Almost an hour later Eyes again heard a noise behind them. This time he was sure he heard more than one person. Even though they felt exhausted, with his signal to speed it up, the team sped up its pace on into the late afternoon. Survival was at stake; everyone knew the rules; run or die.
The long hours of running on the flight deck was paying off–none of them was unable to keep up the pace. Their breathing was heavy, and all of them had shed pounds of fluid, but on they ran. Occasionally one of them stumbled and then he picked himself up and continued on. Their uniforms became shredded as they ran, especially their pant legs and sleeves, caused by the thickets of thorn bushes they pushed their way through Just before darkness set in they came to a break in the ridge line. There was a sheer, 150-foot cliff off to their right. Sikes decided without talk for them to escape down the cliff face.
“Hardy, you and Waldo go first. Anchor yourselves to the cliff face forty feet or so down. We’ll follow you. Use your net hammocks for support. Got it?”
“Fuckin’ A,” replied Hardy softly. “It’s Howdy Doody Time.” Waldo simply nodded his head.
The Recons quickly followed orders and repelled down the sheer cliff and anchored themselves to the face of the precipice in rapid fashion. The ropes were then released from above and placed in their hammocks, to be used in the morning to repel down the rest of the cliff face. A moonless night had consumed the valley, erasing their presence from the landscape. They were settled in, suspended comfortably on the face of the rocky crag.
During the night they heard several patrols hurriedly traverse the area above them. Their pace seemed frantic. As dawn approached, the Recons could see why. Down below was a cleared road–a major route. It showed signs of being heavily trafficked. Knowing now they couldn’t move until nightfall, the team spent its time surveying the view. Other than the road, nothing caught their eye.
Nearly an hour after sunrise, as the Recons continued to slumber, a truck came into view, approaching from the north. A quick glance with binoculars showed more. It was the lead vehicle of a large convoy of North Vietnamese trucks, all heavily loaded with war supplies. The convoy was proceeding south, traveling slowly. It would pass almost directly beneath them in less than ten to fifteen minutes. The team knew the score. If the camouflage netting of their hammocks and uniforms didn’t work, they were in trouble. A casual glance from any one of the truck drivers or guards might give them away. Realizing how serious a predicament they were in, at first no one spoke. Then it was decision time.
“Well? What’ll we do, fellahs?” asked Sikes. “Just sit here?”
It was Hardy who answered. “Where else we goin’, Sarge?”
“You got a point.”
“Just hope our camouflage really works like it’s supposed to,” added Jarvis.
“Fuck ’em. Let’s call it in,” said Hardy as he cut off Jarvis’s reply. “I feel lucky today.”
Eyes remained silent, still watching the approaching trucks. Then he lowered his binoculars and turned toward Sikes. Slowly he nodded to Sikes who was watching closely for his reaction. “Yeah. Call it in,” said Eyes calmly.
After weighing the situation carefully for himself, Sikes nodded. He decided to call in an air strike on the advancing column of trucks. “Jarvis. Hand me the handset.”
“Oh shit,” said Jarvis as he complied. Sikes looked up with a weak smile. Jarvis nodded his understanding. What choice did they have? Jarvis dangled the radio handset directly beneath his hammock to Sikes’s waiting hand. Double checking the coordinates on his map, Sikes pressed the transmit button on his handset. Everyone knew that Charlie might get a fix on their position and they would be sitting ducks.
“Hen House this is Rooster One over.” For the longest time there was no answer. The men tensed as they waited for Sikes to show that he had been heard, knowing that it was doubtful that their transmission was being received; the cliff face was between them and their receiving station. Then came the faint response. Sikes listened, nodding to let his men know he had gotten through.
“This is Hen House. We just barely read you Rooster One. Over,” came the weak reply. Obviously the cliff affected the transmission but didn’t kill it. Everyone relaxed visibly. Continuing the transmission, Sikes relayed the coordinates of the convoy and its direction and signed off. Jarvis pulled the handset back up and put it away.
“All we can do now is wait,” said Sikes with a thin smile. “Either an air strike will occur or not. We’ve done our job.”
“If a fuckin’ strike nails ’em,” Hardy offered his tired friends, “we’ve got out-fuckin’-standing seats for it. You fuckin’ realize that?” He spoke to no one in particular. And no one looked pleased at the prospect.
