By What is Sure to Follow

by Donald Burton

  “If it moves report it on the phone here,” Jarvis said calmly as he nodded toward the phone. “If it moves too fast to do that, shoot the fucker and ask questions later. Umm...and don’t stick your head up too high. They’ll dot your eyes. Oh yeah, I’m Jarvis. See ya later.” With that Jarvis scooted over the mound and began the long crawl back to the bunker–and safety.

  Breathing rapidly with fear, Luke’s eyes darted across the foreign landscape. Out in front of him the area was clear of all brush for about thirty or forty meters or so. He was happy to see the open space. Closer scrutiny showed that one-third the distance across the clearing at least four strands of concertina wire had been strung around the entire perimeter. Normally Forward OPs were outside the wire, Luke knew. Noticing this made him feel somewhat safer.

  Anybody coming through the wire Luke knew would be cut to pieces by the thousands of razor blades embedded in it. Luke tensed as the thought that a bullet could still get him. He lowered himself into the hole a bit further, just high enough to be able to see over the mound in front of him.

  Further out in front of his position, Luke saw the terrain was mostly sagebrush, with other vegetation here and there. Not too many places for someone to sneak up from, Luke thought, feeling braver.

  In his mind Luke knew that he hadn’t fully made the transition from Stateside safety. He knew this fact because his mind refused to think seriously about a threat coming from the area he could see. It looked so peaceful. And yet terror consumed him as his mind envisioned the enemy leaping from everywhere. Such a paradigm. How could he have differing views at the same time–or nearly the same instant? He knew this could get him in serious trouble. He tried hard to be extra careful in everything he did. And yet, everything seemed so beautifully peaceful now. It seemed safe enough.

  Leaning over to hide the flame, he lit a cigarette, cupping it in his hand. In a few minutes it would be light enough so that his flame would go unnoticed, but for now it would serve as a beacon to the enemy. As he exhaled the first smoke toward the ground and watched it dissipate, he reminded himself he was nearly shot earlier. Idiot, he thought. He continued smoking the cigarette, ducking down and cupping his hands around the glowing red ember to hide the light as he tried to come to terms with his feelings. After a while he pushed the confusion from his mind. Instead he watched the sunrise from the safety of his foxhole; he marveled at the beautiful day unfolding.

  Nothing moved in his field of view, except for a few birds. He watched them off and on briefly, then, afraid that he might miss seeing the enemy, he strained his eyes on every bush and mound. Fear that Charlie would know he was a “cherry” and that he was the weak link in the perimeter defenses, plagued him. His stomach churned at the thought, and his shoulders tensed as he continued to monitor the area in front of him. Minutes crept like hours, even after the sun was fully up.

  The sporadic sounds of choppers could be heard in the distance; their sounds grew and faded as they went about their daily routines. He felt comfort in having the choppers work the area. One chopper came down the perimeter, flying directly over him. The crew chief waved as the chopper passed overhead. It made Luke relax and feel good. He waved back. He watched as the chopper continued down the wire. It hadn’t gone far, maybe half a click southeast, when it viciously began lashing out with its machine guns, sending a long burst at some target on the ground. Luke tensed with fear. Silence again returned as the chopper disappeared east over the jungle, going about its business. Luke had no idea what he shot at. He imagined the worst.

  Until relieved, shortly before noon, Luke nervously studied every bush and mound, sure that the chopper had missed its murderous target. In his imagination, he was convinced they were now coming to get him. He was paying so much attention to the alien landscape, he almost didn’t notice Schmidt arrive, coming to relieve him.

  The next few days didn’t offer much change in routine; Luke’s team continued their present guard duty. Now that the replacements had arrived and had been augmented into the schedule–meaning Luke and his buddies–the Forward 0.P.s were manned with two Recons instead of just one. Luke felt much better having someone with him.

  “Do you ever think of home?” Luke asked Hardy. They were both manning the Forward O.P. It was a quiet afternoon. “You know, about things that happened back in the world?”

  “”All the time, boot,” he replied. “Why I remember going down to the river fishing as a kid. Don’t remember ever catching much. But the games we’d play, me and old Ricky. He was my best friend. We’d swing on a rope and go flyin’ into the water. Just kids stuff.”

