Zero Hour RP

Pomeroy and Watson stepped off of the helicopter that had set them down atop the Laotian apartment building. They had their equipment on them and it was raining. "It's official! CIA is boots on the ground in Laos and there ain't a goddamn thing Red is gonna' do to stop it!" Morrison, their handler said as he walked forward with a hand on his hat to keep it from flying off from the winds stirred by the helicopter rotors as it took off. "It's -damn- good to see you gentlemen!" he added as he began to usher the two towards the door that lead into the building. "So, Donny, tell me! What the fuck are they doin' sending you all the way out here?"

Pomeroy cleared his throat and took the panama hat off of is head as they got inside. Touching his hair a few times to ensure that his gel was still in-place, he spoke. "I dono' sir, Director McCone was insistent on sending new blood up here to keep an eye on things. I heard that he gave the chair shit 'cause he wants some new-generation CIA fellas' working with the slant-eyes. What are we doin' here, anyways? They wouldn't tell us fuckin' nothin'." Watson listened to the two as they spoke, deciding not to chime in the time being. Their shoes clattered down each step as they walked. The apartment complex was totally abandoned, presumably cleared out by the Phoumi forces so that the CIA could set up peacefully inside. There were a couple of open doors as they passed with men listening to tape recorders, others drawing on whiteboards and putting pins in maps. It was almost like a small pentagon, Don thought.

"We're s'posed to training Phoumi's boys. Teach 'em how to fight like real American war heroes," Morrison explained.

"Fuck gooks," Don added.

"What the fuck do you mean they're fuckin' pullin' the advisory staff out of Laos!?" Pomeroy demanded as Watson broke the news to him about the upcoming document signing that would be taking place in Geneva. Laos was to become neutral from both Russian and US intervention during the activity of the Vietnamese War Theatre. As such, Pomeroy Watson and Morrison were to be reassigned elsewhere. Worried for his job, the prior took a drag from his cigarette. He'd been up all night deciphering communications. Hadn't slept, and was still in his pajamas.

Garry Watson spoke up, "Donny, there ain't no use hollarin' about it. I reckon everybody in this building's just as pissed off." He tried to sound sympathetic despite the sour look on his face. Don knew that his partner didn't like what was happening either, but it'd seem that they had no say at all in the matter. This one came from the Presidency.

"We spend a year here," Don began, "- knee deep in gook shit and CIA equipment, and now we're getting fuckin' pulled out!? I have a goddamn wife, Garry. What am I gonna' do, get laid off now too!?"

"We're not outta' the woods yet, fellas," Morrisan began. "They're not canning us, they're moving us." He took a drag from his own cigarette and downed what was left in his whiskey glass. "They're transferring us to MAC-V. It's a SOG group they're puttin' together for Vietnam. We're goin' with the first wave," the chief observer explained.

Corporal Donald Leonard Pomeroy
Saigon, 1965

Pomeroy looked out the window of their Huey as they flew over the South Vietnamese countryside. There were four of them sat in the back of the helicopter. The Laos teams had all been pulled out and were shuffled elsewhere, most of which went back to the states. Don, Garry and Morrison were tacked up with World War Two vet James DeSilva, a Staff Sergeant who was put in charge of their SOG team. He was an older man, Don thumbed him for about forty. "You look stupid as hell in that headband, son," DeSilva said as he took a toke from his cigar, nodding his chin towards Don.

"I'm a real fuckin' American man, Sarn't DeSilva," Don replied as he flared his nostrils towards the other. He always did have kind of an inherent disrespect for authority. Maybe it was because he'd considered himself hot shit since he graduated from the academy as a junior agent for the United States Central Intelligence Agency. Now? He was in Viet-fucking-nam wearing a MAC-V patch on his sleeve and a CAR-15 in his lap. "We're gonna' be goddamn heroes by the end of this."

"Donny, d'you listen to yourself speak?" Garry asked, prompting a snerk to come from Morrison.

"Hey, fuck you Kurt," Don said towards Morrison. "You ain't my boss no more. I can give you shit for laughin' at me. Y'prick. No better'n the gooks, I tell ya'. Zipperheaded motha'fuckers, and you're a sympathizer." He grinned as he chewed the end of his cigarette.

“I stared deep into that darkness. Peering, long I stood there, wondering, fearing, doubting, dreaming, dreaming dreams no man ever dared to dream before. It was a quiet night in Khe Sanh. My partner Gerald and I were stationed on overwatch duty, waiting for the gooks to make the push we were all waiting for. It had been approximately seventy-two hours since our arrival. The 1st Battalion, 9th Marines were already boots on the ground prior to our arrival. They’d called for reinforcements after the blockade was starting to falter near the end of March. Our SOG team was named Hotel back then. Hotel team and some guys from the aquatic forces were sent to mop up and help 'em hold the airfield.”