Sikes had also notified Hen House the mission was shortened by four days. That told HQ to schedule a pick up in two days.
Waldo thought he heard something. He cocked his head and listened. Six or eight minutes had elapsed since they had sent their message. Faintly the sound of jets could be heard. “Listen everyone. Hear that?” Waldo said. “That’s jets coming.” Everyone listened then nodded. Smiles erupted on their faces.
Two minutes later it began. Four huge Phantom jets began their attack. The lead jet screamed down through the small, narrow valley as the Recons watched spell bound. It was coming in from the south. It fired a rocket at the lead truck within plain view of the Mad Dogs, causing it to burst into flames and block the road just south of their position. Jarvis plugged his ears. A big smile covered Hardy’s leathery face as the shock wave from the first explosion buffeted their position. It was like shooting clay pigeons. The wing of carrier- based jets made repeated dives down into the steeply formed valley, missing the tree tops by only feet, as they strafed and bombed the convoy, often almost within touching distance of the watching Recons. The trucks offered no resistance except to try to hide beneath trees where possible. The noise of the jet attack was deafening, but the Marines plugged their ears and watched the Navy fly boys do their thing. Dirt filtered down the rock face as the shock waves of the bombs continually blasted the area.
As quickly as it had begun, the show was over and the jets disappeared. Burning debris and towering plumes of black smoke spiraled into the clear morning sky; nothing recognizable or usable remained on the road.
Quietly the team endured in their hammocks until nightfall. Then in hushed tones they decided it was safe to head toward their rendezvous. Expertly they repelled slowly to the ground.
Working their way through the tree line at the base of the rocky cliff was difficult and noisy. Loose rocks were everywhere. Waldo emerged from the thick growth leading the way for the team. Out of the darkness in front of him someone spoke to him in Vietnamese. The VC thought Waldo was one of his own unit. Waldo answered the man in the only Vietnamese phrase he knew and then quickly sprang on the VC and quieted him forever.
With Jarvis taking point, the team quickly headed south to their pickup point. Arriving a day early, they dug in and began the wait for their ride home. Most of their uniforms were torn and shredded, almost unrecognizable as Marine attire. Each man had deep, infected scratches on his arms and legs caused by the unforgiving brush and thorns they’d had to push through in their frantic escape.
Even though exhaustion made even simple tasks difficult, each man took time to medicate his cuts and scrapes, knowing what postponement could bring.
The next day proved to be uneventful as did the chopper ride back to LZ Barker. After what seemed like the longest debriefing meeting in the world, the team finally was dismissed. Eyes immediately headed to the shower, stripping off his clothes as he walked across the compound. He threw his worn out fatigues into the trash as he entered the shower. He didn’t stop at his hooch to get clean clothes first. A Marine just finishing his shower loaned Eyes his soap and a damp towel. Eyes took a military shower and dried himself quickly, and then wrapped the towel around his waist and headed to his bunker, carrying his boots with him. The countless scr
atches on his body were red and swollen with infection, but he didn’t do anything further about them other than the soap and water during his shower. He was tired. The moment his head touched the cot, he was asleep. He slept for fourteen hours straight before waking to feed his hunger.
The next afternoon Eyes heard the news. He felt lost. Sikes had just gotten his orders. He was headed Stateside; his thirteen month tour was over. None of the men spoke. Sikes looked perplexed. He had been looking forward to this day since his first day in Nam. As he looked at his team, he couldn’t help but feel that he wanted to stay with them. No one talked; their body language said it all as they went about their routines.
Near sunset Lt. Macky showed up at their hooch. All of the team was present as he had requested. Without ceremony Macky produced two six-packs of beer from a brown sack.
“Sorry its not cold, but I figured you’d manage,” he told the seated Recons. “Sort of a going away bash,” he offered sheepishly. “We’ll miss you, Sikes. But don’t come back on our account.” With that he shook Sikes’s hand and abruptly turned and left. The silence that followed left the men staring at the beer.
“Hey, bro, hand me one of those brews.” A big smile sprang to Waldo’s face as he said it.
“You got it,” said Sikes with a smile as he handed him a beer. In turn he gave everyone a beer then took one himself. “Here’s to you all.”
