By What is Sure to Follow

by Donald Burton

  “At least now we know where to hang our hat,” smiled Johan, trying to see the brighter side of it.

  Waldo let out a grunt as he removed his finger from his nose with added emphasis. He exaggeratedly wiped his clean finger on his pants and began walking towards the door without a word. Johan entered next, stooping as he penetrated the cave-like hooch. Luke followed; his mind racing ahead, imagining he was moving into the bowels of the earth, towards hell.

  6

  UNABLE TO STAND ERECT INSIDE THE SAGGING HOOCH, Luke made his way down into the cramped, dimly lit, earthen quarters, his new home. It was damp and musty, smelling of raw sweat. A strong urge to get out of the restricted space assailed him. Fighting it, he skirted several occupied cots searching for his space. He found it toward the rear.

  “Not very inviting,” Luke whispered as his eyes strained in the near darkness. “Bums back home on skid-row live in nicer places than this.” His voice sounded brittle as he spoke. Either no one heard him or cared to reply.

  Slowly he leaned his weapon against the wall–half sand bags and the lower half dirt–then with a look of disgust tossed his gear beneath his cot. With a dejected plop, he landed on the dusty folding contraption. Dust rose all around him. He watched as it slowly settled into the shadows. Dim light came from a single bare bulb suspended in the middle of the space, off to his left. Grudgingly it revealed his Spartan, medieval surroundings.

  He folded his arms behind his head and then studied the construction of his new “home.” It had been around for a while, he concluded. Sturdy enough. He wondered if they considered it permanent? With a shrug, he left the question unanswered. Then he began to study the people.

  Everyone he saw acted as though it wasn’t a big deal–to live in the ground like some sort of animal. No sane person would put up with it, he decided. The thought made Luke laugh. The next instant a shiver ran down his spine; the notion flashed in his mind that he might consider this normal some day very soon really bothered him.

  Several Recons toward the center of the hooch squinted in the dim light to read letters from home. Luke saw that one Recon was reading a Playboy magazine and seemed to like the centerfold. Another was reading the Stars & Stripes, the military’s newspaper. Only one person was asleep or at least looked asleep to Luke.

  Luke thought angrily about the smell in the confined space as a new wave of ripe body order drifted his way.

  Everything about the place was revolting.

  One of the salty Recons glanced at Luke and saw his sour expression. After a pause, the Recon said, “This ain’t the end of the fuckin’ world, boot, but you can see it from here.” When Luke didn’t reply, the Recon added “This ain’t bad, boot. Wait ‘til the fuckin’ rainy season. Then you’ll appreciate this shit.” Even as the man spoke, Luke saw the blank stare on the man’s face–he was just going through the motions; there was no emotion or caring in his voice. It was a flat monotone, detached.

  “My name is Sims, Luke Sims,” Luke said as he nervously stuck out his hand, feeling a need to break the ice, unsure of the man in front of him.

  “I’m Hardy. Bill Hardy from Waco, Texas,” said the brawny Marine as he leaned forward off his cot and shook Luke’s outstretched hand. His Texas drawl added a twang and several extra syllables to his statement. The voice strangely fit the man in front of him, Luke decided: disjointed, yet down to earth. Luke smiled, thinking the voice and physical appearance of this man could easily pass for that of an old Texas Ranger. The dirt patches on his shirt and face didn’t hurt the image either.

  “I’m from Southern California,” replied Luke, not sure if he should say San Diego or Riverside.

  Luke decided against asking how Hardy got away with wearing the sweat band–a red and white handkerchief–tied around his forehead. Back Stateside, Luke knew, some officer would hang him for it. Instead the two men began talking of things back in the U. S. Hardy wanted to know every detail about what he called the world. Slowly, as Hardy spoke, Luke heard “interest” creep into his tone. It wasn’t long before Luke felt that Hardy was going to be a good friend. Mentally they connected.

  “I just got back from R&R a couple a weeks back,” said Hardy as he began to open up. “I spent it in Sidney, Australia. Really I spent it fuckin’ Mattie McCormick most of the time.”

  Luke watched as Hardy laughed. For some reason, Luke thought the laugh seemed out of character, almost plastic. “She’s an Aussie bird I met my first night in Sidney,” Hardy declared with a slight wave of his hand, “What a fuckin’ body!”

