FRIENDS - THE MIDDLE   Roman, Peter, and the others were flown out of their camp at eleven o'clock that night.  It was six in Florida when they landed the next morning.  Those who were fortunate enough to catch some sleep on the plane held up a lot better than those who didn't.  The platoon was taken directly to new barracks and introduced to a new sergeant.  He was a black man, Sergeant Fred Smith, and being that he had to prove he could do a job just as well as a white sergeant, he was harder on his boys.     "Why are you here, Boy?" he yelled in Peter's face.   "For training, Sir!" he yelled.   "I don't mean that.  What the fuck are they doin, draftin fuckin ninth graders now?  How old are you, Boy?"   "Nineteen, Sir!"   "You better be tellin the truth got dammit cause I'm gonna check!  I'll bet you still a virgin, ain't you?"   "Yes, Sir, but I have a girlfriend."   Smith smiled.  "Oh yeah?"   "Yes, Sir!  It's his sister."  Peter nodded toward Roman.   The sergeant was incredulous.  "What are you, Boy, some kind of agitator?  You a freedom rider?  I bet you told me that cause you thought I'd be nice to you.  What's yo name, Boy?"   "Peter Todd, Sir!"   "No last name, huh?  You wanna fight for yo country, Peter Todd?  Do you have the guts?"   "Yes, Sir!"   "Oh yeah?  What's the worst thing you've ever done in your life?"   "I killed a man, Sir!  I wanted to see how it would feel."   Roman had to turn his head and look at his friend to see if someone had taken his place.  The sergeant got in Peter's face and asked, "Well, Boy, how did it feel?"   "I liked it, Sir.  I looked for someone else to kill, but no one was around."   "You think you're real funny, don't ya, Boy?  Well, we'll see how funny you are in those jungles over there in Vietfuckinnam.  Bullets and bombs coming at you from every which-a-way, and your best friend here lying beside you with half his head open.  Flies take big bites of his brain, which looks like lasagna you had two weeks before.   "And if you think that's funny, don't get captured.  Those gooks think everyone has a secret to tell, and they'll do anything to get it outa' you.  They'll stick bamboo into your fingernails and send enough electricity through your balls to make you scream forever without dying.  Or how would you like to watch while they slice your meat up?  Are you still amused, Peter Todd?"   "NO, SIR!"   "Good, but I'm still gon' be on you, Boy."   That day Smith took the men on a ten-mile hike in full gear and when they reached their destination there was instruction in the art of self-defense.  Again, Roman was the best in the class.  He threw Smith to the ground but paid for it dearly when the more experienced sergeant got up.  There was no way he was going to let some punkass draftee show him up.   The six weeks was very intense.  There was no time for ping-pong among friends because one was either too exhausted or there was something to do.  At times the men were taken out to the shooting range at midnight.  Targets were lit by intermittent bursts of light and then moved.   "That's how the V Cs' fight," Smith yelled.  "They're not gonna stand still while you're firin away with a government issue M-16."   There were simulated captures in which the men were taken by surprise.  Situations were set up that seemed impossible to escape, and some of the men gave up their weapons.     "As soon as you give up your weapon you have been defeated!"  Sergeant Smith yelled.  "The element of surprise is your best ally, and it is least expected at the moment of capture.  Let the enemy know that you're not over there to vacation in their prison camp.  You must also know that capture is the result of a weak link in the chain of command.  With your lives on the line sometimes you must make a decision that will not only save your life but that of your platoon.  If that's ever the case, do not - I repeat, DO NOT HESITATE to take matters into your own hands.  I'm talking about a life and death situation.  Anything you do out there can come back to haunt the fuck out of you!  So can anything you don't do!"   Though there wasn't much time for recreation, Peter still had loads of questions he needed answered, and most of the time he asked Roman who was more than a year younger yet more experienced.  "Roman, why are we at war with Vietnam?  Are they threatening to invade our country or something?"   They were in the company mess hall enjoying one of their last indoor meals.  