Chapter Nine
Three days later I was hanging by my wrists in the back of a C-111, heading to who knows where. Gosh, I thought. I didn’t have to join the Navy to “see the world.” I’d been from the United States to Aruba with stops in the Netherlands and someplace in the deserts of the Middle East. Someone on the plane told me we’d land in Southeast Asia within the hour.
When I thought of Indonesia, Viet Nam, Thailand or wherever I was going, I thought of that poor American kid who was caned for doing something trivial and stupid. They left permanent scars on his ass from the caning, after spending four months in some hideous prison because he spray painted some graffiti on a car. I questioned which was worse – the caning or the prison. I know what it is like to be used by the inmates. I al
