The pilot was nervous about hanging around any longer than he had to, Luke guessed frantically as blood drained from his hands The aircraft’s speed increased quickly, causing Luke’s eyes to water heavily; strangely, he could feel the sensation of the tear drops running down his neck equally as much as he could feel the pressure on his arms. As the pilot made his customary circling to gain altitude, the entire team was left dangling beneath the accelerating chopper. The rope angled steeply outward as the chopper circled. Luke’s feet were in thin air, now hundreds of feet above the triple canopied jungle. The only thing between him and certain death was the rope he now had hooked near his right elbow.
Somehow, as the chopper’s speed increased, Luke managed to get his right leg hooked through the rope ladder above his head. It took all of his strength. After that it was a straight forward task, although brutally and physically demanding, to work up the thirty- foot distance to his team mates. Straining against the intense momentum, each rung he climbed took its toll. Finally, with the help of the others, he was inside the chopper. The crew chief quickly hauled in the rope as the accelerating chopper streaked across the hazy afternoon sky, taking them home.
Luke felt like he had just gone through hell. While he had been climbing the last few feet, the chopper cruised at over a hundred miles an hour. It took Luke nearly five minutes to make it inside the aircraft; it felt like forever.
Just before dark, the chopper deposited them at Firebase Barker. The team slept the whole trip. Luke didn’t bother going to evening chow; he went to their hooch, lay down on his cot, covered himself with his poncho liner and slept.
7
LUKE WOKE ABRUPTLY, GRABBED HIS RIFLE AND LAY SILENT, waiting for whatever it was that had woken him to make itself known. He felt it again, just slightly. The earth rumbled beneath his cot.
Dirt fell quietly from the rafters, not a lot just enough to form a fine dust cloud throughout the dimly lit quarters.
“It must be the middle of the night,” Luke mumbled as he leaned hard on one elbow and looked around. There it was again; the rumbling; it continued, longer this time. Fine dust quickly became a veil in front of the small overhead night-light. It looked like a rolling fog consuming the hooch. Luke rubbed his eyes and gazed around.
“Must be an earthquake,” he thought to himself, wanting nothing more than to go back to sleep. “If it is,” he whispered aloud to no one in particular as he released his grip on his weapon, leaning it back against the wall, “it’s not a big one. I’ve felt ones bigger than this back in San Diego.” He was alert enough now to realize that he was too wide awake to go back to sleep. Now he was pissed.
He sat up. Looking around, he saw the rest of his team still asleep. “Damn, I wish I didn’t wake up,” Luke thought as he noticed the dim light reflecting off his watch. It was 0540. “Shit, I might as well get up.” He was irritated that he alone had been awakened.
In spite of his rude awakening, he felt rested. Grabbing his weapon again, he crawled out into the humid morning air, still fully dressed from the day before. His senses were long past noticing that he smelled of sweat and grime as he headed to the mess area. Dirt and sweat was now a way of life. His senses were long past detecting his own or anybody else’s body odor.
He walked slowly, working the stiffness from his joints, heading directly to the coffee container. Mechanically he released the hot liquid into his tin cup. Holding the cup in both hands, he sat in the dirt; he looked as though he was praying. Except for two men off to the side, the mess area was deserted. They took no notice of his ritual, one he had been repeating every morning when in camp. The sound of a small generator, coming from the far side of the compound, went unnoticed as he held the world at bay. After a few moments, he began to feel the coffee’s warmth pulse up his arms. It felt good. He leaned back against a crate. He sat in silence, enjoying his first sips.
Setting the cup on crate next to him, he dug into his shirt pocket and found his C-ration four pack of cigarettes. Camels. Two left. Lately he hadn’t smoked much. Out in the bush he couldn’t smoke, the smell would alert Charlie. Whenever in camp, he looked forward to his morning smoke. Mechanically he lit a cigarette, inhaled, and grabbed the coffee cup in both hands again as he held the cigarette with his lips. It was a great feeling, sipping his coffee and having a cigarette in the peace and quiet at sunrise. It was a private time. A time to reflect on things.
