Battle Buddy

By Tom Keating

Casual company was the place the Army put soldiers who were in administrative limbo, waiting for their next assignment. Most were sure to be sent to Vietnam where the war was in full fury.

I had just resigned from Infantry Officers Candidate (OCS) school and declared conscientious objection. I no longer wanted to be trained to kill. I was waiting for the Army to decide if they would grant me noncombatant status or send me to Fort Leavenworth prison.

Price was a New York Mets fan; I was a Boston Red Sox guy. We met in the mess hall at Fort Benning Georgia, at the Casual company in the spring of 1969. He worked in the battalion headquarters and lived in the Casual company barracks with me and others. One morning while in the breakfast line in the mess hall he made a comment to another soldier about the Mets going to the World Series this year. I laughed and said the Red Sox would get there first. He laughed in reply. This started our friendship.

Price had a mellow voice, always spoke quietly, and flashed a great smile. His job at battalion was in the communications center. He oversaw incoming mail, messages, and orders for the Casual company GIs. He often boasted, “I get the news first when a guy gets his orders for Vietnam.”

Both of us were strangers in a strange land. Georgia is definitely in the “deep south.” We were “Damn Yankees” from the North. He was an African American from Brooklyn, and I was an Irish American from Boston. Strangers who “talked funny.” I had my “Bahston” accent and Price had his “New Yawk” accent. Talk funny indeed.

I was battling every day against the Army’s hostility to my conscientious objection claim. The Army “Treatment” was in full swing. The Army had spent months and lots of money training me to kill and I was rejecting all that. My skill with weapons (expert with the rifle and machine gun) and communications (map reading, radio communications) were needed in the war. They were trying their best to make me change my mind. Imprisonment at Fort Leavenworth, Kansas was a possibility if I lost my request.

I was assigned to all the hard labor work details: garbage collecting, sandbag repair on the ranges, trench digging. Tough work in the hot Georgia sun. My bunk and locker were subjected to surprise “shakedown inspection” the day I arrived at the casual company and continued during my assignment there. I was certain my mail was being examined before I received it. It took weeks before they gave me a weekend pass.

Price was my battle buddy during this struggle. Someone who had my “Six,” Army lingo for covering another man’s back. I had someone to talk with every day to grumble to and bitch about the Army. Dealing with the “treatment” and waiting for the Army’s decision was stressful and having Price as my battle buddy during the struggle was a blessing.

We ate meals together often and would watch TV at night in the USO recreation center. Baseball was always a topic of conversation (“what if Seaver pitched to Yastrzemski?”) When I finally was given weekend passes I asked Price about going to town together, but he would demur, saying his work kept him busy on weekends.

It took the Army three months to make its decision on my case. The result was good and bad. The good was that they granted me my new status as a non-combatant, but the bad was they ordered me to Vietnam immediately, not to combat medic school as I requested. Pleased but scared of going to war, I went over to the Battalion office to tell Price. He said, “yeah, I knew that.”

“What, How?” I said surprised.. He motioned me to follow him.

Price walked me out of the office and pulled out a badge to show me. It was gold, with an eagle atop it and the words “Army Criminal Investigations Command” in a blue enamel circle with the letters below in all caps spelling out “CID Agent.”

“I’m an Army Criminal Investigation agent. I was assigned to your case.”

He then told me that his job was to be a friend to me and see if I was stirring up anti-war sentiment with the other guys in the Casual company. The Army wanted to make sure I wasn’t trying to get others to be anti-war or organizing demonstrations. He even had a record of where I went on weekend passes. He knew which hotel I slept in, where I bought my whiskey, where I ate my meals. That was his weekend “work.” He reported to the Army Criminal Investigations that I was not an agitator and was not stirring up trouble with other soldiers. That was true I was having enough trouble with the “Treatment” hell to worry about inspiring other guys.

His story was a gut punch to my stomach; I felt the pain of his words, his betrayal. I thought we were buddies, friends even. The pain turned to anger.

“You were spying on me? Trying to get me in trouble? I thought you were my friend, my buddy!” I shouted.

“I’m not supposed to tell you, but I feel like a should, because we’re friends,” he said. Then he smiled in a hesitant way, asking for forgiveness. I became angrier and upset standing there.

“This is fucking so wrong, Price. You sonofabitch!” I just turned and walked away from him. He called out, “Sorry!” but I kept walking.

The week of out-processing from Fort Benning flew by. I got my paperwork done, official travel orders, a new set of vaccine shots, my paycheck received and cashed. I was leaving Fort Benning going home for three weeks, then over to Vietnam.

I walked over to Battalion to see Price. I wanted to thank him for being my friend, even if it was under false pretenses, and tell him how that helped me through my three-month battle with the Army. He listened quietly, and when I was done, we shook hands. I turned to leave, and he said, with his great smile,

“Ya know, my Mets are really gonna win the World Series this year.” I smiled, let out a “ha, yeah.” I left Fort Benning the next day.

Three months later, I was on bunker guard duty on our base perimeter along the wire. I listened on Armed Forces Radio one hot, humid night as the Mets won the World Series against the Baltimore Orioles. I was sure my battle buddy was back at Benning saying, “I knew they were gonna win!”

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Tom Keating is a veteran of the Vietnam War His writing has appeared in national anthologies such as “War Stories,” an anthology edited by Sean Davis, and “Shakedown” published by Warrior Writers Boston in their book “Complacency Kills.” His story, “Vietnam Memorial, Past and Present,” has been published in the Vietnam Veterans of America’s national magazine. An essay "Was It Worth It?" will appear in "Zero Dark Thirty" winter edition.