Long Range Patrol: A Novel of Vietnam (The Jim Hollister Trilogy Book 1)

by Dennis Foley

  “What now? What are you going to do?” Hollister asked.

  “I was on an extension. It’s been pulled, and I’m on my way to the States for reassignment this afternoon.”

  “This afternoon?!” Hollister said.

  “Captain Shaw will assume command of the detachment, and he wants you to be the new Operations officer.”

  “But what about my platoon?”

  “Shaw wants to make Sergeant Davis the acting platoon leader for now. Lieutenant Matthews is only a couple of patrols away from being able to honcho that bunch. But for now, Davis can fill the gap. And I talked to the Brigade Sergeant Major this morning. Davis is going to make E-7 next month. He’ll be all right.”

  “That’s ’bout the only good news.” Hollister hung his head, absorbing it all.

  Michaelson came around the front of his desk and leaned up against it. “Jim, I know you’re short, but these kids need for you and Shaw to keep it going without a moment’s interruption to the routine. Don’t let them or any of the officers go wandering around draggin’ ass. Lead, set the example, and move on. I’ll be okay. Hell, I never planned on being a general anyhow. I’m not qualified. My parents are married.”

  Hollister looked up to see one of Michaelson’s rare smiles. He was holding his hand out for Hollister to shake. He took Michaelson’s hand and shook it firmly. As he searched for words, he felt an embarrassing and uncomfortable lump in his throat.

  He felt like he was losing another friend to the war—a non-battle casualty, but a casualty. “Boss, it isn’t going to be the same. I’m not sure that I want to be here with you and Easy gone.”

  “You have to stick it out. If we all disappear, we’ll be abandoning about the best troops I’ve ever worked with,” Michaelson said.

  “I understand, sir.”

  “Finish your tour standing tall. Get your ass back to Benning and marry that girl. Have a good time back there, and remember all this. But don’t let it eat you up. You hear me?”

  “Yessir. Will do.”

  The battle to keep up his own morale and not infect the troops with the anger he felt over the screwing Michaelson got was difficult for Hollister. The troops demanded a lot from him, and he didn’t want to let anybody down. He worked long hours as Operations officer, but also spent time training his replacement and helping Davis with his old platoon. He was sleeping less, drinking more—to ease some of the pain—and becoming more confused about things.

  For the first time he had to start thinking about the future. In his letters to Susan he explained that he didn’t know what he wanted to do about the army. He was angry over the decision to relieve Michaelson, but knew that was not the whole army.

  The thought of getting out felt to him like a pressure release and a cop-out all at the same time. He told her that he didn’t want to make the decision right away. He wanted to spend some time with her, back in the World first.

  He even wondered if his decision would be affected by Vietnam’s future. A year into the war, how long could it go on? Waiting to make the decision was his best guess at how to handle it, and he hoped that Susan would agree.

  The few remaining weeks flew by for Hollister. One morning Bernard pulled Captain Shaw’s jeep up to Hollister’s hooch to drive him to the airfield for his flight to Cam Ranh Bay to meet the plane that would take him home.

  Saying good-bye was tough and fast. Lots of promises were made all around to stay in touch and to write.

  He was very disappointed that there had been no more progress in the investigation of General Minh’s conduct. He decided that he couldn’t let it eat him up. But he promised himself never to get in a situation like it again.

  The stewardess woke Hollister just before they began their descent into Stapleton Airport in Denver. For a moment he didn’t know where he was. He had slept the entire trip from Cam Ranh Bay, except for the few hours they spent on the ground in Guam to refuel. He almost felt embarrassed by how much and how deeply he had slept.

  He had thanked the stewardess for waking him in time to get to the lavatory to clean up. As he stared at himself in the mirror, he realized how long it had been since he had actually seen himself in a decent mirror. He looked much older and very tired.

