by C. X. Moreau
“Yeah. I’m clear,” answered the big Marine. “Uh, one other thing, Steve,” said Samson as Downs turned to go.
“Well, what, Samson? I need to go check the squad and see how Tiger is doing.”
“Yeah, I know.” Downs stood by and watched as Samson shuffled his weight from one foot to the other. “They found Sergeant Slocum over by the fence line there,” said Samson. “They need an NCO who knows him to go over and ID the body. I guess he’s pretty fucked up.”
Downs struggled to control his thoughts. He let a long sigh out and asked, “Where is he?”
“They’ve set up a temporary morgue in front of the BLT for all the bodies without positive ID. NCOs are required for the ID, then they tag ’em I guess. He’s over there on the fucking ground, man. Not even a poncho on him.” Samson wiped his face with his hand and continued, “This is just all fucked up, man. You know? They wouldn’t even have known it was him except he had a dog tag laced into his boot.”
Both Downs and Samson reflexively looked down at the dog tags laced into their left boots, the silent emblem of the infantry. “Why don’t they get one of the NCOs from Dragon Platoon to ID him? Jesus, what the fuck is going on around here anyway? Sergeant Slocum left the platoon before we even deployed.”
Samson shook his head and said, “It won’t work, Steve. Dragons were billeted in the BLT building. They all bought it, man. Maybe some of them are alive in the rubble, but they ain’t gonna be in no kind of shape to ID him even if somebody can dig down to them. One of us has to do it. H&S company is gone, man. Fuckin’ wasted. The whole company. Can you believe it?”
Downs turned and silently regarded the mound of rubble. Marines swarmed over it carrying whatever tools they could find to dig and break away rubble. On the north slope of the dirty mound a cluster of men were gathered in a tight circle around several huge slabs of broken concrete. Cables and ropes stretched away from the circle of men and were attached to a truck at the base of the north face of what had been the BLT building. Downs nodded to indicate the group and asked, “What’s going on up there?”
Samson shook his head and spat. “There’s a guy trapped up there between the sheets of concrete. They say his legs are pinned and almost cut off by the weight of the concrete. They’re afraid as soon as they lift it away from him he’ll bleed to death before they can tourniquet what’s left of his thighs. Right now they’re just givin’ him morphine to ease the pain.” Both Downs and Samson turned to look at the group before Samson continued, “Awhile ago he was screaming for them to kill him, then he started asking for his mother. This situation is totally fucked, man. We ought to form up and go out in the ville and kick some ass. I’ve had all the bullshit I’m gonna take from these assholes. Fuck the Rules of Engagement, I say we get some payback. ASAP.”
The two stood in silence for a moment before Downs asked, “Where did you say they had Sergeant Slocum?”
“East side of the building. Over by the access road is what they told me.”
“Okay, then. I’ll go and get it done. You make sure everybody here stays in their holes and alert. Don’t let anybody pull us out of the line for any reason. From the way it looks we’re the only thing between the battalion and the whole fuckin’ city.”
Downs turned to go then added, “Hey, Samson. One more thing, and pass the word on this. They probably hit the BLT with the same type of car bomb they used on the embassy. So any vehicle moving down that boulevard is fair game. None of that bullshit about waiting to be fired upon before engaging. Just fire the fucker up and don’t worry about asking any questions.”
Samson shook his head and said, “No shit, man. Fuck ’em anyway with their stupid rules. They passed the word a little while ago that the French headquarters got hit this morning, too. Jesus, this is crazy.”
Downs strode off and headed south of the BLT building planning to stop and see Tiger. As he made his way past piles of rubble and twisted hulks of jeeps and other vehicles that had been parked in close proximity to the BLT building Downs began to get a better idea of the destruction. The building itself was now less than one third of its original height, the upper stories having collapsed onto the lower ones. Huge slabs of concrete ringed the mound and Marines had strung ropes to enable them to pull themselves up the sides.