  “Sounds like you two had fun.”

  “You got that shit right! There was nothin’ we didn’t do together.” Luke sensed an immediate sadness saturate Hardy’s voice as he finished the sentence.

  “What’s he doin’ now–your friend Ricky?” Luke asked as he tried to keep the conversation going. The moment Luke’s words were out, Hardy’s face turned pale and lost all expression. Luke couldn’t tell if he should repeat himself or not. He thought maybe something else caused Hardy’s reaction. He decided to ask something else. “Do you and Ricky stay in touch?”

  “Not anymore,” said Hardy, sounding far away and then repeated “Not anymore.”

  “How come?” asked. Luke.

  “Cause he’s dead,” Hardy said quietly as if he was speaking of a stranger.

  “What happened?”

  “Not much really. We signed up on the buddy program. We both made it all the way to Nam together. Our first patrol, he stepped on a land mine and got himself fuckin’ wasted.”

  Luke sat in silence, unsure what to say. Finally he lit two cigarettes and handed one to Hardy. Hardy accepted it and turned away, lost in his own world.

  Over the next few weeks, Luke had several watches with Hardy. He decided he really liked the Texan. Hardy had been in-country over five months already. He acted like he had been there all his life, Luke concluded. Luke smiled as he listened to Hardy speak his constant stream of profanity. Luke found that it rubbed off. With no reason to keep his language clean, he found himself using the words a lot. It amazed him how many times Hardy could use a single word like “fuck” in one sentence.

  One evening while on watch with Hardy, Luke said, “Aren’t you afraid? You always look like you’re in perfect fuckin’ control.”

  “Fuck yes I’m fuckin’ afraid, boot. I’m scared shitless about half the fuckin’ time,” explained Hardy as he dug in his shirt pocket for his cigarettes. “It’s just that some fuckin’ things bother me more than others.” He stared at the horizon a minute, and then turned towards Luke. “Hey, I can’t do anything about the fuckin’ bullet with my fuckin’ name on it. If you know what I fuckin’ mean. But I don’t want the fuckin’ bullet that says ‘occupant’ on it.”

  Luke nodded his understanding. Comfort came from knowing he wasn’t alone in being scared. Luke watched as Hardy lit another cigarette. A blank stare now consumed Hardy’s face as the veteran Marine turned and stared at the horizon. Luke knew him well enough now to know the conversation was over; he was getting used to Hardy’s mood swings. The rest of the watch passed in silence.

  After the noonday meal, the men often passed the afternoon talking, usually in small groups. Luke enjoyed the conversation. Listening as the veterans spoke, Luke and the others learned a lot. Much of it was about their teammates. Lance Corporal Mike Jarvis began talking. He had been in the Corps for just over a year before he made it to Vietnam, Luke found out as he listened.

  “I requested it, man,” said the wiry, twenty year old. First year in the Corps was spent as a gate sentry at the 32nd Street Station, one of the Navy bases in San Diego. What a fuckin’ boring job.”

  “At least it was safe duty,” offered Johan, who was sitting off to the side listening as he worked on writing a letter home.

  “Yeah, so safe it can bore you to death,” said Jarvis. “I kept seeing all these guys heading over here. There’s only so m
uch a guy can take. If you know what I mean. It was like being left out of a party. It eats at you. Finally I put in my request for Nam.” Luke studied him. The smudge on his upper lip was supposed to be a mustache, Luke knew, but in bright sunlight it nearly disappeared. Jarvis still looked like a kid; watching and listening to him now, Luke thought Jarvis looked about fourteen, his baby face showed signs of peach fuzz everywhere, not just his upper lip, everywhere beneath the layers of dirt.

  As Jarvis spoke, Luke decided he sounded much older. “It took twelve chits before my request was approved,” Jarvis lamented.

  “So you really volunteered?” said Johan. “Me too.”

  Hardy sat off to the side listening, just within hearing distance. He lit a cigarette in the lull, but still didn’t speak. Occasionally he looked their way, then stared off into space. In the lull, Luke found himself studying Hardy’s expression; it was blank, nothing showed through. Hearing Jarvis speak again, Luke turned his attention back toward the group.

