After returning to Okinawa from combat operations in the Gulf of Tonkin and Vietnam, in the early spring of 1965, I was listed as a “short-timer” because I had less than three months left on my four year term of active duty in the Marine Corps. I needed some R&R (rest and recuperation) to heal, from the physical and psychological wounds of a war- not yet declared; from the long, drawn out months of reconnaissance activity along the coast of North and South Vietnam; from being chased by a Russian submarine (intent on torpedoing us), and from being harassed by Russian MIG fighter jets during the day and hydrofoil PT boats at night. All that (cat and mouse activity) wreaked havoc on our minds for days, and nights, on end. The constant, threatening radio broadcasts from Hanoi-Hanna only heightened our frustrations in wanting to “hit the beach.” When we finally did make an amphibious, beachhead landing near Monkey Mountain, off the coast of Da Nang; we engaged in combat with, not only the North Vietnam forces, but with their Russian advisors. They were bombing the air base with mortars from their positions in the mountain. It was during one of those confrontations, that I was wounded and knocked unconscious; supposedly from a mortar blast. When I awoke from a comatose condition, I was lying on a gurney, in what appeared to be an operating room. There were IV tubes stuck in my arteries; one dispensing a morphine drip, and a team of naval medics hovering over me… like vultures eying their prey. I was in the ship’s ER. I had received my “baptism, under fire”- as the saying goes. And, it was by the grace of God that I wasn’t one of those Marines who ended up in the ship’s iceboxes, in a body-bag. I was glad to be alive and looking forward to some sorely need R&R, when I returned to Okinawa.
Back on the base at Camp Hansen’s Headquarters’ Company, First Sergeant Sadler recommended that I take a ten day leave, to, as he put it: “…get your mind right, Marine.” The necessary paper work was completed and approved for a ten day leave. That same day, I was summoned to the front office by the NCO in charge (Corporal Taylor), for what was to be a briefing on a “matter of importance.” Corporal Taylor suggested that, since I had a secret clearance from Quantico’s officer’s training school, I should go to Hong Kong for the R&R because there was something that I could do there for the Marine Corps that might have an effect on the future of combat operations in Vietnam. I was told that a Marine Corporal, who was also stationed at Quantico during the time I was there, and also had a secret clearance, had deserted from the Marine Corps, and is suspected of selling secrets to the Communists about our development of the Harrier fighter Jet (Jump-Jet). He related all the details to me about the mission, and asked if I would accept such an assignment. At that point, the first Sergeant came in and said: “Of course, if you do decide to take this mission, and something unexpected was to happen to you in China; we would have to deny any knowledge of your activity...we’re already in hot water with this goddamned Gulf of Tonkin incident!” I was actually told that!
Nevertheless, I agreed to accept this mission on the terms that I would be allowed to be discharged on Okinawa when I returned, so that I could marry Yoshiko: (the beautiful Eurasian woman that I fell madly in love with). They said that it would be “seriously” considered...when and if I returned from Hong Kong. I didn’t like the sound of that, and I knew that I was breaking the cardinal rule of the Marine brotherhood: “Never volunteer for anything.” But I was going to use this assignment as leverage in my quest to marry Yoshiko— since they denied my first request. (The U.S. military was still adamant about allowing soldiers to marry women of Japanese descent.) And, it didn’t help matters any that Okinawa was the bloodiest, island battle of WWII for the Marines against the Japanese forces– more so than Iwo Jima.
The First Sergeant added: “God help the Chinese...when you get there....” I never quite knew just what he meant by that remark, but I suspected it had something to do with my activities while under his command- like the time I was chased by the MPs for impersonating an officer. That had to do with my affair with Yoshiko, at the club Mikado, when I employed that tactic to get her attention. All the officers at the base were jealous of my affair with her, and I was warned to “lay off” because she was considered “officer’s material.”
