Charlie Mike (1985), page 13
Rock stood. “My fellow team members, as you know, I am a man of few words.…”
“Aw, shit,” said Sox loudly. Rock glared at him, then continued, “It gives me great pleasure to give this”—he bent down and took a new M-79 from a bag from under the table—“to our forgetful friend.”
Thumper sheepishly took the new weapon. He didn’t know what to say. The team clapped and hooted. He stood slowly, embarrassed by the attention from the men at other tables, who had now turned their chairs around for the presentation and were joining in on the moaning and clapping.
Rock held up his hand for silence. “And, big forgetful one, we have an accessory to go with your new weapon.” Rock bent down under the table and pulled out a five-foot piece of thick chain that weighed at least twenty pounds. “This is your dummy cord! One end goes through the trigger housing, and the other around your neck. We don’t think you’ll forget your M-79 again!”
The mess hall rocked with laughter. Thumper glanced at Grady, who winked. Thumper smiled back, then addressed the others. “I would like to thank you all, but I forgot your names.” The mess hall broke up again.
Grady stood and held up a carton of milk. “Men, a toast to the cherry!”
“To the cherry,” echoed through the building.
The team sat down again, all smiling. Grady leaned over and produced a small box, then spoke quietly. “Kiddin’ aside, Thump, the team and I are real proud of you. We thought maybe you should have this, since you can’t hold on to your 79.”
He handed the box to Thumper, who looked up at the men’s faces for an indication of whether this was another joke. They returned his with strange smiles. He opened the lid and stared at a .45 automatic pistol. Grady took a shoulder holster from his leg pocket and handed it to Thumper. “It was Bartlett’s. We thought you deserved it.”
Thumper lowered his head again to hide the emotions that flooded him. Words wouldn’t come.
Ben tapped Grady’s shoulder. “Say, boss, where is your ruck? I didn’t see it with your gear.”
The others immediately began verbally harassing their team leader, who became red-faced and proclaimed loudly, “Look, shitbirds, I can dish it out, but I can’t take it. Okay?”
Laughter and bantering were exchanged, allowing Thumper to win control of his feelings. At least he hadn’t cried—and he wouldn’t, he told himself. He hadn’t since his brother’s funeral.
Dove dropped the major off at the TOC then pulled the jeep up to the small administration shack where Pete sat typing.
Pete looked up from his typewriter. “How’d you do?”
“Super! We musta made a couple hundred, easy. I’ll tell ya, Pete, if I could go back to that NVA camp right now, I’d do it. I left fifteen, maybe twenty, pith helmets there. I just couldn’t carry any more. The old man was pissed! You should’ a seen him when I climbed on the bird with those two bags of helmets.”
Pete smiled, then suddenly stopped typing and looked up. “Dove, I’m confused about something.”
“What’sa matter?”
“I keep getting mail for guys that aren’t here. Where are the rest of our guys, anyway?”
Dove sat down next to the clerk. “Look, we got two platoons here, the First and Second, right?”
“Yeah.”
“The Third and Fourth are in Phan Thiet with Task Force South. Our home base is in An Khe, and that’s where our Ranger school is. We got Sierra Rangers scattered in three places. Simple.”
“Well, it sure messes up the mail, I can tell you that.”
“No sweat, buddy, we got you to keep us straight.”
“Yeah, well, I understand about the three locations and the platoons being in different areas; it’s the poor headquarters platoon that really gets screwed. The Headquarters guys, like the commo guys and the cooks, sure get messed around.”
Dove smiled. “See, Pete, that’s why I like you. You’re worried about guys gettin’ a fair shake. That’s good, it means you’re watchin’ out for them. Hey, I’m going selling tonight. Ya wanna come?”
“You bet!”
Corpural Nguyen Van Hoi lay on a rice straw mat on a woven bamboo strip bed. He looked up at the earth ceiling and the lone light bulb that dangled from a thick black wire that stretched taut above him. He raised his head slightly and saw other light bulbs spaced evenly apart as far as he could see down the long tunnel. His breathing became difficult. He lowered his head and breathed more easily.