Luke contemplated the mission he had just finished. Absentmindedly, he ran his separated fingers through his blond, wavy hair, long enough now to almost look civilian again. Several snarls gave way. He paid no attention; his mind focused instead on the recent mission. His first thought was he didn’t have anything to judge the mission against. What had they really accomplished? They didn’t stop the munitions shipment. For the most part they didn’t even see anything else. He pondered the unanswered questions as he slowly drank the strong, bitter coffee. We didn’t even kill the enemy, did we? Aren’t we supposed to kill the VC whenever possible? Couldn’t we have stopped the ammo shipment? All of these concerns flooded into his mind at once, all demanding an answer–and he had none.
“No wonder the earthquake woke me and no one else,” he thought out loud, still unsure of his small role in the war. It showed on his face as he sat in the near darkness, but there was no one to notice. He restlessly drank the remainder of the strong coffee, smoked the last of his cigarette and absentmindedly watched a fellow Recon walk toward the latrine. He knew it would all work itself out in the end. His problems always did.
Another Recon approached. Luke recognized him as a man from another team, Snow White. After he got a cup of coffee, he sat near Luke.
“Morning,” said the tired looking Recon. “You feel the air strike, too?”
“Ah, that’s what it was? I felt the ground move,” Luke replied. He rose and got himself another cup of the steaming liquid and then returned. “Thought it might have been an earthquake.” Luke’s words echoed from inside the coffee cup, now held closely to his lips. “An air strike, huh? I’ve never felt one before. Haven’t seen one either. You sure that’s what it was?”
“Yeah. You feel them all the time here. It was a B-52 strike up north. Nighttime you can see the red glow sometimes–even at this distance. I’ve seen them twenty to thirty miles off. When they start dropping those 1,000 pounders, or whatever they are, it makes a real mess. Their pattern is several miles wide and I don’t know how long. After a B-52 squadron scorches a path, it’s totally wiped out everything and everyone, even the trees. Sure makes a lot of good gooks. Twice I’ve done Recon in areas just hours after a bomb run. Fuckin’ loss. Everything wasted.”
The Recon spoke with the same excitement the other Marines displayed earlier, Luke noted. It was as if it were a rehash of a winning Saturday night football game back in high school. Luke quietly studied the Recon in front of him for perhaps a minute. What’s with this getting excited about killing people, he thought angrily?
Silently Luke slowly drank the last of his coffee. “Glad I missed it,” he said as he got up, throwing the dregs of his coffee to the side as he headed to the latrine.
One aspect Luke liked most about his daily routine was the constant training. Rather than just sitting around getting soft, as he saw the grunts doing, Lieutenant Macky had the Recons out exercising constantly. Usually he double-timed them in full packs to some rear area, often south of the new Army encampment. Once there, he spent hours challenging their skills and abilities. Luke lived for these times, always wanting more.
Standing in the hot sun, using his weapon as a weight for the exercise session, which had now lasted over two hours, Luke strained his muscles to hold the rifle out in front of himself. Sweat poured from his body. A huge smile covered his face. Instead of counting by the numbers the various positions in an exercise, the word “kill” replaced them. Luke tried to be the loudest and fiercest as he yelled. “KILL!” Waldo was doing a good job of competing. A grin also covered his face. At
a distance all that could be heard was the thundering single word “kill” being yelled savagely by the forty- four men; it worked very effectively to set the tone of training. Luke liked the mood set in him and began considering the chanting of the word “kill” as his mantra, a concept he learned in one of his girl crowded college classes. He felt the word helped him focus his energy. It made him feel strong, invincible.
Hand-to-hand combat sessions went through the full gambit as well. Daily everyone practiced close in killing techniques; they rehearsed overcoming the enemy through camouflage; they practiced overcoming the enemy when out numbered. Ambush and recon skills were honed finer and finer each day. The latest techniques and devises used by Charlie were carefully explained and combative maneuvers detailed. Daily the men’s confidence grew.