Vernon Bickerstaff heard the question and started to respond before Roman could clear his throat.  "Todd, you idiot, we're fightin those fuckin gooks because they're commies, and they don't like the American way."   "But I thought this was a civil war," Peter said.  "North against the South."   "It is," Vernon continued.  "One side is commie, and the other side is like us, except for their little tight eyes."   "If it's a civil war, why are we involved?"   "Because the politicians say so," Vernon admonished.  "But if you ask me, I'd just assume nuke the whole fuckin country.  We don't need any more territory.  We already have the Philippines kissin our ass over there."   Later that night Peter had more questions.  For him there was an urgency to obtain as much information as he could since the orders to ship out were forth coming.  "Roman, when you're with your wife, I mean doing it, you know, sex - how does that feel?"  They were walking toward their barracks after making phone calls home.   Roman knew exactly how to answer that question.  "You know how you can get an itch under your backpack that won't go away on its own and you can't get to it unless you turn just right or someone gets it for you.  You want them to just keep scratchin because it feels so good.  Well, sex is about a million times better."   "Wow! And you put your thing inside the girl?  What about surprises?"   "What do you mean, surprises?"   "Well, with some animal species, like the cat for example, there is some pain in procreation.  The male has tiny spikes inside his prick that stick the female's vagina before he pulls out.  That happens before he can ejaculate."   Roman looked at Peter as if he were crazy.  "Naw, Man, there's none of that.  I wouldn't be gettin any if there was.  You know what I mean?  My spikes would be extra large."  He laughed at his friend.  "We gotta get you some sex, Man.  You can't be goin to Vietnam without gettin some."   "How are we gonna do that?  We only have about ten more days here."   "But we'll have a couple days off.  And you cannot mention that to Virginia when you write to her.  She and Gloria might want to come out here, and we can't afford a trip like that."     "You want me to lie to Virginia?  My girlfriend?"   "Peter, a man's gotta watch over the family money.  No matter what.  While you're get'n it on with somebody out here, close your eyes and think about Virginia.  I promise it'll work."  Roman lied about not being able to afford the plane tickets from Los Angeles to Florida.  He had other ideas about spending the two days and when the orders came through on April 1, 1969, he and Peter took a bus to Miami.  They got a suite at the Hilton on the beach, and they weren't there an hour when someone knocked on the door.   "That's for me," Roman said and got up to open the door.   "Hi!" said Jenean Singleton and jumped into Roman's arms.  They kissed forever in the doorway as he held her up in his arms.  It was obvious to Peter that they were happy to see one another, but he was curious about this girl who looked nothing like Gloria.   "I miss you, I miss you, I miss you so much," Jenean declared loudly.  Then she moved inside the room and Roman grabbed the suitcase.  He closed the door and set her suitcase down.   "It's so nice to be where the sun shines," she said.  "New York is so cold and aesthetically unpleasing to look at with all of the buildings."  She noticed Peter in the living room.  "Hello, I'm Jenean."   "Hi, I'm Peter."   "Peter, Roman's told me all about you."   "Really?  Where do you two know each other from?"   "You mean he hasn't mentioned me?"  She gave Roman a short glare and turned back to Peter.  "I'm Dakota's mother.  I work in New York as an actress."   "I met Dakota in Arizona.  I thought Gloria was his mom."   Jenean smiled and laughed a bit.  "No, Peter.  I'm surprised Roman hasn't told you how much of a lady's man he is.  Actually, I came here to remind myself.  If you don't mind, I'm going to take a shower.  Which way is the bathroom?"   Roman and Peter pointed, and she started through the living room.  "Roman, help me in here, will you?"   "All right," he answered and went into the bedroom.  She closed the door behind him and started to undress.        Peter was gone when they came out of the room.  Moments later he was found sitting alone down in the hotel bar.  