Charlie Mike (1985), page 21
The two men strolled along the road until it abruptly curved left and fell from view down a sudden drop-off.
“Down there is the third step. You see what I mean now about three steps?”
Shane nodded, looking back from where they had come, down into the valley directly below.
“The mess hall is that long building below us. The road you see on the other side is the main drag that leads to the base. On the other side of that, where you see the rappeling tower, is our Ranger school.”
“What’s that?” Shane pointed to a small area behind the mess hall.
“That, my friend, is the Dove’s private pig stockyard. You met Dove yet?”
“I don’t think so.”
“He’s the major’s driver—quite a guy. Before he came to the Rangers he was in the 173rd. He got wounded and when he was in the hospital some REMFs stule his money and class ring. He’s been gettin back at them ever since. If you ever need anything, talk to Dove. He’s got connections everywhere. Let’s go. I’m starved.”
They wound down the steep trail to the valley floor and on to the back of the mess hall. They walked to a side entrance and were about to enter when a booming voice rang out from within.
“All right, Rangers, this ain’t Howard Johnsonses! This is my mess hall. Eat your good Army chow and mooooove out!”
Treadwell smiled at Shane. “The first sergeant.” He turned and pulled open the door.
They had entered through the officers’ and senior NCOs’ entrance and walked into their designated eating area. Directly across from them was the serving line, where Rangers were lined up and holding plastic trays. To their left was the main eating area.
A short, broad-shouldered black soldier stood a pace back from the line of waiting men, yelling.
“You ain’t tourists, Rangers! Quit askin’ for a choice! They got eggs scrambled, period. None of this sunny side crap. That’s what queers and see-vill-yuns eat. Moooove out!”
The first sergeant’s fatigues were starched as stiff as cardboard. His black jump boots sparkled and creaked as he shifted his weight forward and back. He stood, hands on his hips, legs spread apart. His tailored uniform hugged his narrow waist and abnormally large shoulders, accentuating his obviously fit body. Shane couldn’t believe such a loud voice could come from such a small man. It wasn’t a yell; it was a well-modulated, experienced bellow.
The first sergeant shifted his stance and, glancing behind him, saw the two officers taking scats at the near table. He immediately turned around and marched straight for them.
Shane was impressed. Top strode like a man in charge.
“Captain, it sure is good to have my Rangers back. The first sergeant likes his boys home.”
Treadwell motioned toward Shane. “Top, you met our new ops officer. Captain Shane?”
The ebony-faced soldier grinned broadly, showing his large white teeth, and extended his hand. “No, sir, but it’s always a pleasure to shake hands with an old veteran from a fine Airborne unit like the 173rd Sky Soldiers. I’m First Sergeant Demand.”
Shane stood and took the strong hand of the bantam first sergeant. “Good to meet you, Top.”
“Captain Shane, if you wants somethin’, you just let your first sergeant know.”
“Sure will, Top.”
“If you officers will excuse me …” The first sergeant came to attention, clicked his bootheels, executed a flawless about-face, and marched back to the food line.
“Moooove out, Rangers: This ain’t Howard Johnsonses!”
Dove checked the pens one more time. He was showing Pete his “farm.”
“Mack did a good job taking care of ’em. Remind me to pay him an extra ten.”
Pete nodded. “Same setup as before, Dove?”
“Yeah, basically. I think we’re good on flags for a while, so we won’t activate the sew-girl operation. Our buckle inventory is high, so we’d better push them a little harder.”
As they started back up the road, a thin-looking soldier came toward them. He waved.
“Hey, Dove, I’ve been lookin’ all over for you. I’m finally gettin’ out.”
“Glad to see ya made it, Beep.”
Pete thought the man looked sick. His gaunt, pale face was stretched tightly over his high cheekbones.
“Dove, I wanted to thank you for the money and all.” The soldier looked at the ground, obviously upset. “It really is gonna help me … and …”
“Hey, you’d do the same for me. Right?” Dove stepped closer and patted the soldier’s arm. “What are friends for, man? It’s only money.”