  “My brother,” Jarvis said with pride showing in his voice, “is also a Marine. He’s stationed at the embassy in Saigon.”

  Luke’s mind wandered as Jarvis continued. He now noticed for the first time Jarvis’s stature. He was the skinniest person Luke thought he had ever met. In truth, Luke decided with a smile, Jarvis was more lanky than skinny. The loose fitting uniform didn’t help either. He was about 5'9," Luke guessed, and weighed 125–maybe– all of it hard muscle. Most of Jarvis’s off hours, Luke knew, were spent studying Playboy magazines, which Luke knew Jarvis had a subscription to. He could talk for hours, Luke had discovered, about the differences between various Playmates. No trivia was too small to escape his observation. Smiling as he remembered, Luke recalled how every time he’d had a late night watch with him, Jarvis would talk the whole time about the women, about their breast size, about their hobbies and any other trivia he’d noted. Luke heard dozens of times that his favorite Playmate was Miss April.

  Occasional sniper fire during the daylight hours, and at night the constant threat of incoming rocket or mortar fire, always happening at the least predictable times, blurred the next few days together. None of the incoming targeted the compound–it was always centered on the airfield nearby, trying to hit one of the million dollar aircraft.

  The old-timers, Luke noticed anxiously, acted as if this routine was no more serious than living in a big city and dodging city buses and worrying about being mugged. Nobody discussed it.

  At first the platoon’s old-timers ignored the green replacements. If Luke spoke to any of them, they simply turned their backs.

  After watching Luke get rebuffed, Knots slowly walked up to him. “Hey, boot,” he said in a tone that wasn’t friendly, just informative. “The old-timers don’t want to get to know a new guy and then have him get wasted–killed. Spoils their day.” Then without another word, he walked off. Luke stood staring, disbelieving. It didn’t take the new men long to learn the rule: if a “cherry” can survive the first few weeks, he might make it. With each new day, Luke found more and more of the true veterans in other teams willing to talk. Unlike the rest of the veterans, Luke found his immediate team members friendly from the start. It made life bearable.

  In spite of the fact that Luke hadn’t gone on any recon missions yet, he was getting a real education on how to survive in a war zone. In some ways it was as he expected, but it was also unlike anything he could have prepared himself for. With each new day came new horrors that had to be dealt with. Death of fellow Marines was commonplace. Each time the Americans left their compound, it seemed to Luke that someone died.

  “Last night,” Johan told Luke as they sat in the chow tent, “the guy who relieved me on the fifty was shot by a sniper while on guard duty. It happened about an hour after my watch, I guess.”

  “Who was it?” Luke was quick to ask.

  “Larry Wilcox.”

  “Shit. Where’d you hear that?” Sweat beaded on Luke’s forehead as he listened.

  “Couple of guys over at the latrine told me. I guess they were on duty at the time.”

  “Makes you wonder doesn’t it. I mean. I only talked with the guy a couple of times. You sure about this?” A shiver ran down his back.

  “Yeah, I’m sure.”

  Luke sat silently as his breakfast of eggs and toast got cold, his hunger gone. Playing with his fork in the runny eggs, he considered his plight; he felt his mood begin to swing. His sorrow for the dead Recon faded as quickly as the wind can die. Finally he smiled a tight lipped smile and said, “I’m glad our team has ‘magic.’” Without speaking, Johan nodded; he didn’t try for a smile. Magic was a new term they had learned recently; it meant that somebody had the ability to stay alive and come back unhurt. Raising his brow nervously as the thought surfaced, Luke hoped that the magic held.

  Luke felt himself changing, withdrawing, slowly accepting the casual attitude toward life, death, and the war itself.

  Never fully asleep, even at night any more, the slightest sound brought Luke to full alert, ready for action. As the weeks passed his mood became rigid. He seldom really smiled or showed emotion, and his face took on the familiar stare common to “salty Marines.” Not even letters from Sheri could garner much interest for him, for then he felt guilty for not responding. But her world was so different. Instead, he tried to lose himself in his job, honing his skills hour after hour when not on duty.