The main force was stationed by an airstrip landing. Approximately two clicks from the landing zone, they were digging in along with two other platoons from the Forty-First, some even said there were a few other special ops guys there. If there were, they sure as hell didn’t see them. They had a guide who led them into the forests overlooking the airstrip. They were meant to send word if their intel was wrong, and the North Viet forces were launching their assault from a different angle.

Garry turned to look at Don from the tree branch he was perched on. “How long do you reckon we’ll be here? Before the slant-eyes hit us, I mean.” he asked. Don gave him a long stare before responding. He wasn’t quite sure if Garry was able to pick up on it or not, but for the first time since Laos, Logan had been apprehensive about the oncoming fight. Not because they were outnumbered roughly seven to one, but because of that Godawful waiting, the time where nothing happened. At any moment, they could be crept up on. Long the duo sat in the jungle, waiting for a shot that would never come. They were posted fifty five hours before being relieved and sent back to camp. Something big was coming.

April 2nd, 1968
Khe Sanh, South Vietnam
0905 Hours

Pomeroy and Watson made their way back down to the airfield to link up with the rest of Second Platoon. He couldn’t help but wonder why it was that the enemy was so persistent. It also made him wonder why so many of were prepared to die in order to save a bunch of empty forestry. Was it really worth it? Questions he'd never before considered raced through his mind. He was battle-weary and Christ, was he ever tired. On the way back to camp they saw what looked like a hole in the sky, but it was only a large explosion. They saw a great ball of fire unlike anything they'd ever seen before. It started coming down towards the fields before them. A US bomber, or at least, what was left of one. That was when the men’s morale started to falter, and their loyalties were put to the test. Every man, even an operator has a response to fight or flight. Don certainly questioned his. They could desert right then, and nobody would ever have to know. Don considered it, as Watson did, as he was sure they all did. In the end however, they were soldiers. They had their dues to pay, and so they drew a line in the sand.

“It was nearing midday when we finally heard the roar of the enemy tanks. Every man started to make his way over to his battle station and began to prepare for it. Without a doubt, this was the beginning of the end. This one kid turned and stared at me, but only for a few moments. DeSilva seemed to pick up on what he was looking for, and so he patted him twice on the shoulder pad before stepping up onto the barricade. He began to shout out, “Gentlemen! This is the last line of defense between our landing zone and those commie bastards! Now, as you all know, I’m not big on speeches, but I’m going to make an exception today. We’re a part of the goddamn Marine Corps! We're not about to let those slant-eyed mother -fuckers- run us outta' here. This is -our- jungle now, baby!”

I remember several men cheering, James always did have a way with words. I was sure he even got Kurt Morrison to smile. I went from being ready to hear the retreat order to wanting to blast every goddamn rice-patty motha'fucker that set foot on my airfield. We propped our rifles up against the top lining of the trench and we waited. That’s when it all began. We spotted them coming over the hill on the other side of the strait. There were so many of them. We were backed into a corner, meaning they had us outmaneuvered, outgunned and even outmanned by a seven-to-one ratio. I looked to my right and saw several Marines preparing their launchers. We were waitin' for them to close in, so we could cut 'em down before they laid into the grass.

The Captain began to shout out towards his men. Over the sound of the engines, and the shouting all over the beach, I couldn’t quite hear what it was he was saying. I only caught segments of it, but were we fighting real men, I’m sure the roar that followed would have shaken them to the very core. “Hold!” he cried to emphasize.

Suddenly, the Sarn't piped up. "Who are we!?" he hollered as he grabbed me tightly by the shoulder. "Mac-Vee-Ess-Oh-Gee!" the four of us cried in unison.

"Punch it," Griggs said as Don held the knob in his hand. After giving a brief look over his shoulder towards Gordie, he nodded. Griggs readied the snub-nose in his hand moments before the Don sent a kick towards the handle. The door burst open and in went the three men through the back door of the building and out into the alleyway. Gordie and Griggs swept right and put several rounds into the man running up the alleyway at them with his weapon drawn. Don went left through the door and used his Colt to put the first armed man in sight into the floor.

Gordie underhanded a bottle with a rag stuffed inside to Griggs who proceeded to throw it into the building behind him after lighting it in order to buy themselves some time. "Shit's in-place, smoke 'em!" Further down the alley they went before a round hit Don's left side.

"Son of a bitch! Son of a *bitch*!" he emphasized as they rounded the corner.