The soldier reached down and took a small yellow puppy from the pocket of the leg of his fatigues. “Dove, I can’t give you a thing to repay you, but I got this pup from a nurse at the hospital. I want you to have it. I know it ain’t much, just a dumb gook mutt, but I wanted to give you somethin’.”
Dove took the small dog, holding it out from him. “Hey, Beep, thanks, buddy. I really appreciate this, man. Now, look, you’d better get going. You don’t wanna miss your freedom bird, man. You take care of your little girl back home, and send a letter to let me know how she’s doin’.”
The soldier smiled. “Sure will. I can’t thank you enough, Dove.”
“Don’t worry about it. Now, get going, and take care of that new daughter.”
Hopkins turned and jogged up the hill. Dove put the dog down quickly. “Damn dog. Can’t stand the things. Sure is ugly, ain’t it?”
“What was all that about?” asked Pete, watching the soldier disappear up the road.
“Pete, you and me is partners, right?”
“You bet.”
“Well, partner, Ol’ Beep was in a bind. He knocked up a broad before comin’ to the ‘Nam. They never got married, and she had the kid a couple months ago. The kid got sick and of course didn’t qualify for government hospitalization, so I just helped out a little. We take care of our own. Nobody else gives a shit. Hey, you want the dog? I don’t know nothin’ about ’em.”
“No, thanks, Dove. He gave it to you.”
Dove looked down at the yellow mongrel and pushed it out of the way with his foot. The little ball of fur rolled over in the dust and returned to its feet awkwardly. They had gotten five feet up the hill when it began whimpering.
Pete watched Dove from the corner of his eye, waiting. Dove walked two more steps. The puppy began a long, sorrowful wail. Dove stopped.
“Shit.”
He spun around and walked back to the little animal, which rose up on all fours, wagging its tail.
“Come on, you stupid mutt.” He reached down and gingerly picked up the puppy. “Maybe I can sell you to some REME”
Pete waited for his friend with a smile.
Jean reached for the newest patient’s file to make the necessary entries. She leaned back before opening it and looked through the small window at Bud. He was sitting up, writing. What was it she felt for the lieutenant? she wondered. She liked him, but why? Physical attraction? He was good-looking. He made her feel good when she looked at him. Her desires suddenly embarrassed her, and she quickly looked back at the file. I would have made love to him. Yes, I would have done it, so it’s got to be physical attraction, pure and simple. Physical attraction. But then, I … oh, hell.
Lieutenant Le Be Son wiped the sweat from his nose. His legs felt the familiar ache. His pack, which he’d earlier thought was light, dug unmercifully into his shoulders. He watched the soldier in front of him shift an RPG-40 awkwardly on his shoulder. The shoulder-fired rocket was heavier than his AK-47.
They’d marched for six hours without rest. The trail was good, but the quick pace was taking its toll. He looked at his men behind him. They were tired, he could tell, but none would ask for a respite. They had determined faces and wouldn’t quit. He was proud of them. The men all along the trail in front of him began stepping off the path to relieve themselves. Break at last, he thought. He turned and gave the rest signal to his men and sat down next to a tree. A moment later, in front of him he saw feet wearing Uncle Ho’s rubber-tire sandals. He looked up. It was his commander staring down with a smile. He started to rise.
“Stay seated, friend.” The colonel squatted down beside him. “We have moved fast, friend. I’m sorry, but the pace is necessary for a while longer. We must arrive before dusk so that assignments and positions are made before dark.”
“Yes, comrade Leader. I understand. Do not worry about us. We can keep up.”
The old leader smiled. “My friend, tomorrow you will have the opportunity for the revenge that you seek.”
It had been many years since the colonel had fought for revenge. Revenge was a short-lived emotion that consumed the body from within. He had long ago lost the need to justify killing by working up emotions. It was just killing, surviving, then killing again. But as he looked into the eyes of the young lieutenant, the death of passion suddenly seemed sad. If only an old man could become young again!
“Sir, I’m Sergeant Evans of Sierra Rangers. I was told to report to you about the convoy tomorrow.”
The lieutenant looked up from his desk at the lean, hard-looking sergeant. Without speaking, he got up and walked to a large poster board covered with acetate.