  Still lying on his cot across from Hardy, Luke propped himself up on one elbow. “She was that good, huh?”

  “Yep. After you’ve been here a while, you’ll get your shot at her. Most guys go to Sidney. If you get a chance with her, take it. You won’t be sorry.”

  “Wouldn’t you care?” asked Luke, wondering how Hardy could be so flippant.

  “Fuck no. Why should I? She was good to me, but I ain’t planning on marrying her, for Christ’s sake.” The look on Hardy’s face was one of disbelief. “We just had a few good fuckin’ days together–that’s all.”

  “Well, if I go to Sidney I’ll be sure to look her up then,” Luke said. He didn’t think his voice sounded convincing so he changed the subject. “Hey, I hope the chow’s better than this place looks.”

  “Just barely, boot, just barely,” said Hardy with a slight chuckle. “Shit. Up to a couple of weeks back we didn’t even have electricity. We used fuckin’ kerosene lanterns, two of them. Before that we used fuckin’ candles. Suspect the food will get better someday. Maybe not. Probably if it does it’ll be when I get back to the world and then I won’t fuckin’ care.” Then without warning Hardy turned silent, seemingly ignoring Luke’s presence. Luke waited, unsure what he should do or say. Several uncomfortable minutes passed and finally Hardy mentally returned.

  Sounding genuinely sincere for the first time, Hardy, looking Luke straight in the eyes, said softly, “If you have any questions about Vietnam survival fuckin’ shit, feel free to ask. If I don’t know it, it ain’t been invented.”

  Seeing that Hardy meant it made Luke feel good. Luke smiled. A smile spread out across Hardy’s face, even touching his eyes.

  “Thanks, I will.”

  Listening closely as Hardy spoke, Luke realized that every other word he used was profanity. It was fuck this or that, or a long stream of other vulgarity, all of it expelled from under a massive brown, dusty mustache.

  As their conversation progressed, Luke studied the man, looking beneath the layers of dirt all the men wore. His badly pock-marked face was tan, and huge, deep wrinkles came together at the corner of his dark brown eyes. Luke saw they were somewhat exaggerated by the accumulation of dirt there. The skin on his neck and hands had the look of mistreated, dried-out leather, and his large hands were cracked and parched. He looked old to Luke. He guessed maybe thirty-five. To his surprise Hardy guessed the question forming in his mind and answered it: “I’m nineteen, boot.” He laughed at Luke’s shocked expression at the answer–this time a real laugh that radiated warmth.

  “Fuckin’ Nam makes us all look old, boot. A man ages ten to twenty years while he’s over here. Fuckin’ shits, man,” said Hardy with a twisted smile. “Fuckin’ jungle will kill a man if he’s not up to it. Won’t kill a fuckin’ Recon though; we eat their fuckin’ rats for breakfast. Makes us strong!”

  Luke didn’t reply. What was there to say? Hardy was gung-ho all the way. Hardy continued after a slight pause: “I’m here to fight Communism and the more fuckin’ gooks I kill the better.” Even in the dim light Luke could see the fire blaze in Hardy’s eyes as he spoke.

  Feeling uncomfortable, Luke asked, “Have you really killed a gook?” Immediately he felt foolish for asking and looked down at the ground.

  Raising his voice slightly, pride showing through the gruff exterior, Hardy quickly patted his side, drawing Luke’s attention back to him as he said, “Got two trophies on my fuckin
’ belt here. Hope to have more soon. We Recons don’t get much of a fuckin’ chance to bag gooks.”

  Luke knew what he meant. Because of the reconnaissance nature of their job, avoiding the enemy as much as possible, they didn’t tangle with Charlie often.

  Hardy sounded sad, Luke thought. A glance at Hardy’s waist verified his words: two gray rubbers–ears–resided on his canvas belt. The idea still repulsed Luke, though now it was less repulsive and that surprised him. He thought maybe it was because the shock factor was no longer there. Still, he found himself gaping at the ears; finally he broke his stare, returning his gaze to Hardy’s face.

  “Don’t worry boot. If you survive long enough, you’ll have some of these little fuckers too. You’ll see.”