All over the rubble men were burrowing between the slabs and attempting to locate comrades. Less than an hour after the explosion wounded men were being pulled from the rubble and rushed to the Battalion Aid Station that had been hastily erected and staffed by whatever corpsmen and doctors could be scrounged from the rifle companies and the fleet offshore.
Everywhere the ground was littered with the debris of the five-hundred-odd men who had been billeted in the headquarters or had slept in the tents and temporary shelters around the base of the building. As he made his way to the far side of the compound Downs stepped over the remains of magazines, web gear, clothing, official documents from the battalion administration section, and letters from wives and families back home.
The thoroughness of the destruction began to sink in. Samson had been right. H&S company had ceased to exist. The Marines who had comprised the company were now dead or trapped in the rubble. The battalion’s tactical planning section was destroyed, as was the communication section, and the specialized combat units like the dragon and TOW missile platoons. The navy corpsmen who made up the bulk of the battalion’s medical personnel would also undoubtedly have been lost. The rifle companies were now without direction. They would act with whatever coordination they could manage, but the system for the operation of the battalion had been effectively destroyed within seconds of the explosion.
The residue of the lives that had focused around the building was strewn over the area and dusted with a fine gray powder. Downs stared in disbelief as he walked past huge pieces of the building’s concrete flooring that now rested precariously on the rubble pile. From each piece of concrete, steel reinforcing rods extended, stripped of the masonry that had surrounded them by the force of the blast.
Downs reached the far side of the compound and approached a long line of bodies laid side by side along the road. He nodded to a dazed lance corporal and said, “I’m Corporal Downs, First Platoon, Alpha Company. One of my Marines said you needed somebody to come over and ID one of our old NCOs, Sergeant Slocum.”
Downs waited for the boy to answer but he said nothing. Downs took in the vacant look on the boy’s face, then realized he was in shock. He looked around and saw an older Marine who looked in his direction after a moment and asked, “Came to ID one of ’em?”
“Yeah,” answered Downs, “I’m looking for Sergeant Slocum. He was with the dragons. You know where he is?”
“Couldn’t tell you, Corporal. Just look for yourself, and when you find him let me or one of the other staff NCOs know. We’ll set you up with a toe tag and you’ll be on your way.”
“Okay,” said Downs as he turned to confront the silent line of young men laying before him. Not wanting to lift the cover off the faces of those with ponchos over them he began to walk down the row of bodies and read the names on the tags laced into the dead men’s boots. When he reached the one imprinted with “Slocum, Robert, P.” he stopped. Downs silently peered at the body, searching for some sign of the jaunty, wise-cracking boy he had known. He knelt by the dead man’s feet and again examined the tag. He was sure that there were no other Slocums in the battalion, and it was logical that Sergeant Slocum would have been in the area at the time of the explosion. Downs hesitated, not wanting to again look at the boy’s face. He didn’t see Slocum there.
“That him?” called out the staff sergeant.
“Yeah. I think so,” answered Downs. “It’s kind of hard to tell.”
The staff sergeant walked over and offered Downs a small paper tag with a string laced through it. “Do you recognize him, Corporal? We need to have a positive ID if you can.”
Downs began to fill out the blanks on the tag with Slocum’s perso
nal information. “The tag’s his,” said Downs, indicating the small metal disc bearing Slocum’s name and laced into his boot. “And he’s the right size and all. But Jesus, he’s so fucked up I can’t tell for sure.” Downs stood and handed the tag back to the staff sergeant. “That’s the best I can do, Staff Sergeant.”
The older Marine nodded. “You said he was in dragons, right?”
“Yeah,” said Downs, “he transferred over from our platoon during the past year.”
The staff sergeant nodded knowingly and added, “Well, I don’t expect that too many of dragons platoon is going to be left alive. It’s more than likely him. We’ll go ahead and tag him as your sergeant.”
“Yeah. Okay, Staff Sergeant. Anything else you need from me?”
“Not unless you see somebody else you recognize that hasn’t already been tagged.”
“No,” said Downs quietly, “I should be getting back to my platoon.”
“Okay, Corporal. Thanks for your help.”
