A minute later the team was on board, and less than another minute evaporated as the chopper lifted off. The pilot made the customary upward spiral to gain altitude and then headed north, though there was no way for Luke to know the direction based on terrain. Still pitch black, sunrise wouldn’t happen for another two hours.
Excitedly Luke went over in his mind the details of what lay ahead. He hadn’t heard much about this mission, code named Blazing Cricket. Not that he wasn’t interested, his late return from Da Nang caused him to miss the briefing. He did know the assignment was to watch a small hamlet called Cua Tam. Supposedly it was a major supply point for some NVA troops working the area–intell thought maybe a battalion in strength–and a major supply source for patrols going to the south. The Mad Dogs’ job was to confirm the intelligence report. If confirmed, a major operation could then be mounted to wipe them out. Right now, he nervously reminded himself, it was just an intelligence report that needed to be proven one way or the other. Luke nodded his head; he knew they’d know the answer soon enough or be dead. It surprised him how easily the word “dead” was to use now. Emotion was no longer attached to the word; he couldn’t afford it. The emotion he felt increasing with each minute now was excitement. He wanted nothing more than to get his chance to prove himself and kill some Charlie. Kick ass.
Everyone’s gear had been checked and re-checked many times before take off, but that didn’t stop them from rechecking it again now; Luke noticed most of his team mates re-checked their weapons one last time, and then dozed off sitting upright, letting the vibration of the chopper rock them gently as they slept. He followed their example, taking the toothbrush from his left breast pocket and carefully brushing all of the external moving parts on his M-16.
Luke wasn’t as nervous as he’d been on his first mission. He was still scared; it was a strange sort of scared. A certain “high” feeling keyed him up, numbing the reality of the life-or-death situation he was going into. Fear was replaced with a burning desire to kill the enemy. A curious confidence flowed in him, based, he reasoned, on the excellent training he and his team had received. As a team, he felt they could survive just about anything Charlie could hand out. He trusted his team and wanted to be with them when they kicked ass. The war had finally consumed Luke; he was now part of it, wanting nothing more than to be with his buddies as they kicked ass and took names.
When Luke thought about the mission, he thought in terms of the team. He felt comfortable with the mission because of the team. A lot of faith in what his team could do, and what he could do, took the edge off his fear. As he sat in the darkness and thought about it, he couldn’t imagine a mission or assignment that he’d be afraid to tackle with them. It was a great feeling; it made him feel good inside.
Luke looked across to Sikes. Luke smiled; he looked up to Sgt. Sikes like an older brother, one he’d never had. The thought occurred to Luke, as he sat amid the loud noises of the vibrating chopper, that not only was Sikes a great leader, but Luke respected him more than any other man he knew.
“One hell of a Recon Marine,” Luke spoke out loud to himself, looking at Sikes seated to his left as he spoke. “I hope I can measure up when the time comes.” Sikes was sleeping and didn’t hear the words.
Luke smiled again as he remembered a discussion he’d had with Sikes. Until they had talked, Luke didn’t even know Sikes’s first name: Gerald, Jerry. He was born and raised in Provo, Utah. His father owned the Roto-Rooter franchise. As a result, he had told Luke dryly one night during stand-down, “I have a lot of experience dealing with shit. The only difference is that over here I use a rifle to blow the shit away. Back Stateside I used a plunger or the rotor machine. It’s always the same: little brown pieces of shit that need to be put in their proper place.” He was about half drunk at the time. “See what I mean? Even if I make it out of here alive, I’ve still got shit to deal with.” Luke smiled as he remembered the conversation.
A change in the sound of the chopper’s engines interrupted Luke’s reflections; the whoop, whoop sound now gained a deeper resonance. The whine of the turbine engine also got louder. With the sound change, Sgt. Sikes turned and taped Luke on the shoulder, motioning him to get ready. It was still nearly pitch-black as the chopper, moving at tree top level, turned abruptly to the left and dropped down into a small, deep ravine.
Following the gorge northward at a slower pace, Luke noticed they were very close to the ground. If there was a large tree up ahead, Luke knew the chopper would crash–they were that low.
