Whatever it was, he wasn’t going to let it bother him. “Fuck em,” he shrugged to himself. He sat at a table off to one side and slowly began to eat his hot breakfast, savoring its flavor and hotness.
It wasn’t long before Schmidt sauntered up to his table and sat next to him. Luke noticed more stares coining from other Marines. “Johan, did I cut myself shaving or something?” Luke said.
“Naw, Eyes, I don’t see anything. Why?”
“I keep getting strange looks from everyone. I thought I must have done something dumb to myself while shaving.”
“You don’t know do you, buddy?” said Schmidt. “Everyone heard about what happened out there. You saved our asses, bro. Everyone heard about your animal sounding growl too.”
“Ah shit. I just did my share like the rest of our team,” replied Luke through a half-full mouth of powdered scrambled eggs. He completely ignored the comment about the growl. “I wasn’t the only one who bagged a gook out there.”
“Yeah, sure, Eyes. We bagged two and you bagged twenty. Real close,” sneered Schmidt, now ignoring his own breakfast. After a moment he took a small drink from his coffee cup and added, “Sikes put you in for a medal.”
“You’re bull shittin’ me. It’s nothing you wouldn’t have done had you been in my place.”
Schmidt turned to face Luke full-on for the first time since they returned from the mission. He almost jumped backwards. It was the constant look in Luke’s eyes and the expression on his face. What Johan saw was beyond words. He’d seen parts of it before, during their early training together. Even then it scared him. Luke’s face now totally embodied whatever it was that earned him his nickname, Eyes. Johan had to turn away. He couldn’t stand up to Luke’s stare. Johan found himself short of breath. The hardness in Luke’s stare could have been chiseled from steel. In the massive, piercing stare was the sinister gaze that has no exact meaning in this world, a gaze radiating as a warning beacon, inviting those who would trespasses against him to die a hideous death. The naive, carefree Californian was gone forever.
“What’s wrong?” said Eyes, as he softened his look as best he could, concerned for his friend.
“Nothing, Eyes. I just flipped out for a moment,” replied Johan as he got himself under control.
“You kind of had me worried for a minute, buddy.” Luke’s tone of genuine concern made Johan relax. All was forgotten. Johan acted as though nothing had happened, though he would never forget the look he had just seen, not if he lived a hundred years. Within minutes their relationship was back to normal. By the time they finished breakfast the chow hall was full. As they left, stares followed them. Both men ignored them.
Everyone called him Eyes from then on. It wasn’t a conscious act by his team members; it just happened. Almost immediately the team accepted his new look as casually as they had the old. Even though he could soften his look while around his friends, Marines not included in his close circle of “brothers,” however, kept their distance; his look told them to beware, and they backed off.
For his actions in saving his team, he was awarded the Silver Star and was given a field promotion to corporal. Eyes became a legend as the story of his valor spread throughout the Corps.
More and more of his team’s successful missions were attributed to Eyes’s efforts. Many of Sikes reports cited that Luke’s bravery and skill were very often the determining factors in the success of the Mad Dog’s mission. He didn’t do anything as profound as before, but his actions–and the deliberate calmness displayed during times of high stress–fueled his spreading reputation. Eyes became the protector of the Recon Team called the Mad Dogs. With each mission, the stories grew–all based on fact. Eyes knew no fear. In heavy stress situations, Eyes’s calmness, lack of emotion and excellent jungle skills, when mixed with his team’s teamwork, ensured the team’s success. With each new mission the old Luke continued to fade until finally while on patrol one day Eyes consumed the last remaining bit of Luke’s body and soul.
****
During the next few months as the rainy season raged, Eyes spent more and more time with his team–not just on the missions they had, but in his off-hours as well. He had twice postponed his R&R, not wanting to leave his team. Because of his reputation, Lt. Macky had allowed it. In truth Macky allowed it because they needed his team; it had succeeded where all others had failed.
Whereas he had always been a loner, he now included his Recon team in his private moments of solitude, passing more and more hours with various team members, talking of women, home and his dreams of the future and the like. The more they talked, the closer Eyes got to each of them. His relationship to them became closer than brother to brother. Each became a part of the whole; and it was their way of coping with the war, of surviving.