“Yes, you’re numbers thirty-six and thirty-seven. Look over here, Sergeant.” He pointed to a long line of small black rectangles that represented vehicles; there were numbers marked on them in yellow grease pencil. “Tomorrow you are to be in position here”—he pointed at the chart—“no later than oh-six-forty-five. The others behind you will pull in about oh-six-fifty. Convoy departs oh-seven-ten sharp. Usual uniforms: steel pots, flak vests, and one C-ration meal.”
“Sir, we don’t have helmets or flak vests.”
“No sweat, just be there on time.”
Evans saluted and walked out of the tin transportation office to his waiting truck. His team was sitting in the back of the truck. Evans yelled at them as he approached.
“Who’s for going to the beach?”
The back of the truck erupted in yelps of joy.
The sergeant swung himself up into the cab and punched the smiling black driver lightly. “Amos, I guess it’s time I taught you to swim, huh?”
“Damn, Sarge, you better. I almost drown in that big water yesterday. I’m gonna wear blown-up rubbers around my waist today, okay?”
Evans laughed as he leaned back and threw his feet up on the dash. The large truck lurched forward, and the men in the back began singing the Beach Boys’ “Surfin’ Safari.”
Sergeant Jerry Childs paced back and forth in front of the Second Platoon, shaking his head. It was a bad sign, thought Rock, as he followed the angry sergeant with his eyes.
Childs abruptly stopped and faced them. His eyes narrowed and he took in a deep breath.
Here it comes, thought Rock. Here it comes!
“You clowns lookin’ and actin’ slack! Today we start to change that bullshit. I want a full layout inspection of platoon and team equipment, here, on the road, in one hour.”
Childs put his hands on his hips and began rocking heel to toe. “You shitbirds embarrassed me! I took the new ops officer, Captain Shane, through the barracks a few minutes ago, and guess what we found? A fucking trash heap. A damn pigpen. Great impression you made, shitbirds. Well, I got somethin’ for you. We’re gonna correct your slack, trashy, hippie civilian ways—today!”
Captain Shane stood in the doorway of the Second Platoon barracks and listened to Childs chew out the platoon. The platoon area didn’t really look that bad, but he knew the sergeant wanted to keep the platoon busy. Slack time was always dangerous. They could lose the all-important edge.
Shane turned and strolled down the aisle to the back door and pushed it open. Straight ahead of him was a well-worn path to a gray latrine twenty meters distant. Two large connexes were facing him. One was open. He looked in. It was full of NVA weapons, including a large .51-caliber machine gun. There were uniforms, packs, helmets, and rice. A hand tapped his shoulder. When he turned he faced a blond, curly-haired pfc. of about nineteen, who looked like a California surfer.
“Oh, sir, I didn’t know it was you. I thought it was one of the guys needin’ something’.”
Shane hadn’t met him before. “You in the Second Platoon?”
Dove was smiling. “Not now. I used to be in Double-Deuce. I’m the major’s driver. I’m Dove. Sir, I guess you’re wondering why I’m in the connexes. Well, this is where I store some of my inventory. Sergeant Childs lets me use this one ’cause the platoon doesn’t need it, so—”
“Okay, Dove, no need to explain why you’re here, but what the hell is all that stuff for?”
The puppy bounded from behind the connex and playfully jumped on Dove’s leg. “Sir, I trade and sell the stuff to REMFs.… Down, dog.… We buy beer and stuff for our parties and … down, damn it!”
The captain bent down and patted the playful puppy. The dog immediately began licking his hand.
“You want him, sir?”
“Naw, I won’t have time for one.” He made a quick examination of the puppy and rose. “She seems healthy enough.”
“She? You mean it’s a broad?”
“Yep, you got a little bitch, there, Dove.”
Dove shook his head, surprised, then eyed the officer with interest. “Sir, you know much about animals?”
“Well, I lived on a farm.”
“Damn, sir. I need your help. Ya see, I got these pigs …”
Childs yelled “Do it!” to the platoon and walked toward his hootch.