  He took his shirt off to wash his race and shave. He surprised himself at how much weight he had lost. He had never been heavy. But under the harsh overhead light, he could see every rib and his collarbones poking through his pasty white skin. He thought of food. He decided to find a decent steak while he was in Denver, but first he had to see Easy and call Susan.

  The light came in sideways through the bottoms of the three-quarter-shaded windows on each side of the huge ward and reflected off the checkerboard asphalt tile. It made the patients visible only in backlit outlines.

  A medic had directed Hollister to a bed on the far end of the ward. He didn’t know what to expect when he got to Easy. The last time Hollister had seen him, Easy was a fog of mud, blood, and torn flesh.

  Long before Hollister could see Easy, he could hear him. His voice carried from the far end of the ward and out into the hallway. “You tell those fuckers that they’re gonna be down there anyway. So will I! You hear me?”

  Hollister came up behind Easy, who was sitting up on the edge of his hospital bed yelling at the Specialist 7 medic who was trying to deal with him.

  “First Sergeant, you have a specific number of appointments in therapy. They have been prescribed by a surgeon and are more than adequate for your needs. More trips to physical therapy will not earn you any extra points with the doctors.”

  “I don’t give a flying fuck about any goddamn peacenik pussy college-boy doctors! I want to get the fuck out of this goddamn monument to fuck-offs! Do you understand me, Specialist?” Easy asked, leaning forward for emphasis.

  The medic was glad to see another face approaching over Easy’s shoulder.

  “First Sergeant, I’m so glad to see that your vocabulary has improved,” Hollister said.

  Easy spun around. His face lit up at the sound of Hollister’s voice. “Well, I’ll be goddamned.”

  “No doubt about that,” the medic said under his breath as he took the opportunity to get away from Easy.

  As Hollister walked around the end of the bed to reach out for Easy’s hand, he caught sight of the bandaged stump sticking out from under the sheet.

  Easy caught Hollister. “Ain’t this a bitch? Is there anything more ridiculous than a one-legged paratroop NCO?” He laughed at his own remark, to take the awkwardness out of the reunion with Hollister.

  “Top, I could have found you in this hospital even without having to stop and ask.”

  Easy made a disapproving face. “Don’t get me started about this fucking place. It’s something out of the Dark Ages. I’m getting out just as soon as I can call in a few favors from some staff pukes back at the Pentagon.”

  “Getting out of the army?”

  “I’m getting out of this place. They’re not going to keep me here any longer without a serious fistfight.”

  Hollister didn’t want to get into an argument with Easy over the chances of the army allowing him to stay on active duty once he did get out of the hospital. Hollister was sure that the army would discharge him as soon as they could. It provoked the painful thought of Easy being treated at a Veterans Hospital somewhere.

  Easy’s tone quickly changed, and he changed the subject from himself to Hollister. “Sit, tell me how you are. Going to Benning, huh? Getting married, too? Damn!”

  “Yeah, all that. I gotta tell you that we missed you after they evac’d you, and I just don’t know how I’m ever going to thank you for what you did for me—and Theodore.”

  There was an awkward moment while they both remembered, but decided not to speak about Theodore’s death.

  Easy made a wide wave of his hand and tried to laugh it off. “Aw, hell. You think I was going to let my star lieutenant drown out there in a puddle of water buffalo shit?”

  �
��Well, if you hadn’t jumped out of that chopper—I wouldn’t be here today.”

  “Forget about it. If you hadn’t jumped out of your chopper, there might have been more dead LRPs and chopper jocks on that landing zone. But I do think there’s a bottle of the spirits in it. Don’t you flunk I have that much coming?”

  “You got it. You name the brand, and I’ll see that you’re swimming in it,” Hollister said, feeling more comfortable with Easy’s efforts to lighten up the conversation.

  “I understand you guys did some good stuff after I left. How the hell did that happen without me?”

  “We muddled by without you, and you know that Captain Michaelson got—”

  “Relieved! Yeah, I know. He was through here on the way home. Good man, that Michaelson. He’ll be okay. He’s the kind that you can’t hurt with a hammer.”