Toward the east Luke saw the tell-tell reddish glow of the coming dawn etched on the blue-gray clouds hanging on the horizon. Daylight will break loose real soon, he thought as he moved his tongue around inside his mouth; it was dry. Nerves, he told himself as though thinking it would make them go away. He closed his eyes, and he sat waiting tensely, listening as the pilot decreased speed further to make the chopper quieter as it closed the distance to their destination.
“We must be getting close to the LZ,” Luke whispered to himself as he nervously fidgeted with his rifle, checking it one last time. Nervously he kept switching it from automatic to single fire and back again. Nobody noticed his actions. If he fired on auto, he could empty the magazine in short order. Even though a magazine could hold twenty rounds, Sikes had told him to only put 18 in it. “That way,” Sikes had said, “the spring in it won’t weaken, causing it to jam when the magazine gets near empty.” Luke smiled as he looked down at the weapon in his hands. He remembered nodding to Sikes and how he had immediately removed two shells from all of his magazines.
Luke stopped playing with his weapon and looked out at the blurred shadows moving beneath him.
“Only a crazy person would fly this low in enemy territory after the sun comes up,” he heard someone say loudly. No one replied.
Luke had heard the stories of how the VC would shoot down choppers faster than they could be replaced. He assumed that they were the truth. His stomach tightened at the thought.
Sitting in the vibrating machine, he looked at the greased faces of his team mates and thought how strange they looked. In the semi- darkness they looked more like they were made up to go out Halloweening than a serious recon mission. His Sergeant’s face wasn’t just painted, Luke thought as he stared at the man next to him, it was a true masterpiece. Luke squinted as he tried in vain to see the man behind the paint; he couldn’t. If he didn’t know him, Luke guessed, he’d be scared to death just looking at him. Around his eyes Sikes had jagged markings and his cheeks bore sharp angular lines that accented his jutting jaw. African Zulus couldn’t have been more formidable looking, Luke concluded. To a lesser degree everyone’s face was scary. Luke thought about the night the “old salts” created his face. It was two weeks after he joined the outfit.
“Now is as good a time as any, “ Sikes had extolled to the group with a grin. Next he took a long chug of his second beer. Everyone in the Platoon had gotten a special beer ration of four beers that day. Nobody knew exactly why all of the sudden beer was available, but gladly took the beer and disappeared with it. Gladly the Mad Dogs took their quota back to their hooch and immediately started drinking.
“Not hardly,” said Waldo in rapid response. He wasn’t sure he wanted half drunk Marines painting on his face.
“What do you mean?” replied Sikes moments after he drained his second beer.
“I mean candle light, come on. It you’re goin’ to do it. At least wait for the lights to come back on.” Lately the generator had been going out a lot. The routine barely changed when the lights dimmed out. Whoever was closest to the box of candles s imply lit a couple of them. No big deal.
“Shit, by that time we’ll be out of beer. No way, Jose.”
“Well, at least light another candle or two,” said Johan.
“Now here’s what we do,” chimed in Hardy as he smashed his empty Carling Black Label beer can with one hand for emphasis. “We’ll light two more candles for starters. Then we�
�ll start in on these last two six packs. While we work on them we’ll work on you.”
“Well, okay,” said Luke. “Make me last.”
“Bull shit. You’re first. I’ve been lookin’ forward to this, mothafuckers. With those eyes of yours we’ve got to do something special. I don’t care if the purpose of painting faces is to make us camouflaged. In your case we’ll make an exception.”
“You got that right,” said Jarvis as he slapped Hardy on the shoulder for emphasis. He was beginning to feel the effects of the alcohol. “Put those two candles you’re lighting on top of that crate right here. Ok. Now, Eyes, have a seat.”
“I’m first,” said Sikes as he picked up a small stick of Burnt Sienna, a dark red-brown color, and began drawing around Luke’s eyes. “Okay who’s next?” said Sikes as he backed away.
“That’s me,” said Hardy slowly as he rolled off his cot. As the others watched, Hardy took the dark green stick and highlighted around Luke’s eyes, starting just below both eye brows and extending to the outer corner of each eye. “Now those are ‘Devil Eyes.’ Who’s next on him?”