"I told you we shouldn't have burned McCaffrey, God dammit!" Griggs exclaimed as he began to load several more bullets into his revolver. Don held his side as he sucked in a breath through clenched teeth. Luckily, he was only grazed. "He was a fuckin' snake!" he shouted defensively as he, too, reloaded. Gordie regarded the two of them with narrowed eyes, "If you two are done playing grab-ass, we have cops and people coming!"

Don opened his eyes to look at the woman sitting across the table from him once more. She was seated in a high back chair with one leg folded over the other, her hands clasped calmly in her lap. He couldn't quite remember her face, but he had her figured for plain looking, judging by her scratchier voice and the fact that she wore pants instead of a skirt to go with that awful blue suit jacket. The room itself was dark and he figured that there was a camera somewhere, but he couldn't be too sure. He knew her only as Lady Wisconsin, aide to his Capo. He knew-not of a real name, but that was the alias she went by.

"That was it, that's what happened before we got to the dock-" Smokes started before being interrupted by the woman.

"Tell me again, why did you shoot him? He was valuable, to some degree obviously." the woman asked.

"He was a snake," Don said plainly as he took another cigarette from the open pack on the table. After flipping up the casing covering the top of his lighter, he struck the wheel and used his free hand to shield the flame as he brought it up to light his smoke. After taking a deep drag, he exhaled the smoke through his mouth as he spoke, "He burned us. Burned quite a few people, actually."

"... They're waiting for us in the hangar," Avery said as Don and Griggs neared the entrance to the port. "Straight through customs into the private bay, they're loading the stuff as we speak," he added. Avery was an associate of the duo. While Griggs was a made-man of the Family itself, Don was an associate at the time. After having acquired several shipments of weapons from a contact from Paradise Falls up in Canada, they were meant to launder them and ship them out-East in order to auction them back on Family shores. If it went successful, Avery was going to get the break he was looking for in order to take his sacrament and vows to get into the family on his own accord.

As they entered the port, all seemed to be going normally. Griggs had his jacket slung over his shoulder and Don walked casually with his bag hanging at his side. They went through gate A and then Avery piped up, "Do you think everything's going to go over smoothly?" the young man, no older than twenty or twenty-one asked.

"Look, kid. Everything's going to roll over smooth as ice. McCaffrey and Dillon are waiting for us inside with everything already packed. Once we get through the scans, we just jump-ship and go," Don said in an attempt to reassure him.

Upon reaching the scanning area, Don removed his bag and set it in the bin to be scanned. The trio removed their shoes and accessories and went through the typical port nonsense before getting their belongings back. The port town of Cape Charles had heavy security and they took smuggling very seriously, as taxes were hefty as a result of being the largest port on the Virginia coast at the time. They then stepped into the elevator that took them down to the lower level where the private dock was. There were few people in the halls, which made Don nervous, given the lower levels were typically packed with their contact's own goons. McCaffrey was another made-man, like Griggs, who assured him that he could be trusted, given the two had worked together in the past, laundering ill-gotten gains.

The outer hangar door opened and the three stepped outside. Don reached into his jacket and pulled out his carton of cigarettes. He promptly lit one up and tucked the lighter into the breast pocket of his bomber jacket. He smirked as he let the cigarette burn as it hung between his lips, "I can't wait to get away from this fuckin' bird's nest," he said as he walked through the door, looking over his shoulder as he did so. To his surprise, Griggs and Avery weren't moving and just stood still.

In order to see what the commotion was about, Don looked forward once more to see a dozen or so men dressed in nondescript street clothing aiming weapons at the door. He took note of McCaffrey holding a gun to Dillon and in that moment, he realized that they'd been had. The traitor turned to look at them, "Ah! Gentlemen!" he let out in a boisterous manner. "I'm glad you could join my friends and I! Now, Donny -- be a doll and call out to Gordie. Your plus-one seems to have locked himself inside the boat."

Don stood still for a few moments. He slowly poked at his assailants with his eyes until he cast a glance towards Gordie through the window of the ship. He gave him a slow nod before a small panel on the side of the ship opened up and a Thompson began opening fire. This gave the trio enough time to run for cover, though they lacked weapons.

"... and you took off after Gordie came out with a lever-action?" Lady Wisconsin asked as she tilted her head some in skepticism.

"The snake took off running after he put one in Dillon. Avery was hit, too. First one died point-blank, the kid bled out on the boat while we were crossing the drink," the smoker explained as he exhaled the exhaust from his cigarette through his nose. It hid Lady Wisconsin's face while she shifted in her seat, which caused him to shift his shoulders uncomfortably in the chair as he leaned back and kicked his feet up on the table.

