The Secrets of Vietnam weren't completely true...

Join the lives of two USAF pilots shot down in Southern Vietnam during the war, trying to find their way back home. My NEW series, "The Speed of Sound", is now out. Watch every week for new additions!

The Speed of Sound Issue No.2

SOMEWHERE OVER SOUTHEASTERN ASIA
SR-71
CODENAME: T.A.C. 

"Mosely! Mosely! We're going down!"

"Yeah, thanks, I know!"

The plane nosedived closer and closer to the ground. As I look out the side window only to see a lush, vast, and not to mention green, area of jungle. Just as I covered my eyes, I heard the sound of fire and twisting metal.

UNKNOWN LOCATION
0300 HOURS
WATERS AND TEAM PRESUMED KIA 

I awoke hours later, or so it seemed. The world was blurry, faint, vague. The smell of rotten, burning flesh consumed my nostrils.

"Mosely? Mosely. Psst! Hey, wake up."

"Ungh. Where are we?"

"I have no idea. C'mon, pull out your K-bar."

We walked among the foggy swamps and foliage for hours. We must have been dozens of miles from any type of civilization. But just as I thought we had been lost in the jungle forever, the low hum of a diesel truck became a crescendo of sound. God, that reminded me of being back in Los Alamitos. I could see the headlights. But something seemed wrong. Voices; not English. Ohmygosh, I thought; NVA. Mosely was at least 20 yards behind me, so I could not contact him from here. I lay down and let the NVA soldiers pass by me. After a couple minutes, two stopped on the side of the road for a smoke. Smelled like opium. Cigarettes? They talked for a long time; too long. I held my breath for the entire span. Just as it seemed they wouldn't leave, they started walking away. I let out a large sigh. Too early. One of the patrol guards turned around.

"Điều gì đã được rằng?"

"Đi kiểm tra. Tôi sẽ ở lại đây."

The first guard started pacing towards us, Walther in hand.

 "Đi ra! Hoặc tôi sẽ bắn!"

"Mosely. Stay down."

 "The guard is ready to shoot. We need to surrender."

 I got up to surrender, heart pacing fast.

"Don't shoot! Don't shoot!" Yelled the other guard. Okay, I thought, he speaks English.

"Why no? The American's lives deserve no mercy!"

"Let's take them to base; get big reward."

"Good idea."

They walked up to Mosely and I and clubbed us with a, well, club.

SOUTHWESTERN VIETNAM
2200 HOURS
WATERS AND TEAM P.O.W.

I awoke to find myself tied in a chair. A faint light, swinging overhead; blinding me. I feel vulnerable; probably because my USAF patch was ripped from me hours ago. Faint Vietnamese voices behind the steel door in front of me. Screams. Sounded like-Mosely.

"Mosely! Mosley! Where are you?"

Two Vietnamese bookies stormed through the door, holding snub nosed revolvers.

"Where's Mosely?"

"Bring him in!"

Mosely was stormed through the door, tarnished and bleeding.

"Mosely? Aw, no."

"Alan. This time do it. Do it!"

The Viet-Cong bookie put one round in the snub nose, spun the casing, and slammed it down on the table in front of us. Russian Roulette. I couldn't do it. Mosely; he didn't care. A life was just a life to him; no point to it.
I knew Mosely didn't want to play Roulette, but he had to.


"Clear!"

A large burst of smoke and debris shot through the west corner of the room. The Bookie and his accomplice stared in shock and awe. Silence. Footsteps outside grew louder.

"Go! Go! Go!"

I saw the fear in their eyes. But before I could say anything, yellow tracers flew through the smoke, right into the bookie. Blood, flesh, and fear went right out his back, along with hot lead. His revolver dropped to the ground, as Large, alien-like figures burst through the hole in the wall. Then, they removed their gas-masks.
Marines.

"Get a move on, boys. We need men out on the front." Groaned a field commander, who looked like B.A. Baracus by the way. Immediately, we picked up the revolvers and walked outside. It looked dark, gray, depressing. Then, I knew, we were in the Hanoi Hilton: the most ruthless POW camp after World War II. American and Vietnamese chants flew from every corner of the courtyard.