Every training session was used to fuel their hatred toward the enemy. Luke’s entire team solidified their loathing of the Vietnamese enemy. Stories of atrocities against Americans and civilians were constantly used to anger the Recons. Each day Luke felt more agitated. The other Recons reacted the same way. After these sessions, Luke found himself keyed up, wanting nothing more than the chance to “kill a few Charlie.” To calm down afterward took hours. Over the weeks of indoctrination, all of the Recons’ mental states became more and more agitated; thoughts of killing became the norm, not just killing but destroying the enemy, physically tearing him limb from limb.
The hardships of Vietnam had become routine. Long ago Luke lost the fleshy, healthy look common to all recruits; almost twenty pounds had been shed since his arrival in Vietnam. He was muscle, sinew and leathery skin. It had happened so gradually he hadn’t noticed the change. If he had cared to observe, which he didn’t, he would have seen that Waldo and Johan had both made the transition along with him.
At night as others wrote letters, Luke used his time to perfect the edge of his knife, using the small stone that fit in his knife case.
“Hey, bro,” said Waldo as he looked across the cramped space. “Ain’t that thing sharp enough?”
“Naw. I practiced throwing it again today. Got it pretty dull. It takes a lot to get the edge back.”
Waldo nodded. “I don’t see why you keep practicing so much, bro. You’re already the best knife thrower in the unit.”
“That’s because I keep practicing,” Luke said with a laugh. Waldo grinned and then went back to his writing. Both of his friends knew better than to ask why he wasn’t writing more letters; he got upset when they mentioned it. Writing letters troubled him–made him think about the events happening in that other world.
Twenty minutes later Eyes smiled to himself. Carefully he tested the blade. Easily it shaved hair off his arm. Smiling, he put the knife away.
All of the Vietnamese-fluent Americans went to special training sessions down in Da Nang every few weeks. Luke attended these. A continuation of the language training he had received at Camp Pendleton, intended to keep his ear tuned, he also learned new Vietnamese phrases currently being used on the radio. Some of these were in regional dialects. Luke had a good ear for languages, and this training came easy for him.
A three-day absence from the bush was enough. As Luke rode the chopper back to Firebase Barker, he felt relieved to be leaving the congestion of Da Nang, What he really wanted was to be reunited with his team. It was late in the day by the time the chopper dropped him off. Within seconds of entering the hooch, Luke heard the news: the Mad Dogs had another mission. Squinting in the dim light, Luke saw his comrades readying for another trek into Indian- country. It had been almost a month since their last.
“About fuckin’ time,” Luke howled, as he gazed around the cramped space and saw smiles on all his friend’s faces.
“Thought you’d feel that way,” said Sikes. “”Get your gear together. Everyone else is ready, except you.”
“This time,” Luke heard Sikes say, “We are to watch a small village in the north-central highlands–north of the DMZ a considerable distance. It is the furthest we’ve ever been north. The village is a suspected major northern debarkation point for enemy patrols heading south, at least according to the latest intell. We leave tomorrow morning before first light.”
“Hot shit,” said Luke. He felt great. The news was just what he needed. “You ready, Johan?”
“You bet your sweet ass I am. I was born ready,” said Schmidt. A huge smile covered his face.
“C’mon,” said Luke as he felt the excitement consume him. Then in a rush of movement, he began knocking knuckles with Waldo, doing their brother routine. “Let’s kick ass this time.”
“You got that right, bro,” snapped Waldo. Luke could see the fire in Waldo’s eyes.
Minutes after Luke’s arrival, the rest of his team began winding down as they prepared to turn in for the night. Ten minutes later everyone except Luke was asleep.
He ignored their sleeping and prepared for the mission. His smooth deliberate moves looked as though he’d been doing it for years, which kind of surprised him. He didn’t feel as nervous or fidgety this time, he reflected, at least not in a scared way. He was, however, pumped-up over the opportunity to kill VC. It was late when he finished his preparations. Within moments of lying on his cot, Luke was asleep in his customary dreamless sleep.