Rodriguez shook his head, “Oh, wow, man, an inspection! It’s like stateside!”
Grady turned to Rodriguez. “Shut up, Pancho. We need to check out our gear anyway.”
“Yeah, but inspection? I can’t take the pressure.”
Rock put his arm around Rodriguez. “Don’t worry, Pancho, I’ll help ya.”
“Wow, man, I’m screwed for sure now.”
Grady shook his head. “Let’s go, shitbirds. Pancho, you’ll be first, so you won’t have to worry so long.”
“Oh. wow. Thanks, Sarge.”
“Well, what do you think, sir?”
“Dove, your hogs are wormy.”
“Wormy? What’s that mean? They gonna die, sir?”
“Naw, but these hogs are full of ’em. It’s just a part of the food cycle.”
Dove was amazed at his find in the captain—a real pig expert. “What can I do, sir?”
Shane thought a minute while watching the little dog, which was trying to get into the pigpen, obviously fascinated by the gray-black animals that rooted around in the muddy pen.
Shane knew a scavenger when he saw one. It was obvious Dove was the “in” man of the unit. Shane had seen them in every organization—one man who had the knack and gumption and knew how to subvert the Army’s red tape of acquiring both nonauthorized and authorized equipment.
“Dove, I’ll make you a deal: I’ll get your hogs and that dog of yours dewormed in return for a minor favor.”
Dove was surprised. He hadn’t thought the captain would be so quick to realize he could exact a price for his services.
“What’s the favor, sir?”
“I need a couple of fans for the Second Platoon barracks. The guys need a breeze in their hootch to help keep it aired out. Think you can swing it?”
Dove smiled. The new captain wasn’t after a personal favor. It was for the Deuce. He’d be a good one for the Rangers.
“Sure, sir. I’ll get you two by tomorrow.” The small dog was now chewing on Dove’s boot. “Sir, now tell me about food for these pigs.”
“Hogs,” the captain corrected.
“Hogs,” Dove said, smiling.
Major Colven stood in the Fourth Division G-3 office. The operations lieutenant colonel had a map on his desk and was looking at a large area that Colven had just encircled.
“… No problem with me, John. Nobody’s worked the area in a long while. We’re more to the east.”
“Sir, do you think you’ll be able to help us out with aviation assets?”
The colonel looked up, smiling. “Shit, John, we’re sittin’ on our ass in this new Pacification program. Our aviation guys are so bored, they’ll jump at the chance.”
“Thank you, sir. We appreciate your help.”
“No, we thank you for clearing the area for us like you guys do. Oh, John, why don’t you bring your officers over to the club tonight. We got an act from Australia coming in that’s supposed to be great.”
Colven collected his map. “Thank you, sir, but we’re involved in a major training program. On the other hand, if you’ve got any pull with the G-1, I sure do need some movies.”
The colonel picked up the phone. “I’ll call him now. He’s a classmate; plus, the asshole’s got my Shirley Bassey tape. When do you want the movies delivered?”
Ed Shane was walking back from the “hog farm” and decided to walk behind the troop barracks to see what was there. The captain strolled slowly, examining the new area. Off to his left, past the latrines, was a low gray compound of some kind. He judged the compound to be three hundred meters away. Probably a prisoner detention compound, he thought, seeing the high chain-link fence that surrounded it. A soldier passed by him on the way to one of the latrines.
“Hey, what’s that compound over there?” asked Shane as the soldier passed.
The Ranger looked in the direction the captain was pointing. “That’s the Red Cross girls’ billet area, sir.”
“Red Cross?”
“Yes, sir. You know, the Doughnut Dollies. They got a bunch up here. They got a Red Cross building down in the main base.”
“Hell, it looks like a prison.”
“It’s to keep us horny Rangers out, sir.” The soldier grinned. Then, as if reading the captain’s mind, he quickly added, “Them women don’t mess around with none of us grunts. I hear they only go out with the big REMF brass.”
Shane smiled. “Thanks for the info. What’s your name?”
“I’m Johnson, sir. Headquarters RTO.”
“Thanks, for filling me in. Oh, good luck gettin’ into the latrine.”
