By What is Sure to Follow

by Donald Burton

  The gunship made two wide circles, dipping slightly before it began to rise quickly above the humid ground, heading to the northeast and cooler altitudes.

  Just before the chopper arrived, Luke had overheard two experienced Marines talking. “If a chopper doesn’t get to at least 1800 feet almost immediately when it takes off,” said one of them, “it almost always picks up rifle fire, especially here around the Da Nang area.”

  The other Marine had nodded his agreement and countered “You got that right. Da Nang isn’t a secure area–no matter what anybody says. Charlie owns any part of Da Nang he wants–day or night.” Luke shuttered as he remembered the Marine’s words. He knew it must be the truth. The changing sound of the chopper drew Luke’s attention. He looked out the side of the sleek aircraft. There were no doors to obstruct his view.

  From their 2400 feet cruising altitude, everything looked serene and beautiful below. Luke decided instantly that it was a fantastically beautiful day. The beauty made him forget the nervousness he felt about being “in-country.” Far to the west, Luke saw storm clouds clinging to the lower mountain ranges, their blue-black centers a warning of imminent rain that would never reach the coastal low lands until the rivers flood a day or two from now.

  The temperature steadily climbed through the high eighties back on the ground, with the humidity in the 80% plus range. But inside the chopper it was chilly. Luke guessed it was less than seventy degrees at their altitude.

  All of Da Nang was now visible below, including two huge, gray cargo ships in the harbor, protected from the North China Sea by a strong rock jetty.

  A PBR (River Patrol Boat), which Luke had heard so much about but only seen in pictures, moved up the river, its wake pointing to the west like an arrow pointing towards danger. He watched as the small boat got smaller. Finally they left it behind.

  All thoughts of war dissipated from Luke’s mind. It was an adventure once again. He relaxed. A smile spread across his face as he looked out the open side of the chopper. Beautiful country was passing beneath them. It felt good to have the cool air rapidly moving around him. Even the vibrations of the chopper were pleasurable.

  Just north of the city, out on the coast, the chopper confronted a range of steep hills covered with dense vegetation–trees, vines and thick undergrowth. The largest of these was Monkey Mountain. A deeper, throatier sound engulfed the gunship as it worked hard to gain altitude to pass safely over them.

  The crew chief unexpectedly fired a dozen rounds through the .50- caliber machine gun directly next to Luke. The noise nearly caused him to jump out of his skin. Jerking around, Luke saw the gunner was just “clearing the gun.” The routine was repeated moments later as the port gunner followed suit and cleared his weapon. Several minutes passed before Luke’s heart calmed down; he marveled that the veterans didn’t move or even open their eyes when the guns fired. They just continued to doze or at least look asleep.

  Talking wasn’t possible between passengers unless they yelled so everyone remained silent. Luke sat in a nylon strap seat, hanging from the aft wall of the passenger compartment. Nothing separated him from the scenes below except his seat belt-all of the doors had been removed. He was surprised that the seasoned Marines didn’t even use the seat belts, nor did they sit in the seats; they sat cross- legged on the floor. The fact that they were cruising at nearly 140 miles per hour at over 2,000 feet elevation seemed to have little, if any, affect on them.

  Again Luke glanced at the crew chief. He noticed the crewman say something in the microphone attached to his helmet, but nothing Luke could hear. Luke figured he must be speaking to the pilot. The sun visor on the man’s helmet was lowered. It was impossible to tell what the aviator looked like. Luke quickly gave up trying and closed his eyes.

  His mind refused to rest; he wondered what the future would bring. He was curious how long the flight would be and what the terrain would look like where they were headed. And he wondered what was in store for him. Gnawing at the back of his mind was a growing uneasiness that had not fully matured into fear, but undoubtedly would in time. He didn’t know it but emotionally he was still Stateside and this was a dream–the reality of war was just beginning to make itself known. For now this was just another exciting chopper ride, the same as it had been in the states.