Downs headed in the direction of the squad, making his way along the south side of the building so that he could stop and see Tiger on his way back. Men and equipment continued to swarm over the rubble in increasing numbers as the intact units of the battalion reacted to the loss of the BLT building and its Marines.
Spotting the same corporal that had earlier asked him for his smallest men to tunnel into the rubble, Downs walked up to the man and nodded hello. Downs stood silently by while the corporal gave orders for an earthmover to pull away a huge section of concrete. When the job had been done the corporal turned to him and said, “Your man is down there now. I hope you don’t need him back because we’re shorthanded as it is and we really need the little guys.”
“No,” said Downs. “I just came by to see how he was doing.”
The corporal shrugged and answered, “Stick around about five minutes and you can ask him for yourself. I’ve got them on twenty minute shifts and your guy is due to come up in a few more minutes.”
“Yeah, I’ll wait for a while,” said Downs, glancing apprehensively in the direction of the squad.
“Suit yourself,” said the corporal. “I’ll be over here with the heavy stuff if you have any questions.”
Downs stood idly by while Marines around him moved equipment into position or attached cables to pieces of rubble. He spotted three smaller men stripped to the waist, sitting in a group away from the rest of the Marines working on the rubble. Downs surmised that these were the men who were working shifts with Tiger in the shaft. He walked over and asked one of them, “Are y’all the guys working in the tunnel?”
“Yeah, Corporal. Don’t tell us you got somebody in another part of the building?”
“No,” said Downs. “The other guy who’s down there now is one of my troops. Tiger.”
Two of them nodded and the third again answered, “Yeah, he’s down there now. We’ll go and get him up in a couple of minutes.”
Downs noted that at the mention of Tiger’s name one of the others checked his watch. He guessed that this man would be Tiger’s relief. He looked in the direction of the building then back to the smaller Marine. “So how is it coming down there?” The boy shook his head and took a long pull from his canteen, then spat the water out on the ground. “Not too good, Corporal. The tunnel is really tight and it’s got a couple of nasty turns in it. One of us has to stay at the bend just to help get the dirt we dig around the corner, otherwise the rope gets hung up and the guy who’s diggin’ has to back out and free it.”
“Are you getting any closer to getting the guy out?” asked Downs.
“Maybe. It’s hard to say. Every time we think we’re close we run into another big chunk of concrete and we have to tunnel around it.”
“Is he still alive?”
Downs noted the exchange of glances between the Marines. After a moment the one shrugged and said, “He was last time I was down there. But he’s hurt pretty bad, you know? He keeps passin’ out and we lose him for a few minutes at a time. You never fucking know if the guy bought it or what.”
“Does anybody know who he is?” asked Downs.
“Yeah,” answered one of the other Marines. “He’s the guy they had up here for a court-martial, Sergeant Griffin. I think he’s from one of the rifle companies. You know him?”
Downs swallowed hard and tried to digest the information. It all began to fall into place. Griffin would have had to have been in the building at the time of the attack, Downs knew. He was being held for court-martial. Where else would they have held him? He had been relieved of duty.
He turned away from the others as he felt the bile rise in his throat. He tried to imagine Griffin trapped below the surface, pinned by tons of concrete and unable to move in the choking dust and grit. Downs asked the group, “Where is the entrance to the tunnel?”
“Right over there,” pointed one of the Marines. Without hesitating Downs set off for the entrance. At least he could find out from Tiger if Griffin were still alive and what kind of shape he was in.
He arrived at the entrance to find it manned by two Marines who were pulling sandbags of dirt and debris from the hole at the end of a long rope. He walked over and asked, “How much longer until Tiger comes up?”
One of the boys turned to face him without losing his grip on the rope and answered, “A few more minutes. What’s the hurry?”
“Nothing,” said Downs, “I’m his squad leader.”
The two Marines looked at each other. The one who had spoken shrugged and said, “Let’s bring them up. They been down awhile.” As the two finished bringing up the next sandbag of debris one of them grabbed a metal mess kit and held it over the entrance to the tunnel. He beat on it with a short piece of pipe and Downs knew the sound would travel down the tunnel to the two Marines working below. The prearranged signal resulted in Tiger and another Marine emerging from the tunnel a few minutes later, both filthy and bleeding from scratches along their faces and arms.
