13th Valley

by John M. Del Vecchio

  “Oh them fuckas,” Doc said waking.

  CHAPTER 20

  It had been a very long night and now they were moving again, moving in the lightless cavern beneath the canopy, moving back down the ridge they had ascended to their wet and sleepless NDP, moving closer and closer to their central valley objective. At least the rain’s stopped, they consoled each other. “At least we didn’t get hit,” Cherry said to Silvers who followed him in the chain of tired soldiers. The boonierats of Alpha walked somnambulant, unaware of their motion. Their steps were cautious and tentative. No longer were their legs sure enough, strong enough, to be trusted when extended over the unsure, unseen footing. Thighs twinged from the weight carried, from the exertion of the climb, from the undissolved stiffness and chill of the night before and from the demand to move silently.

  Bravo and the NVA were still firing it up across the valley. The rifle cracking had nagged Alpha for almost an hour before they moved out and it persisted while they descended south from their NDP. Cherry had monitored the fight for the CP. Bravo had seven more wounded. Barnett was mortared again. They reported no casualties. Delta reported a suspected probe. “They wouldn’t know a probe from a firecracker fart,” Egan sneered contemptuously. And Alpha, Quiet Rover Alpha, damn the L-T, Alpha was moving again, in the dark again, bitching cussing stumbling again. The scout dog team was at point followed by 3d Plt, the company CP, 1st Plt and 2d.

  Egan was pleased with the way the operation was rolling, with the excitement of the cache finds and the contacts. He felt strong and to him the cool night air was invigorating. The fact that he had slept less than four hours in two days or that he would probably not sleep more than three hours any day of the operation did not bother him. Nor did the lack of adequate food and water, nor the danger of descending into a valley. He looked forward to it. He thrived on it. He had prepared himself for it in every act he had ever made in Vietnam. He was a good soldier. He loved tactics. He loved playing the game. That the stake was his life only heightened his zeal and anticipation. There was only one inconsistent gelding emotion; he had twenty-three and a wake-up days remaining on his extended tour and in twenty-four he would seek out Stephanie. He would find her, be with her. Stephanie. She was the antithesis of Nam. She was the good, the peaceful, the loving. Stephanie was tenderness. Stephanie was truth packaged perfectly. She did not have to be intellectualized, rationalized, analyzed. To perceive her was to understand, without doubt, without complication. How he had managed to mess up their relationship so completely he could not imagine. After Egan’s summer of wandering and after he had returned to school, he had called her. There had been no answer. He had nightmared that she had gained thirty pounds, that she was fat and ugly and that his imagination had created a Venus di Milo from a blank casing. He hitchhiked to New York. He found her more perfect than he could possibly have imagined.

  The thoughts of Stephanie ignited a craving in Egan, strong, exciting, agitating. It was the unfulfilled want, the wanting so hard and the not having. The craving surmounted even the conjured image of Stephanie and became a nebulous encompassing desire. He wanted it so bad he could taste it but the it had no definition. He wanted it so strong and had not had it in so long the desire turned his mouth sour and dry. He felt very alone not having it and that caused him to desire it more. He could not, would not settle for anything less. He wanted it all or nothing. He had wanted it so bad, during his R&R to Sydney, he had almost made something that was not it into it in his mind.

  In Phu Bai Egan had told the Murf about the ladies in Australia, he had told his boonierat brothers in the Phoc Roc how he and the young one had eaten and drunk and danced and partied and how they had balled. When Egan had told the stories to Murphy he felt they were successful enough to tell to the L-T and the boonierats of Alpha, to share with them, with the guys who had been on R&R and who had told and retold stories about their ladies in Bangkok and Hong Kong and Taipei. Egan had had a good time and his stories were good, as good as anybody’s. But it had been less than he had wanted, less fulfilling, less consuming.

  As he silently walked along the dark trail he thought about the it that he and Stephanie had shared. There is nothing like spending a night with a woman you have no feeling for, he thought, to make you cherish all the more the moments you had with the woman you loved.

