by C. X. Moreau
The other three exchanged glances, then nodded their assent. “What did the staff sergeant really say to you, Steve? Straight up, no bullshit?’ asked Ferris.
Downs hesitated, then answered, “He said the first sergeant is pushing for a court-martial up at battalion and it looks as though he will get it. Once the court-martial starts they’ll call all of us as witnesses to testify as to what really happened. The idea is to prove that Griffin provoked the Arabs into a fight and disobeyed orders by not bringing us off the hill when he was supposed to.”
Ferris looked at his cousin and said, “I was afraid of something like that. They’re out to hang him and Sergeant Slocum.” For a minute none of the four spoke, then Ferris asked, “Steve, do you think it will do any good if we don’t say anything about what really happened? I mean, it’s not like Sergeant Griffin really did anything wrong. They sent us up there to escort the dragon gunners out, so they must have been expecting trouble of some sort or else why send us?”
“Yeah, all he did was arrange the defense. They’re the ones who attacked us, we just defended ourselves,” said Mac. “How can they hang them for that?”
“Well, according to the staff sergeant there are some things we don’t know about. I’ve got some ideas, but I didn’t see any more than any of you did, so it’s really just guesswork on my part. The staff sergeant didn’t spell it out. I guess he’s worried about saying something to us and then having to testify before the court himself.”
“So what else is the problem? If you know, Steve, you ought to tell us because we don’t want to say something we’re not supposed to. If we do have to talk to the officers about all of this it’s gonna be better if we all know what’s going on.”
Downs hesitated, thinking over the conversation he had had with Staff Sergeant Whitney. He was certain that the staff sergeant had been giving him a not too subtle message to have just this talk with his fireteam. He had even tried to think of a suitable way to raise the topic before this conversation had started. “Well, according to Staff Sergeant Whitney, they think that Griffin and Slocum faked the story about the vehicle being down and us not being able to leave for that reason. I guess that’s enough right there to get them both for disobedience of a direct and lawful order.”
“They also know that some Arab came up to the gate and that Griffin beat the hell out of him.” Downs was unable to suppress a smile at the thought of it, and the other three chuckled and made comments at the thought of Griffin using his fists on some Arab with the audacity to give him an ultimatum.
“So what’s the crime in that?” asked Smith. “What are they gonna do, bust a sergeant for fighting? I kind of thought that was our job.”
The other three laughed as Downs continued, “Yeah, I know what you mean, but there’s a problem. Apparently the story has gotten back to the CO that Slocum and Griffin deliberately provoked the Arab into making an attack. The word is that the guy Griffin punched out was a local militia leader and that Griffin knew that when he did it. He and Slocum had it all planned, if you can believe what the staff sergeant says.”
“Wait a minute, Steve. How could Griffin have had it all planned? He didn’t even know we were going to the hill before we got back to battalion after the embassy bombing. There’s no way he could have planned anything. The shit just happened and Griffin took care of it. What’s their beef with that?”
“I guess there’s been enough talk around the battalion that the officers have heard differently. The story they have is that we were offered safe conduct off the hill by the Arabs and that Griffin and Slocum cooked up the downed vehicle in order to stay on the hill and provoke a fight with the Arabs. At least that’s the way the staff sergeant explained it to me, and I’m sure he got it from the first shirt.”
Ferris shook his head in disgust and spoke, “The long and short of it is that the first shirt is out to get a piece of ass from Griffin and Slocum and make an example of them in front of the company and the battalion. He wants to make sure that the troops and the officers know what a hard charger he is so he can be sure of a good fitness report.”
“Did you get all this from Staff Sergeant Whitney?” asked Mac.
“Most of it,” answered Downs. “Some of it I’ve heard around the company or the battalion. You’ve got to remember that we weren’t the only ones on the hill that day. All those dragon gunners were up there and they’ve all talked to their friends at battalion. They’re billeted at the Battalion Landing Team building, so whatever they said to their friends back there is going to get back to the officers quick enough.”
“What a bunch of idiots,” said Smith. “Why didn’t they just keep their mouths shut? The damn BLT building is crawling with officers. Nothin’ would’ve been said then.”
