attack – in parti
cular in your ribs and lungs. You were lucky a medic got to you when he did. But I assure you, you will make a full recovery. In fact, you will be better than ever when we are through here,” the voice said again.

  “The phrase “Fullbright bought it,” returned to his mind and again he slipped into a dreamless state.

  At some point — the soldier did not know when — he returned to a semi-conscious state. He couldn’t open his eyes but he could hear a conversation.

  “Doctor, how long will the process take?” Asked a man with a gruff voice.

  “It’s very difficult pinpoint. Perhaps six months...perhaps more,” said the now familiar Asian-sounding voice.

  “Six months?” The gruff sounding voice asked in disbelief.

  “This is still an experimental treatment General. We are learning as we go. Drugs, mental reinforcement, and reprogramming aside, it will take time for everything to have the proper effect,” the doctor said.

  “We’ve had some success Doctor but not enough to justify our budget to certain members of the Oversight Committee. We need impressive results immediately or this program will be cut along with your generous salary,” said the voice identified only as “General.”

  “Patience please. I assure you, your agency will get the desired results along with the funding you desire,” the doctor said.

  After that, the sound faded and sleep — a long and peaceful sleep — came at last.

  ***

  Adam Eastland sat up on hid bed and rubbed his unshaven chin. He looked at the digital clock beside him on the nightstand. The display read 6:27 a.m. If he was still teaching classes at the University of Chicago it would be time to catch the train. But he was between teaching jobs and he was in no rush.

  Adam stepped out of the bed, stretched his tall frame, and ran his hand through his neatly cropped salt and pepper hair. He walked to the window of his bedroom, wearing only a pair of blue flannel sleep pants. He looked down at the street. It promised to be a bright autumn morning in Chicago. The streets were already busy with traffic and off in the distance, he could see Wrigley Field, where he spent so many happy afternoons as a teenager. Ernie Banks, Billy Williams, Ron Santo all came to his mind as he stared at the old ballpark in the distance.