Cracker!

by Kadohata, Cynthia

  That night after he dropped off his mail, he ate with his buddies in the mess hall, chowing down some pretty decent hamburgers. They weren’t like Mom made, but they weren’t half bad.

  “So does U-Haul have it out for me or what?” Rick said.

  Cody laughed, sharing his mouth full of food with the table.

  “Aw, man,” Rick said. “Close your mouth!” That could get you banned for life at his house.

  Twenty-Twenty said, “For all intensive purposes, many teachers I’ve had in life seemed to like some students more than others and some students less than others. But sometimes-and again, for all intensive purposes-the students they seemed to like less were occasionally their favorites underneath it all. It happened once in a herpetology course I took.”

  “Herpetology?” Rick said. “That sounds like some kind of disease.”

  “It’s the study of reptiles and amphibians.”

  “Studying that crud oughta be illegal,” Rick said. “You gonna finish those fries?”

  “I already got dibs,” said Cody.

  “Since when?”

  “I asked him yesterday, because I heard we were having burgers today.” Cody grinned. A line of ketchup squiggled down the front of his shirt.

  Twenty-Twenty, who was meticulous about his person, said, “You got ketchup all over your outfit!”

  “Outfit!” Cody and Rick cried out in unison. “Did you say outfit?”

  Cody added, “My sister wears outfits.”

  A guy from another table yelled out, “It’s ‘uniform,’ or ‘fatigues,’ or somethin’, but one thing I know is, I ain’t wearing no outfit.” They all howled while Twenty-Twenty wore his usual serious expression.

  When they finished eating, it was still warm out. Sometimes after dinner Rick, Twenty-Twenty, and Cody caught a jeep toward the kennels. For the return trip they caught a delivery truck.

  Today Rick, Cody, and Twenty-Twenty decided to catch a late jeep. The sky was growing dim, and the sun slanted into Rick’s eyes. “Hey, your mom still want to get that beeshon freeze?” Rick said.

  Twenty-Twenty said, “It’s pronounced bichon frise. It costs three hundred dollars. Where is my dad going to get three hundred dollars? But she says it looks like a cloud.”

  Rick laughed. “Three hundred dollars for a cloud?”

  Cracker, Bruno, and Tristie sat patiently at their individual kennel gates, but when they saw their guys, the impatience turned to near hysteria. As soon as the gates opened, Cracker and Tristie tore across a field, Tristie nipping at Cracker’s back legs. Finally, they circled back to see their guys. Bruno just watched in his stately manner.

  Rick, Cody, and Twenty-Twenty sauntered across a field with the dogs. Tonight for some reason, grasshoppers or something were jumping all over the place. Rick swatted one away while the dogs-even Bruno-went after them.

  Cracker jumped up and grabbed one in her mouth. Yuck. She let it drop out. Then she went to sit next to Rick, resting her head on one of his legs.

  “I heard they eat grasshoppers in Vietnam,” Cody said. “Ever try it?”

  Rick and Twenty-Twenty looked at each other. “Ever try what?” Rick finally said.

  “Eating a grasshopper,” Cody said, as if it were obvious.

  Twenty-Twenty flapped his hands with exasperation. “Just because they eat them in Vietnam, if they eat them in Vietnam, doesn’t mean you have to try it. That’s why we live in America, so we don’t have to eat crap like that.”

  Cody shrugged. “That’s not why I live in America. I was born here.”

  Rick laughed. “I don’t know if they eat grasshoppers or not, but I do know that I ain’t trying one.” He lay back on his elbows and lit a cigarette. Twenty-Twenty and Cody were great friends, but they fought like an old married couple. He flashed on a memory of his maternal grandfather shortly before he died. They used to keep chickens in the barn for dinner. You killed them by grabbing their heads and shaking them in a circle. One night when his grandpa was getting really old, he went out to get the night’s chicken. When he took a long time. Rick’s mother sent Rick out to check on him. And there was Grandpa, shaking the chicken in a circle by his feet while Grandma screamed at him. Rick, who was only seven, tried to calm everybody down. Grandpa and Grandma bickered and screamed a lot at the end. The poor chicken was the only calm thing in the barn.

