tracers

December 31,1990.  De Barrio Philippines.

Buddy ‘n I went out in the mountains instead of sticking to Olongapo proper for a night out.  The Tarawa was slated to leave harbor for Kuwait in two days and we had a twenty four hour window of Liberty to play with.  I wanted a tattoo and he just wanted some ‘strange’ that hadn’t been hit by every sailor in the Circle of Fire.  We hopped one of those little ‘cabs’ and went 20 miles inland to this place I had heard about.  The Tattoo ‘parlor’ was ran by an Expat from California.  An open air parlor and some of the brightest colors I had seen to date were coming out of that place.  I had to spend that money,,,

While I sat in that chair with my arm cranked around my backside as the torture artist in question hamburgered my chest, Buddy went and found his strange.   Talking to the artist, (so nice being able to hold a regular conversation with a native english speaker, while sitting in an open air  place in the middle of a jungle.   Rather surreal to be honest.) He told me about the best place to get a drink and meal in the local.  He said several other things, but my mind wasn’t all there with the surreal atmosphere of pain, images, and cute philipina girls vying for my cash.   

Tattoo finished, the entire right pectoral muscle feeling quite abused, its time for a drink.   Buddy had already returned from ‘strange’ lookin’ like the cat with feathers on his jaw. its time for a drink.   We head to that ‘bar’ the Expat told me about.    Such a dinky place,  looks like it was made from an old house foundation and all they did was raise a shed in the basement floor than toss up some tin roofing on poles to cover the tables.   Three chest freezers are behind the bar and there is a charcoal grill fired up for the foodstuff.   Strands of Christmas lights through the rafters are all the lighting this place uses (and if you had ever seen the ‘infrastructure of power’ in that section of the Philippines, you would understand that even Christmas lights were a strain and a half.). Step down into the foundation which is only three blocks high onto a concrete pad, five meters by five meters and that little shack with a counter built around it and two young (14? 15?) waitresses (who spoke excellent english,,,   I think the Expat was filling in as an english teacher as well.) and a menu written in crayon on a poster board.    The light is falling quick, but it feels like a summer night in SanDog even though its New Years Eve.

Buddy ‘n I are swapping bullshit, watching the cray-cray of a foreign society unfold around us as the night carries forward to that midnight click.   We don’t have to be back on ship until 1500 the next day so we planned on staying out here until the last minute.  Its much more relaxed than downtown Olongapo and the street kids aren’t nearly as feral as the ones in the town proper.  Those little shits could steal cash from your underwear, while you are wearing them, and you would have no clue it happened.   Redstripes and shots of what the bottle reads as Chivas but isn’t, but I don’t care because the price isn’t Chivas either, and the Christmas lights come on.   Feeling a really good head-change coming on after an hour and buddy is looking like he is several lengths ahead of me on the race to Total Inebriation.   It’s a good night.  My chest is not so “UGH!” feeling and I know its because I am well on my way to not being able to feel my nose Drunk.

Suddenly, I am stone sober.  Somethings wrong.   Buddy had it at the same time and we both look at each other.  Its WAY too quiet.   Looking around, no waitresses, lights on, the juke is playing but the streets are empty and that wasn’t the case just 5 minutes prior.    I get up, walk over to the bar, and I see no one in the little shack, look around out the open air bar and see no one in sight anywhere.   I go behind the bar, open one of the chest freezers and pull out a case of the redstripe, toss in a $20 and buddy and I drop to the floor nearest the three block high wall that has the most dirt on the other side.   No words said, but the air is feeling like “SHITS GONNA GET REAL” and neither of us is any shape to do much more than sit back and watch the fireworks.

“CRACKCRAKCRAKCRAK!!!!”    Those boojum firecrackers that are common in the eastern pacific, the ones that are equal to an American M-80.  Thousands of them going off all over the place.   I look at the Ironman on my wrist and its 5 minutes to midnight, New Years Eve.   Suddenly what the Expat was saying while I was in my Zen state comes back. “Might wanna not be here around midnight, The Muzzies and Catholics fight over this area every year,,,,”

Then the Tracers start,,,,   Red tracers from the tallest building in town,   Green tracers from the treeline of the jungle.  Several small clumps spread around different points.   Buddy low crawls over to the juke, fiddles a bit and then comes back with a grin on his face as the music starts playing.  “GENERALS GATHERED IN THEIR MASSES!!!”   And we are both bellowing along with Ozzie as the green and red tracers fly overhead, Fireworks going off in drum loads: drunk out our minds and slated to go to a war where the opposition has a reputation for liking to use Nerve Agents.    FUCK IT, WE PARTY LIKE ITS OUR WAKE.   

0600 Jan1 1991.  The headache of drinking Philipino Redstripe (which uses formaldehyde as a preservative) is epic. The odor of Olongapo river (also known as Shit River) is adding an extra layer of “OHGAWDIWISHIWASDEAD” to the headache.  Buddy and I are standing at the gate to Subic Bay Naval Station waitng to pass on in.   We walked back from the bar, trying to get out heads cleared.   Bullet casings littered the street, but the tracers stopped around 0200 or so.   Neither of us has a voice left: we sang them out while slamming back beers watching the fireworks.

Tomorrow we leave for Kuwait and no one knows if we will return. 

(not fiction, a memory.)