What Eyes had heard about the rainy season–the Monsoon Rains, as they were called–didn’t even begin to describe it. He couldn’t remember the last time he had been dry, although it had to be nearly three months now since the rains started. As usual, his entire body was covered with mud. Sometimes three or more days would pass before he even took off his boots. When he did he knew that he would find white wrinkled feet with big red open sores on them. It just went with the territory. On missions they couldn’t wear their poncho liners any more to keep out the rain. Word had come down that Charlie now knew the sound of rain hitting the ponchos. “Wear a poncho and make yourself an easy target. A sure way home in a black bag.” The phrase passed among the Recons with little visible effect on their moral.
The leeches were much worse in the rainy season. They seemed to drop like rain out of trees–any trees–onto the Recons. Without the men knowing it, the parasites could affix themselves to exposed skin and bloat themselves on human blood. A substance the leeches feed into their host’s blood stream prohibited blood clotting and numbed the area. The only sure-fire way to remove them was with flame–a hot cigarette worked best. In heavy rain a cigarette was difficult to light much less keep dry.
Around camp, everything was mud, even if the rain stopped for a time. The sandy soil of only a few months earlier was now red mud. In many cases a river of red mud. It made any activity in camp nearly impossible. It also cut down on the number of missions the team was assigned. It was as if everyone, including the VC, were waiting until spring to continue the war.
The nearly seven months Luke’s team had now been in Nam made them one of the senior teams in-country. During the time Luke had been a member they had not suffered a single casualty. As compared to most Recon teams , Eyes’s team seemed to truly have magic. The truth of the matter was very simple: they all were very skilled and, most importantly, they knew how each other thought. They knew what each other would do in intense situations and they knew what needed to be done to support each other. And they had Eyes as their protector.
It didn’t surprise Eyes one day when he got a DEAR JOHN letter from Sheri. He hadn’t written in over three months. Before that, his letters, when he wrote at all, had been short and devoid of his thoughts and feelings. There was nothing of himself to give. Sheri said she thought it best that they both go their own ways. She had found someone else and she wished him the best. When Luke read the letter, he relinquished the last small bastion of himself to Eyes. He crumpled the letter and threw it in the mud. Now there was nothing in his past to hang on to. Now his purpose was solidified: to survive and help his buddies do the same.
8
THE MONSOON SEASON IN SOUTHEAST ASIA, and the phenomenal deluge of rain it brought, was ending; in reverse proportion came a resumption of the American war effort. The constant gray, overcast sky was giving way to more and more days of sunshine.
Even though the rain slackening meant more dangerous missions for the Mad Dogs, all of the Recons welcomed the warm, dryer weather. The limited number of missions the team had in the rain had been miserable.
Eyes strangely looked forward to the summer heat again; he was tired of burning off leeches that had dropped from wet foliage. He was
past noticing that his body was heavily scared from their vicious wounds.
Missions during the wet season had resulted in at least one or two of the team getting a had case of jungle rot with each outing. Johan seemed most susceptible. Eyes hadn’t noticed until now. He had just finishing toweling off after his shower as Johan stepped from the shower stall buck naked in a patch of sunlight, revealing large patches of red, swollen flesh. Eyes was surprised at how bad Johan’s scars were. Both of Johan’s wrists bore huge scars as did his legs, especially his inner thighs and groin. The scars and inflamed areas were so pronounced that Eyes stopped dressing and stared.
“Shit, Johan. I didn’t know it was that bad.”
“What do you mean?” replied Johan as he finished drying himself.
“I mean the rot. I knew you had it hut I didn’t know it was that bad.”
“You’re too late, bro. I don’t have it anymore. Just a few scars is all. Now that summer’s here, I don’t think I have to worry any more.”
“Just one more benny we get for being over here.”