The place was crowded with students from all along the eastern seaboard escaping the miserable cold for a spring break week of fun and sun.  Several of the students wore protest buttons putting down various government policies.  FUCK THE DRAFT was a popular button.  FUCK NIXON was another.  Everyone was with a friend and enjoying the company of those they'd just met.  Hippie garb was most popular among this aggregation of primarily Caucasian youth. Headbands and tie-dye shirts were worn with bellbottom jeans or psychedelic pants and either desert boots or sandals.  Very few of the males were clean-shaven and the words on most lips were, "Peace, Man.  Right on.  And that's heavy, Man."  This was Jenean's kind of scene.   She and Roman made their way through the crowd and overheard one guy on the make, "My name's Diamond, what's yours?"   "Stephanie."   "Well, Stef, is it true that diamonds are a girl's best friend?"   Roman and Jenean looked at one another and laughed at the lame pick-up line.  Then they made their way to Peter who had a soda in front of him.  "Hey, what's happenin, Man?"  Roman greeted his friend and took notice of Peter's attire.  "How come you're in uniform?  You kind of stick out if you know what I mean."   "I thought I might be able to get a beer if I wore it."  He seemed troubled about something.   "Did you get one?" Jenean asked.   "The strongest thing I could get was a cold Seven-up."   Roman got the bartender's attention with the wave of his hand.  "Eh, three beers please?"   "I can get one for you."  He was convinced by appearance that Roman was 21.  "Your two friends will have to settle for something else."   "Wait, you don't understand," Roman tried to sound irritated, but the mood was too festive.   "Roman, that's all right," Peter said.  "I'm fine."   "I not gonna let you settle for that, Peter," Jenean said.  "That's a bummer if you can't get what you want even in your uniform."  She turned around and stepped away from the bar. "HEY!" she yelled.  "My friend Peter here got busted by the army before he could escape to Canada, you know what I mean?  They're saying he's old enough to go to Vietnam to kill or be killed, but the bartender says he's too young for a beer.  Can anybody spare some suds for my friend?"   They were immediately swarmed around by guys and girls bringing mugs of beer for Peter to sip or take.  At first the taste was foreign to him, but because of the new attention he forced himself to appreciate the semi bitter tang.  A group of four coeds left their table and grabbed Peter by the hands. "Why don't you come and join us?" one of them asked, and he looked at Roman who winked back.  The girls took him to their table, and Peter's troubled expression dissipated as he was led away from the bar by his new friends.    "Shall we join him?" Jenean asked.   "I don't know.”  He sipped his beer and glanced at Peter.  “We might get in his way.  He`s never been laid and thinks he's in love with my sister.  She kissed him good-bye before we left Arizona."   "It must've been some kiss.  How is Virginia?"   "Three years away from being a big time attorney with Huberman and Finestone.  She's driving the shit out of her van."   "Well, that's what she bought it for."  She tapped Roman and pointed toward Peter.  One of the girls had just kissed him on the cheek.  "Looks like nature is taking its course.  I'll bet he doesn't leave Miami a virgin."     Peter drank a lot of beer that evening.  He laughed and joked with the girls and was introduced to every friend who stopped by to chat for a moment or give directions to a hip party that night.  Three of the girls discussed which party they would attend, but one, Chastity, leaned over and asked, "Peter, do you want to make love to me?"  She was blond with strong features for a female.  Freckles were obvious and gave her a tanned look though she and her friends had just arrived that day from Illinois.   The question took away the effects of the beer and he became sober with fear. He looked at her and then toward the bar, but Roman and Jenean were gone.  Then he moved closer to Chastity and whispered, "I don't know how." He wouldn't have been surprised if she'd started laughing and told her friends, making him the butt of everyone's jokes again.  Such things had happened at home.   "Oh really?"  Chastity turned and whispered something to the girl next to her, Rachel, who smiled.  Then Chastity stood and took Peter's hand.  "Come on."  