“Aw, that’s bullshit,” said Ferris. “We all talked about it with everybody. Sooner or later they were going to hear about it somehow. There’s just no way to keep something like this a secret very long. Besides, why the hell should it be a secret? Nobody did anything wrong. So Griffin beat up some Arab. So what? Griffin has beat the shit out of half the company and you don’t see any of us cryin’ about it and asking for him to be court-martialed. That’s life in the big city. I still say the whole problem is the first sergeant is trying to kiss up to the officers. We oughta just do that motherfucker and be done with it. Right, Wayne?”
“Hey, you got my vote, Jimmy,” answered his cousin. Smith laughed conspiratorially and added, “Shit, we owe him one anyway. That asshole took away our beer. That’s enough for me, never mind all this crap with Sergeant Griffin.”
Downs looked warily at the two cousins and said, “Well, not that I’m totally against the idea, but don’t get any wild ideas. I hear the jerk already sleeps with a .45 automatic in his sleeping bag.”
“As big an asshole as he is, he ought to,” said Mac.
“Won’t make any difference if he’s got a howitzer in his rack when I get ready to come for him. Ain’t that right, Jimmy?” said Smith.
Without missing a beat his cousin replied, “Aw, shut up, even a good-size girl scout could kick your ass, you homo.”
Without preemption Smith tackled his cousin and the two began rolling in the mud around the base of the wash bucket as Mac and Downs stepped out of the way, carefully moving the tub full of clean uniforms. Amid curses and punches Smith took his revenge on his cousin, all the while calling him “first shirt” and flailing away at any exposed portion of his body.
Downs looked at Mac, who laughed and asked, “Think they’d really do it?”
“The first shirt you mean?” said Downs.
“Yeah.”
Downs regarded the two cousins as they rolled on the muddy ground, locked in an apparent death struggle, cursing and punching each other. “Not a doubt in my mind,” he said.
CHAPTER
19
Downs walked toward the company area with his armful of wet uniforms. A noise registered in his subconscious and he reflexively threw himself to the ground seconds before the first round impacted in the hard-baked clay. Automatically his hands went to his head to hold his helmet in place. He pressed his body to the ground and stole a glance at the bunker some fifty meters ahead of him. Two more mortar rounds impacted and Downs saw Marines running and crawling for shelter.
He began to crawl forward, his knees and elbows scraping the ground, his face pressed into the dirt. He heard his own breathing coming hard out of his chest. He knew he was panicking, but was not able to stop himself. Downs stole another glance at the bunker ahead, then cursed as he realized he had crawled slightly off course. Someone ran past him, laughing as another series of explosions detonated nearby. Downs smelled the acrid smoke as it drifted over him.
He crawled faster, afraid to lift himself off the ground and run. He lunged forward, bruising his knees, his mouth sucking in gritty sand and blades of dry grass. He focused again on the bunker. He heard Ferris and Smith laugh from the shelter of the bunker just ahead and cursed them
for their good fortune. Another round impacted nearby and Downs felt a hot stinging pain along his right wrist. He tucked himself into a fetal position, expecting more shrapnel. Downs covered his wrist with his other hand, the warm blood soaking his uniform sleeve and seeping through his fingers. He stood and ran the last few yards to the bunker, then flung himself in the entryway. Ferris and Smith howled with laughter as he landed heavily and rolled down the sandbagged steps leading into the bunker.
“Hey, Corporal Downs. Glad you could make it! Did you see the first shirt, Jimmy? That fucker ain’t moved that fast in ten years!” The two convulsed in laughter, oblivious to everything but their delight at seeing the first sergeant run for cover. “Did you see it, Steve?” asked Ferris. “The first shirt was shaggin’ ass for the nearest bunker. He was almost there, when, blam! Ole Wayne hits him with a flying tackle that would’ve stopped a freight train. Shit, he never even saw it coming, man!” The two again howled with delight, as Downs sat in the entryway gently trying to unbutton his uniform sleeve.