“You got that right. Say, I’ve been meaning to talk to you.” Johan’s brow wrinkled as he spoke, and his voice had a peculiar edge to it. It made Eyes stop what he was doing and listen. “You seem mighty moody lately,” continued Johan. “Sikes thinks you’re having problems. What gives? I haven’t seen you write a letter in weeks.”
“Nobody to write,” Eyes replied offhandedly. “And if there was what would I say? They don’t want to hear about us killing people– even though that’s what they pay us for. Shit, we’re in our own world over here. You know what I mean. As long as we keep our shit tight, we’ll all make it out okay. That’s what is important, the only thing. See, I don’t have a problem. It’s the rest of the fuckin’ country that has a problem, not me.” They both were quiet for a long moment as Johan finished toweling off. Then he looked at Eyes again.
“What are you planning on doing when you get out?” As he spoke, Johan turned to face Eyes.
“I wish I knew. I imagine I’ll go back to school and let the GI Bill pay for it.” Then Luke paused. “Right now all I’m looking forward to is a good night’s sleep. You know, not having to worry about waking up dead.’’
“‘I hear ya. Well, for me, I’m just glad the rainy season is over. I’m tired of the fuckin’ rot,” said Johan. “See, we do have some things to be thankful for, Eyes.’’ Luke smiled as he nodded, although the smile died long before Johan saw it. Now fully dressed, Luke turned and left without speaking.
****
Nearly a half million Americans were now assigned to units in Vietnam. Bivouac areas around Da Nang that only a couple months earlier didn’t exist, now had thousands of men crammed into them.
Rumors spread madly that a “big push” was coming. Eyes felt it in his bones; the tension mounted daily as information filtered down through channels and mixed with foot soldier’s gossip. Eyes ignored it. But always in the back of his mind the thoughts persisted–something big was about to happen. As a result, everyone was in turmoil; nerves were on edge. Finally, Lt. Macky approached them to set the rumors to rest.
“Okay men, here’s the scoop,” said Lt. Macky to the assembled men. “We’re relocating–all of 1st Force Recon. Pack all of your gear. I don’t know if we’ll ever be coming back here.”
“Where are we going, sir?” asked one of the men.
“You’ll know soon enough,” replied Macky. “All you need to know is that we’re moving. Everyone be ready in one hour at the airfield. Now get humping.” Macky watched for a reaction. With numerous grumbles, the men turned and shuffled off to their hooches.
The Mad Dogs missed the announcement from Macky; they were still in the field. Late in the afternoon, Eyes and his teammates got the news as they stepped off the chopper, having just completed a nine-day mission into Indian-country. Nonetheless, they barely had time to grab their gear and return to the LZ for the move.
Sikes rubbed the course growth of beard on his face, trying to think of a way to comfort his team. In the end they all waited irritatedly for their ride at LZ Barker, wishing instead that they would simply be left alone and be allowed to get clean again. “There will be plenty of time to get cleaned up and dried out after the move,” said Sikes wearily. “Be patient. Just relax.” The look on Hardy’s face best described how the team felt–disgusted. Everyone needed a shave and hot shower–badly.
“I sure hope so,” said Waldo. “My asshole is so raw it’s beginning to turn white. I’ll lose my status as one of the brothers if it spreads.” His attempt at humor was lost on his exhausted comrades.
Johan gave him a weak smile as if to say thanks for trying, but remained silent. Eyes ignored the conversation entirely. He was lost in thought. Jarvis looked as though it was just one more minor setback not worth worrying about. He simply sat off to the side and waited for orders.
The last rain storm of the season had kept the team wet for the past three days. Even thought the weather forecast predicted hot weather starting tomorrow, it didn’t help them now; soggy uniforms hung on their wrinkled thin bodies.
Eyes was particularly uneasy. If the truth was known, he was irritable and in a very bad mood. For the past two full days he had been suffering from a spreading case of crotch rot. He had been looking forward to a shower, hopefully a hot one, every since the first minor itching started three days ago. He hadn’t looked but he knew his entire groin area was swollen and inflamed. Every step he took rubbed raw the swollen skin, making every stride painful, adding to his foul mood. Because there was nothing to do short of a good cleansing, and keeping it dry, he ignored it and did his job. Experience told him it would go away in a few days, after he got cleaned up and put medication on the area. Just getting in out of the rain would do a lot to ease his condition. A dry uniform and clean underwear was something he really looked forward to.