  Luke noticed Hardy sounded sure of himself. Luke felt his mouth go dry. He wanted to tell him he was wrong, that he’d never do it, but decided to remain quiet, not even sure he could speak if he wanted to.

  After a while Hardy seemed to wind down, finally he said, “Well, I’d better get some shut-eye. I’ve got guard duty soon.” With that he rolled over on his cot: and faced the sandbag wall. Within minutes Luke saw the shallow, even breathing that signaled Hardy was asleep.

  Glancing around again, it seemed alien to Luke that a few sand bags and some piled dirt could make a safe haven. It just wasn’t so or was it? His stomach churned madly as the silence of the hooch shook his brain, rattling the images recently formed there.

  He closed his eyes in an effort to calm himself. As he did, more issues surfaced: what would end up making the war real for him? No matter how hard he tried to relate to it, it still didn’t seem like a real war existed outside the bunker’s walls. It seemed like a dream. Everything he had experienced so far seemed like a dream; almost like a movie, except that he was watching from the inside. He asked himself if Johan and Waldo felt the same way. He looked across the confined space; they seemed calm enough. Both were reading letters.

  It is a real war zone and different rules apply here, he thought to himself as he lay facing the discolored plywood ceiling. His mind raced as his eyes followed the splintered cracks of the weathered board overhead. He sensed this was survival mode, but he wasn’t sure what that really meant or what to do. He could see it in the other men’s faces. He could almost taste it. It put his nerves on edge, and he found himself unable to relax, not even slightly.

  Finally he sat up. He decided to read his letters from Sheri. Four of them in all; they were awaiting him when he arrived, as well as another from his mom. He put hers beneath three of Sheri’s letters. In the near darkness, he tore open the first of her letters, careful first to put them in order of post mark date, and began to read. Mostly in the dark, he had to squint to make out each of her precious words on the ghostly pages.

  As he read he realized that nothing Stateside had changed. Life was just the way he had left it. The very idea disturbed him almost as much as the smell of the tent bothered him. With his world changing so much, it was hard to believe that hers was not. It was simple back there; law and order existed. People didn’t go around killing each other. Life had value. Stateside seemed like a different world now. Alien, he thought. It occurred to him he didn’t fit into either world at this moment. Neither Vietnam or the States seemed real. He pushed the confusion from his mind as he wiped a speck of dust from her letter. Then he continued reading.

  I am taking the same sort of classes I took last semester, just continuations of them really. One class is at 8:00 in the morning. It was the only time it was offered. See what I mean–pretty boring stuff to write about. Went with a girl friend to a couple of parties this past week. Two of the Greek houses were having them. Not much fun without you. Luke, I miss you so much. Be careful. Remember, I will be waiting for you.

  It surprised Luke how much these last few words meant to him now.

  Each of her letters ended the same way. Seeing it in writing made him feel good, kind of warm inside.

  The longer he was away from her the more he yearned to be with her. He found himself thinking about her often. For some reason he didn’t understand, or try to evaluate, he allowed himself to reflect on his feeling for her. When his emotions got too intense, however, he shut them off–just like before; he blocked them out, sort of changed the subject with himself. It had been over four months since he had seen Sheri.

  Finally Luke opened his mom’s letter. He tore it open quickly as though it was a duty to perform. Just as he had expected, she didn’t say much. The routine at home was the same as always; Luke’s dad still worked the long hours he always had. The guest bedroom had a new coat of paint; it had been Luke’s room when he was at home. She closed the letter by telling him about the weather. Luke read the letter quickly, telling himself he would write soon, although he knew he wouldn’t write. He never had before. Then he picked up Sheri’s last letter and fondled it before carefully opening it. He read it slowly, relishing each word. It too contained details of the Stateside life he now found foreign.

  He felt frustrated and confused by the mood Sheri’s letters evoked in him. Bewildered, he decided to try and get some rest. Starting tomorrow he would officially start his duties with his unit, and he might not ever get a full night’s sleep after that. He stuck the letters in his shirt pocket and lay down fully dressed, covering himself with his poncho liner. His loaded M-16 leaned against the wall near his head, just in case he needed it in a hurry during the night. Sleep came easily.