  Twenty-Twenty couldn’t stop. “I mean, the reason America is America is not that we don’t eat grasshoppers.”

  “You’re so literal, man,” Cody said innocently.

  “Literal? It’s human language, it’s words, you have to say what you mean. That’s what words are for!”

  Rick laughed again. “I’m glad I’m not either of you, ’cause you’re both nuts.” He watched the dogs leap through the air for the grasshoppers. The dogs looked like grasshoppers themselves. He never realized what springy legs dogs had. That is, he’d realized it, but he’d never looked at dogs as closely before as he did every day now. In the backyard of somebody’s house they didn’t seem like anything but friendly, furry things, but out in nature they were pretty darn impressive. The delivery truck honked, and Rick jumped up. “Cracker. Come!” He and his friends put the dogs away and hopped on the truck.

  Monday morning was hot as a summer day. But U-Haul seemed to think the weather was some kind of gift from the heavens. “Perfect training weather for Vietnam, men!” The platoon was trucked over to the kennels slightly later than usual, so most of the dogs were already sitting at the front gate waiting. Rick looked down the row of men and dogs and saw the faces of both light up as they saw each other. Many of the dogs jumped up and down. Cracker barked a couple of times as if to reprimand Rick for being a few minutes late.

  “Sorry,” Rick told her.

  She pawed the gate. She forgave him.

  AS RICK HEADED FOR FORMATION, ADRENALINE pumped through him. He, Twenty-Twenty, and Cody were now in an unspoken race to be the best in the class. Like last week, when Cracker had not only sniffed out the booby trap she was supposed to, but the sergeant had let her go for an entire hour, finding trap after trap and a couple of hidden men. She even sniffed out a man hiding underwater. She was a thing of wonder, and so far she was the only dog to sniff out a man underwater. Rick figured all he’d get for his troubles would be a stripe for a promotion, a minuscule pay raise, and a cheap trophy. But fair was fair: They were becoming the best dog team, and he knew it. Cody and Twenty-Twenty probably thought they were the best teams, and while Rick had to admit Bruno and Tristie were pretty good, well, he just thought Cracker was better. It was nothing personal against the other dogs.

  But there was another reason Rick wanted to be best: He planned to come home without getting hurt. Rick had read the training manual twice, and he’d never read a book twice in his life. He planned to read the manual one more time before training ended. He wanted everything to be second nature by the time he got to Vietnam. That way, he had a better chance of DEROSing in one piece. DEROS meant “date of expected return from overseas.”

  Another guy passed with his dog, and Rick kind of looked away. The guy knew he’d pulled a bad dog, a scrawny mutt with the ridiculous moniker of Adonis. Adonis just didn’t seem to have the knack. He hit booby traps with such regularity that the guys called him “No Nose.” Rick had to admit that he now felt secretly thankful to U-Haul for assigning him to Cracker.

  Rick slowed down when he heard Cody call out behind him. “Rick, you think they’re feeding the dogs enough?” Cody said. “Bruno’s always hungry.”

  “I dunno,” Rick said. He lowered his voice. “I give Cracker treats every so often.”

  Cody lowered his voice. “Sometimes I give Bruno an extra meal.”

  Cracker suddenly lunged at something. Rick pulled hard on her leash. “No!”

  Twenty-Twenty leaned over. “It’s a snake.” He leaned closer. “It’s an Eastern hognose!”

  Rick struggled to control Cracker. “Sit!” he shouted, and finally she did.
He shook her snout. “Bad girl!” He sure didn’t want her going after snakes or other animals in Vietnam.

  The handlers and their dogs fell into formation as U-Haul approached carrying a chicken, of all things. Twenty-four men stood together in the platoon. The guys all glanced at one another as if U-Haul was crazy, which of course he was. The sergeant started to shout but halted as several helicopters roared overhead. Nearly all of the dogs strained on their leashes to reach the chicken. Cracker was going wild.

  A private Rick had never seen joined Sarge as the helicopters continued to roar. The way Rick heard it, the Vietnam War was sometimes called the “Helicopter War.” With choppers, entire companies could maneuver with greater speed than ever before. Each chopper would carry ten or so men at a time for a big battle and later fly the soldiers back to base camp for a warm meal that night in the mess hall. At least, that’s the way Rick pictured it.