  “It just wasn’t the same in the detachment after you two left.”

  “You know that Michaelson sure thought a lot of you?” Easy asked.

  “Me? I always felt like I was a day late and a dollar short around him.”

  “Not so. He did a lot of braggin’ on you when he was here.”

  “Well, damn him. He pretty much kept it to himself around me.”

  “You didn’t want him to give a lieutenant a swelled head, did you?” Easy asked, joking.

  They both laughed at Easy’s constant attempts at light disrespect folded into his backhanded compliments.

  Easy found a pack of cigarettes on his nightstand and lit one. “So, what are your plans, sir?”

  “Well, you know that I’m going to Benning, gettin’ married—”

  “Yeah, I know all that. You sticking with it or what?”

  “Staying in?”

  “Are you?” Easy asked.

  “I don’t know, First Sergeant. I don’t know if I’m cut out for this. The past year was nothing like I expected it to be. I don’t feel too good about the way I handled things. Too much of it got to me. And I’m not too sure if I ever want to be responsible for someone else’s life again.”

  Easy tapped the ashes from his cigarette into a flimsy ashtray that kept spinning on a high spot on the nightstand. He leaned forward and lowered his voice, as not to be heard by the others in the ward. “Let me tell you something, Lieutenant. I been in this Army, man and boy, for longer than you been alive. I’ve seen officers come and go.

  “There are a lot of pompous assholes, plenty of jerks that shouldn’t have ever been commissioned, dangerous ones, selfish ones, and some that haven’t got a clue what the hell is going on. But you ain’t in that list. This is something I know about. And I’d be lying if I told you that I’m only concerned for you.

  “You can bail out. Sure, just go on with your life and never look back. But chances are you’ll be replaced by one of those assholes I’m talking about. Those kids need officers like you to worry about them, to fight for them, to hurt for them, to kick their little lazy butts when they need it, and to bust their asses in training. If you don’t stay and do what you do—there’ll be more dead Theodores.

  “I think you ought to go back to Benning, enjoy that little girl you’re gonna marry, get some time to breathe Stateside air, and then get on with the job. Your job.

  “For you the job is training. If you let up on those kids back there—might as well write ’em off. You’re in this now. Don’t walk away. Don’t forget the Theodores and the others.

  “They need what you know and who you are. You’re going to be a terrific company commander someday, and God only knows what after that.

  “Makes no difference if this fuckin’ war is right or wrong as two left feet. So long as they’re sendin’ troops over there—they need honchos like you.

  “Give it some thought. None of us can just stack arms.”

  Easy’s words sliced through Hollister’s belly like a shard of glass. “I’ll promise you that I’ll give it lots of thought. That’s all I can do right now,” Hollister said.

  “Then that’s good enough for me.”

  The next few weeks were a whirlwind for Hollister. His reunion with Susan was wonderful. She was everything he had thought about, prayed for, and waited for. Every day started with her smile and ended with her arms around him. They laughed and played while they packed and moved to Benning. The wedding ceremony happened somewhere in the middle of all the travels.

  Nothing slowed the pace, not even the visit to Hollister’s folks in Kansas. Friends and family kept their visit packed with things to do and plenty of well-wishing. Hollister was thrilled that everyone in his family fell in love with his Susan as quickly as he had. They took her into the clan as if she had grown up on the Kansas plains.

  Moving into Army quarters was a mystery and an amazement for Susan. She had never seen a place as spotlessly clean as the small two-bedroom duplex that they were assigned in the officers’ housing area called Custer Terrace. It was her first real appreciation for the family feeling that characterized Fort Benning in the sixties.

  That some couple would spend so much time cleaning the quarters for another couple they would probably never meet was a very pleasant surprise for Susan.

  She spent the first few weeks at Benning trying to make a home for the two of them. She had forgotten how she had practiced homemaking as a little girl with her friends. It was not a popular notion among her grown friends in New York, but she was at Benning and it was nothing like New York.