The issue at hand was this: A Marine who had a crypto clearance (access to secret documents) was suspected of copying documents relating to the development of the Harrier Fighter Jet (a joint venture by the U.S and Britain), and selling them to Russian contacts in Hong Kong. This particular fighter jet was very sophisticated and incorporated new high-tech guidance equipment in its cockpit. The revolutionary technology enabled the jet to take off vertically, hover like a helicopter, and then take off at tree-top height at jet speed. This made the jet ideal for fighting a war in a jungle and mountainous environment like Vietnam.
This Marine was now AWOL (absent without leave) somewhere in Hong Kong, China. It was known that he had a personal grudge with the U.S. military for its involvement in South East Asia. And, he had also been refused a marriage request on Okinawa too. That’s about all the info I was given about the specifics. The Marine was using a code-name: (Jackman). And, the only lead I would have would be a pub in Hong Kong where he was known to frequent and make contact; it was called the (Jolly Roger). The game was set, and now I was about to embark on a perilous adventure into the enchanted land of China. I was told to act as a tourist visiting the Far East, issued a shoulder-strapped camera, and given some operating money (Traveler’s checks) along with a U.S. passport. I requested a weapon, but wasn’t allowed to carry a concealed weapon because it might blow my cover as a tourist. I would carry my military ID, sewn (concealed) into the side flap of my wallet. My New York driver’s license (which I still had) would also serve as identification. No dog-tags either. I was going to have to: “improvise…adapt…and overcome.”
The ship that they arranged to take me to Hong Kong was a cargo ship equipped with passenger quarters for the occasional island tourists. On my way to the ship yard, I took a detour to see Yoshiko at the Club Mikado. I needed to tell her about my going away on this mission for ten days, and I also needed to reassure her that I would be back to marry her. I told her about the agreement I made with the top Sergeant, to arrange for our marriage on the island, before I was discharged back to the states. She was worried that I might not return, and she made an ominous gesture with her hand across her throat (the act of committing hari-kari) to express her intentions if I did not return. Deep within my very soul; I knew that she meant it, and for a brief moment, I had second thoughts about leaving. We embraced each other tightly, and I abruptly left her there at the rear door, exiting the club.
I boarded the ship in the harbor at Naha, and I was on my way. I just carried one light luggage bag with the basic necessities. The voyage to Hong Kong was uneventful, other than my encounter with this tall, ruggedly handsome character, who introduced himself as Ivan. He was about six-foot-two, with a build like a professional weight lifter, and he had piercing blue eyes. He had an uncanny resemblance to a younger Arnold Schwarzenegger. I thought it strange that he was the only other Caucasian that I met while on the ship. Nevertheless, we became friends while I maintained my alter-ego.
We arrived and disembarked at the dock in Hong Kong. During lunch at a dockside restaurant, I told Ivan that I was looking forward to having an exciting visit for the next several days. He asked: “Do you mind if I tagged along with you?” I was hesitant to accept, but I did. The first place I wanted to visit was the internationally famous (Floating JUMBO Restaurant). The mission could wait. We rode in rickshaws, over to the dock where the sampan ferries were. The sampan (little boat) that took us over to the floating restaurant had a man at the stern, guiding the boat, while his wife fed rice to her child in the covered bow section. I was told that some of these Orientals actually live on these boats.
We finally boarded this huge, colorfully decorated, floating, Oriental-Palace styled restaurant and proceeded up to the second level of the overly ornate structure. It was lit up like a Christmas tree with thousands of colorful lights and lanterns strung all over it. We sat at a table near the railings, overlooking the harbor that was filled with ancient, picturesque, Chinese sailing ships, coming and going. We both ordered freshly caught fish- which was part of the tradition on this vessel. There were young men, lined up on the outriggers below, who would dive into the murky water to retrieve coins that the patrons threw in, and that was how they earned their living. It was more of a show than a function of the restaurant. While Ivan and I drank (Sake) and ordered, I noticed that there were a lot of British people seated around the room. Their distinguished English accents revealed their presence. I was aware that Hong Kong was a British Crown colony, and that they had a lease on the island, at that time, which is just off the coast of mainland China. Looking around, I also noticed a strange old man, dressed in a finely tailored suit, staring over at our table from behind his menu. He had shifty eyes and the facial appearance of either being European, or Russian. His staring, made me feel a little uncomfortable, but I excused it as being nothing more than curiosity.
