The Dhofar Redemption: Chapter III

After another long delay, here is Chapter Three of The Dhofar Redemption. You can get caught up on Chapter One here and Chapter Two here. You can also get some background on the Dhofar War here. I am still searching for someone to help design the cover for this particular story, so reach out if that is something in your wheelhouse. Enjoy!

It was nearing one in the morning when Harrigan dragged himself up the stairs to his apartment above the bar. The proposition made to him by Kelly, Birmingham, and al-Ibrahim had been echoing around the chambers of his mind all day. As Harrigan slipped his key into the door, he was moving on autopilot. Not just exhausted from his long day at work, but also mentally fatigued from kicking the idea of calling Ming Li’s International Tours around in his head since the three men left the bar.

Harrigan made his way through his spartan apartment, pausing only to take his clothes off and place them in a neat pile on the dresser near the bed. With his pistol mere inches away on the nightstand, Harrigan tried to drift off to sleep. Sleep would not come, however, and he laid there for several hours with his mind racing. Images of his tours in Vietnam flashing back and forth behind his eyes as he just laid there unsleeping until, finally, and exhausted Harrigan slipped into a restless slumber.

Vietnam, May 1966

“You don’t have to stay, Ell-Tee.”

“I think I should, sir, with Lieutenant Richards dead, the men need someone with experience to follow.” Harrigan responded, standing at parade rest in his Commanding Officer’s hooch.

Major Allan Hunter scrutinized the hardened First Lieutenant in front of him. The kid was remarkably sharp and had demonstrated an uncanny knack for understanding the jungles of Vietnam. The Major knew he needed more men like Harrigan, but the Lieutenant had already been here over a month past his redeployment date to provide turnover.

“Look, Harrigan,” the Major measured his words carefully, “it sucks that that Richards bought it, but Sergeant Olivio can handle the men until the next ell-tee gets here.”

“Sir, with respect to Sergeant Olivio’s skills,” Harrigan responded quickly, “He doesn’t have the experience I have, and if he bites it on this tour, then none of these guys are going to make it.”

The Major had to admit that Harrigan had more experience than anyone else in the company on the ground in Vietnam, the Major included. And Sergeant Olivio, while bright, was on his first tour as an infantry platoon sergeant. Many of the boys comprising the rest of this replacement platoon were fresh faced recruits, fresh out of infantry training on their first tour.

Looking sideways to the Master Gunnery Sergeant in the corner, Major Hunter asked quickly, “Master Guns, when are we due a replacement?”   

“Not sure, sir, could be as long as three months,” the crusty Senior Noncommissioned Officer spoke with a guttural, raspy drawl.

Major Hunter nodded and scratched at the non-regulation stubble under his chin, “fine, Harrigan, you can stay until Sergeant Olivio is spun up. No more than another month.”

Lieutenant Harrigan saluted sharply, “Thank you, sir.”

“Harrigan,” Major Hunter spoke sharply, “As soon as he is spun up, or that month is up, you go home. I don’t care if a Gook sniper greases him that afternoon. You go home. You’ve been here more than long enough.”

“Understood, sir,” Harrigan said impassively. With a precise turn, the Lieutenant made his way out the door of his Commanding Officer’s hooch and into the oppressive humidity of South Vietnam. Harrigan’s normally impassive face had the faintest grin as he pushed his slightly-too-long hair back and placed a pair of weathered Ray-Ban Wayfarer sunglasses over his squinting eyes.

It was a short walk to his tent through the muggy morning sunlight and when he entered his canvas home, Harrigan was greeted by a visibly anxious Sergeant Olivio.

“What did the CO say, Ell-Tee?”

“They’re gonna let me stay,” Harrigan responded as he walked over to his cot to sit down, “At least until you’re spun up to provide turnover to the next Lieutenant who shows up.”

Sergeant Olivio received the news with a visible reduction in anxiety. The sergeant had done his first tour in Vietnam as a young Lance Corporal almost three years ago and had since been stateside until earning his Platoon Sergeant stripes. He now had an entire platoon relying on him, and he wasn’t even the most experienced guy in his own platoon.

“Raul,” Harrigan surprised Sergeant Olivio with the use of his first name, “You’re gonna be fine.”

Olivio nodded as Harrigan continued, “This is my third tour, and by all accounts my most successful one. I’ll show you everything I can. There are Corporals and Lances in the platoon who have multiple, recent deployments to ‘Nam and if you take care of them, they’ll take care of you.”

“Your last platoon spoke highly of you, Sir,” Olivio said. It was true, all the Marines in Harrigan’s platoon before the changeover had spoken almost reverently of the mustang officer. The fact that none of them died out in the bush, despite taking on heavy contact and setting ambushes at an alarming pace had to be the biggest reason why the younger Marines seemed to be in awe of Harrigan.

The Lieutenant grunted as he laid back on his cot. Placing his sweat-discolored boonie-cap over his eyes he spoke one last time.

“Let the platoon know that we are heading out tonight on ambush,” Harrigan ordered from under his cap. “Some fuckin’ hill somewhere in the jungle. Squad Leaders brief at 1700 in my tent, followed by platoon brief at 1900. Step off at 2100.”

“Roger that, Sir,” Sergeant Olivio left the tent to the soft sounds of his Platoon Leader snoring in the mid-morning heat.

Hours later, as the sun set below the trees and the humid twilight of South Vietnam rose quickly over the jungle, Lieutenant Harrigan watched as Sergeant Olivio led his new platoon out into the jungle from their Forward Operating Base near the Laotian border. The mustang officer watched from behind impassive eyes as the platoon began to slink into the jungle towards their objective. Checking his gear a final time, Harrigan turned his rifle over in his hands, checking the vital components and looking over the ammunition, water, and grenades slung all over his torso.

With just the faintest hint of a grin, Lieutenant Harrigan led the rest of the platoon out to the ambush site, into a jungle and combat that seemed to keep calling his name.

Harrigan woke the next morning at the same time as he had the day before and every day before that. As he completed his morning ritual, the option presented to him roared around his brain, an invisible, manic contradiction to the obvious sterility and order of the small apartment. As he finished his breakfast, the conflict raging inside him had begun to give way to resolve. By the time Harrigan locked his apartment he had his way forward.

There was a pay phone down the street from Major’s Bar & Grill, and the former Marine Lieutenant pulled the business card out of his pocket as he slipped inside. Hunched against the cold weather, Harrigan punched the numbers and pulled the phone into his ear.

“Ming-Li’s International Tours, how can I help you?” The falsely cheerful voice on the other end of the phone picked up after two rings.

“It’s Harrigan,” Curtis paused for a moment, last second thoughts crossing through his mind before he could shove them down, “I’m in.”

There was a slight pause on the other end of the line, and Harrigan thought he might be able to hear some scrambling on the other end. “A package will arrive for you tonight at your residence. Follow the instructions,” the voice never lost its cheerful tone, “and thank you for choosing Ming-Li’s!”

“Tha- “ Harrigan’s reply was cut off as the line went dead. He replaced the handset and walked to what he was sure would be his last day at the bar.