"I don't know. I don't remember. I woke up and here I was."
"I enlisted, myself," Youngblood growled. "Thought you were drafted."
"They tell me it's been twenty years, but all I can remember is the war."
"They found you in the jungle, did they?"
"No, I captured a tank. I drove it here. They ambushed me. Another tank."
"An old T-54?"
"Yeah."
"Hah! You dumb shit. You got snookered. That thing's got a wooden cannon. It can't shoot riceballs."
"Well, you don't have to be so happy about it," Remo complained.
"Sorry, man. I been here so long I'll take my entertainment any flavor at all."
"Who else is here?"
"There's only seven of us now. There used to be more than thirty. I'm senior officer now. That's why they got me in this here conex. You'll love it. Like an oven during the day and an icebox at night. What happened was, a prisoner escaped. A Vietnamese named Phong. They got me in here as punishment. Hey, is that how you come to be here? Did Phong send you?"
"I told you, I can't remember what I'm doing here. In my head, it's still 1968."
Youngblood grunted a laugh. "Yeah, my watch kinda stopped too. You know, Remo, you look different. "
"So? "
"I mean it. You look different. But not much older than I remember. Geez, wherever you been, man, you ain't aged a lick."
"I think I'm dead," Remo said hollowly.
"What?"
"I think I died in the bush. I'm a ghost."
"Hey now, man. Don't you be pulling any spook stuff on me. That shit don't go with me."
"Spook," Remo said. "That's the other thing. Remember Captain Spook? He's here. We killed him and he's still alive. What does that tell you?"
Dick Youngblood's low voice rose in gales of laughter. The conex shook with the enthusiasm of his howls. "Remo, you are one confused fuck," he chortled. "But I know how you must be feeling. I felt my own ass pucker the first time he turned up in my face."
"Huh?"
"That ain't Captain Spook. That's Spook Junior. His son. Calls himself Captain Dai. They do seem to be painted with the same ugly stick, don't they?"
"Son?" Remo said in a dazed voice. Then, "Shh. I hear someone coming."
In the darkness, Dick Youngblood put an ear to the metal wall.
"I don't hear shit."
"Footsteps. Very quiet."
"You're hearing ghosts. Probably your relatives."
"Then I'm seeing them too," Remo said. "Look." Youngblood let Remo guide him to a bullet hole.
"A gook," Youngblood said. "Old, too. Never seen him before."
"That's Uncle Ho."
"Ho Chi Minh is dead too, but if that's him, I take back everything I said."
"Uncle Ho is what I call him. I met him out in the bush. "
"Just like that. Who is he?"
"I don't know his name. But he claims he's my father. "
"Yeah, now that you mention it," Youngblood said dryly, "I can see the family resemblance."
The Master of Sinanju waited until the camp settled down for the night. He had patiently awaited the coming of his pupil to the Vietnamese prisoner camp. As always, Remo was late.
It had been simpler to allow Remo to be captured than to interfere. In Remo's present state, Chiun did not wish to risk losing him to wild gunfire. When he believed Remo had been in the big metal box long enough, Chiun approached silent and unseen by the few guards picketed about.
"Remo," he whispered.
"What do you want, Ho?" Remo asked in a surly tone.
"Simply to speak with you, my son," Chiun said sweetly. "Are you comfortable?"
"Of course not. I'm a freaking prisoner."
"Oh," said the Master of Sinanju, as if just noticing that fact. "Why do you not escape?"
"How?"
"These convenient holes," Chiun told him, inserting a long-nailed finger into one of the bullet holes. "They are just right. They make wonderful handholds with which to tear off a nice section of wall."
"Watch it!" Remo barked. "You nearly poked my eye out. "
"Your fault for peeking. You do not need to see me to understand my words."
"You're right, Remo," another voice said. "He is a crazy old gook."