During this time, I explained to Ivan, that I had something special and personal that I needed to do while in Hong Kong and that I thought it best if we parted company here, and go our own separate way. He seemed a little disappointed and almost insisted that he continue along with me. I said: “Listen...I can’t explain the situation I’m involved in, but it’s personal, and I wouldn’t want to get you involved.” He said: “That’s OK. But maybe I could help in some way.” I told him that I couldn’t explain the details to him, but that if he was willing to accept that, and not ask any questions, then he could go with me. I remember thinking: “With someone like him along to watch my back, it could prove helpful if things go wrong.” We shook hands, and he agreed.
We finished eating, had a smoke, and since it was still daylight, I wanted to find that bar that was given as a lead to where Jackman frequented. After questioning a few citizens, along the Queen Ann blvd., we were given the address to a place that matched the description. It was a hole-in-the-wall kind of place, off of Queen’s blvd. The establishment’s sign, hanging over the sidewalk, was a black flag, emblazoned with the skull and cross-bones symbol (the infamous Pirate’s flag), and the plaque over the doorway read “Jolly Roger.” We went in, sat down, and one of the bar girls came over to take our order for beer. Ironically, there was an old WWII poster hanging on the wall near us; it pictured a sinking ship, and it read: (Loose lips, sink ships). When she brought our beer, she sat down at our table, and began to make conversation with us. She said her name was Tuyet; she was Asian and she spoke very good English. She asked all the usual questions: “What’s your name? Are you in the military? What country are you from? What are you doing here?” I answered accordingly. She had a strange look on her face, as if she were probing for some specific answers. I did all the talking, while Ivan sat cool and detached from the conversation. I waited for the opportune time, and then I spoke: “I have a friend in the Marine Corps who told me about this place, and suggested that I visit it if ever in Hong Kong. His name is Jackman...do you know of him?” Her expression went from curiously amused, to tight jawed serious. She abruptly got up and left the room for a while. When she came back, she handed me a matchbook with the name of a hotel inscribed on the cover. She said: “It’s in Kow Loon. Wait there and someone will contact you there...about Jackman.” I put the matchbook in my pocket and we left the bar.
I had sufficient money in American Express traveler’s checks, so I suggested we stay at the posh Peninsula Hotel, while in Kowloon. I needed time to figure things out and I wasn’t in any hurry to get myself in trouble. As strange as it may seem, Ivan never questioned me on what I was up to; he just seemed to take it all in stride. That evening, we took the Star Ferry across the harbor to Kowloon. After we settled in to the hotel room, we decided to call it a day, and retired for the night. The next morning, we took a tour of the city. I especially liked the little cafes that punctuated the boulevard; they had that distinctive European flair with those umbrella covered, wrought iron tables, occupied with people absorbed in reading the daily journals and drinking espresso coffee. And, Espresso coffee was just what I needed to start the day. Those French pastries we had, brought back some good memories of the ones I helped bake, in my father’s bakery shop, back in Poughkeepsie, New York.
After a few days of acclimating ourselves to the area, and visiting some of the popular tourist attractions, Ivan and I were getting better acquainted. I began to notice a hint of a Russian accent when he spoke. At the time, I didn’t attribute that to anything specific. During our conversation, I showed him the matchbook with the hotel’s name in it. He suggested that we go together to the hotel on Nathan Street, to follow up on the lead, and possibly find my friend Jackman there. We took a scoshi-cab (little car) to the hotel. It was a four story concrete structure that resembled an office building, rather than a hotel. When we got into the lobby, Ivan suggested that I check in while he went to the restroom.
I checked in with my passport, for a one night stay. After checking in, I went to the lounge to smoke and have a drink. While there, four men came out of the elevator, and sat around me. They looked like business men, dressed in finely tailored suits. I couldn’t determine their nationality because they didn’t speak, however they did look to be Asian. Whatever it was that they were smoking, it was making me dizzy, and somewhat disoriented. They kept staring at me and puffing away. On the wall, behind the men, there was a framed portrait of Ho Chi Minh (the communist leader of North Vietnam). Under the circumstances, I maintained my composure nevertheless and continued to be aware. It was a welcomed relief when Ivan returned. We decided to go directly to our room on the fourth floor. The four men in the bar nonchalantly followed us to the elevator. We went up before they could get in.
