“All of the locals now know the rules,” Stroud assured him over the loud rumbling of the truck. His eyes were on the road as he spoke. “They quickly get out of the way when they see me coming. It’s very dangerous for me to slow down; that draws rifle fire.” For emphasis he pointed to a bullet hole in the glass of the wind wing on the passenger’s side–Luke’s side. Luke sat silently, feeling uncomfortable.
“At night,” Stroud said, grasping the huge steering wheel with both hands as he negotiated a curve in the road, “the VC own Da Nang.”
A cloud of dust rose behind the truck, looking like a death shroud. Luke saw it in the side mirror and quickly averted his eyes, Stroud did not slow down on curves or corners. Luke thought it was kind of like a ride at the amusement park. He smiled as they bounced along, his senses dulled by the alcohol.
As they rounded a sharp bend, Luke saw something white in the headlights for a brief moment, and then heard a crash and felt the truck drive over it. He wasn’t sure if his mind was playing tricks on him or not, but he thought he might have heard a scream just before he felt the crunch. The truck didn’t slow down. It happened so fast Luke wasn’t even sure that he saw what had happened.
“Jim, what was that? he asked.
“Oh,” he said with a laugh, “some VC on a bike. No big deal. As I said, it happens all the time.” He reached down and took the beer from between his legs and took a long drink. After satisfying his thirst, Stroud reached up to his left breast pocket of his shirt and removed a ball point pen. Exaggeratedly he punched the button, extending the writing tip. He put a mark on the small note pad located on the sun visor in front of him. Then he laughed. “Right now I’m ahead on the score board–you get to count how many you get. This month I’ve got–let’s see–yeah, fourteen already. I usually win the contest. I’m ahead of the other guys in count because I’m usually the night driver. You have to drive faster at night.”
“You win? You win what?”
“Oh. If I get the most road kills the guys chip-in to pay to get me drunk and laid. One of the few bennies.” Even in the dark Luke could clearly see the fourteen marks on the visor.
“I thought you were kidding before. You weren’t kidding were you?” Luke exhaled as if someone had just hit him in the stomach. A nauseous feeling engulfed him, followed immediately with a drenching cold sweat. All of his senses then overloaded as the reality that they had just killed a human being, maybe the mother of some child, registered in his alcohol soaked brain. He fought hard to remain in control, but lost and quickly rolled down the window and vomited. He left the window down, thankful for the air it brought to his hurting body. He took a deep breath. With great effort he was finally able to speak. “Doesn’t that bother you that you probably just killed someone? You seem to care as much as if she or he was a fly. It wasn’t the enemy, you know.” He nearly screamed. “It was a civilian on a bike for God’s sake!” Luke gasped, feeling panic creep into his voice.
“Hey, take it easy, buddy. It’s no big deal,” Stroud replied after he took another long drink of his beer His left-hand gripped the huge steering wheel as they entered another turn. “Hey, all civilians are VC after dark. If you trust one of them you’re dead and that’s just the facts of life over here, Luke.” Stroud waved the can of beer in Luke’s direction as he spoke.
Luke didn’t reply. He still felt sick. He threw his partially full beer can out the window, and took another deep breath of fresh air.
“You shouldn’t throw beer cans away,” said Jim. “Next week we’ll get it back as a grenade.” Luke didn’t answer.
Just then the jeep they were seeking came into view. Without either man speaking they pulled up behind it. Then Stroud spoke. “Luke, jump out and stand guard while I hook on to it.”
“You got it,” said Luke as he chambered a round.
An Army officer left the front seat of the jeep the moment the tow truck stopped. His pistol was drawn. He approached Stroud nervously, waving the pistol animatedly toward dense bushes a dozen yards away. Luke watched as the two men spoke. Then the officer quickly climbed into the huge tow truck’s cab. As Luke held his weapon at the ready, Jim hooked his cable onto the jeep in the dark–without using a light–and was ready to go within a minute or two.