The lanky soldier laughed as he turned and walked to the small outhouse.
“Down there is the third step. You see what I mean now about three steps?”
Shane nodded, looking back from where they had come, down into the valley directly below.
“The mess hall is that long building below us. The road you see on the other side is the main drag that leads to the base. On the other side of that, where you see the rappeling tower, is our Ranger school.”
“What’s that?” Shane pointed to a small area behind the mess hall.
“That, my friend, is the Dove’s private pig stockyard. You met Dove yet?”
“I don’t think so.”
“He’s the major’s driver—quite a guy. Before he came to the Rangers he was in the 173rd. He got wounded and when he was in the hospital some REMFs stule his money and class ring. He’s been gettin back at them ever since. If you ever need anything, talk to Dove. He’s got connections everywhere. Let’s go. I’m starved.”
They wound down the steep trail to the valley floor and on to the back of the mess hall. They walked to a side entrance and were about to enter when a booming voice rang out from within.
“All right, Rangers, this ain’t Howard Johnsonses! This is my mess hall. Eat your good Army chow and mooooove out!”
Treadwell smiled at Shane. “The first sergeant.” He turned and pulled open the door.
They had entered through the officers’ and senior NCOs’ entrance and walked into their designated eating area. Directly across from them was the serving line, where Rangers were lined up and holding plastic trays. To their left was the main eating area.
A short, broad-shouldered black soldier stood a pace back from the line of waiting men, yelling.
“You ain’t tourists, Rangers! Quit askin’ for a choice! They got eggs scrambled, period. None of this sunny side crap. That’s what queers and see-vill-yuns eat. Moooove out!”
The first sergeant’s fatigues were starched as stiff as cardboard. His black jump boots sparkled and creaked as he shifted his weight forward and back. He stood, hands on his hips, legs spread apart. His tailored uniform hugged his narrow waist and abnormally large shoulders, accentuating his obviously fit body. Shane couldn’t believe such a loud voice could come from such a small man. It wasn’t a yell; it was a well-modulated, experienced bellow.
The first sergeant shifted his stance and, glancing behind him, saw the two officers taking scats at the near table. He immediately turned around and marched straight for them.
Shane was impressed. Top strode like a man in charge.
“Captain, it sure is good to have my Rangers back. The first sergeant likes his boys home.”
Treadwell motioned toward Shane. “Top, you met our new ops officer. Captain Shane?”
The ebony-faced soldier grinned broadly, showing his large white teeth, and extended his hand. “No, sir, but it’s always a pleasure to shake hands with an old veteran from a fine Airborne unit like the 173rd Sky Soldiers. I’m First Sergeant Demand.”
Shane stood and took the strong hand of the bantam first sergeant. “Good to meet you, Top.”
“Captain Shane, if you wants somethin’, you just let your first sergeant know.”
“Sure will, Top.”
“If you officers will excuse me …” The first sergeant came to attention, clicked his bootheels, executed a flawless about-face, and marched back to the food line.
“Moooove out, Rangers: This ain’t Howard Johnsonses!”
Dove checked the pens one more time. He was showing Pete his “farm.”
“Mack did a good job taking care of ’em. Remind me to pay him an extra ten.”
Pete nodded. “Same setup as before, Dove?”
“Yeah, basically. I think we’re good on flags for a while, so we won’t activate the sew-girl operation. Our buckle inventory is high, so we’d better push them a little harder.”
As they started back up the road, a thin-looking soldier came toward them. He waved.
“Hey, Dove, I’ve been lookin’ all over for you. I’m finally gettin’ out.”
“Glad to see ya made it, Beep.”
Pete thought the man looked sick. His gaunt, pale face was stretched tightly over his high cheekbones.
“Dove, I wanted to thank you for the money and all.” The soldier looked at the ground, obviously upset. “It really is gonna help me … and …”
“Hey, you’d do the same for me. Right?” Dove stepped closer and patted the soldier’s arm. “What are friends for, man? It’s only money.”