  From the darkness someone shook Luke’s shoulder. Through the haze of sleep, Luke heard a voice. “Rise and shine. Time to get the day going.” Luke staggered sleepily outside. Darkness completely enshrouded the camp. The first signs of dawn had not yet begun to show to the east.

  “What time is it anyway?” Luke asked no one in particular. From out of the darkness a reply came, “0530.”

  Luke shook his head from side to side and then stumbled off to the side of the bunker to find a spot to pee. Just as he started to relieve himself, a shot rang out, fired from the darkness in front of him. Instantly Luke dove to the ground. Instinctively he knew it had been intended for him.

  “Shit! I didn’t bring my weapon with me. How stupid!” he admonished himself out loud. The madness kept him from shaking. Slowly he crawled back to relative safety, never raising far off the ground. The sniper didn’t fire again.

  Sergeant Knots appeared out of the darkness. “What the fuck are you doing, numbnuts? You want to get your ass blown away on your first day in-country?” Luke didn’t answer. He felt dumb. Knots left when he saw that Luke was okay. As he walked away shaking his head, Luke heard him say, “You fuckin’ cherries are all the same. Fuckin’ boot.”

  Luke rose to his feet as he reached the protected side of the bunker. He found a small wooden crate, sat down and brushed himself off. In the confusion, he had dropped straight onto the patch of ground he had been peeing on. The front of his fatigues were wet and sandy.

  “Great,” he said out loud to himself with disgust. “First sign of combat and I might as well have wet my pants.” He glanced around to see who had heard or noticed. Five or six men were within sight now. No one seemed to have paid attention. He found that little consolation.

  Just as he finished his second cup of coffee, Sgt. Knots scooted over the top of a mound nearby and slid into the recessed area behind the bunker. “You, Sims, grab your piece and go out to the southeast forward observation point and relieve Jarvis so he can get some chow.”

  “I haven’t eaten yet either, Sarge,” Luke said. “Give me five minutes to grab something.”

  “All right, but speed it up,” replied Knots hastily. “You’ll be out there for a while so take two canteens. No comic books either.” Luke noticed the scowl on his face. It sent a shiver up his spine.

  A few minutes later he was ready just as Knots reappeared. “Hey numbnuts,” Knots spoke softly, “head on out there and keep your ass close to the deck. I hate carrying fuckin’ body bags in the morning. Tends to ru
in the whole day for me.”

  Luke’s shoulders visibly drooped as he nodded sheepishly and left, beginning to crawl the seventy-odd yards on his stomach.

  After twenty yards, he passed the main perimeter sentry post on his right and continued on, slowly crawling, making his way to the forward observation post–the “Forward O. P.”

  Dawn was breaking. A ghostly, gray light began to spread slowly from the east. Still darkened shadows commanded the landscape all around, playing tricks on his mind and threatening his senses. With effort Luke could see close by, but all detail at a distance merged with his imagination.

  In boot camp he had been told that twilight was the most dangerous time of day. He remembered being told the human eye has a hard time with it. He remembered the main point that during twilight a person is almost blind. He believed it now as the shadows danced before him. He was scared. Goose bumps raced across his skin as he kept crawling toward the shadows and the guard post they contained. Every sound magnified itself in his mind. A bird’s mysterious stirrings in a nearby bush made his skin turn cold. Only after figuring out it was nothing serious did he feel foolish. Until then it had been a life and death matter, the most important moment he had ever faced in his life.

  Approaching the foxhole with caution, he noticed a rifle pointed directly at him. “Hey don’t aim that thing at me,” Luke said, a little too loudly under the circumstances–his nervousness showing.

  “Who are you?” whispered the soldier in the hole, still pointing his weapon at Luke.

  “Sergeant Knots sent me out here to relieve you so you could get some chow. I’m Sims,” replied Luke as he crawled the last few yards to the foxhole. The weapon no longer pointed at him as he slid into the cramped recess. He felt safe. Relief flooded through him; his shirt was soaked with perspiration. His heart was still pumping madly as he turned towards Jarvis.

  “What should I watch for?” asked Luke. He felt unprepared for the assignment. His nervousness was increasing by the minute as he thought about the prospect of being left alone. “I mean is there anything I should know, such as where should I expect to see them coming from?”