She led him out of the bar and soon they were in a hotel room on the fifth floor.  It was somewhat disheveled since all four girls had thrown their things around trying to find something to wear that evening.   "Please excuse the mess," she said.  "We weren't thinking about neatness or anything."   "That's OK.  You're not in the army."   Chastity giggled at his innocence.  "I think you're cute.  Wanna smoke some pot?"   "Ah, no thanks, but if you want to go right ahead."   She went to the dresser and took out a small box.  Inside it were several joints. Chastity lit one and took a long drag on it.  Then she turned on the radio.  Light My Fire was playing.  "Oh wow, the Doors.  They're my favorite group."   "Yeah, Jim Morrison is ahead of his time I think."  Peter began to feel a little comfortable, though he remained standing.   "Did you know that a lot of musicians use marijuana to help them write songs?  It's a nice trip."  She sat down on the bed and took off her moccasins. "I heard that over in Nam they give the soldiers a joint so they won't panic in the jungle."  Her eyes met his, and she smiled before taking off her blouse.   “Wow.”  Peter made a goofy grin, peering at the first live breasts he`d ever seen and immediately became aroused, pushing aside his fear of possible embarrassment.  "Shall I undress?"  His eyes were glued to her.   "I would like you to."  She slid out of her pants and then approached him in her underwear.  "I love you, Peter."   "You do?"  Peter thought maybe she had experienced love at first sight, and he couldn't believe his good fortune.     "I love everyone.  My soul is one with the universe, and I feel it's my destiny to make you a whole man before you go off to be killed."   "Well, if you feel it's your destiny, I'm not going to argue the point."   She took his hands and led them to her body.  He couldn`t believe his good fortune.  Before he left the room the next day, he had made love to all four of the girls.         The bus ride back to the base was a quiet one.  Roman and Peter took intermittent naps, recovering from the two days of wild sex.  It was two days that they tried to incorporate into their long-term memory to be brought up on a daily basis.  In another two days, however, they arrived in Vietnam and that weekend seemed like it was years in the past.  Peter already had trouble remembering the names of two of the girls.   Ton Son Nuht was the name of their base.  It was an airfield, just outside of Saigon, used by the U.S. military.  One of the first things the new men had to do was sit down and write a letter assuring the loved ones at home that they had arrived safely.  There was an alarming number of mothers calling the pentagon with complaints about not hearing from their sons.    "If I get one more complaint from Washington about someone's mother not hearing from one of my men, that soldier will draw a month of night watch and KP!"  Commanding officer, Colonel Humphrey, gave this order himself to get his point across.   The first night was frightening for most of the new men.  They lay awake long hours listening to bombs exploding in the distance.  At times the sky lit up with the rocket fire.  Roman slept with his knife next to him along with his .45-caliber sidearm.   The next morning he went out after breakfast and found a spot to plant the seeds that Quon Yee gave him.  During the time he was in training the seeds, given to him by his nursery owner, never entered into his mind, but after a night of explosions, he sought all the protection he could find.  He started to cultivate the soil and took out the packs of seeds.   "What the fuck are you doin, Robinson?" asked Leroy Whitehead.  "They ain't no work detail here.  As a matter'o fact, ain't none been assigned yet."   Roman had expected Peter to join him.  A nervous stomach, however, kept his friend on the toilet.  "I'm not on work detail," he said to Leroy.  "I'm planting flower seeds."   "What the fuck fo?"   "So the spirit of the flower will watch over me."   Leroy laughed.  "Man, Robinson, I knew you was from Watts, but I didn't know you was one of those jungle runnin voodoo niggas."   Roman stood and walked toward Leroy who'd forgotten to whom he was talking.  He felt relief when Roman didn't hit him.  Instead he put his hand on Leroy's shoulder.  "If we were home, Leroy, I'd kick yo ass for calling me a nigga.  But I'm here in Vietnam, and one day I might need you to pull me out of a ditch or carry me to safety after I've been shot.  