The soldier reached down and took a small yellow puppy from the pocket of the leg of his fatigues. “Dove, I can’t give you a thing to repay you, but I got this pup from a nurse at the hospital. I want you to have it. I know it ain’t much, just a dumb gook mutt, but I wanted to give you somethin’.”
Dove took the small dog, holding it out from him. “Hey, Beep, thanks, buddy. I really appreciate this, man. Now, look, you’d better get going. You don’t wanna miss your freedom bird, man. You take care of your little girl back home, and send a letter to let me know how she’s doin’.”
The soldier smiled. “Sure will. I can’t thank you enough, Dove.”
“Don’t worry about it. Now, get going, and take care of that new daughter.”
Hopkins turned and jogged up the hill. Dove put the dog down quickly. “Damn dog. Can’t stand the things. Sure is ugly, ain’t it?”
“What was all that about?” asked Pete, watching the soldier disappear up the road.
“Pete, you and me is partners, right?”
“You bet.”
“Well, partner, Ol’ Beep was in a bind. He knocked up a broad before comin’ to the ‘Nam. They never got married, and she had the kid a couple months ago. The kid got sick and of course didn’t qualify for government hospitalization, so I just helped out a little. We take care of our own. Nobody else gives a shit. Hey, you want the dog? I don’t know nothin’ about ’em.”
“No, thanks, Dove. He gave it to you.”
Dove looked down at the yellow mongrel and pushed it out of the way with his foot. The little ball of fur rolled over in the dust and returned to its feet awkwardly. They had gotten five feet up the hill when it began whimpering.
Pete watched Dove from the corner of his eye, waiting. Dove walked two more steps. The puppy began a long, sorrowful wail. Dove stopped.
“Shit.”
He spun around and walked back to the little animal, which rose up on all fours, wagging its tail.
“Come on, you stupid mutt.” He reached down and gingerly picked up the puppy. “Maybe I can sell you to some REME”
Pete waited for his friend with a smile.
Jean reached for the newest patient’s file to make the necessary entries. She leaned back before opening it and looked through the small window at Bud. He was sitting up, writing. What was it she felt for the lieutenant? she wondered. She liked him, but why? Physical attraction? He was good-looking. He made her feel good when she looked at him. Her desires suddenly embarrassed her, and she quickly looked back at the file. I would have made love to him. Yes, I would have done it, so it’s got to be physical attraction, pure and simple. Physical attraction. But then, I … oh, hell.
Lieutenant Le Be Son wiped the sweat from his nose. His legs felt the familiar ache. His pack, which he’d earlier thought was light, dug unmercifully into his shoulders. He watched the soldier in front of him shift an RPG-40 awkwardly on his shoulder. The shoulder-fired rocket was heavier than his AK-47.
They’d marched for six hours without rest. The trail was good, but the quick pace was taking its toll. He looked at his men behind him. They were tired, he could tell, but none would ask for a respite. They had determined faces and wouldn’t quit. He was proud of them. The men all along the trail in front of him began stepping off the path to relieve themselves. Break at last, he thought. He turned and gave the rest signal to his men and sat down next to a tree. A moment later, in front of him he saw feet wearing Uncle Ho’s rubber-tire sandals. He looked up. It was his commander staring down with a smile. He started to rise.
“Stay seated, friend.” The colonel squatted down beside him. “We have moved fast, friend. I’m sorry, but the pace is necessary for a while longer. We must arrive before dusk so that assignments and positions are made before dark.”
“Yes, comrade Leader. I understand. Do not worry about us. We can keep up.”
The old leader smiled. “My friend, tomorrow you will have the opportunity for the revenge that you seek.”
It had been many years since the colonel had fought for revenge. Revenge was a short-lived emotion that consumed the body from within. He had long ago lost the need to justify killing by working up emotions. It was just killing, surviving, then killing again. But as he looked into the eyes of the young lieutenant, the death of passion suddenly seemed sad. If only an old man could become young again!
“Sir, I’m Sergeant Evans of Sierra Rangers. I was told to report to you about the convoy tomorrow.”
The lieutenant looked up from his desk at the lean, hard-looking sergeant. Without speaking, he got up and walked to a large poster board covered with acetate.