HANOI PENITENTIARY FACILITY
2300 HOURS
WATERS AND USAF TEAM REBEL ON NVA

"Let's go Mosely. Mosely?"

Mosely wasn't there. He was probably off fighting. I couldn't leave my buddy. I searched every unoccupied room in the facility, while soldiers distracted the Viet-Cong. No sign. I sat down in the Western Courtyard; on a bench next to some bushes. Just then, a pair of hand reached up and covered my mouth from the bushes.

"Shhh." said Mosely.

"Mosely? Where did you go?"

"Thought I'd look around awhile. Nice digs. Hey, I found a back alley to the fishing area. There's a neat little sampan there. Let's go."

We crouched along the West wall until we reached an oak gate. Mosely pushed open the door, leading to a stone walkway. Down a hill, there was a river, with a bamboo sampan on the water. We hopped in, and started rowing, as the faint sound of explosions and screeches faded away.

The Speed of Sound Issue No.1

INSPIRED BY THE INTERACTIVE INFINITY CHAMBER
MILWAUKEE ART MUSEUM
2010


Los Alamitos AFB, CA


"You ready?"


"As I'll ever be."


"Alright. C'mon, follow me."


The low hum of the diesel truck became a distant memory. Men in gray jumpsuits; saluting, yelling, preparing.


Now my heart was beating faster than ever. Captain Mosely and I walked up the staircase.
I stumbled into the cockpit.


"Rotors up to speed?"


"Check!"


 "I'll get us up to 75,000, then hand over the stick."


Just then, I felt like the whole world was watching us; watching me. Slowly, I advanced the throttle, feeling the speed clenching me to my seat. After a couple minutes, the altimeter read 50,000 ft., which was my cue. The cO2 ignited the engines, creating G-effects. Black and red were all I could see. Blood, stress, gravity; all rushing through my body faster than the SR-71. Through the white wall of clouds, came a black and blue world, not known to the naked eye. By now, I had handed the stick over to Mosely, closely watching my monitor for movement.



Condron AFB & White Sands Missile Range, NM


"Sir! Message from Los Alamitos! T.A.C. is on their way."


"It's up to Mosely and Waters now. No matter what happens, they have to drop that bomb."


SOMEWHERE OVER NIGERIA, SR-71 BLACKBIRD, 102,000 FT.

"Hey! How's our fuel?" I ask.

No reply.

"Mosely? Mosely, are you there?"

Still no reply. I sit there; waiting. I look to my left out the window. As I gaze out, I notice a majestic sight. Thousands of millions lights, weightless feelings. All those stars, running on thousands of tons of gases. Gases. Fuel. 

"Mosely!"

"What? What?"

"What happened?"

"I fell asleep."


Just then the flickering lights of hazard flash continuously, creating a long, repeating, high-pitched noise.


 "Fuel level! Fuel Level! How much time?"

"Oh my God."

"Well?"

"We have about 20 minutes left."

"What? We're still two hours from our destination!"

"Looks like we're not going home."

Tears blur my vision. Anger and fury overwhelm my body, causing violent and rapid twitches. How is this happening I thought. 

SOMEWHERE IN BEALE, CALIFORNIA

"Dylan! Come get ready for school!"

"Okay, Mom!"

"Honestly, Dylan, sometimes I don't know why you take forty minutes to get ready for pre-school."

"Mom! Phone! They say it's about Dad!"

"What? Hello?"

"Hi, Jane, it's Don."

"What's wrong?"

"We've just been contacted; Alan isn't coming home. His plane is on the verge of fuel."

"That's impossible! There must be some other way-"

"I wish there were, Jane. But Alan was ready to die for his country. You of all people should know that. Do you understand?"

"I think so."

"Goodbye."

"Hey Mom, I'm ready to go."

"You're staying home today."

"Sweet! Hey, when is Dad coming home?"

"I don't know, but maybe soon."

SR-71 ISSUE NO.1572, CHINESE AIRSPACE

"Mosely. Mosely! Wake up!"


"What's the point; I'm already a dead man; doomed to die a slow and crucial death!"


"That's not true! We can still make it out of here if we just try!"


"Where are we gonna' go, huh? Float on down to Earth? How 'bout we fly this bird up to kingdom come? There's no point, Alan! No point!"