  Out of the corner of his eye Luke saw a flash of light down in the jungle. At first he thought he imagined the bright glare. After a moment thinking about it, he thought someone must have been signaling the chopper with a mirror. After a short pause, it happened again. It has to be the sun reflected off glass, probably binoculars, Luke thought correctly to himself. Next grey-white smoke materialized amongst the trees where the glare had been. Instantly he recognized it from training as a hand launched missile or rocket coming at them–probably a Russian P-122, Before he had a chance to say anything to the crew chief, the chopper began to swerve sharply to the right, diving abruptly and then started climbing to the left. It repeated the maneuver several more times, all the while increasing its speed.

  Luke hoped the pilot knew what he was doing. I’m just along for the ride, he told himself, moving his lips silently. He felt his scrotum contract; a shiver ran throughout his body.

  The pilot’s evasive maneuvers, making the chopper dive, twist and turn in ways Luke never would have imagined possible seemed to work. Luke held tightly to the seat with one hand and his weapon with the other, trying to not be thrown from the gyrating chopper. His legs were tightly locked around his rucksack. As he watched, the rocket, which was gaining on them quickly, began to slow and then began to lose altitude, finally arcing its way back down into the dense forest.

  Luke was shocked by the behavior of the crew and other experienced Marines. It was as though nothing had happened. One of the salty Marines, Luke noticed, did release his grip on a support when the jerky movement ended; other than that, Luke saw no reaction. It was as though getting rockets shot at them was a normal occurrence.

  Even though it was still chilly, perspiration beaded on his forehead. A rivulet of moisture ran down his back, causing him to involuntarily shiver. He wondered if that was the only thing that had caused the shiver. He tried with great effort to follow the salty Marine’s example and look casual, even though his uniform was soaked. The thought crossed his mind that his deodorant had broken down. His heart continued to race. Desperately he tried to ignore his fears–trying to look calm. Mixed with his fears, he noticed, was excitement. It puzzled him. A glance at his buddies told him they were shook up too.

  Time passed slowly. Luke began to get used to the whooshing, turbine sounds the chopper made.

  “I hope it’s something I can handle,” Luke said softly to himself, finishing his thought out loud. No one heard his remark. Luke pondered what he had experienced so far in Vietnam. Mostly the disregard for human life. He tried to put it in perspective. It didn’t fit. This was a different world, a sort of dream world, not related in any way to life Stateside. He tried to gauge whether the knot in his stomach was due to people being killed so casually, his fear of being killed, or what. He couldn’t sort it out.

  Forty minutes had elapsed. Then the chopper’s noise changed considerably. It began to lose altitude quickly in a controlled descent. The old timers began to handle their weapons and adjust their gear. Phu Bai must be nearby, Luke thought. The pilot took the gunship to tree top height and continued to cruise at nearly max speed.

  Unannounced, the chopper began making a wide arcing turn, flaring to the side as it did. Then it abruptly descended toward two tin huts visible next to a sandy, dirt runway. The airfield had been carved out of the somewhat arid jungle, Luke noted.

  He craned his head further to study the area as the distance narrowed to the buildings. Next to one of the buildings Luke saw a gas powered generator on a trailer; he knew it provided the power for the small office and the adjacent, small repair facility/parts depot. He had imagined there would be more to it than this. It was pretty desolate. He look
ed at his buddies for their reaction.

  “Shit man,” said Waldo, yelling loud enough to be heard. “I hope that this ain’t where we’re goin’. This don’t cut it bro.” The look on his face was one of revulsion.

  Schmidt shrugged his shoulders and remained silent. Nothing seemed to rock Johan, Luke noticed. It was one of the things Luke liked about him: he was the most stable guy Luke had ever known. Luke had seen Johan help other men over obstacles during training when others would have turned their backs. He was that type of guy. It felt reassuring to have a rock solid friend like Johan. Johan seemed to live with a small smile on his face. Nothing was too difficult for him. The hard life on the farm had prepared him well for the duties of a Recon Marine. Everyone liked him, including Luke.

  Luke slipped the second strap of his rucksack over his shoulder and grabbed his other gear. Sitting expectantly, he yelled, “One thing for sure, you guys. We’ll know soon enough.” Impatiently the trio waited for the Huey to land. Waldo didn’t look nervous, Luke conceded with a smile, except that he was picking his nose–a sure sign he was nervous.