Jarvis took the black stick of grease and quickly drew wide, jagged lines down both cheeks. Then he finished off by adding brown patches.
Hardy took another turn. He used the light green stick and blended the dark green and red-brown together. With a grunt of approval, Hardy turned Luke into the light. What all the men saw sent shivers through them. Jarvis reacted physically; he sucked in air through his open mouth. The sound added the final touch. Eyes had been borne. Surprised by their handy work, all the men. sat staring. Even Hardy and Sikes were struck by what they saw.
“Enough’s, enough,” said Luke, feeling self-conscious as everyone stared silently at him. “I guess you like what you’ve done,” he said jokingly. Without speaking Jarvis handed Luke a small hand mirror. Luke held it up to his face, The dancing shadows of the flickering candle light added strangely to what he saw. Staring hard into the mirror, his friendly smile slowly faded, as if it were evaporating into thin, stuffy air, never to be seen again. He didn’t recognize himself. Nervous tension filled the air as everyone watched. Luke didn’t move.
It was Sikes who finally spoke, “Ok, let’s do Waldo next.”
Mechanically, both Waldo and Johan’s faces were painted as everyone finished off their last beer. The humor was gone. It wasn’t fun any longer and everyone knew the reason. They couldn’t shake it from their minds. Luke’s painted face went to the same place in all of them: their primal mind, the place where unbound fears reside, where truths are known without being spoken, where death is always a shredding, hideous moment waiting just over one’s left shoulder. It took no more than three minutes for the salty Recons to design a gruesome look for both Johan and Waldo. Waldo’s was easier–no black was needed. Tan and two shades of green combined to make him look like a zombie. While it was being done, no one looked at Luke. Noticing his friends’ reaction, Luke made an excuse to be by himself, saying he had to go to the latrine. Stopping briefly at his cot on his way out, he headed to the shower area. In the strong light he found there, Luke took out his small mirror and raised it to his face. Somehow he knew this face. He studied it in minute detail then carefully put his mirror away and went and sat on a bench nearby. It was fifteen minutes later that he stood up and walked over to the long sink. Someone had left soap there. He turned on the water, lathered his hands quickly and washed the grease paint away. Just as he finished, Johan and Hardy entered the area. Both had towels and soap with them. Johan offered Luke his towel and Luke dried himself. “Thanks. I forgot mine.”
“No problem, Eyes,” replied Johan.
He replayed that memory many times and each time felt unsettled at its conclusion. This time was no different.
The canyon the chopper followed became narrower now, maybe jungle, Luke thought. Occasionally an outcropping of rocks could be seen jutting out from the dense foliage. The triple canopy of vegetation below gave Luke a false impression of the height they were flying. Trees reached nearly a hundred feet high, like a rolling sea beneath them, and the tops were so thick that when daylight came it would find it difficult to penetrate.
The chopper turned eastward in a sweeping motion, still following the canyon. Luke noticed Sikes’s precise moves, preparing for the quick action that was sure to follow their insertion. Luke felt mentally prepared. He felt certain their destination must be close by. No sooner had he made the guess than Sikes turned around and yelled to everyone “Get ready. We’re goin’ in.”
Luke’s skin tingled, and he felt slightly light-headed momentarily as his senses adjusted to the stimulus. Nervous energy caused him to bounce his right knee rapidly as he waited for the word to go. Things began to happen fast.
Abruptly the chopper came to an sudden stop in mid air. Moving quickly, the crew chief stepped out on the landing skid in one smooth motion, placing his foot on the cross strut. He tossed the familiar nylon rope into the air. The end immediately disappeared beneath the canopy into the darkness below. Luke got the nod from Sikes and was first man out of the bird, sliding rapidly down the rope, disappearing into the trees. In fast succession all five of the remaining men headed for the ground, with Sikes being last. As he exited, he offered a salute to the crew chief as he followed his team downward. No sooner had Sikes stood up after reaching the jungle floor than he heard the deep throaty sound of the Huey leaving the area. The whipping sound of the rope lashing the trees was the last sound heard from the departing chopper. Everyone had made it okay.