Tiger emerged cursing and spitting and then spotted Downs. “How you doing, Corporal Downs?” he asked.
“Okay, Tiger. How’s it going down there?” Downs handed Tiger one of his canteens and waited while Tiger alternately drank and spat water, splashing some over his hands and face.
“You heard?” asked Tiger, not looking at Downs.
“Yeah. Are they right?”
Tiger poured the remainder of the canteen over his head and answered, “Yeah. They’re right. It’s Sergeant Griffin. We got close enough to talk to him a few minutes ago, then he passed out. He’s fucked up, Corporal Downs. He don’t even know who I am half the time.”
Downs looked at Tiger and asked, “Can you tell what kind of shape he’s in? I mean, is there any way he’ll make it if we get to him?”
Tiger turned and cast a furtive glance at the other Marines who remained near the entrance to the tunnel. “Let’s take a walk. Okay?” Downs nodded and they began to walk away from the others, Tiger continuing in a subdued voice. “He ain’t got a chance, Corporal Downs. He is all fucked up, man. Before he passed out I asked him how bad he was hurt and he started laughing and told me not to bother digging, just pass him a forty-five and he’d save me the trouble.”
Downs considered the information for a moment then shrugged and said, “That’s just Sergeant Griffin. He’s a tough motherfucker and he just won’t give in like that. Besides, if he can talk he can’t be hurt that bad, right? And if you’re close enough to talk to him how much longer can it take to get him out?”
Tiger shook his head negatively and continued, “Listen to me, Corporal Downs. I been down there and I know what it’s like. The only reason we can talk to him and see a little bit of him is that there is a crack between two big pieces of concrete. We have dug almost all the way around it and there ain’t no way to get to him without lifting the shit off from the top. Are you following me so far?”
“Yeah,” said Downs.
“Good,” continued Tiger, “the other problem, and Se
rgeant Griffin already has this figured, too, is that the pieces of wire they used to reinforce the concrete are exposed and have him pinned to the stuff below. As soon as we touch the stuff above him we’ll move the rebar that’s stickin’ him and he’s a goner. He’ll bleed to death while we’re up top screwing around with the heavy equipment and tryin’ to figure a way to get it off of him without moving the wrong piece and causing an avalanche down below.” Tiger shook his head again and said, “He said it himself, he’s fucked. The only thing now between him and buying it is the pain from havin’ that iron stuck through his abdomen.”
Downs walked on in silence for a few steps before asking, “So what’s the deal, Tiger? What are we supposed to do now? Just sit up here and wait for him to die?”
Tiger grabbed him by the arms and spat, “Hell no! He ain’t no wimp, but this is too much. The fucking guy is gonna die, man. He knows it, I know it, and you know it. He already asked me to get him a forty-five, so let’s do it and let him go out without all the extra pain. What’s the point in letting him suffer? So he can live a few extra minutes down there?” Tiger looked around at the scene of destruction before him and wiped his face with a hand. “It’s fucked, Steve. It’s all fucked, man. Look at this shit. H&S is gone.”
Downs stood by in silence for a few seconds. His mind brought to him an image of Griffin trapped below in the darkness. Tiger’s argument made sense to him. If what he said was accurate then Griffin was as good as dead and even he knew it. He shuffled his feet and looked toward the entrance to the tunnel as Tiger said, “You’re his friend, man. What are you gonna do?”
“The right thing, Tiger. I’m gonna do the right thing for once in my life without worrying about the consequences.” Downs turned to face Tiger and asked, “There’s no doubt in your mind that we can’t get to him in time?”
“No way in hell, man.”
“Okay then. Can you get back down there out of turn without causing any attention?”
“Yeah. People aren’t exactly fightin’ to get down there. Anyway, the other guys know I was in Griffin’s platoon. They heard me talkin’ to him down there. They’ll just think it’s cause I want to help out a buddy.”