  The swift chopper sat down smartly near the buildings. Everyone exited briskly and made for the tin huts. The buildings looked brand new, Luke thought.

  The runway consisted of a countless number of interlocking metal plates with a pattern of three-inch holes formed in them. Without the plates, making a runway would have been impossible. The sandy soil could not support a plane’s weight.

  A huge, barrel-chested Marine master sergeant stepped out of the dark interior just as the men reached the front door. The man’s enormous hands seemed to dwarf the clipboard he held in front of him. Looking official, his pilot-style sun glasses shielding his eyes from the intense sun, the sergeant said loudly, trying to be heard over the sound of the diesel generator and the chopper nearby, “Hey you new guys, give me a copy of your orders and then wait over in the shade. You other guys go grab a beer. It will be a while ‘til we’re ready to get you back to your units.”

  Without saying a word, Luke handed the sergeant a copy of his papers and went and sat in the shade. The others followed suit. As Luke sat, he heard Waldo remark, “Hurry up and wait. They make sweat drip off your balls, then they wait ‘til it freezes before anything happens. Just great.” Luke ignored the crack as he adjusted his pack, trying to get comfortable.

  Looking around, Luke was not impressed. This was not the jungle scene he had expected. More arid and dry, Luke offered himself; kind of almost desert looking, at least near the airfield. Sure they had flown over some pretty dense jungle to get here, but Phu Bai wasn’t in it. Just north of the airfield a few hundred meters, Luke saw areas of dense vegetation, but all around him it was mostly small dry bushes in sandy soil.

  Finishing his sweeping look of the area, he once again scrutinized the chopper he had arrived on. It had finished unloading its small cargo and was preparing to take off. A couple of grunts climbed on board just before the pilot pulled back the collective and took the gunship skyward; it hovered briefly then began to move off purposefully southwest across the airfield.

  A deafening staccato of machine gun fire erupted nearby. A long moment passed before it registered in Luke’s mind as a threat–even then he didn’t move. He felt frozen to the spot. The gunfire came, he saw, from off on the west side of the runway, three hundred meters to the northwest. The chopper was the obvious target. Without hesitating a split second, as the green Recons watched, the chopper increased speed and took evasive action, dove to the deck, turned quickly to the south and increased to attack speed. It headed south at ground level until it reached max speed and then turned in an unbelievably tight arc back northwest. Without delay it began its attack.

  The hair on Luke’s neck bristled as he watched. At a height of less than a hundred feet, the pilot headed straight toward the enemy position. He couldn’t breathe as he watched, his eyes locked on the speeding aircraft. Puffs of smoke rose from a patch of scrub brush as the enemy machine gun tired to down the approaching chopper.

  Luke hadn’t noticed all the armament found on the small chopper until now. A 20mm cannon, center mounted; fixed twin .60-caliber machine guns, one mounted on each side; and next to them were fastened cylindrical rocket pods, each holding six rockets adorned the slender chopper. The two crewmen each manned a .50 caliber turret mounted machine gun on either side. All machine guns appeared to be firing. He watched as the nearly steady stream of bullets inched their way towards the sniper’s location. Just as the chopper got close, the enemy gunfire ceased. At almost point blank range, Luke noticed, the pilot fired two rockets; one erupted from each side of the speeding chopper. Even in the bright daylight the red-yellow glow behind them could be seen as they raced toward their target. To Luke it looked as though both rockets scored a direct hit on the enemy position, although he couldn’t be sure. Dirt ruptured in all directions, sending a cloud of red dust and debris skyward. Instantly all gunfire ceased, and Marines on the ground that had been working their way towards the position now began to run, yelling to each other as they went.

  Luke still stood as if welded to the ground. He watched the drama unfold, but found himself detached, as if watching the scene on TV. His mind whirled in bewilderment, capturing only glimpses of the chaos around him. Before he had a chance to gather his wits, the incident was over. He hadn’t even loaded a magazine in his weapon. Standing with his weapon held tightly in both hands, Luke felt his arms begin to tremble.