What seemed like moments later, Luke felt Sgt. Sikes bumping him. “Sims, wake up. Time to go to chow. The chopper will be here shortly.”
“Right, Sarge,” he replied as he sat up, instantly awake. His boots mechanically slid on his feet and were laced up.
Emerging from the cramped hooch, toting his weapon and rucksack with him, Luke realized it was a pitch-black night. Nothing was visible to his sleepy eyes. He stumbled slightly several times making his way clear of the front of the shelter. Standing in the darkened shadow on the protected side of the hooch, he managed to unzip his fly and relieve himself. His eyes adjusted to the night and his mental processes began to focus. He wasn’t in a very nice mood. Slowly he made his way to the mess tent.
Sitting as far from anyone as possible, fearful they might intrude on his silence; Luke drank his coffee very slowly. As its warmth penetrated his being, his world slowly awakened like a flower turning toward the rising sun. He was ready. He was ready to kick ass.
Several of Luke’s team stood in the short chow line. Luke joined them. “Powered eggs and limp bacon, as usual,” someone said.
“At least it’s hot,” said someone else. The biscuits were from the day before and flown in from Da Nang. Little talk occurred as the team ate.
“It’s time to rock and roll!” said Luke thunderously as he gulped down the last of his coffee and stood to leave. He stood erect and threw out his chest. Everyone in the small space turned to look at him.
“Fuckin’ A,” said Jarvis. Howls erupted from the rest of his team mates.
Quieting down, everyone grabbed their gear and headed toward the exit. Excitement showed in their movements; it was etched in their faces as they left the well-lit room, returning to the darkness outside.
“What are we goin’ to do?” Luke bellowed once everyone began walking toward the LZ, leading the men in a familiar chant.
“Kill” echoed throughout the camp. The thunderous reply told Luke the rest of his team was as fired up as he felt. Luke smiled.
“What are we goin to do?” Luke repeated, this time with increased intensity.
“Kill those fuckin’ gooks,” came the harsh reply. The chant continued as they walked toward the helo pad at the north end of the compound. They didn’t care who they woke up. The Recons were no longer concerned with being quiet in the morning as their compound was now in the center of the huge American community.
Nonetheless, Sikes quieted them down as they neared the helo pad. Up close he looked in each man’s face. He saw courage and fear, but mostly he saw determination. Strangely, it made him feel close to them. He checked each of them over, moving from one man to another, making sure they hadn’t forgotten part of their gear. He nodded h
is approval of their readiness. Each man had the proper number of grenades attached to his harness, ammo pouches slung around his neck and over his shoulder, and other necessary items. The inspection finished, each of the men sat in the darkness on empty pallets scattered nearby. Satisfied, Sikes took a seat on an adjoining pallet. No one spoke; each was mentally preparing himself for the job ahead.
Sikes looked at the dark outline of the men in front of him. It was too dark to make out faces. He thought briefly about how the recent training had gone. “I think we’re ready,” he murmured. “Everyone’s working real well together. If they just do as they’ve been trained, everyone should do just fine.” Sikes knew that was bullshit. In the back of his mind, he knew the uncertainties that lay ahead. If they walked into an ambush or if they missed seeing a single trip wire, everything could change to shit in seconds. He tensed as the thought surfaced. Knowing that if he continued to worry about it, it would take his “edge” away, he pushed it from his mind. It was then that he faintly heard the sound of a chopper.
The muffled whoop, whoop, whoop of the approaching chopper caused Luke to cock his head, listening. It was coming in fast and low from the south. Luke looked for it, staring hard into the darkness. Nothing. From the intense sound, slashing through the still darkness and obliterating any thoughts the Recons might have had, Luke knew it must be almost on them. A moment later a dark blur became the chopper and without delay it sat down in the clearing. It had no running lights. And didn’t even turn on landing lights for the touchdown. This amazed Luke. As Luke and his team approached the roaring aircraft, Luke thought with wonderment, “The pilot made the landing as though it was a normal daylight landing.” Many things about Vietnam were still new to Luke.
By What is Sure to Follow Page 18