Merced Veterans Park.

The day was sunny, and I strolled along unmindful of where my feet traveled. The day dream was pleasant and the warming sun calmed my nerves and soothed my hangover.

All this was shattered however by a sudden loud explosion, and harsh words shouted full volume in Vietnamese. I recoiled in horror, I had inadvertently wandered into the Homeless Veterans Park, and I was on the wrong side of the lines. This unassuming park sits at the far end of town, avoided wisely by all but the poor insane masses of war vets who every day play out a human drama of chaos and death. The lines change daily as various park features such as the drinking fountain and bathrooms are hotly contested. I ducked a hail of dirt clods and snuffed out a homemade fuse before diving into the bushes to watch the current battle. A group of Vet Cong had just ambushed an aging party of WWII Veterans on their way to the battle of the Bulge being fought by the rest of the fogies from the Great War near an abandoned soda stand. The WWII boys were old, but gave back well in the struggle against the Cong. Fists flew and homade bangers went off willy nilly until the Cong leader looked to the heavens and screamed something about napalm, causing his motley command to dive for cover. The old WWII guys picked themselves up and headed off towards the far end of the park where, by the sound of things the Battle of the Bulge was really heating up for the fifth time that day. Off to my right, a group of crazy Marines were sneaking up the Bear Creek version of the Mekong Delta, intent on ambushing a small flock of ducks. While on my left a flag was raised amidst a heavy artillery barrage on the top of Mount Iwogima. ( Aka the roof of the girl’s bathroom)

This is how it goes in this sad little park, twenty four hours a day the lost vets of the great wars, driven insane by their past combat live out their never ending nightmares in heart wrenching scenarios. Having escaped capture by the Vet Cong, I crawled towards the creek to see how the D day invasion was going. The ancient Germans, clad in torn faded uniforms were raining rocks and chicken bones down on to the confused mass of old men in soggy tattered US Army fatigues who were trying to get organized for a mass charge up the hill. Crawling down the creek I managed to avoid two Jap patrols and one Drunken North Korean, but found that my way out was blocked. Cursing my bad luck I once again took refuge in a leafy bottle brush tree, and watched yet another fight in the endless hell on earth that is the Merced Veterans Park. The lone footbridge over Bear Creek was now renamed Arhnem Bridge and, was being held at all costs by a platoon of British paratroopers. Besides holding off the Germans however, they also blocked the path of a Russian battalion desperate to join the battle of Stalingrad, being fought twenty yards away underneath the monkey bars. The British held fast, but in the end lost out to sheer numbers after a small army of Japs, intent on invading the island of Baton, joined up with the German and Russian elements who were struggling to gain the far side of the creek.
Having lost the bridge, the British forces rushed off to join with the old Marines, who having gained the Normandy coast, were now racing towards the gazebo in the center of the park to invade Berlin. With the bridge temporarily forgotten I made a break for it, but did not get two steps before the bridge was blown by a Navy Frogman, attempting to deny access to Rommel and his Panzer division which consisted of a rusty wheelbarrow and a tricycle. I may well have ended up a prisoner like so many other lost joggers who stumble by accident into this eternal battle field. But luck was with me this day, and for the low price of a pack of cigarettes a destitute member of the French underground smuggled me across the creek on a reed boat, cleverly disguised under a stack of hay.

If you haven’t already guessed, this is another place in Merced to avoid at all costs. Unless you like being locked in a flea infested bamboo hut while a former Vet Cong officer suffering from Post Traumatic Stress Disorder urinates on your festering rat bites while screaming at you to give away the American positions.