“Yes, you’re numbers thirty-six and thirty-seven. Look over here, Sergeant.” He pointed to a long line of small black rectangles that represented vehicles; there were numbers marked on them in yellow grease pencil. “Tomorrow you are to be in position here”—he pointed at the chart—“no later than oh-six-forty-five. The others behind you will pull in about oh-six-fifty. Convoy departs oh-seven-ten sharp. Usual uniforms: steel pots, flak vests, and one C-ration meal.”
“Sir, we don’t have helmets or flak vests.”
“No sweat, just be there on time.”
Evans saluted and walked out of the tin transportation office to his waiting truck. His team was sitting in the back of the truck. Evans yelled at them as he approached.
“Who’s for going to the beach?”
The back of the truck erupted in yelps of joy.
The sergeant swung himself up into the cab and punched the smiling black driver lightly. “Amos, I guess it’s time I taught you to swim, huh?”
“Damn, Sarge, you better. I almost drown in that big water yesterday. I’m gonna wear blown-up rubbers around my waist today, okay?”
Evans laughed as he leaned back and threw his feet up on the dash. The large truck lurched forward, and the men in the back began singing the Beach Boys’ “Surfin’ Safari.”
Sergeant Jerry Childs paced back and forth in front of the Second Platoon, shaking his head. It was a bad sign, thought Rock, as he followed the angry sergeant with his eyes.
Childs abruptly stopped and faced them. His eyes narrowed and he took in a deep breath.
Here it comes, thought Rock. Here it comes!
“You clowns lookin’ and actin’ slack! Today we start to change that bullshit. I want a full layout inspection of platoon and team equipment, here, on the road, in one hour.”
Childs put his hands on his hips and began rocking heel to toe. “You shitbirds embarrassed me! I took the new ops officer, Captain Shane, through the barracks a few minutes ago, and guess what we found? A fucking trash heap. A damn pigpen. Great impression you made, shitbirds. Well, I got somethin’ for you. We’re gonna correct your slack, trashy, hippie civilian ways—today!”
Captain Shane stood in the doorway of the Second Platoon barracks and listened to Childs chew out the platoon. The platoon area didn’t really look that bad, but he knew the sergeant wanted to keep the platoon busy. Slack time was always dangerous. They could lose the all-important edge.
Shane turned and strolled down the aisle to the back door and pushed it open. Straight ahead of him was a well-worn path to a gray latrine twenty meters distant. Two large connexes were facing him. One was open. He looked in. It was full of NVA weapons, including a large .51-caliber machine gun. There were uniforms, packs, helmets, and rice. A hand tapped his shoulder. When he turned he faced a blond, curly-haired pfc. of about nineteen, who looked like a California surfer.
“Oh, sir, I didn’t know it was you. I thought it was one of the guys needin’ something’.”
Shane hadn’t met him before. “You in the Second Platoon?”
Dove was smiling. “Not now. I used to be in Double-Deuce. I’m the major’s driver. I’m Dove. Sir, I guess you’re wondering why I’m in the connexes. Well, this is where I store some of my inventory. Sergeant Childs lets me use this one ’cause the platoon doesn’t need it, so—”
“Okay, Dove, no need to explain why you’re here, but what the hell is all that stuff for?”
The puppy bounded from behind the connex and playfully jumped on Dove’s leg. “Sir, I trade and sell the stuff to REMFs.… Down, dog.… We buy beer and stuff for our parties and … down, damn it!”
The captain bent down and patted the playful puppy. The dog immediately began licking his hand.
“You want him, sir?”
“Naw, I won’t have time for one.” He made a quick examination of the puppy and rose. “She seems healthy enough.”
“She? You mean it’s a broad?”
“Yep, you got a little bitch, there, Dove.”
Dove shook his head, surprised, then eyed the officer with interest. “Sir, you know much about animals?”
“Well, I lived on a farm.”
“Damn, sir. I need your help. Ya see, I got these pigs …”
Childs yelled “Do it!” to the platoon and walked toward his hootch.
Rodriguez shook his head, “Oh, wow, man, an inspection! It’s like stateside!”