So I'm just going to tell you, I don't like being called a nigga by anyone.  You dig?"   "Right on, Brother."  Leroy said, and they did the three-move handshake in which they shook thumbs, then the hands, and finally their fingers.   "You want some of these seeds?" Roman asked, and Leroy held his hand out.  "Yeah, I'll take some."  Then he planted his seeds about two feet away from Roman's and left.  Some other men overheard the conversation and asked if they could have some as well.  They thought that if it was some ghetto voodoo, it might be worth trying.     Leroy's white friend Vernon Bickerstaff refused to take part in the exercise.  "I ain't fuckin with that shit," he said.  "You could be jinxin yourselves.  I don't believe in it."    "Aw come on man," Leroy tried to be convincing.  "One lil'ol seed ain't gon hurt."   "No, Leroy!"   Peter showed up a few moments later and threw his seeds in the dirt next to Roman`s.  Then, without much care, he kicked some dirt on them and left. That day he didn`t care if he lived or not. A letter he'd opened just that morning made him wonder which would be better.  His mother wrote that his younger brother and his dad had gone to a father-son banquet at their church. The father never went with Peter to these events because the activities were athletic, and he hated losing with his weak son.     I could probably win the Congressional Medal of Honor, Pete thought, and it wouldn't make a damn bit of difference.  If the other men weren't around he might have started crying.  It was depressing to think that he might have to die to get his father's respect.   For added insurance, Roman took out a rosary that Gloria had given him in Arizona.  He figured if there were spirits, they could use God's help and started praying over the seeds.  All the men bowed their heads when he started and said, "Amen," when he finished.   Days later the seeds began to sprout.  Roman had never seen anything germinate so fast.  The high humidity made it possible.  The plants were inches taller within a week.  Some of the men began to name their plants after friends or relatives.  A Native American sergeant called his Big Sun and Swift Water.  Those were the names of his younger brothers.  Others were named Bobby, Joe, Mary Ann among others.   Despite the confidence in the plant spirits the new men were filled with trepidation about leaving the general safety of the base, but the war was fought on the outside.  So on its first patrol the platoon scouted the jungles and fields for communist guerrillas suspected of terrorism in Saigon.  They also looked for supply stations where the Viet Cong would stock ammunition, weapons, foodstuffs, medical supplies, and other necessities.      "Your main objective is to stay alive!" yelled Lieutenant Fitzgerald.  "You accomplish that by not trusting anybody!  If I don't speak to someone, you can't trust'em!  Is that clear?"   "Yes Sir!"   "IS THAT CLEAR!"   "YES SIR!"   The vegetation was thick in the jungles, which made it difficult to cut a new trail through the brush.  They slowly traveled one trail for half a mile off the main road before coming upon a clearing that exposed a small village.  The dwellings were made of thin metal sheets and thatch.  There were four such houses and each one was checked out.  The last one exploded with two men inside.  They screamed in terror before dying in a fire that became so hot it ignited their grenades and ammunition.   "Fuck." Roman said.   "The plants must be workin cause I almost went in that one," said Leroy as he returned to the center of the village where the others were.  The two dead men had planted no seeds.   "Everyone be on your toes!" Fitzgerald yelled.  "Somebody get me the names of those two soldiers."   "Michaels and Johnson," someone responded.   Roman tried not to think about the two dead boys, though it was difficult. He had just spoken to Johnson as the search started and the night before, Michaels had told the funniest joke Roman had ever heard.  One of the young soldiers near Roman threw up from the thought of dying.  The smell of the two burning bodies was carried through the thick humid air.  Each man felt the heaviness of the hot moist air soaking his uniform.   "All right, there's nothing we can do here.  Get ready to pull out!" The lieutenant ordered.   "Wait!" yelled Sergeant Elias Sevenkiller, the Native American from Colorado.  