When we got off the elevator, I saw that there was a large banquet room, full of people, sitting around tables, listening to a band, playing loud music on a stage situated along a back wall. We went right to our room because I wanted to get some rest before pursuing making any contact with Jackman. Ivan suggested I rest while he goes out to check out the partying down the hall. I laid up in the bed with my eyes at half-mast; another habit I acquired from being in strange places with strange people. I kept dozing off; however, I wouldn’t allow myself to fall into a deep sleep. A couple of hours must have passed. I was suddenly, fully awakened by the loud banging of drums, coming from the band down the hall. I was also somewhat alarmed when I noticed that Ivan was not in the room. Then I was startled by the unexpected ringing of the phone by the bedside. I remember thinking: “Who could possibly be calling me...here at this hotel...and at this time of the morning?” I hoped it was Ivan. I picked up the receiver and responded:
“...Hello.” I answered, apprehensively.
“Is this John...Jackman friend?” A woman’s voice asked.
“Yes...it is.” I said.
“I woman friend of Jackman. What you want?”
“How did you know I was here?” I asked.
“That not important right now...John.”
I could hear a voice in the background talking, in a foreign language, and I also heard children talking and crying.
“You have anything for me - any papers?” She asked, with a sense of expectation.
“Maybe...but it is important for me to know about my friend Jackman. Is he here? Can you help me with that?”
“Listen to me, John. You come to Tiger Balm apartments near Kowloon harbor. Come in to court yard...I be looking for you. What color shirt you wear?”
“White.”
“Come quickly. I tell you everything you want know about your friend...Jackman.”
I put the phone down and tried to figure out how she could possibly have known that I was here at this time of the morning, and in this room. Someone obviously knew and alerted her. My pulse quickened and the adrenaline began to kick in. I pulled myself together and knew that the game was reaching a critical point, and I felt like the expendable pawn in the game. The fact that I didn’t have my military issue Colt .45 with me even heightened my sense of helplessness. I would have to rely on my limited, but lethal martial-arts skills- mostly defensive. Skills I was taught by an elite jujitsu master, while stationed at Quantico.
I went out into the banquet room, hoping to find Ivan there. The room was blanketed with cigarette smoke, and the deafening sound from the band resonated throughout the whole room. Up on the stage, there was this cute little oriental girl, in a shimmering, silver mini-skirt, with pig-tailed hair, singing a vaguely familiar American pop tune while seductively shaking and gyrating her body to the beat of the music. I walked around the tables looking for Ivan, while trying not to be so obvious. Suddenly, I became aware that the four men from the lobby were getting up from a table in the corner and coming towards me. I sensed that I was in danger. My first thought was to go to the emergency exit onto the balcony and try to find a way down to the street. When I got out onto the balcony, I couldn’t find anything that I could grab hold of in order to get down from the four stories. There were no fire-escapes. I immediately knew that I had no choice but to go back inside and try to get past the four men, and then to get out of that hotel, as fast as I could! I went right in and focused on getting through the crowed and to the elevator before the men could get hold of me. It was like a football game, with me dodging in and around people trying to get to the goal line (the elevator) before I got tackled. One of the men grabbed my shoulder from behind. I swung around; kicked his shin out from under him; grabbed the nape of his neck, and threw him down. Another man was near the elevator in the hall. As I approached, he lunged towards me. I side stepped him and tripped him to the floor with a forearm blow to the back of his neck.