  It had been October in New York. A day of drizzle like the night of drizzle just past. Egan had dreamt of Stephanie’s caressing voice and her graceful arms as she applied make-up and of her silver eyes. She welcomed him lightly, smiling, seeming to caress his presence without touching him, seeming to bathe everything about her in radiating warmth. They spoke briefly, small talk, and kissed hello. She was very happy to see him. He noticed one major difference in her. Oh, there were other differences; her auburn hair was cut short and close. She had fine hair cut now in sharp jagged edges that curved down about her ears and pointed to her eyes, that split and curled and that glistened like spun glass. But that was minor. There was something else. The trembling in her hands had worsened. From that moment on Egan would always be aware of Stephanie’s quivering hands. It was such a small thing, subtle flutters, yet it seemed immense.

  The quivering became a part of the mystique of Stephanie. To Egan it was an amorous tremor. The trembling somehow melted Egan to his soul. When he watched her he became fragile and insignificant, when she watched him he was unconquerable. And yet Egan knew, was sure, Stephanie was unaware of the powers she possessed, of how she possessed him.

  As the column passed through the dark saddle Egan could picture Stephanie’s eyes perfectly. The deep blue silver irises contained distinctive flecks of blue and brown and black. The large irises were perforated by large deep black pupils and surrounded by unblemished crystalline white.

  She had been taken by surprise when Daniel arrived that wet October afternoon. She had not worked that day and she was not wearing makeup. Her natural radiance was so potent Daniel had found it difficult to keep his eyes upon her, yet he had been unable to look away. Stephanie was wearing a floor length red flannel robe with long sleeves. The cloak was open at her throat. He could see that under the robe she wore nothing. They reminisced about the early summer weeks and he told her tales of his journey. She invited him to dine with her and he rambled about fishing for graylings in Alaska, drinking and shooting pool with Indians in Washington State and finally of getting his face kicked in at a party in Florida. Stephanie made a salad and broiled steaks. Each time she bent, the flannel robe parted from her body and Daniel could see her lovely breasts and nipples. He became very excited and it excited her that he beamed so innocently.

  They ate and talked then sat on the floor listening to records and talked some more. Gradually they moved closer and closer until they touched and kissed. She led him to the studio bed. They kissed and hugged and petted until Stephanie opened his shirt, removed it. She gleefully opened his pants, helped him strip and helped him remove her robe. He was nineteen and innocent. Somehow, in the masculine world of sports and school he had never learned, experienced, a woman. Now he did. In the jungle, Egan’s recollection of that first experience was of perfectly blended tenderness and bliss, physical and spiritual. It drove him mad thinking about it. After they loved he had felt very pleased, pleased with himself. In the bathroom while he dressed he looked at his penis then at himself in the mirror. He smiled and said to himself, now it’s been in.

  But what next? He did not know. He did not understand his own feelings. He told Stephanie he had to be back at school and he left. He did not have to leave but he left because he had to move, to think. It became a pattern for his side of their relationship. Always he had to leave, to experience something new, to see more of the world. Charged with her love he had energy bursting his insides and he channeled it into leaving. He would leave and return many times over the course of the next four years. This time it would be a year before he saw Stephanie again.

  In the dark, in motion with the CP, Brooks r
aised an important personal question from the depths of his mind. He had successfully chased this thought away by losing himself in his work or in his theory development or even in thoughts of his life with Lila. But now decision-time was approaching. He had to address it. Should Rufus Brooks extend his tour in Vietnam and exit the army a free man or should he DEROS in thirteen days and accept the fate of ten months World duty? Brooks tried to look at the question in a logical manner but logic was of no help. Where logic breaks down, Brooks mumbled in his head as he followed in column, is not within its own system but without. It breaks down at the origin of argumentation. It breaks apart when we attempt to verbalize a unity and divide that unity into cause and effect to fit our logical framework. Yet the cause and effect exist only in our words. They are, in fact, one and the same.