Just then, I heard the sound of fists, smashing precious intel. Smoke filled my side of the cockpit...



AUTHOR'S NOTE: THE SR-71 BLACKBIRD IS CURRENTLY THE FASTEST AIRCRAFT KNOWN TO MAN. MANUFACTURED IN AMERICA, THE BLACKBIRD CAN TRAVEL AT SPEEDS OF UP TO THREE TIMES THE SPEED OF SOUND. WHILE IT IS ISSUED TO THE U.S. MILITARY FOR RECONNAISSANCE OPERATIONS, IT HAS BEEN GIVEN A FICTIONAL PERSONALITY IN THIS PIECE AS LETHAL AIRCRAFT.

Penny Lane

On Penny Lane, my barber was showing me some photographs: one for each head he's had the pleasure to have known. Every time he shows me, all the people that come and go, stop and sey "Hello!" to me. As I continue around the corner, I see a banker with a motorcar. The funny part of it was the little children laughing at him behind his back. However, the banker never wore a mac in that pouring rain. Very Strange. Ever since that day, Penny Lane has been in my ear and my eye; all while under the blue suburban skies. So I sat, and meanwhile back in Penny Lane there was a fireman. And in his pocket, a portrait of the queen. He likes to keep his fire engine clean. It's a clean machine.

And again, Penny Lane was in my  ear, my eyes, along with four of fish and finger pies. In Summer meanwhile back behind the shelter in the middle of a roundabout, the pretty nurse was selling poppies from a tray. Although she acted as if she were in a play, she was anyway.

And in Penny Lane my barber shaved another customer, who saw the banker sitting waiting for a trim. But then, I recalled the fireman rushing in from the pouring rain. Very strange. So I sit down again, with Penny Lane singing in my ears and my eyes. All while sitting underneath the blue suburban skies. Yes, Penny Lane was indeed in my ears and eyes, beneath the blue suburban skies. Penny Lane.

The Sea of Clouds

The car pulled away from the beige-white house as our mini-van lulled down the street towards the intersection. In Minneapolis, the cirrus clouds had a water-like curvature. Every time the cirrus' passed overhead, I would always picture being underwater, thousands and thousands of feet down. As a toddler, I tried picturing the scene: fish swimming about, coral creating mountains of meticulous colors and formations, seaweed, brushing against my leg. As usual, I held my breath for as long as possible. When we drove past the sea of clouds, I looked back, releasing the breath, blinking. And within one split-second of a blink, the sea was gone. We had risen to the surface.

"Speak" by Laurie Halse Anderson

Socializing is a tough thing to do, especially around strangers. Traumatic events tend to create stress and pressure inside the human mind, making talking a hard thing to do, as well as some motor skills. When someone tries to reach out to you, it is hard to accept them as a friend, and open up your troubles to them. Speak by Laurie Halse Anderson proves that fears can be overcome by self-confidence.

Melinda Sordino was planning to start off freshman year in high-school with a bang. But for some reason, her friends and people she's never met hate her. As her reputation slowly sinks down the high-school ladder, she meets a bright, cheerful student, Heather, who is almost always optimistic, as well as mellow-dramatic. But when two opposites collide, chaos breaks out. Heather always insists that Melinda and her do every activity, meeting, and group act together. Naturally, Melinda's negative personality turns it down. Melinda describes her tormentor as IT a.k.a. Andy Evans, or "The Beast", the student who caused her life to rapidly spin downhill. The only savior in this excruciating building for Melinda, is her art teacher, Mr. Freeman; an open-minded  man who doesn't care what the school board's teachers think of him. A very notable quote from the story takes place in art class, spoken by Freeman: "Ah-ah-ah, you just picked your destiny. You can't change that." This could mean that once you pick a certain path that affects the result of your life, you can't take it back, it's destiny. For Melinda, Freshman year was off to a bad start.

Self-confidence can overpower fear as proven in Speak by Laurie Halse Anderson. When terror strikes your life, talking and movement can become a real challenge. So is trying to release your problem to a stranger reaching out to you. When the human mind experiences fear or mental/physical torture, it is tough to cope with the fact that they will have to continue on as if nothing had happened.