  ****

  “Hey Mad Dogs, shag your asses over to HQ on the double,” said a familiar head that appeared at the entrance to Luke’s hooch. Mad Dogs was the name of the team that Luke and his friends were assigned to. It was the medic assigned to the Recon Company. Luke sat up, looking at the doorway. Before he could speak, someone else asked.

  “What’s up, Doc?” It was Hardy; his voice crackled with excitement.

  “Don’t know,” replied the fellow Recon. “Sikes sent me here with the message. He wants everyone over at HQ on the double. That’s all I know.”

  “All right you guys,” Hardy spoke loudly. “You heard the man. Let’s get moving.” He looked around and saw that all the team was present. Most were grabbing their weapons and heading for the door. Hardy felt his energy surge. They had a mission coming up. He grabbed his weapon and quickly followed his team mates out into the bright sun. He walked in giant strides, excited for the first time in days

  Entering the hot command tent, Luke saw his team leader, Sgt. Sikes, standing up in front of the briefing area. Luke saw a slight smile crease Sikes’s thin lips. Luke got a nervous feeling in his stomach, it gnawed at his backbone. The tension in the room was intense. Glancing around, Luke saw several officers off to the side that he did not know. Luke took his seat and waited expectantly. He held his breath for a long moment, forcing himself to calm down.

  Sikes cleared his throat as if to get himself started and then spoke, “Ok men listen up!” He looked into each man’s face before continuing in a calmer tone. “Captain Swain here is from the Intell Section. He’s going to brief us on our upcoming mission. Listen close.” In expectation everyone stirred briefly in their seats. Excitement shot through the room, and everyone became quite.

  The S2 officer rose quickly from his chair and walked mechanically to the front. Every man’s eyes followed the movement, as if their singular will-power could move him more rapidly to the front so the news would be known. Luke saw the stiff way he walked, like he had a two-by-four nailed to his back, a sure sign he was an Annapolis man.

  With no preamble, Swain began. His voice sounded rough and serious.

  “Men, I can’t tell you how important this mission is,” said the overweight officer as he sat on the edge of the battered folding table. His belt was hidden by the overhang of his middle-age bulge. “We know Charlie has got to be getting supplies through somewhere. We think we know where. If we can plug the hole we can save a lot of lives. Remember, this is a Recon mission. If you confirm the leak HQ will deal with it. I repeat, this is strictly a RECON mission. You
will make no contact with the enemy. If contact is made, you are to break off immediately. Is that understood?”

  All of the men nodded. They sat in silence, knowing the implications of their orders. Chances were high that any VC contingent they encountered would be a much larger force. Continued contact would be suicide, not to mention that it would alert the enemy to their presence and allow the enemy to escape before an air strike could be made. Luke saw the vacant, emotionless stares from the salty Marines. Waldo and Schmidt looked intrigued by the briefing.

  After pausing a moment, the captain began spelling out the rest of the details of their mission that was scheduled for the next morning. As he spoke, Luke looked around fleetingly, too nervous to keep his eyes still, although listening intently to every sound made by the officer.

  Lieutenant Macky sat silently in the back, watching the proceedings while drinking a cup of coffee. Macky saw Luke looking at him and nodded. It made Luke feel good. Turning back to Captain Swain again, Luke felt another rush of excitement as more adrenaline flooded his body with each of the captain’s words as he described the dangerous mission ahead.

  Luke kept glancing at Sikes, wondering what was going on in his mind. Did Sikes feel the same excitement? Luke changed his position for the countless time, shifting one leg down and crossing the other. He noticed that everyone looked exhausted.

  The mission was into North Vietnam. North Vietnam. Luke’s excitement boiled within him; he couldn’t believe it. “Real reconnaissance work. Wow,” he thought to himself almost yelling. He could feel his face flush.

  “You are to be inserted forty-five clicks north of the DMZ over near the Laotian border,” said the officer. “The mission is tagged Operation Rose Wing. You are to watch the junction of two major trails used by the VC. Your objective: to laager–setup a temporary concealed camp–in a good vantage point and observe and report any enemy activity taking place.”