“Wayne caught him perfect, man. Laid his fat ass out cold. Shit, just like when we played the Fulton Falcons. Remember that, Wayne? You blasted that big-ass fullback they had that made All-Georgia our senior year.”
“Hey, Steve. You okay, man? What happened?” asked Ferris.
“I’m all right,” said Downs. “I think I got some shrapnel in my arm. It doesn’t even hurt though.”
“Well, let’s look at it.” Smith walked over and peered at Downs’s arm in the dim light of the bunker. He struggled to unbutton Downs’s cuff, then said, “You’re bleeding some, but I can’t see much. I’m gonna cut your sleeve. Okay?”
“Yeah, go ahead. My cammy top is ruined anyway,” said Downs.
Ferris gave a low whistle as the material came away and exposed the arm. “You’re lucky, Steve. It looks like it sort of just ran up your arm longways without really going in anyplace. Could’ve been a lot worse. Let’s rinse if off with some water, get all the dirt and shit out of it. What do you think, Wayne?
“Sounds good to me,” said Smith amicably. “Let’s get a flashlight so we can get a good look at it.”
Downs looked at his arm, bloody and pale where the sleeve was cut away. A red trough ran the length of his arm, from the back of his hand almost to the elbow. The water stung as Smith poured it over the wound.
“Jesus! That’s gonna leave one ugly scar. Impress the shit out of the poon-tang with that, man! No shit, you’re a regular war hero now,” said Smith.
“Yeah, but where the fuck is he gonna put his tattoo now?” asked Ferris. “Oh his fucking left arm? That’ll make it twice as hard to show off. Too bad it didn’t get your left arm. Then you could put your tattoo on the right and have the scar on your left. That’d be boss man! Wear a short sleeve shirt and the babes would just have to notice that shit!”
“Jimmy, I swear, sometimes you’re so fuckin’ stupid it hurts me to admit we’re kin. Man, this is perfect. He’ll just get his tattoo up high, on his bicep. Steve, it’ll be too cool. Just where the scar stops you can get an eagle, globe, and anchor with USMC blocked out underneath it in green letters. Maybe some color in the eagle. That’d be all right. You don’t want to overdo it. Just let them work together and speak for themselves. You’ll be gettin’ laid anytime you want to. It’ll be great.”
Downs smiled as Smith wrapped his forearm in gauze. What a pair, he thought. In the middle of a mortar attack they tackle the first sergeant, then all they can think about as they dress my arm is where am I going to put my tattoo now? Downs wondered silently at the conversational possibilities an amputated leg or other major limb might inspire.
Looking at the newly wrapped arm Downs watched curiously as the gauze slowly turned red. His head swam as Smith completed his work, then turned to his cousin, “What do you think, Jimmy? Is this a number one job or what?” he asked. “Maybe when I get out I’ll be a nurse or something.”
His cousin laughed and said, “Maybe you should go see how the first shirt is doing, Wayne. I bet he could use a little TLC right now.” The cousins broke into loud guffaws as three more mortar rounds burst nearby, the dirt thrown up by the explosions showering the roof of the bunker like a light rain.
As the explosions rolled away Griffin rushed into the bunker. “Corporal Downs, I need a head count. Are all your people here?” Griffin crouched in the narrow entry squinting into the dark interior, his eyes not able to adjust to the dimness of the bunker.
Downs snapped alert and automatically answered, “We’re all here, and we’re all okay.”
“No, we ain’t, Corporal Downs,” said Ferris. “Me and Wayne ain’t seen Mac. Maybe he made it to one of the other bunkers, but he didn’t come in here. We were all together just when the shelling started though, Sergeant Griffin.”
Griffin glanced at Downs, who answered, “I thought he ran past me after those first few rounds,” said Downs. “I thought he was here all this time.”
“Where was the last place you saw him, Corporal Downs?” asked Griffin.
“I’m not sure now. I thought that was him that ran past me. The last place I saw him for sure was down by the water bull. We were down there drawing our water ration and washing our clothes.”
“How about you, Ferris?”
“Same place. When we heard those rounds come in all of us made for the bunkers. I just assumed he went to one of the other ones. Wouldn’t be the first time. Some of the other bunkers are closer anyway. Me and Wayne just like to spend our time in our own house, so we came here,” answered Ferris, winking at his cousin.