The jeep followed insignificantly behind the huge tow truck as they sped back into town. “Sure glad to see you fellahs,” spoke the officer. Luke could smell fear emanating from the man; it had a musty glandular stench to it. “I really appreciate your coming out here.”
“My pleasure,” replied Stroud casually.
“I was stuck there for almost an hour. It was the longest hour I’ve ever known,” stammered the officer, still in the grips of the ordeal.
Luke saw that the man was a nervous wreck and then some. Judging from the sedentary look about the officer, Luke guessed he must do some rear area job. He definitely was not a combat officer.
After initial comments, they drove the remainder of the way to the garage in silence. By the time they got the jeep unhooked, and dropped off the officer where he wanted to go, it was about 2230 hours.
“How about dropping me off at my barracks?” Luke said, feeling sober and exhausted.
“Sure thing, Luke,” Stroud said, sounding a little sad as he spoke. Within minutes the huge truck came to a stop near the Marine barracks.
“It was great seeing you, Jim.”
“Yeah. It was great seeing you again too, buddy. Look me up if you get back to Da Nang in the near future,” said Stroud as he revved the engine, preparing to leave.
“You bet,” said Luke, knowing he wouldn’t. Luke watched the huge truck pull away. He shook his head as though saying “No,” turned away and headed into the barracks.
The alcohol had worn off long ago. That combined with the long day’s events left him exhausted. The moment he hit the bed he was asleep.
A tremendous explosion and rumble, sounding as though it came from inside his head, startled Luke awake somewhere before dawn. The sound of people screaming assaulted his senses as he fought his way awake. He heard the crashing sounds of walls collapsing nearby. Feeling disoriented, he looked around. A little distance from his bunk–eight or ten beds to his right–all his blurry eyes saw in the dim, eerie light was rubble and dust; the entire north end of the building was nothing but a pile of twisted and smoldering debris.
The only measurable light came from a single, dim light bulb in the still standing portion of the room. It swayed madly from the blast, throwing menacing shadows around the wreckage. The part of building where Luke slept was untouched; the rest was shambles.
Three enemy mortar rounds had hit the compound. One had hit the roof of Luke’s barracks–on the very northwest corner. It could have been a lot worse–only if it had hit dead center in the building. In that case Luke and his friends–and everyone else in the building– would have died.
Instantly Luke was wide-awake. His eyes now registered the chaos around him. He quickly threw on his pants and boots, as did the other Marines in the building, and everyone tried to make themselves useful. Within minutes the two small fires started by the explosion were extinguished. Even as men worked on the fires, other men quickly started digging through the wreckage to find the wounded buried beneath the shattered building. Shouts could be heard from victims and searchers alike as the rescue effort became paramount; trapped Marines yelled out their positions to anyone who could hear them.
Hurriedly Luke dug through the rubble, digging with his bare fingers toward screams he heard. Moments later he saw a hand; it was moving, digging toward him. Two minutes later the Marine was free; he was unharmed. Luke was amazed that few of the people beneath the debris were seriously hurt. Most had minor cuts and bruises.
Someone handed Luke a flashlight. He used it as he climbed his way over debris into the darkness behind, heading toward an unusually large mound of rubble off to the side. With much effort, Luke pulled back a huge piece of galvanized tin roofing material lodged
near the west wall. He shined the light beneath it. In the narrow beam of light he saw a Marine pinned to a bed with a heavy ceiling beam across his chest. The man was conscious, but in shock. Luke yelled for help. Through the dust that was still filtering to the ground, four men rushed to his aid. One of them was Waldo. Working together, it took all of their strength to lift the beam off the man. Luckily, the beam only bruised the man; the springs of the bed gave way or the man would have been crushed. Once the man was freed, Luke stood staring at him–the Marine’s left foot had been severed at the ankle by a piece of flying tin. Blood was spraying everywhere, coming from a severed main artery. The foot was laying nearby. The Marine, still in shock, didn’t know it had happened. As Luke and Waldo watched, medics arrived and stopped the bleeding.
Seconds later as Luke continued to watch, they carried the Marine and his foot away on a stretcher.
