Fast forward - July 4, 1989

Flashforward 20 Years - July 4, 1989

The sidegunner on the Hamburger Hill mission on May 1969 who survived also survived DSS - delayed stress syndrome or so he thought.

After years of individual and group therapy he stopped the treatments and got off the meds and settled down in Cape May with his waitress wife and two boys. Working at a marina he got a boat, took up a serious interest in fishing and started a popular fishing column in the local free weekly newspaper.

All seemed well with the world when he took his family to see the fireworks on the beach, sitting on the open side door of the van, eating ice cream, pizza and popcorn. It was all right until an exceptional explosive grand finales, as mom went "wow!," the boys clapped their hands and their father turned pale as a flash of reality came rushing back in a flury of repressed images of battle, the open side door of the helicopter, the chatter of the machine gun fire, the wounded, bleeding men surrounding him, the pilot saying, "Are we having fun yet?," and then his sideman's gun suddenly going silent.

Turning around and seeing the other gunner slowly slinkimng to the floor, he grabbed the other machine gun and fired it into the jungle below until return fire stoped. Then he bent down and picked up the back of the head of his partner and held him tightly in his arms so they both could feel it.

When all fell silent, except for the chirping blades of the chopper, the two soldiers looked each other in the eyes as the wounded Marine said in a whisper,"Tell my mother I love her, and remember the good times."

"What's wrong honey!," his wife said shaking him, "You're white as a sheet and sweating. Look like you seen a ghost."

After awhile she drove home and with the radio on the boys in the back didn't notice anything wrong, but she knew, and waited until they got home and the boys were asleep to ask him what was wrong.

He just sat there stone faced quiet for a half hour as she rooted through a kirchen drawyer for the business card of the Veterans hospital doctor who had been treating him.

Then he began talking - mumbling - she listened closely - he was reciting the alphabet over and over - fast and then slow - and then settling on a few letters, B - M, until he finally clapped his hands and stood up crying - tears flowing but he was smiling, almost laughing, "Billy - Billy Miller!"

"It's all right now honey - its all right," he said. "I forgot I still have a mission to finish," he said as he picked up the phone and asked for the information operator for a small mid-west town and asked for a William Miller, residence, and wrote it down, but said yes when asked if he wanted to be connected.

It was now after midnight but after a few rings a man answered.

"Hello?"

"Is this Mister Miller, the father of Billy Miller, USMC, who was killed in combat in Vietnam?"

"Yes," came the solumn reply.

With his wife sitting next to him and holding tightly the hand not holding the phone he stopped crying and straightened up to attention as she wiped the sweat off his brow with the other hand, as he slowly and delibertly said, "Well sir, I am John Fitzpatrick. I served honorably with your son for nearly two years, we went through boot camp together, were bunkmates and side gunners together. He was a fine soldier you can be proud of. He was my best friend and he died in my arms."

After a moments silence Mr. Miller said, "I know who you are John, Billy told us all about you, he wrote home often. We still have his letters."

"Is Mrs. Miller there?"

"She's right here."

"Well I have a message for her, but I have to deliver it personally."

"Your welcome to come out, we have pictures of you and Billy together, and he told us of some of your antics. You can stay in Billy's room while your here."

With that, Fitz hung up the phone, called the airlines to reserve a seat on a fight the next day and then called his boss at the marina and left a message on the machine that he wouldn't be to work for a few days, maybe a week.

Then, after she asked a few times what the message from Billy was, he looked her in the eyes and said, "Tell my mother I love her, and remember the good times.

" Do you believe it," he asked, "all these years I forgot - suppressed the memories, even the name of my best friend. And now I have to complete that mission and deliver that message. And there were plenty of good times."