"What happened after Virginia, Donald?" she asked.

"What do you mean what happened after Virginia? You know the story, I wouldn't be sitting here if you wanted me d-" he fussed, but got spoken over once more.

"I have you sitting here because I know perfectly well what you -did- do, and I want some goddamn answers!" she exclaimed. "Now are you going to sit here and make it difficult, or are you going to tell me? I could call the two men outside in here and they could -make- you give me the answers I'm looking for," she said with a particularly venomous tome.

Don sat with his cigarette burning between his lips in silence for several long, drawn-out moments. Each tick from the clock nearly caused him to wince, given the intensity of the interrogation. "... alright," he began.

Don set the audio recording device on the table and turned it on. Griggs sat backwards on one of the kitchen chairs while Gordie kept his eyes outside, peeking through the curtains in the living room of the apartment. Tied to the chair was McCaffrey. Several of his men lay dead on the floor after the breach. The smoker pulled out his switchblade and knelt down. He grabbed the snake by the jaw and held his knife up as he let the blade extend from the hilt, "Why'd you fuckin' do it?" he demanded gruffly. "Lookit me," he demanded as the man in question tried to pull away. "Look at me!" he shouted.

"They gave me a good fuckin' deal, Donny," McCaffrey said. "The whole thing was a goddamn set-up. The Gambinos'd let me go if I gave 'em you. The whole thing wasn't meant to happen like this."

"You mean we weren't meant to leave that fuckin' dock," Don reiterated as he reared back and socked him in the face with his free hand.

"Kick his fuckin' teeth in, Donny!" Gordie added.

Griggs came forward holding a fireplace poker. He smacked the bound man several times in the stomach, before whipping him across the back a couple of times, "You like that, you dense motherfucker!?" he shouted. "I trusted you and you snaked me! You snaked all of us!"

With no response from the man, Don stuck his knife in the table and reared back with his good hand to punch him square in the nose. A crunch was heard as his nose broke and began to bleed him all over the front of his own shirt. He began to pace around behind him as Griggs reached for the knife. "I ain't gonna' shootcha', oh no. You're not worth the bullet, friend-o. What I -am- gonna' do, though!" he cautioned, sounding like he was about to go over the deep end. "Is fucking. Send you. A God. Damn. Message. You son -... - of a bitch!" With every pause, Griggs poked the switchblade into the side of McCaffrey's leg, effectively maiming him pretty good until he stopped to take a few deep breaths as he sat back down on the chair.

"Gah!" cried McCaffrey, "My crew'll fuckin' ice you all! You hear me you motherfuckers? You, your kids, and your fuckin' -" he hollared, though was cut off as Don simply put one in the back of the bound man's head. "Ah, fuck! Donny! Come on, man! You got chunks all over my sh-- this is a new fuckin' suit, man!" Griggs complained as he threw his hands up.

Gordie looked over from the window, "They just pulled up outfront, guns already out. We need to go now, or we won't have another opportunity," he said.

Don grabbed the recorder and headed towards the door after Gordie tossed him the sawn-off that McCaffrey had tried to reach for when they first came in, "There's gonna' be more than just his goons if this goes public. We're going out the back."

Donald sat outside of his flower shop, cigar between his chapped lips as he watched the eleven o'clock bus pull up to the stop. Paper sprawled out across his lap, he adjusted his reading glasses in order to catch a glimpse at the front page. "Hmm," he let out as he chewed slightly on the tip of his burning piece. His voice was deep and gravelly from a lifetime of shouting and smoking. With one leg folded over the other, the old gentleman adjusted himself on his bench. It was a slow day at the flower shop and Don felt like soaking up some of that American spirit. It was the Fourth of July, after-all. He thought back to Gordie every year, considering that the fourth was his birthday. After the summer of Seventy-Three, Griggs and Gordie were both killed off by the Marcelli family after they'd killed McCaffrey, who was one of their capos. It didn't matter that they were also working for Vinnie Marcelli. At least, Griggs and Gordie didn't have the luxury of consideration.

Don wasn't sure why he was exiled from Baltimore rather than killed, but he didn't quite care. He got to watch his children grow and his wife grow old, which was both a blessing and a curse after her passing at the age of seventy. Between his time in East Asia and in organized crime, he felt that with age came a bittersweet quiet. No longer did he have the need to run, shout and kill. Instead, he was doomed to sit alone, an aching florist without a single soul from his earlier life to enjoy his time with. With his war companions killed in Khe Sanh and no siblings, he'd settled in Dallas Texas in hopes of living a quiet life until he, too, came time to move on to meet his companions once more.