Fortunately, the elevator doors were open. As I shut the doors, I could see the other men running down the hallway towards me. My heart was pounding at my chest, and it was the “fight-or-flight” syndrome taking over my mind and body. Not wanting to be captured and tortured as a spy; that thought had my adrenaline at full tilt. When I got to the ground floor, I immediately kept going, out onto the street, where I flagged down a scoshi cab. I jumped in the cab and told the driver to take me to Tiger Balm apartments near the Kowloon harbor. On the way, it struck me that I would probably never see Ivan again. I recall thinking: (“He set me up in that hotel. He was a Communist ‘plant,’ sent to surveil my actions and discover what my mission was. He was the one who gave my location to this mysterious woman on the phone. And then he left me to be terminated!”) On Okinawa, we were told to be aware that there were Communist spies on the island, monitoring military mobilizations and troop movements to Vietnam. He may have been aware of my mission, from the start. It was all happening too fast! No time to analyze. It was time to: “improvise, adapt, and overcome.”
When we arrived at the hotel, I was let out by the front entrance of this antiquated and decaying complex that had these giant, concrete tiger statues guarding the path on either side. The hotel was semi-secluded behind walls of overgrown bamboo, with its many precariously perched balconies, jutting out overhead. I made my way into the central courtyard area. It was dimly lit with colorful paper lanterns, suspended on wires, and there was a pond fountain in the center that stunk of dead, rotting fish. Standing by it, I lit a much wanted cigarette, and waited. After a short while, I heard a whisper from above on a high balcony. This slender figure of a woman dressed in a black kimono, leaned over the side, and whispered: “John?” I acknowledged and she came down, introduced herself as Mai Thi, and then escorted me up the several flights of dilapidated and shaky, wooden stairs to her apartment. It was dark in this heavily cluttered room and there were some children lying around on the floor, covered in blankets, along with a shriveled old woman, sitting in a rocking chair. I was lead to a back room, through a bamboo curtain. The room was cramped, with a bed, a bureau, and a night stand at each side of the unkempt bed. There was a step up to a small narrow bathroom, and one open window on an outside wall, near the bureau. The air in the room had an enchanting scent of opium incense, and there was this faint euphonic sound of oriental music coming from a transistor radio on top of the bureau, at the far wall.
The light from the lamp on the night stand, made it possible for me to get a closer look at this woman. The pronounced crow’s feet around her eyes and forehead hinted to her age. She was well preserved otherwise. She had a sensual presence and a statuesque body, with raven black hair that trailed down her back. She told me to sit on the bed and make myself comfortable while she prepared a drink for us. It was either Sake or bourbon. I preferred the bourbon. She told me to be patient and we could talk about “Jackman”, later. While I sat on the bed drinking and smoking a Camel cigarette, she excused herself and went into the bathroom. The door was slightly open, so I could see that she was wearing a sexy, black lingerie outfit as she took the kimono off and sprayed her hair with perfume. I (sort of) wondered what this was leading up to. This was not what I expected or was prepared for. She came out and offered to refresh my drink, which she did while facing the bureau. Then she excused herself again, and went into the other room. I could hear her talking to the old woman in, what sounded like a Vietnamese, Russian dialect. Sipping the bourbon, I noticed a strange taste to the drink, this time. I wasn’t going to take a chance on being drugged, so I quickly went over to the open window and emptied it, before she came back in. Mai Thi entered the room, sat on the bed, and began to caress my head and chest. The scent of her perfume intoxicated me and we kissed passionately. She pushed me away and said: “You take clothes off...” I did, but reluctantly. This wasn’t making any sense. This is not what I came all this way for. As I stood up to undress, I noticed a Marine Corps piss-cutter cap with the globe and anchor emblem, lying on top of the bureau, and a manila folder partially covering it. It appeared to be a military style envelope. I suspected that the envelope may contain some of the documents Jackman was selling; possibly the evidence of Jackman’s treason. I began to wonder: “How is this night going to end...?”
Now I was on guard for the unexpected, and the adrenaline was pumping again! We both laid on the bed and began to get physical with each other. She was very seductive. There was little talk during the foreplay. After a while, she rolled over on top of me; I could sense that she was reaching for something on the side of the mattress, while smothering me with kisses. My instinct told me that something was terribly wrong. I sensed her raising her body and right arm. My immediate reaction was to reach out and grab her wrist as she plunged toward me. She began to struggle violently with me, scratching at my face, and then I saw the long, serpentine dagger she was clasping in her right hand. In the struggle for my life, I had no choice but to defend myself. With my right hand, I forced my thumb deep into the center of her throat, cutting off her air supply. She struggled for air while frothing at the mouth and her eyes rolled back into her head, and then she quickly collapsed on top of me. I pushed her lifeless body off of me, and rushed to get out of that apartment.