He remembered little about the previous day and their arrival. Or was it yesterday? He had been unconscious and couldn’t even tell it was day without seeing the sun. To his left were others lying on similar beds. He could turn his head to the left with little pain, but to turn to the right was excruciating. He had been awake for some time, watching, listening. He had determined that the tunnel had one entrance, to his right. Everyone seemed to come and depart from that direction.
“Well, Corporal, you seem better.” He shifted his eyes to the right without moving his head. A nurse was looking at his bandage.
“How do you feel?”
“Very well, thank you,” he lied.
“The doctor will be pleased with his work. Are you comfortable, comrade?” She’d noticed his eyes had shifted up to the ceiling.
“Forgive my weakness, but the bandage restricts my breathing a little.”
The nurse smiled. “It is not your weakness; it is my ineptness.” She leaned over and quickly checked. He was correct: it was too tight. “I’m going to sit you up and we will rewrap your bandage. You must keep your upper body stiff when I pull you to a sitting position. Use your left hand to support yourself. All right?”
“Yes.”
She came around to his other side. For the first time he could see her without straining his eyes. She was very beautiful, he thought as she moved closer and put one hand behind his neck and the other on his left shoulder. Her hands were soft and warm.
“Now, tighten your stomach muscles and help me as I pull. Ready? Now.”
He rose easily. She wore a dark blue man’s uniform with no rank insignia. Her sleeves were rolled up past the elbows.
“Is that more comfortable for you?”
He was enjoying the attention she was showing him as she unwrapped and rewrapped the long gauze pieces. “Oh, yes, you are very kind. It is much better.”
She came around the bed again and helped him lie back. “Your wound was clean. The doctors said you were shot with the burning bullets that glow. You were fortunate, because it cauterized the many small vessels that would have caused much bleeding and damage to the muscle.” She backed up from his bed. His eyes followed. “You will be able to see the sun soon.”
She turned and walked down the aisle. Like the lotus, he thought, beautiful and delicate in the midst of a muddy puddle. He looked up again at the light bulb. The pain was dull and deep. He closed his eyes. What is her name? From what village does she come? How long has she.…? The pain slipped back to another chamber in his mind.
Lieutenant Son placed his chopsticks alongside his mess kit. The meal had been quickly eaten. They were leaving in a short while.
They had arrived yesterday afternoon. The hospital had been ready, but it had been overfilled, so they were given no time to rest. Instead they collected bamboo and large leaves to build temporary huts for the overflow of patients as well as cut camouflage foliage to hide the new activity. He’d been very tired but strangely excited. He’d heard many stories and read many accounts while a student at the university about the famous Toa Bat Hospital, built during the first revolution. It had been a large cave, but the villagers from Toa Bat had expanded the cave into the major tunnel complex it was today. Their exploits, as well as those of the doctors and nurses, were an inspiration to all liberators, he thought as he packed his last belongings. The village three kilometers to the west had been destroyed years ago; the remaining people had moved into the hospital and become its orderlies, cooks, and food gatherers. The People’s Party had given the village the “Determined to Win” banner every year since 1965.
“Lieutenant Son!”
The lieutenant looked up, seeing a senior sergeant approach. “Lieutenant Son?”
“Yes.”
“You are to depart in five minutes.” Son stood, holding his pack and weapon. “We leave sooner than expected, then?”
“Yes, they want us to leave the area quickly. There are too many to hide if aircraft come looking.”
Son walked several steps to a trail where his platoon waited. The battalion was to be split. Most would return to their base camp to the north and await replacements. Lieutenant Son and one platoon were being assigned to the Forty-seventh Regiment in the Con Trang Valley. He was very happy when Captain Vinh told him. The Forty-seventh was a famous unit and had many battle banners. It would be a long march but a good one. The route had many rest stations that would provide opportunities for his men to regain their strength and fighting spirit.