Grady turned to Rodriguez. “Shut up, Pancho. We need to check out our gear anyway.”
“Yeah, but inspection? I can’t take the pressure.”
Rock put his arm around Rodriguez. “Don’t worry, Pancho, I’ll help ya.”
“Wow, man, I’m screwed for sure now.”
Grady shook his head. “Let’s go, shitbirds. Pancho, you’ll be first, so you won’t have to worry so long.”
“Oh. wow. Thanks, Sarge.”
“Well, what do you think, sir?”
“Dove, your hogs are wormy.”
“Wormy? What’s that mean? They gonna die, sir?”
“Naw, but these hogs are full of ’em. It’s just a part of the food cycle.”
Dove was amazed at his find in the captain—a real pig expert. “What can I do, sir?”
Shane thought a minute while watching the little dog, which was trying to get into the pigpen, obviously fascinated by the gray-black animals that rooted around in the muddy pen.
Shane knew a scavenger when he saw one. It was obvious Dove was the “in” man of the unit. Shane had seen them in every organization—one man who had the knack and gumption and knew how to subvert the Army’s red tape of acquiring both nonauthorized and authorized equipment.
“Dove, I’ll make you a deal: I’ll get your hogs and that dog of yours dewormed in return for a minor favor.”
Dove was surprised. He hadn’t thought the captain would be so quick to realize he could exact a price for his services.
“What’s the favor, sir?”
“I need a couple of fans for the Second Platoon barracks. The guys need a breeze in their hootch to help keep it aired out. Think you can swing it?”
Dove smiled. The new captain wasn’t after a personal favor. It was for the Deuce. He’d be a good one for the Rangers.
“Sure, sir. I’ll get you two by tomorrow.” The small dog was now chewing on Dove’s boot. “Sir, now tell me about food for these pigs.”
“Hogs,” the captain corrected.
“Hogs,” Dove said, smiling.
Major Colven stood in the Fourth Division G-3 office. The operations lieutenant colonel had a map on his desk and was looking at a large area that Colven had just encircled.
“… No problem with me, John. Nobody’s worked the area in a long while. We’re more to the east.”
“Sir, do you think you’ll be able to help us out with aviation assets?”
The colonel looked up, smiling. “Shit, John, we’re sittin’ on our ass in this new Pacification program. Our aviation guys are so bored, they’ll jump at the chance.”
“Thank you, sir. We appreciate your help.”
“No, we thank you for clearing the area for us like you guys do. Oh, John, why don’t you bring your officers over to the club tonight. We got an act from Australia coming in that’s supposed to be great.”
Colven collected his map. “Thank you, sir, but we’re involved in a major training program. On the other hand, if you’ve got any pull with the G-1, I sure do need some movies.”
The colonel picked up the phone. “I’ll call him now. He’s a classmate; plus, the asshole’s got my Shirley Bassey tape. When do you want the movies delivered?”
Ed Shane was walking back from the “hog farm” and decided to walk behind the troop barracks to see what was there. The captain strolled slowly, examining the new area. Off to his left, past the latrines, was a low gray compound of some kind. He judged the compound to be three hundred meters away. Probably a prisoner detention compound, he thought, seeing the high chain-link fence that surrounded it. A soldier passed by him on the way to one of the latrines.
“Hey, what’s that compound over there?” asked Shane as the soldier passed.
The Ranger looked in the direction the captain was pointing. “That’s the Red Cross girls’ billet area, sir.”
“Red Cross?”
“Yes, sir. You know, the Doughnut Dollies. They got a bunch up here. They got a Red Cross building down in the main base.”
“Hell, it looks like a prison.”
“It’s to keep us horny Rangers out, sir.” The soldier grinned. Then, as if reading the captain’s mind, he quickly added, “Them women don’t mess around with none of us grunts. I hear they only go out with the big REMF brass.”
Shane smiled. “Thanks for the info. What’s your name?”
“I’m Johnson, sir. Headquarters RTO.”
“Thanks, for filling me in. Oh, good luck gettin’ into the latrine.”
The lanky soldier laughed as he turned and walked to the small outhouse.