  Even before the helicopters had completely passed, the sergeant was already screaming, though not at anyone. He just paced back and forth screaming. Rumor was Sarge screamed in his sleep. “You cannot stop a dog from alerting at an animal. But you must control your dog. Your dog must understand that it is not his job to hunt down animals.”

  The chicken squawked nervously. The dogs barked wildly, pulling hard on their leashes. Except Bruno. Bruno was mighty interested in the chicken, but he sat under control at Cody’s side. Meanwhile, it took all Rick’s strength to control Cracker. Finally, he shouted, “NO!” and gave a hard jerk on the chain, and she sulkily sat down. Drool began puddling beneath her on the ground. Damn, he thought. He’d seen dogs like her before, where the prey drive ran like wolf blood through them. One farmer he remembered had ended up shooting his own dog when she killed half his chickens. Then Cracker tried a new tactic, sitting her best sit in front of him. “No!” he cried.

  After a moment Sarge handed the terrified chicken to the private next to him. “Okay, you can take her back to the chef,” he said. He turned to the squad. “Got a senator visiting Benning for dinner tonight. Need to have some kind of special gourmet chicken.”

  The private walked off with the senator’s dinner.

  Sarge looked at the men suddenly and shouted, “The scout dog must be trained to work on airborne scent alone!” Rick mouthed the words with him: He knew that part by heart; they all did.

  Sarge bellowed, “These are scout dogs, not trackers. A dog with his nose on the ground tracking a ground scent might lead you directly into ambush. Determine wind and terrain upon arrival to the mission site. Think. THINK. Think about the scent cone. Private Lanski, what does a strong wind mean?” U-Haul always said Rick’s name wrong. Always. But annoying as it was, Rick wasn’t about to correct him because he figured that’s exactly what U-Haul was trying to goad him into doing.

  Instead, he shouted back, “Sergeant! A strong wind means a narrow scent cone!” The scent cone was the three-dimensional shape a scent made in the air. The center of the cone was the booby trap, weapons cache, food cache, Vietcong soldier, or whatever else the dog was smelling. Given even terrain and stable wind conditions, scent moved outward from the center in the shape of a cone. If you didn’t watch your dog carefully, you could lead him right out of the scent cone.

  The men waited while U-Haul stood speechless. Rick moved his eyes but couldn’t see what U-Haul was staring at. Then a general’s daughter walked by. She was cute as hell, but a snotty little princess. She liked to walk by the enlisted men and ignore them.

  “Never take your eyes off your dog,” Sarge resumed shouting, directly at Rick. “If there is one rule you must always follow in the field, it’s never take your eyes off your dog. Your slack man will protect your back.” A “slack man” was the bodyguard who was assigned to each dog-handling team. A team was one man, one dog: inseparable. The handler watched the dog, and the slack man guarded the handler. Rick tried not to look bored. Cracker panted eagerly. Finally, Sarge stopped shouting.

  Cracker was looking adoringly at Rick. He smiled at her.

  “Private, are you listening!”

  Rick looked up. “Absolutely, Sergeant! You said—”

  “I said, in this part of the training your dog is no longer simply following your orders. You are following your dog. If your dog alerts, you must be watching. Always. You become a single entity. Never take your eyes off your dog. They got as many beautiful girls in Vietnam as any country in the universe. They got nothing but girls. They got more beautiful girls than leaves in the jungle.”

  One of the guys said, “Woo-hoo!”

  Now, if Rick had said “woo-hoo,” he’d be doing push-ups until lunchtime, but U-Haul ignored the other guy. Still, Rick called out, “Yes, Sergeant! Leaves in the jungle, SERGEANT!” Tact and diplomacy! His parents had taught him fairness; now he was learning politics.

  The men loaded their gear, including tents, onto the trucks that would take them to field training. They were crossing the border into Alabama today. A couple of guys had to tie up their more aggressive dogs before helping load. One of the guys had a dog who was just plain crazy. The dog wouldn’t let anyone within ten feet of his handler, and he howled for hours when he and his handler were separated. But he seemed to have good sniffing abilities, so the army was holding on to him.