He took off his jungle hat and faced his platoon. “Fellow soldiers, we go to join the famous Forty-seventh Regiment. We leave many friends.” He reached into his pack pocket and pulled out a handful of thinly cut pieces of green cloth. “Today I wear this”—he held one of the pieces up—“to show they are not forgotten.” He tied the cloth around his forehead quickly. “The cloth is from our battalion commander’s scarf. I proclaim this platoon the Avenger Platoon. I shall wear the mourning band for all to see. I will take it off only when the deaths of my friends … your friends … have been avenged!”
Corporal Tuy took the handful of green cloth pieces and handed them to the other platoon members.
Le Be Son raised his weapon. “We go forward today renewed with the knowledge of ultimate victory!” He placed his weapon in the crook of his arm and began walking down the trail to the south. The men rose without speaking, one at a time, and followed.
The heavy lieutenant colonel paced outside the general’s door, looking at the sheaf of papers in his hand. They were all completed and needed the general’s signature.
The goddamn aviation battalion had changed one of the pilot’s names and erased it, then rewritten it in pencil. Didn’t they know the regulations! Okay, I’ve got two Silver Stars for the Rangers that directed the air attack. And a Air Medal for Valor for a Lt. Sikes. And I’ve got twelve more Air Medals for aviators. The corps commander has the authority to award them. Let’s see … that’s stated in Army Regulation 672-5-1, “Military Awards,” Chapter One. Good, I’ve got it. If he asks, I’ll have all the answers.
The colonel strode to the desk, where the aide sat reading Life.
“How much longer?”
“I don’t know, sir. The new deputy is still in there with him.”
The colonel nodded. He remembered the new deputy corps commander had come in that morning.… What was his name? Burlington? No, Burton. Yes, Brigadier General Burton. An infantry type. Great, that’s all we need, another fire-breather. I bet the—
The door opened and the two generals walked out in conversation.
“Get settled, Glen, then I’ll get the staff to brief you on what’s going on.”
“Great, Sam, the sooner the better. You know me.”
The colonel rolled his eyes. Shit! A fire-breather for sure.
“Come on in, Charles. Glen, I’ll see you at dinner.” The general was smiling. He shut the door and turned toward his G-l. “How many?”
“Sir, we’ve got two Silver Stars and fifteen—no, thirteen—Air Medals.”
“Any West Pointers?” asked the general as he walked to his desk.
The colonel looked up from his papers. “Beggin’ your pardon, sir?”
“West Pointers! Graduates!”
“Uh, well, I don’t know that, sir. I—”
“Find out, Charles. It’s good for the school. You know, ‘Corps Commander Awards Medal to Lieutenant Hero, Class of 19——’ and so and so.” The general sat down, still smiling. “Plus, Charles, it’s good for this old grad too. You know what I mean?”
“Oh, yes, sir, I understand. I’ll find out as soon as I get back to my desk. I wanted to—”
“I was thinking, Charles,” the colonel interrupted, “those Rangers wear camouflage fatigues and black berets. I’m going to look like a desk commander with my regular green jungle fatigues and ball cap. That’s a very negative image, you know?”
“Well, yes, I—”
“So I’ve made a decision. The staff and I will all wear pistol belts and helmets. I’ve talked to the logistics officer and checked. The Rangers are issued three sets of camouflage fatigues and two regular. Charles, I want you to inform Major Colven that his men are to wear their green fatigues and helmets for the ceremony.”
“I don’t know, sir. The Ranger uniform is—”
“And, Charles, don’t worry about the aviators. Their flight suits look unmilitary anyway, so let them wear whatever. What else do you have for me?”
The colonel was about to object but saw that the general had turned and was looking out the large window behind him.
“Uh, nothing, sir. I’ll get the word to the major and get the information you wanted immediately.” He backed slowly toward the door. He got halfway there when the general turned around and smiled.
“Thank you, Charles. You’ve been most helpful.”
“Uh, yes, sir.” Now he turned quickly and walked out.
“You scared me.”