  Traversing the scene one last time, the chopper departed. Everyone within sight went back to their routines.

  Luke still couldn’t move. He stood staring across the field, his mind still refusing to function. Beneath it all he felt scared and ashamed. That much he knew. Combined with that he also felt excited. He felt more alive than he could ever remember feeling in his life. Mostly, he conceded, he felt ashamed about his inability to move when he should have. His thoughts became a whirlwind; he felt dizzy and finally sat down near his gear. He didn’t look at his friends.

  Ten minutes later Luke watched a Recon Marine start to cross over the makeshift airfield, coming from the site of the sniper episode. Feeling curious, he rose and began walking the short distance to intercept him. Johan and Waldo followed close behind. As the Marine got close, Luke asked, “What happened over there?”

  “Oh,” replied the Recon casually, “just a couple of Viet Cong who wanted to read our mail. Nothing serious. By the time I got there the chopper made hamburger of them. I did manage to get my souvenirs though.” His right hand patted the macabre collection on his belt as he spoke.

  “What are those?” said Luke, unable to figure out what the whitish blue-gray colored items were; they looked like rolled up condoms to Luke, but he wasn’t about to offer that opinion.

  “Haven’t you ever seen an ear before?” said the Recon with a snicker followed by a gut wrenching chuckle that moved his whole body. “I always take an ear, at least when I can find one. I have six of them now. See?” he said with an even bigger grin as he turned to give Luke a full view of his belt. Luke was silent as he stared at the collection. The Marine giggled, turned and left as he continued on his way.

  Luke and his friends stood motionless not saying a word. Luke felt drained as he turned to look at Johan. He could see Johan’s complexion had turned a strong shade of gray, and he looked like he might lose his lunch any moment. When Luke looked at Waldo, Waldo flashed his big smile, again showing all of his beautifully white teeth. The look in Waldo’s eyes wasn’t smiling, Luke observed. Then Luke remembered Waldo saying he had cut off several gang member’s ears.

  “Shit. What’s going on here?” Luke’s pain was evident as he spoke. Disgust showed in his every move and was an understatement for how he felt. Neither of his friends replied. Johan looked away. They started walking the short distance back across the dusty field.

  As they walked, Luke continually kicked large sprays of dust into the air. He felt rage. As he walked, the feeling intensified
. Reaching the shade of the huts, they sat down and looked at each other with now expressionless faces. Each man was lost in his own thoughts. Luke looked away.

  “What should I do?” Luke thought to himself, realizing he was a nervous wreck. “Am I going to be doing that–cutting off ears? I can’t believe that shit. Fuckin’ animal. That’s what he is, a fuckin’ animal. I’ll be glad when we get to our unit. I’m sure they don’t allow that shit. He found he wanted to punch someone out. This was no way to fight a war–cutting off people’s ears!”

  Several minutes elapsed. Finally Luke’s mind released him to the present; gazing around, he saw that Johan was digging in his own rucksack. As Luke watched, Johan took out writing material and began to write a letter. “Johan. How can you write a letter after what just happened?” Luke snapped angrily.

  “It’s better than just sitting here and thinking about it. Besides I try to write my girl at least once a day. I didn’t get a chance to yesterday-so I figured I’d use this time to get caught up.”

  Luke didn’t have a reply so he remained quiet. Johan turned back to his letter writing. Luke watched as Johan quickly filled several pages.

  I can’t write Sheri right now, Luke told himself. What would I write about? I can’t say a fellow Recon just added another ear or two to his collection. His confusion worried him. He took out his toothbrush and proceeded to clean his weapon, using his mind totally in his inspection of the weapon as he field stripped it. By focusing intently on cleaning his weapon, he found he could shut out the conscious part of the pain, but down deep the hurt scraped his soul with razor blades.

  Finishing with his weapon, he once again felt in control. “Where is 1st Force Recon Company anyhow?” he asked out loud.

  “I hope they get here soon. I’m getting’ hungry,” said Waldo. Johan looked up from his writing. “I’m sure they’ll be along soon.” Then he went back to his writing.