  Cracker didn’t think the dog was crazy. He was just protecting his handler. She kind of respected him. She yawned and lay patiently next to Bruno and Tristie as Rick, Cody, and Twenty-Twenty worked. Whenever the guys loaded the truck, it meant they were going away for a while to sleep in the field. She liked that. The loud man started shouting so loudly that Cracker moved her eyes away from Rick. “Remember, in the field you never take your eyes off the dog.” Cracker moved her eyes back to Rick and felt a slight thrill as he moved his eyes to her. A soft drizzle fell on her nose. She could smell the loud man from where she lay. He smelled loud, just like Cody smelled happy, Rick smelled calm and confident, and Twenty-Twenty smelled worried. Rick looked away. Cracker rested her nose on Tristie’s back.

  When the truck was loaded, Rick looked at Cracker and called out, “Hup!” Cracker timed her leap onto the truck to coincide with when Rick hopped up. She landed a second before he did and turned to wait for him. “Good girl,” he said. She wagged her tail. The sarge came near her, and she growled. Rick grabbed her leash. “No!” he said, and she sat down. She liked the same people and dogs Rick liked. He obviously didn’t like the sarge.

  The truck rumbled through the rain. The rain destroyed some of the smells that Cracker was used to, but it also created new, wet smells. Once, the truck passed a deer along the highway, and all the dogs hung off the side barking furiously. Cracker thought about jumping off, but she had a feeling Rick wouldn’t like that. If it were Willie, she would have done it anyway and let him come get her. She hadn’t thought of Willie for a while. He’d been her best friend. But she and Rick had something else, something bigger. She wasn’t sure what it was. All she knew was that when he came to her in the morning, she had no choice but to twirl around and chase her tail before sitting down in front of him. She’d always celebrated when Willie came home too, but this was different. With Willie, she’d felt that when they were separated, he was where he was, and she was where she was. But with Rick, she felt she was kind of with him all the time; and when he came in person, she was even more with him.

  As soon as the truck stopped and everybody jumped off, Cracker gave herself a good shake. All the other dogs gave themselves a good shake. All the men held up their hands and called out, “No!” Cracker thought that was funny.

  The rain stopped and the air grew heavy with scents. Cracker lifted her nose and sniffed. A feeling of joy washed through her. So many good smells!

  “What direction is the wind blowing, Private?” cried out the loud man.

  Rick saw that Cracker’s nose had lifted toward the northwest. “From the northwest, Sergeant.”

  “Think you’re smart, Private?”

  “I’m sorry, Sergeant?”<
br />
  “I said, think you’re smart, Private?”

  “No, SERGEANT!”

  “Think you’re dumb, Private?”

  “No, SERGEANT!”

  “Well, which is it, smart or dumb?”

  Rick hesitated before realizing there was no right answer. So he said, “Cracker and I are going to whip the world, SERGEANT!”

  Rick could tell that the sergeant liked his answer. Sarge turned suddenly toward Cody. “What the hell are you grinning about?”

  “Nothing, Sergeant!” cried out Cody.

  Sarge snapped back to Rick. “Go to it, soldier.”

  Rick performed the crossover, removing Cracker’s choke chain and slipping on her work harness. That’s how she knew life was about to get serious.

  Rick secured anything on Cracker or himself that might jingle and alert the enemy. He taped his dog tags together as they’d been taught to do. He wanted to ask whether they weren’t going to set up camp first, but Sarge was looking at him impatiently. So he said quietly but urgently, “Search, Cracker. Search!”

  She surged forward. Rick jerked the leash to correct her. Not too fast, or she might miss something. In Vietnam that could cost Rick his life.

  Cracker loved running. She loved pulling, too. Rick didn’t like when she pulled, but she didn’t hold that against him. She restrained herself as she moved forward into a shallow swamp, Rick following. The other men lagged far behind. The mud-colored swamp sucked at her feet with each step, making a soft shlurp noise as she moved her paws. But she smelled something important. She stood very still, her ears rotating in the direction of the sound, her nose raised to sniff. There it was! She pointed her nose, then turned with pride to Rick. A bird in a tree!