Transfer

     A cop? Me, a cop? And a military one to boot. What were they thinking of? Nah, it simply had to be another case of FUBAR. And I didn't even know what that was at the time. I mean, I'd seen it in action many a time. But I sure didn't believe it could happen to me. And turn out to be a good thing at the same time.
     So I gathered up my things and got a ride to another barracks where the Army was gonna turn me into an MP. The things I had with me had ballooned to two duffle bags. One of the guys in my squad had been transferred from grunt to chief underwear dispenser. Somehow the two of us became friends. Don't think we had a thing in common except he was a bullshitter of the first order and I always had a thing for BSers. Most of what they had to say was kinda true, at least in their own minds it was true, then was made more fun by stretchin' it out here and there. But, fun to listen to? You bet. Cars, women, petty crime, all good stuff to pass the time.
     Couple of days before Bravo set off for the world he asked me if I wanted any uniforms or boots. Couldn't think of a single use for any of it. Also couldn't think of a single reason to say no. So there I was, on my first jeep ride in Vietnam, travelin' off to the other side of Dong Tam with a new duffle, eight new sets of jungle fatigues and six new pairs of boots. Coulda started my own army. Or black market.
     Becomin' an MP didn't quite set right with me. Bein' a grunt really sucked but at least you knew you were at the bottom of the heap. There's honor down in the cesspool. All that trickle down trickle downin' its way all the way from the White House. But the MPs, they had a well earned reputation. Screwin' with grunts just 'cause they didn't have their IDs on them. Pushin' VCs out of helicopters for the fun of it. 'Spose there were a coupla good ones but I doubted it. But if it got me out of Vietnam, so be it.
     The man in charge turned out to be Sergeant First Class Davy Heath. Heath was an immense black man. Not fat, just big. Big like he worked out with weights every day. And, lordy, lordy, I hate to say it, he was an honorable man. First and only lifer I'd have called a career soldier, even if he was a cop.
     His introduction to us rag-tag, ill suited bunch went something like this:

     "Morning. I'm gonna cut this short and sweet. I've got one week to turn you men into MPs. And that ain't easy. Not impossible because we're all going to work our butts off, but not easy. You're going to have four hours of class a day, an hour of PT and three hours to get your gear and selves in order. You're going to look, act and pull shifts as MPs at the end of the week.
     There's no doubt you'll run into trouble when you're finally on the street pulling duty. When you do I'll back you up one hundred percent. Anybody who's gotta problem with the way you handled yourself has to come through me first. And they ain't gettin' through. However, when the smoke clears and it's just the two of us, you'll answer to me and my justice. Understood?"

     I could live with that. Didn't know what his sense of justice was and had no intention of ever finding out. Strangely enough. the two of us hit it off from the get-go. Don't know why. Maybe 'cause we could sense things in each other that made us to feel at home. Some people just feel right.
     Seemed like half the troops in the MP company had been pulled out of Bravo Company. Weasel, Papa-san, Pineapple, Lunsford and the guy who was always listening to Jackie Wilson. Like old home week. Had I been paying attention I'd have realized half that makeshift MP Company was activated National Guardsmen. During the war both Ohio and Hawaii had been activated. Bad luck for those NGs. Odd men in an odd group of men. Put together on paper so all the holes in the new Division could be filled. Then torn apart to form another Division. More on that later.