DELTA SLY HONEY Lucius Shepard There was this guy I knew at Noc Linh worked the corpse detail guy name of Randall J.Willingham a skinny red-haired Southern boy with a plague of freckles and eyes blue as pokerchips and sometimes when he high hed wander up to the operations bunker and start spoutingall kinds of shit over the radio telling about his hometown and his dog his opinion of thewar he was against it and what it was like making love to his girlfriend talking realpretty and wistful about her ways the things she whisper and how shed draw her knees up tightto her chest to let him in deep. There was something pure and peaceful in his voice hisphrasing and listening to him you could feel the war draining out of you and soon youd beremembering your own girl your own dog and hometown no: with heartsick longing but with joyin knowing youd had at least that much sweetness of life. For many of us his voice came to bethe oracle of our luck our survival and even the brass who tried to stop his broadcastsfinally realized he was doing a damn sight more good than any morale officer and it got towhere anytime the war was going slow and there was some free air theyd call Randall up andask if he felt in the mood to do a little talking. The funny thing was that except for when he had a mike in his hand---you could hardly drag aword out of Randall. He had been a loner from day one of his tour limiting his conversation toquotHeyquot and quotHow you and such and his celebrity status caused him to become even lesstalkative This was best explained by what he told us once over the air: quotYou meet ol RandallJ. on the street and you gonna say Why that cant be Randall J. That dumb-lookin hillbillycouldnt recite the swearin-in oath let alone be the hottest damn radio personality in SouthVietnam And youd right on the money cause Randall J. dont go moren double figure IQ andhe aint got the imagination of a stump and if you stopped to say Howdy chances are hed bestuck for