  Do I split or do I stay? Brooks brooded as he stepped through the dark. In his mind he decided to score his argument by giving a point to DEROS or to EXTEND for each factor affecting his decision. Hawaii, he thought. One to EXTEND. Maybe not. One to DEROS. Lila, one to EXTEND. No, Lila, one to DEROS. War, one to DEROS. Wait one. He rethought that point. He had to admit he enjoyed the romance of small unit maneuvers, points and platoons, rover elements and squads. He liked being an infantry commander. Hell, not the killing. He was no sadist. But he liked commanding and attempting to outfox the NVA. War, one to EXTEND. Let’s admit it all. He liked the time afforded for deep meditation. Firefights occupied a very small percentage of his time, of any army’s time. There was a very high percentage of empty time, time without a complicated commercial world blaring its hundred thousand daily messages each demanding a thought. War, one more to EXTEND. Of course, I might get myself killed. Score one to DEROS. Now simply getting out of the army has to register one to EXTEND because there’s a 150-day drop included with EXTEND. Yet returning to the World ASAP may be essential if I’m to save this marriage. Time, one to DEROS. Running score—tied up.

  The point of the column was through the saddle and climbing southwest, approaching a peak a klick from the night’s NDP, when Cherokee alerted. The dog froze then agitated into a point, then whined. The dog handler froze, squatted. In compressing wave action the entire column ceased moving. The sky was graying. Below the canopy it was still night. The dog handler called Cherokee back and ordered him to silence. He signaled to the men behind him.

  Ridgefield’s squad moved forward with Nahele and his machine gun leading. Terry Snell radioed Kinderly of the alert. Kinderly radioed El Paso. Cherry monitored the call and immediately panic nausea seized him. The column stood silent. The hand message to sit and take five passed forward and back from the CP.

  “No. No. Please no,” Cherry whimpered nervously. Oh God. Oh please God, he cried silently. He was not prepared for an action right now. He was too tired. It was too dark. He could not accept the possibility of having to fight now, of being shot.

  From behind him came a nudge. Cherry turned and heard Silvers sigh, “Man, am I glad we’re stoppin. Man, am I tired.”

  “Silvers?” Cherry whispered.

  “Yeah.”

  “Oh God. Man, I know we’re goina hit the shit. I just know it.”

  “Naw.”

  “Oh God. I’m shakin like a leaf. Man, you gotta do somethin for me.” Cherry’s voice was full of panic and infectious fear.

  “What is it?”

  “Dog’s alerted.”

  “Oh,” Silvers relaxed as if saying, is that all. “Where?”

  “How the fuck should I know? Wherever he’s at. Oh God, I don’t want this to happen.”

  “Sshhh,” Silvers sounded. He moved closer to Cherry. Cherry fumbled frantically in his fatigue jacket for a pen and piece of paper. “You okay?” Silvers asked.

  “If anything happens to me”—Cherry paused. He was holding Silvers’ wrist and shaking. He had thought of doing this several times during the night but he was afraid of being ostracized. “If something happens to me, write to my brother. He’s in Canada. Let him know. The army won’t do that.” In the dark Cherry wrote Vic’s address on a scrap of paper. He recalled Egan’s speech about writing in the dark.

  “Okay,” Silvers whispered. Cherry was calmer now but he still was nervous and shaking. “Hey,” Silvers whispered. He too wrote something in the dark. “Hey, with me, if anything happens, gather all my notes and send them to this address. It’s my sister and brother-in-law. They’ll know what to do with em.”

  Cherry and Silvers and the entire column less the 1st and 2d Sqds of 3d Plt sat silently and Cherry prayed. He prayed that no one in his unit be hurt. He prayed that none get blown away. That calmed him some more and the advancing first light added to his feeling of security. Above the canopy it was gray, dark gray but no longer black. I don’t want anyone to end up like that gook, Cherry thought. In the excitement of the night his apparition had not returned. I don’t want to end up like that. God, don’t let that happen to me. Cherry’s mind cleared as his nervousness subsided. He thought about his prayers. Then he thought about his food. He was hungry. I’ve got enough for two days, he told himself, and I’ve enough water too. I think. I’ve twenty magazines of ammo, four hundred rounds. Is that enough? Damn, I’m hungry. Except for the one hot meal Egan had prepared on 848 Cherry had eaten only cold food directly from the C-rat cans. He returned to thoughts of prayer, now quite calm and intellectual. So there aren’t any atheists in foxholes, he mused. Well, what am I praying to. He had succeeded in embarrassing himself to himself. I don’t have a God, he thought. I got skin and bones and gray matter. Cherry ruminated on that for several moments. The sky was becoming lighter and lighter. “I better stop praying,” Cherry whispered into the morning air, “and start using my brain to get my young ass through this shit.”