  Hollister went to work early and came home late. Every night was filled with plenty of homework. He had to attend the Instructor Training Course, affectionately known as Charm School. In it, every move he made and every teaching technique was scrutinized and critiqued by instructors who were masters of military instruction and public speaking.

  It was tough for Hollister, and he appreciated the help that Susan gave him. Many nights he would rehearse classes in front of her before he presented them to his classmates and the instructors for a grade.

  Finally, he graduated from ITC and was classified as a qualified platform instructor—up to Benning’s standards.

  He still hadn’t caught his breath from leaving Vietnam the morning he left the house to teach his first class at Harmony Church—the home of the Army’s Ranger School.

  He was worried that he might not be up to it. He had rehearsed his pitch over and over at home and had given it to other Ranger instructors in a brutal critique session known as a Murder Board.

  But that morning was different. He was on his own. He would give the orientation to a new class of anxious Ranger students.

  Susan was careful not to smudge his brass as she kissed him good-bye at their front door. She could tell just how important that day was to him.

  Two hundred fifty new, eager Ranger students filed into the bleachers surrounding the sawdust-filled, hand-to-hand combat pit at the Ranger School.

  Lieutenant Hollister, dressed in starched and tailored fatigues, entered the pit.

  As he did, the student company commander called the class to attention and reported the class ready for instruction.

  Hollister looked the young Ranger student directly in the eyes, sharply returned his salute, and calmly told him to have them take their seats.

  As they sat down, Hollister stood ramrod straight in the center of the huge circle. The creases on his shirt and trousers were sharp and unbroken. His patrolling cap, topped with a gold and black Ranger tab over his lieutenant’s insignia, was tilted down over his eyes. He took a long pause before speaking.

  There was not a sound as all eyes were fixed on him. The students took in every detail of his appearance from his spit-shined paratrooper boots to the Airborne patch on his right shoulder and the parachute wings sewn on his shirt just below the coveted Combat Infantryman’s Badge.

  Every man in the bleachers knew that what Hollister was about to say couldn’t be more important—it would be about Vietnam, it would be about their chances of living through what lay before them. Each student knew where he was goi
ng after Ranger School—Vietnam. They wanted Hollister to tell them what to do, what to avoid, and how to survive.

  Hollister began his class on the importance of Ranger School to them and the men who would be in their charge on the battlefield. They hung on every word.

  They believed every word.

  He had been there.

  And he would return.

  GLOSSARY

  A1-E—Single engine, prop-driven fighter bomber. Originally carrier aircraft adapted to land based operations in Vietnam. Flown by the VNAF.

  ADF—Automatic direction finder—navigational aid that uses AM radio frequencies.

  AO—Area of Operations. That geographical area assigned to a unit by specific boundaries.

  APL—Assistant patrol leader

  arty—Shorthand for artillery. Indirect fires provided by howitzers and cannons

  ARVN—Army of the Republic of Vietnam

  ASAP—As soon as possible

  AWOL bag—A small, soft-sided bag with two loop handles and a zipper top that soldiers often took on weekend passes to carry changes of underwear and shaving gear.

  BDA—Bomb damage assessment briefback—Having received an order, subordinate leaders analyze the mission and give the order back to higher headquarters to ensure understanding

  Camp Alpha—The replacement detachment in Saigon that in-processed the new arrivals from the States

  CID—Criminal Investigation Division

  Claymore—Directional, command detonated antipersonnel mine. Normally set up above the ground.

  CONUS—Continental United States

  CQ—Charge of Quarters. That NCO on duty during the night, standing in for the detachment headquarters personnel.

  cyclo—A three-wheeled bicycle that carries one or two passengers

  Daily Dozen—Standard Army calisthenics

  DEROS—Date of estimated return from overseas

  Det cord—Explosive cord used in demolitions

  DR—Delinquency report

  Dust-Off—Original call sign for all medevac choppers

  FAC—Air Force Forward Air Controller—who directs tactical air support