I dressed quickly and went over to the bureau to get the envelope. A quick look inside, and I could see there were diagrams of the Harrier Jet’s wings. I opened some of the top drawers and discovered a Marine Corps issued Colt .45 caliber hand gun. It had a full clip in it, and the safety was on. I took the safety off and cocked it. I shoved the envelope under my shirt. There was also a Zippo lighter with the Marine Corps emblem on it, and dog tags with Jackman’s name and serial number. I took these too. Marines don’t leave their weapon or their dog tags behind. Jackman must have served his usefulness to them, and met his demise- as I might have also. That might explain his not returning to base camp, this time around.
As I made a hasty exit to the door, I had to jump over some of the sleeping kids. The old lady stood up and began to scream. Outside on the landing, there was a large man standing in the shadows. Going down the stairs, he was right behind me. I turned around quickly and could see the man’s face. It appeared to be the same man that led me to the communist hotel and the same man that accompanied me in the beginning of the mission--Ivan! I pointed the .45 at him, prepared to shoot! He halted immediately, and put his hands up to his shoulders. I motioned for him to sit; which he did. I leaned over and bashed the side of his skull with the pistol. He fell back instantly, in a spray of blood. I turned and continued to descend the stairs rapidly.
Once outside on the street, at that hour of the morning, there wasn’t much traffic or activity. I continued to run and make my way to the Star Ferry and back to Hong Kong. The early morning air was cold and damp. I could hear the sound of police sirens and ambulances coming from the direction of the apartment complex behind me. I had a difficult time making it through the narrow alleyways that were littered with trash heaps and parked scoshi cabs. I struggled to catch my breath. My heart was racing and I kept telling myself: “Don’t panic and don’t stop or you’re a dead man.” When I saw the glow of lights from Hong Kong in the distance, I knew I was getting close to the ferry dock. Up ahead of me, I spotted this woman standing outside a closed bar, smoking a cigarette. She was a tall blonde and appeared to be either British or American. I approached her, told her that I was a U.S. Marine, and that I needed help. She saw the weapon I was carrying, and she panicked. She took off one of her high heeled shoes, pointed it towards me, in a threatening way, and warned me to “back off!” I got away from that bitch as quick as I could and eventually made it to the Star ferry dock. It was just preparing to leave the dock as I jumped aboard. I know I must have looked like a mad man to the few passengers, seated at the bow, but they kept their distance and ignored me. I told the toll collector that I was a Marine, and that I had a “rough night” on the town. He gave a nod, pointed to a bench seat, and told me to: “sit down and behave!” The cold steel of the .45, concealed between my belt and lower groin, was uncomfortable, but that was the least of my concerns. I needed...REFUGE!
When we reached the island of Hong Kong, I proceeded to find a place where I could hide out for a day or so to recuperate and figure out a way to get back to Okinawa. I recall going up to an elderly Chinese couple who were just setting up their street market, in the fogy pre-dawn hours. I pleaded with the old man, to help me. Fortunately for me, he spoke reasonably good English. I told him that I was a Marine and that bad people were after me and I needed to hide and sleep. He and his wife took me upstairs to a room over their store, and gave me some rice and Sake. The old man said: “You stay here. No worry. I watch out for you. You...good Marine.” Somehow, for reasons I still don’t understand to this day; he trusted me, and gave me refuge.
I recall vividly, closing the door and wedging a chair between the knob and the floor. Then I ate the rice, drank the Sake and laid on the bed, face up, with the Colt.45 across my chest, safety off. I tried desperately not to shut my eyes completely. However, I yielded and drifted off into the warm, silent darkness of the room. I was totally exhausted, physically and mentally. I lost all consciousness and went out cold.