Precisely on schedule the chopper lifted off from LZ Barker with the Mad Dogs on board, heading to their new encampment. Eyes sat with his gear in front of him. He looked briefly at his teammates. He wondered if any of them had the rot, then dismissed the thought as the noise of the chopper became hypnotic.
The team rested fitfully during the flight. Once, shortly after take-off, Eyes peered out the round porthole. He saw nothing that held his attention so he too tried to sleep. The mire sight of groups of helicopters had long since become commonplace and that was all he saw.
To the uninitiated, the sight was spectacular–the sky was full of the CH-46, twin-rotor helicopters, with a few Hueys mixed in as well. They seemed to be going everywhere. Marine Squadron HM 462’s entire complement of twenty-four choppers was in the air. It was obvious to the tired men that more than just 1st Force Recon was involved. They were so exhausted however they paid little attention to the activity. Soon enough they’d be in the thick of it again. They didn’t wish to get involved any sooner than they had to. All they wanted now was to get some hot food, get cleaned-up with dry clothes and be able to rest. It would take days before they would know the depth of the plan that had just begun.
A twenty-five minute flight brought them within sight of their objective: the USS Iwo Jima, LPII-2, an amphibious assault helicopter carrier stationed off the coast in the Gulf of Tonkin. The ship, built in the late ’50s, was designed to carry nearly 2,000 Marines, in addition to its over 600 Navy crew. To the novice it looked like a regular aircraft carrier, with flat deck and all, but it launched no fixed wing aircraft from its ninety-foot high, 983 foot long flight deck–only helos.
Closely surrounding the Iwo Jima was Amphibious Ready Group Alpha, an assortment of four ships carrying all the support material necessary for the Marine battalion based on the carrier.
When Eyes’s team stepped on to the flight deck, they were among the last Marines to arrive. Flight deck activity was intense as they walked across the deck. Eyes could see various groups of sailors rushing around the helos. Men with purple shirts were busy fueling the choppers. Men wi
th yellow shirts were directing the flight activity while standing directly in front of the helos as they took off and landed. Without knowing their jobs, he also noted men with blue, red and green shirts just as he and his team were lead away. It was his first time aboard ship. He was so tired and sore he didn’t care where. He just wanted to be left alone.
They walked forward of the superstructure, heading toward the starboard side of the ship where they were directed to wide stairs– the Navy called them “ladders.” Protective netting hung along side the steep stairs, shielding clumsy personnel from the ninety-foot drop to the ocean below. Eyes noticed none of this as he followed his tired teammates downward into the ship.
The Team went through a single wide door marked READY ROOM. Ammunition and ordnance was quickly taken from them as they moved through the small crowded space.
“It’s all right, Marine,” said a Navy gunner’s mate as he took Waldo’s ordinance. After checking the pins, the man tossed the grenades in a box on the floor by the table. “You’ll get it back when you go ashore. We’ll keep it locked up for you.”
“You got it, man. Next time you can take it ashore and use it. I’ll stay out here,” said Waldo. The gunner’s mate laughed as Waldo handed him the last of his magazines and moved on out of the confining space. Eyes remained silent as he readily handed over his ammunition and moved on into the narrow passage way.
A guide lead them to their bunk area down through a maze of narrow passage ways, deep within the innards of the ship before they found their berthing spaces–real bunks with real mattresses with clean white sheets, with hot showers nearby. Sikes dumped his gear and then disappeared to check them in. When he returned two minutes later, he had good news.
“Okay, guys. Listen up. Get your gear stowed. If we hurry, we’ll just barely have time to make it to chow. Hot food they tell me,” said Sikes trying to muster excitement in the exhausted men. The visual impact was slight. Hardy lazily got off his bunk, and Waldo smiled a tired smile. “Let’s go then,” Sikes said.
By What is Sure to Follow Page 22