“Fuck man,” said Waldo as he stood next to Luke. “He didn’t even know it was gone, bro!”
“Yeah, I know,” said Luke. “I don’t know what they can do for him either.”
Johan came over to them. “Maybe they can put it back on.”
“I doubt it,” said Luke as he shook his head.
They watched as workers uncovered another victim. From the start they knew he had to be dead. Nobody could survive being crushed under that amount of concrete bricks. It was the unfortunate Marine sleeping in northwest corner of the barracks; he slept next to the wall that had killed him. Luke tried to remember if he had met the man; he didn’t think so. The trio watched transfixed as the last bricks were removed from the mangled corpse, and then they watched dumbfounded as the body was placed in a black body bag. Slowly, with deliberate moves, two somber faced Marines carried the dead Marine away on a stretcher.
Serious cuts and gashes were the norm for the other casualties; the corrugated tin roof caused most of the injuries. Because of all the blood from the skin wounds, many of the injured looked much more serious than they were. After initial first aid was given, most of the men began assisting in the clean up.
By the time all the rubble had been searched completely and everyone had their gear together, it was beginning to get light–time to go to breakfast.
“What a night,” Luke said as he and his friends headed to the chow hail. Their tired feet kicked up a small cloud of dust as they went.
“You’re telling me,” said Johan as he led the way.
Exhaustion and a certain amount of resignation was evident in his voice as Luke added, “Welcome to Vietnam.” Waldo nodded his head, too drained to speak.
5
THE THREE MEN WALKED TOWARD THE CHOW HAIL in silence, numbed by their first night in a war zone. In the back of all their minds the same nagging, unspoken question persisted. What about tomorrow? They walked to the chow hall in silence, not bothering to dust themselves off.
After breakfast they had taken up their present positions; for almost three hours now they had been slumbering near the small helo pad adjacent to the Post Office in the American compound. It was the typical case of hurry-up and wait. They had been told to check in by 0530 or they would be AWOL and probably miss their ride.
Johan spit loudly. It struck the ground several yards away and was immediately lost in a small poof of dust. A scowl covered his face. His mouth tasted as if it was full of the gritty soil he saw everywhere. Reluctantly, he settled back down on the ground in the dusty shade next to his two friends, rested his head against his pack and closed his eyes.
Luke smiled. With morning had come a clear day, typical for this time of year. As he watched, the early sun worked its magic on the area, bringing colors and sounds alive. Birds sang. It was peaceful. Then three choppers came into view, homing in on the small helo pad. They came in search of precious mail. Slowly they approached, seemingly cautious. The noise increased as they grew near. He found himself mesmerized by their entrance.
The shape of the surprisingly noisy aircraft was unfamiliar to him. One at a time, as he continued to stare, the huge grasshopper looking machines landed. The other two machines hovered off to the side, awaiting a turn to touch-down just long enough to get the much valued mail.
They weren’t the fast, graceful aircraft he had seen in newsreel footage. The word “Marine” in large white letters covered the side of each dark green fuselage. They appeared to be hold-overs from another age; all had huge, slanted eyes painted on their front. The last of the prehistoric-looking grasshoppers not only had eyes, but a huge face painted on its front section and the number PT-17 painted on its side; its enormous, grotesque painted mouth was open wide with savage, jagged white teeth showing, threatening the world at large. Within minutes of their arrival the slow beasts were gone. Peace and quiet returned to Luke’s world.
Waldo had slept through the whole episode, Luke noted with a grin. When they first arrived at the helo pad, Waldo had located where the shade would be when the sun came up. He then threw his pack down in the dirt, glanced at his teammates with his big white-toothed grin and lay down, saying “Nap time.” Luke and Johan both shook their heads and smiled. Within minutes Waldo was sound asleep next to the building. Luke had seen him do this before. Waldo claimed he could sleep any-where any time, Luke now believed it.
As Luke watched, the sun arced slowly across the hazy sky, and the shade in which the three men lay began to shrink. Slowly the sun inched its way up his leg. The hum of insects intensified. The biting, undaunted flies were just one of the hordes of insects determined to make life miserable for Luke and the others.