“Yeah, you’re probably right. I still have two holes to check. What happened to your arm, Corporal Downs?”
“I got caught out there between salvos. A piece of shrapnel sliced up my forearm. I’m okay.”
“It really ain’t bad, Sergeant Griffin,” added Smith, “but it looks pretty fucked up.”
“Okay. Have the Doc look at it ASAP. I’m going to check those other bunkers. If I don’t find MacCallum I’ll be back. All of you sit tight.” Griffin rose and sprinted to the next bunker, timing his movement so that he arrived just before the explosion of the following salvo.
Downs fought to control his emotions. Why would Mac go to another bunker? This bunker was just as close as any other, and his natural instinct would be to run for his own bunker. Downs stood and walked to the entry. He waited for the other two mortar rounds to impact, remembering the warning of the instructor at infantry school that mortar sections always work in threes, and sometimes space shot intervals so as to deceive their enemy.
“Tell Sergeant Griffin I went to check the water bull,” said Downs. He flung himself out of the bunker and raced for the sandbagged water bull. Halfway there he heard the two late rounds whistling toward the Marine lines. He dropped to the ground and prayed as the rounds impacted somewhere in front of him and to the rear of the Marine lines. The thought occurred to him that Griffin would have his ass if he got wounded now after being told to stay put. He raised himself to his knees and saw the circle of sandbags protecting the water bull. A set of boots protruded from the open end of the low circular wall of sandbags.
Downs grinned as he realized that Mac had simply gone to the nearest available cover. All the others had run through a mortar barrage to gain the safety of the bunkers. Mac had gone thirty feet to relative safety behind the wall of sandbags built to protect the metal water bull from just such attacks.
“Hey, Mac. What the fuck are you doing? Griffin is looking for you, man,” said Downs. “We have to get back to our hooch for a head count.” Downs noticed the throbbing in his arm for the first time as he used it to help him scuttle toward Mac. A warning sensation shot through Downs at Mac’s lack of an answer. He rounded the corner of the sandbagged wall on all fours and slapped Mac’s boot. “Hey, asshole. This ain’t funny. I risked my ass to come out here and see what you’re doing. Now quit fucking around and let’s go.”
He noticed the odd angle of Mac
’s legs and Downs realized that his friend was wounded, and fairly seriously. “Corpsman up!” he yelled automatically. Downs heard Ferris and Smith echo his scream, then others down the line. “Jesus, Mac. Are you okay, man? What the fuck happened?” He felt Mac’s neck and detected a good pulse, then rolled him onto his side. Mac made a liquid coughing noise as Downs eased him onto his back and began to look for the wound.
Mac coughed again and blinked as if awakening from a deep sleep, then said, “Steve, I’m hurt.”
“It’s okay, Mac. You’re not hurt bad. I don’t even see any blood. You’re okay, man. Just try to relax.”
“I don’t think so, Steve. It doesn’t hurt, but I don’t think so.”
“Okay, okay. Don’t move,” said Downs. “I’ll do everything.” Downs ran his hands over his friend’s legs, looking for blood, or an entry wound. Finding nothing he loosened the Velcro strap running the length of Mac’s flak jacket and ran his hand inside, trying to detect blood. He felt nothing. He opened Mac’s camouflage blouse and put his hands underneath Mac’s T-shirt. “Jesus, Mac. I can’t fucking find it. Where does it hurt, man?”
Mac tried to answer, but managed only another liquid cough. Mac locked eyes with his friend and Downs saw panic flash across his face. As Mac grabbed his friend’s arm Downs screamed “Corpsman!” at the top of his lungs.
“It’s okay, Mac. You’re okay. Just don’t panic, all right?”
Mac shook his head “no” and struggled to suppress a sob as tears began to roll down his face. “I don’t want to die, Steve. I don’t hate anybody. God, Steve, I’m scared.”
“You’re okay, man.” Downs located the wound on Mac’s side, high, just under the armpit. He began to work at exposing the wound, trying not to move Mac anymore than necessary.