“Aw, hell, Ev, you know I wouldn’t get myself greased until my boys whipped your guys good.”
“No, Grade, I really … well, I don’t wanna talk about it. How was it?”
Grady leaned back against the sandbags as the fading day bathed everything in soft gray. Evans isn’t in a joking mood, he thought.
“It was the most horrible thing I’ve ever experienced, Ev. The noise, the destruction … It … it was hell.” He looked at Evans. “I mean real hell! I’ve never experienced anything like it.”
Evans stared at his friend, then shifted his gaze to the barbed wire in front of them. “What’d ya think about?”
“Death, and how easy it is to call it out and confront it. Ev, I was ready to die. Ain’t that some shit? Me, the playboy who’s gonna make a million, acceptin’ death so easy. Why do you think that is, Ev?”
“I don’t know, Grade. You’re the only one who can answer that one, but I’m glad you made it. Hell, don’t worry about it. I guess you proved it isn’t true that your entire life passes before your eyes in living color when you’re about to die.”
Grady laughed. “Hell, it better not have. I woulda got horny!”
A lone guard walking the perimeter heard the laughter of the two men just ahead. “Hey, who’s there?”
“A ghost and a hick!… No, a hick and a horny ghost!”
The guard lowered his rifle and mumbled to himself, “Goddamn pot-smokers.” He turned and walked in the other direction.
Their laughter floated through the stillness as the darkness spread over the land.
Thumper reached out, lovingly grasped the cool metal next to him, and brought it to his chest. His fingers gently caressed its every ridge and depression. He thought about the men who had given him the gift. He felt a closeness to them he couldn’t put into words. They were friends … genuine friends who cared and were concerned about him. The pistol was a wonderful gift, but it was their smiles and the knowledge that he was accepted as an equal that was the best gift of all.
9
Captain Bob Celeste, Larry Wine’s alternate, ran his hand through his prematurely gray hair. “We’re givin’ Larry a break today, Bud. You’ve put a lot of hours on that guy lately, and with him gettin’ that medal and all, well, I thought a day off would be good for him.”
Sikes snickered as he stepped through the open door of the small plane and squeezed past the back control stick. “Bob, you know how you pilots are. It’ll take weeks for you all to retrain him.”
“Get in! You’re in for a ride for that remark! You gotta learn, boy. Us pilots don’t get mad: We get even!”
Bud placed his goody bag on the floor and adjusted his survival vest before pulling the shoulder straps over his shoulders and hooking them into the seat belt.
“Where we going today, Bud?”
“North.”
“Up to where I spotted those trails?”
“Yep, you got it. You know, Bob, you’re smarter than most aviators. I don’t begrudge your flight pay at all; it’s your base pay they oughta keep.”
“Sikes, you know what I like about you? Absolutely nothin’!”
Minutes later the small plane soared skyward. Sikes watched from his window as the sun climbed the Vietnam morning sky. The sun turned the dark land below into subdued shadows, then into vibrant forms. He watched, amazed, still not jaded after countless mornings such as this.
He was feeling high. The days had been good. He felt strangely aware of everything. Colven had told him yesterday, “Kid, you did good in the air, real good. I was proud of you. Hell, ya did it better than I could have.” The major had walked away then, leaving Sikes with a warm feeling that he hadn’t been able to shake.
Sikes smiled to himself. Grady and Meeks had made it back. Grady was a soldier of the sort he, Bud Sikes, wanted to be. Grady was a leader, strong, good-looking, tough, yet reckless too. The manner—the confident, reckless manner in which he walked—was like a magnetic field around him that drew other men to it. He knew the right words and the right moves. Sikes had been jealous of him, but Grady had a way of taking you in and turning your jealousy into respect. You wanted to get yet closer and know the man better because you knew you were in the presence of something beautiful that men, only a special type of man, would understand. He felt good. Yes, because he knew that, although he was not a Grady, an Evans, or a Colven, he was one of them—one of the men who understood the feeling. He was a leader too—he knew that now.