The humidity and heat made every square inch of his body sweat, only to itch fiercely as the day progressed. The more he sweated the more the insects bombarded him. Luke knew it was a losing battle. After a good fight, he gave up and let the damnable insects have their way. He looked across and saw raised welts forming on Waldo’s neck, face and hands; occasionally, as he slept, Waldo slapped his neck as the insects continued to feed. Luke grimaced as he watched.
Luke hadn’t minded the early morning wait. It had been peaceful. The scattered blue gray clouds on the eastern horizon slowly allowed the fully exposed crimson sun to send shafts of brilliance across the colorful landscape. The greens of the lush tropical vegetation seemed to vibrate as the sun’s warming rays bathed them. Morning was one of his favorite times of day. Today was no different. He listened to the unfamiliar tunes of birds singing in nearby trees and tried to guess what they looked like. Finally he gave up, deciding to merely enjoy their song.
Occasionally Luke glanced at his sleeping friends. Even as they slept, the rest of the compound started coming alive. The sounds common to a small city began. Luke heard a radio nearby. He listened to the strange music. “Wooly Bully. Wooly Bully.” The music faded in and out as the pop song continued.
The far off, staccato sound of a chopper grabbed his attention, jerking him instantly alert. He sat up rigidly just in time to see the lone chopper making its final approach. As it grew near, the turbine, whining sound it made completely obliterated the morning’s silence. Luke noticed that Johan was awake and watching too.
One of the clerks leaned out the door of the small Post Office, waving to get Luke’s attention. Luke looked his way. Yelling with his hand up to his mouth, the clerk bellowed “Hey, if you’re goin’ to Phu Bai that’s your chopper coming in now.”
Luke gave the clerk a thumbs-up sign, and leaned over and shook Waldo. “Wake up you sleepy head. Our ride is here.”
Luke smiled as he shook Waldo a second time. “Come on Waldo. Get you butt in gear. The chopper’s here!”
“Ah shit, Sims. I was just lickin’ Miss April’s tender breasts with my hard tongue. And you had to wake me up!” With another moan Waldo stood and readied himself.
The now overwhelming sound of the arriving chopper made conversation difficult. They stood in silence, weapons in hand, waiting for the signal to board.
Luke scrutinized the single Huey gunship as it rapidly skirted the barren hillside adjacent
the helo pad. Everything about the aircraft seemed purposeful, he thought, as though the pilot didn’t let anybody fuck with him.
Without postponement, the small craft touched down expertly on the tiny cement pad that served as both landing pad and single- hoop basketball court in-between chopper landings. Luke imagined that later in the day men would be bouncing the familiar orange ball around the court, playing one-on-one, without once thinking about incoming choppers–and maybe even war.
Even before it was fully on the ground, two mail clerks ran toward the aircraft with numerous large, dirty, gray mail sacks in tow, several of which looked nearly full. Two of the heaviest sacks dragged grudgingly on the ground behind one of the clerks.
When the aircraft’s crew chief had the mail situated, he stepped out on the skid support, stood erect, and motioned with his arm for everyone to get on board.
Luke’s heart began to race as he climbed on board. In addition to Luke and his two buddies, two other Marines climbed into the noisy chopper. Luke hadn’t noticed the men before. Obviously veteran Recon Marines, Luke decided. Their faded uniforms, crusty boots, overall exhausted look contrasted sharply to Luke and his friends. The blank look he saw in their eyes made him feel uncomfortable.
Luke felt a lump forming in his throat. He felt proud to be a part of this–to be a member of such an elite team as Recon Marines. The crusty Marines appeared, Luke noted, to be completely in control, as though they were afraid of nothing. He swallowed hard and hoped that he wouldn’t let them down.
The whine of the jet engine again consumed the air. The rotor speed picked up rapidly as the pilot worked the controls. Dust and dirt began to swirl madly outside the chopper, sending scraps of paper and a shower of sand throughout the exposed area. Other men still awaiting their flights covered their faces.
By What is Sure to Follow Page 11