After the long ride in the noisy helo, the silence of the jungle was a shock to their senses. Luke looked around. He tried to shake the ringing sound from his ears; he knew only time would remove it. No one talked. They knew what had to be done and they did it. Each man pulled back the lever on his weapon, putting a round in the chamber. Each checked his gear, straightened his pack and knelt down on one knee. They waited for Sikes’s signal.
The jungle around them was not as dense as it had looked from above. The thick canopy blocked enough sunlight that bushes at ground level were scattered. In view was a trail of some sort, probably made by deer or the like, Luke judged. They were positioned off to the side of the canyon floor on a slight slope. Easy going really with brush chest high. and in clumps. It wouldn’t be difficult to move around the denser spots, he told himself. As soon as their gear was checked, including the radio, they started moving at a fairly fast pace, rifles at the ready. They needed to put as much distance between themselves and where the chopper inserted them as fast as possible. Just in case Mr. Charlie had seen or heard the chopper.
Sikes decided to have them follow the trail for a while. It was a tradeoff. Using it meant they would take the chance of booby traps. Checking the trail for these slowed them down.
Sikes had Hardy take point. Hardy enjoyed being point man. He actually enjoyed everything about being a Recon Marine, Luke noticed. Everyone respected Hardy, and feared him too. Hardy didn’t let most people see through the gruff exterior.
“He has come through a lot,” Sikes had told Luke about Hardy when he first arrived, “and survived. Make note of it. You can learn a lot from him.” One of the first things Luke had noticed was that Hardy was afraid just like he was. Somehow he felt comforted knowing that. He also saw that being afraid didn’t hinder Hardy’s performance.
Several valleys needed to be crossed, including several large streams, before they got to the village. He reckoned it would take the better part of the day to reach their objective. The temperature was climbing; already hot and humid enough to make everyone miserable, it was going to get hotter. They reached the first major stream, almost a river, shortly before noon. Traversing it would be dangerous; it would expose them. While the team rested, concealed behind some dense bushes, Hardy disappeared, reconnoitering the best crossing.
“Hell, you guys. You waiting for the fuckin’ ground to get flat,” spoke Hardy as he appeared from nowhere. Johan jerked around, trying t
o locate the voice, as he grabbed for his weapon. Hardy was smiling, standing at the edge of the dense growth directly behind them. He had caught the cherries off guard.
“Right here’s as good a fuckin’ place as any, Sarge,” Hardy offered in his strong Texas drawl. He approached the group as he spoke. As usual he was wearing his Marine issue tank top T shirt instead of the regulation Marine “blouse.” He had a hard time fitting his arms in normal shirts. Since childhood he had been ‘into weight lifting and his arms and shoulders were enormous. Sikes cut him slack when he could.
Luke liked Hardy. Hardy was a straight shooter; he called a spade a spade. And he took shit from no one. Hardy grew up in Waco, Texas, he had told Luke during one of their all night watches together back at the compound. The son of an oil refinery worker, his parents had gotten divorced when he was twelve and that was when he got into weights. He dropped out of high school when he was almost seventeen and lived with his mother until he joined the Marines on his eighteenth birthday.
“Okay, sounds good,” spoke Sikes in hushed tones. “Hardy, you first. Check out the other side, then the rest of us will follow.”
Several minutes later, upon seeing Hardy’s all clear sign from the other side, Sikes quietly commanded, “Let’s move out. Single file it across this sewer. Keep separated, don’t bunch up, and don’t hang out on the far bank. Go a few yards farther into the bush.” Everyone nodded and rose to wait their turn to wade out into the flowing water. The stream was just over thirty feet wide where they chose to cross.
Even though the day was getting hotter by the minute, wading through the arm pit deep water put a chill in all of them. As the last man stepped from the water on the far bank, Sikes had the team up and moving back into the jungle, following the narrow, winding trail northward through an area of dense vegetation.
Within minutes the hot, humid temperature dried their uniforms, leaving only large, wet patches of perspiration showing.
By What is Sure to Follow Page 19