  The radio crackled lowly. Alpha’s column rose and began moving again. Light now penetrated the canopy. In the treetops on the peak to the west the first sun splashed and dazzled. The column was shadowed by the mountain to the east and by the canopy. Cherry could just see Egan before him. Cherry had not slept a wink all night but the rising sun excited him. At the next take-five break Cherry tapped Egan on the shoulder and greeted him like a lost brother. He was delighted to see Egan. Hey! Hey! Cherry’s face tried to beam to Egan. Hey, you got me through last night, you and the L-T. You guys really got your shit together. I’ll follow you anywhere.

  Egan smiled back suspiciously. “You monitor Bravo’s first light search?” Egan asked.

  “No,” Cherry answered. He did not know when the firing from across the valley had stopped.

  “They got one dead, eleven wounded. Got thirty-four dinks piled up and lots more-blood trails.”

  There was little time between first light and dawn and the heat buildup. Whatever Cherokee had alerted on, the boonierats of Alpha had not found. Two squads from 3d Plt had swept the peak and reconned the flanks. They had returned to the column and the move continued. It became warmer with each step. The clouds vanished. As Cherry crossed the first peak he could see the valley. The fog had already receded from the walls and now sat thin above the floor and over the river.

  Alpha moved quickly in the gray light, increasing their intervals. As the sun ascended they slowed and began the cautious inchworm movement. They moved west along the ridge of the south escarpment of the Khe Ta Laou. They descended 50 meters then climbed 100 to the next peak. Every fifteen minutes they paused and sat for one or two. They lit cigarettes and inhaled deeply feeling the wonderful exhilaration and relief of the day’s first nicotine. The wetness evaporated from their fatigues, the chill of their bodies warmed, the stiffness stretched and loosened.

  Alpha continued west. They came down a 330-meter vertical descent while moving only 600 meters horizontal. The slope down from the second peak was steep and rocky and it was nearly impossible to keep from stumbling. Alpha moved and paused and moved and paused. The fatigues that had dried from the early heat were wet with sweat. At pauses the boonierats removed fatigue shirts. They popped salt tablets and
drank their water and then moved and sweated. Their bodily fluids soaked their armpits and crotches and their skin burned. Cherry guzzled a full quart of water. The sun seemed to have leaped from the eastern horizon to the center of heaven and then to have stopped. It burned straight down. The jungle leaves trapped and reflected the radiant heat and baked the soldiers as they marched. The heat and the slope and the heavy vegetation began to take a toll. To Whiteboy and to Egan and to many of the others there was satisfaction in the pain, pain properly borne. Arms and legs, hands and feet tingled from the exertion. The stiffness of the night which had been relaxed by the early warmth now returned as joints swelled from the heat and early stages of dehydration.

  “Quiet Rover Four, this is Red Rover,” the GreenMan radioed Brooks from his now high circling C & C bird. “What are you doing? Goddamnit! Move! I want you in that low feature. Check out that sighting then get down there. Get down there and hurt those little people.”

  Alpha moved. At the bottom of the descent there was a stream. 3d Plt fanned out above and below a ford then quickly sent one squad across to establish a stream bankhead. 1st Lt. Larry Caldwell led. “Boy Asshole on the charge,” Ridgefield mocked. 3d set security on both sides and 1st moved through. Cherry stopped to refill a canteen. He had again been down to one quart. He bent over and splashed cool water on his face and drank from his hands. The water was sweet and clear and had neither the chlorine odor of REMF water nor the musky stale taste of the gorge water. Others bent and drank and filled canteens. Moneski and Roberts sought Cherry out. They found him replacing his canteen, his M-16 in his left hand, a cigarette in his mouth. They quietly exchanged greetings and friendly slaps.