The name he used at home meant Eagle Eye.  "Todd, you in particular, if you move we're all dead.  There's a mine under his left foot, Lieutenant."  He had seen the reflection from a piece of metal.  A closer look let him discover a trigger.   "Everyone retreat!" the lieutenant yelled and he quickly led his men away.   Roman grabbed his friend so he wouldn't panic and the lieutenant yelled for everyone to get back.  "Don't leave me, Roman, please," Peter implored.  "Don't leave me."   "I won't!"   "Robinson!  GET AWAY FROM THERE!" Fitzgerald yelled.   "Please don't leave me, Roman."  Peter and the others had seen demonstrations of what land mines could do.  He saw himself blown to pieces if he tried to run.   "ROBINSON, GET YOUR ASS OVER HERE!"   "I CAN'T LEAVE HIM!"   "GET OVER HERE!"  Fitzgerald and the others had moved sixty feet away.   Roman let go of Peter who began to panic.  "Don't leave me."   "I have a plan."   "What kind of plan?"   "A stupid one.  Answer this, what would you rather do, get hit by me or get blown up by this bomb?"   "Couldn't you give me an easier question?"   Roman laughed nervously.  "I'm not gonna let you die.  I'll be right back.  And when I do, don't jump.  Just keep your feet steady."   "ROBINSON!"   "Hurry," Peter said.   "Don't worry.  Besides you still have to tell me how you fucked four girls in the same room."   Peter was momentarily distracted by the memory of the four girls in Miami.  Roman had moved away carefully and approached the lieutenant.   "Got dammit, Robinson, when I give you an order, you obey it!  I already have two men dead.  I can't afford more casualties!  Do I make myself clear!"   "Yes, Sir.  May I ask, Sir, what do you plan to do for Peter?"  Roman stood right in front of Fitzgerald.   "I'm calling in experts."   "How long will that take?" Roman asked and got a glare from Fitzgerald until "Sir?" was added.   "I don't know."   "Fuck that shit," Roman said to himself and started to take off his gear.  He set his weapons down next to his rations.   "What did you say, Private?"   "How long do you think he can stand there without moving? Sir?"   "Or without the enemy finding us?" Sevenkiller added.   "I can't help that.  And what do you think you're doing?  Put that gear back on!  That's an order!"   "I will as soon as I get back.  Y'all better get down," he said to the others.   Fitzgerald took out his sidearm and held it in Roman's face.  "Don't you move, private.  Sergeant, place this man under arrest for insubordination."   Sevenkiller grabbed the gun and took it away.  "This is not West Point, asshole.  It looks like he has a plan to help Todd.  If we wait here for experts, we put ourselves in danger.  In the field, Lieutenant, we improvise."     “You know I`m going to report this incident.  Both of you will get court-martialed.”   “Good for you, Lieutenant.  Don`t forget to put in your report that I called you an asshole.”  The sergeant nodded at Roman who nodded back.   Then Roman started running toward Peter.  The sergeant quickly got down on the ground, as did the others except Fitzgerald.     Roman ran at Peter full speed hitting him quick and hard.  They both hit the ground fifteen feet away as the bomb exploded sending fragments everywhere. When it was over their ears rang from being so close to the explosion, but that was their only complaint.  Peter embraced his friend when they stood.  Then they heard a cheer from the others in their platoon as they also rose to their feet.  The only man not to get up was the lieutenant who was hit by a large piece of shrapnel.  It took off the top of his skull exposing brain matter and an eye, hanging on by its tendons.  He was dead before he hit the ground.   "He should'a got down," was all Sergeant Sevenkiller expressed to his troops about the death.  Then he ordered two men to prepare the body to be moved.   In the weeks that followed no one in the platoon was killed.  Other men around the base had heard about Roman's seeds and asked for his extras which he gave happily.  Leroy planted his second batch despite discouragement from his friend, Vernon Bickerstaff, who still thought of the practice as superstitious voodoo.   With the humidity, plants sprang up wherever they were sown and added color to the indigenous greenery.   Roman would describe these details vividly in his letters to Virginia and Gloria.  The environment brought out his hidden talent as a writer, and he used his skills well.