The next thing I remember, when my eyes finally opened, I was being attended to by a medical doctor, with IVs stuck in my arms and oxygen tubes clasped to my nostrils. They said I was totally dehydrated, my vital signs were ebbing, and I was in a semi-comatose state when I was brought in. The medics said that I was back on Okinawa and that the Navy Seals had brought me there from Hong Kong. I have no recollection of what transpired in the interim. I can only assume that the old Chinese man, somehow got into the room, rifled through my wallet while I was passed out and got in contact with the Marine Corps liaisons there, and they arranged for the Navy Seals to transport me back to Okinawa. They must have sedated me into an induced coma for the trip. Considering that I had gone days without a good meal or water, and that the only thing that I was functioning on was pure adrenaline and the hype from the booze, and cigarettes; it is a wonder I survived at all.
When I was well enough; I was debriefed at Headquarters Company by the Commanding Officer. I divulged the details of the mission to the investigating officers. They had confiscated the manila envelope, along with the other items I had on my person, when the Navy Seals found me. I was told that I did a good “service” for my country, and that it was very “unfortunate” for the Marine who betrayed the corps and his country. In a patronizing way; they complimented me for my courage to be willing to accept such an assignment, and confirming their suspicions about the treasonous Marine. They, in turn, confirmed my suspicions; that the Chinese couple, who had sheltered me, were the ones responsible for contacting the American Consulate in Hong Kong, who immediately made arrangements for my return to Okinawa. It was suggested that I take a few days leave on the island, before being shipped back to the U.S., on a private military-jet; to be honorably discharged from the Marine Corps, at San Diego, California: at the “convenience of the Government.” To say that I was totally bewildered by this debriefing...is an understatement!
For reasons, I never understood, I wasn’t allowed to see the First Sergeant or Corporal Taylor again. And, since my marriage to Yoshiko hinged on their intercession; I suspected that I wasn’t going to get that permission by their interceding on my behalf. (I wasn’t going to leave that island...without Yoshiko!) I went to the Company Commander’s office, and (demanded) asked if I could reenlist for another four years, with the option of having an extended tour-of-duty on Okinawa- even though I knew that a major war was brewing in Vietnam. I was hell-bent on marrying Yoshiko...no matter what it took to do it. The answer I got was heart-wrenching: “Go home Marine. Find yourself a nice ‘American girl.’ Get married, and have lots of kids....” So that was it! No medals. No commendations. Just: ‘Thank you for your service’ and ‘have a good life.’
Since I only had a few days to find Yoshiko, and, try to work out some kind of arrangement with her; I went into the village to find her and to discuss an alternative plan, I had in mind, for both of us. I found her at the club Mikado. She broke down in tears as we embraced. It was difficult for me to restrain my own emotions, but I didn’t want her to sense any feelings of despair on my part, about our impending confrontation. We planned to meet at our favorite rendezvous; a tea-house in the hills overlooking her village, in Koza. And, there we would discuss our fate.
The outcome of that dramatic confrontation, that night, during a monsoon rain storm on Okinawa, turned out to be a heartbreaking tragedy, involving a life and death struggle by both of us, under dire circumstances.
(That “true ” story, is told in its entirety, in my subsequent short story: Never...Sayonara.)
I seem to have read Never… Sayonara before. Your story with Yoshiko is so familiar.
As a young, inexperienced and drafted spy, I somewhat understand your fear after you found Jackman's things and were chased from the Tiger Balm apartments. But in a city as large and populated as Hong Kong, I see why you were afraid to check into a hotel catering to British and other foreigners rather than end up In the hands of police by enlisting the help of, fortunately, those Chinese street marketers. And, you were fortunate that the Navy SEALs located you. Dumb luck seemed to help you more than once.
I suppose it's always wise to trust your first instincts. Ivan was too good to be true. I normally won't put the time I don't have into reading a very long story. However, once I started this piece, yout well-crafted diction held my attention from beginning to end. Fortunately, at the risk of your own peril, you walked away with your life and an envelope.
After a long awaited weekend visitation caused by false allegations of sexual abuse, Glen got to see his children for the first time in over two months. He promised them that they would never be apart again and then they disappeared.
Copyright © 2017 by John Gasparro Jr.