“No. Here’s to you, Sarge,” said Eyes. While they drank, none of the men spoke of Sikes leaving. They tried to enjoy their last evening together.
Later, after everyone else turned in, Sikes and Eyes continued to talk. “I have learned a lot about surviving over here from you, Jerry,” said Eyes. As he spoke he stared at the pop-top he held in his hands. “I owe you a lot.”
“Hey, that goes both ways,” replied Sikes. “You saved my ass more than once, remember?”
“It was no big deal. You know that.”
“Yeah, I know,” he said with a smile. “I’ll probably get nailed by a garbage truck when I get Stateside.” Both men nodded.
“Let’s turn in. I need my beauty sleep, if I’m going to look good when I climb on board the freedom bird.” Sikes slapped Eyes on the shoulder as he stood. Eyes simply nodded and watched as Sikes moved off.
The next morning the team slowly walked Sikes to the helo pad. Few words were spoken. As the chopper made its final approach, each man said his good-byes in his own way. Eyes tried to just shake hands, but failed. He embraced Sikes, patting him on the shoulder. It had been months since he had last cried, but he cried now, openly. He honestly thought he couldn’t cry anymore, but this proved him wrong. In turn each of the other hardened Marines gave their sergeant a comforting huge. All had misty eyes as they watched Sikes climb on board the gunship, and lift into the air.
Luke made no attempt to dry his eyes, He was hurting.
Late that afternoon Lt. Macky called Eyes aside. Without preamble he said, “You are the new team leader of the Mad Dogs, Eyes.” A moment of silence emphasized his words. He noticed Eyes uneasiness and quickly added, “Sergeant stripes go along with the job.”
“I don’t want it, sir,” he said, trying his best to refuse. “Give it to Hardy. He’s earned it.”
“The decision’s been made. You’re it,” Macky said with a note of finality to his voice. Eyes knew better than to question Macky further.
As the lieutenant turned to leave, he turned back to Eyes and said, “Oh yeah. Orders have come down that no souvenirs are to be collected from now on. And tell your guys to get rid of any they have. Anyone caught with any ears on their belt from now on will go before the Man. Got that?”
Eyes nodded. He knew the message was meant for him. Only a few men still with the company had ears on their belts. The salty Marines with ears on their belts he had seen when he first arrived in country had been shipped state side–having served their tours or had been shipped home in a body bag. Few of the new men in- country had made contact with the enemy, and consequently, few had souvenirs.
The war was changing. There were new rules of engagement. As Eyes watched the lieutenant walk away, he loosened his belt buckle, and pulled his belt off his pants. The countless souvenirs fell to the ground. He replaced his belt and stood staring at the ground for a long moment before he stooped over and scooped up the chalky circles. Holding them piled high in both hands, he walked to a nearby fifty-five-gallon drum, which served as a trash container, and without a thought threw them in as he walked by.
Waldo and Schmidt managed to get passes to Da Nang for a few days and left, catching a chopper south. Schmidt had to attend a refresher language course a few hours a day. That left Eyes and the others unable to draw forward guard duty until they returned. Lieutenant Macky managed to keep them busy enough to make them wish they had gone to Da Nang too. Twice they got roped into helping unload supply trucks. As a sergeant, Eyes only had to supervise, but it was still not fun. Both times it was in the middle of the afternoon and the temperature was pushing ninety and so was the humidity.
After Waldo and Schmidt returned, Hardy, Jarvis and Luke got to go. Luke had to go to interpreter school, but Hardy and Jarvis just went to see a little rear action, as they called it.
Luke thought something fishy was going on, but he wasn’t sure what. Late in the afternoon on their third day in Da Nang, Hardy and Jarvis found Luke at the outdoor cantina and explained their actions.
“Wait til you hear what we did,” said Jarvis He was more excited than Luke had ever seen him before. “You won’t believe it!”
“What did you do? Get laid or something?”
“Well, not as good as that,” said Jarvis in a rush of words. “But almost that good. We both ‘extended’ today. Now you’re stuck with us, asshole.”
“You did what?” Luke’s tone was one of sheer disbelief.
“Fuckin’ A. We both fuckin’ extended this afternoon.” Hardy’s face was covered with a wide grin beneath his huge mustache as he watched Luke’s face contort with the news.
“Tell me you’re joking, you guys.”
“Naw, you got it fuckin’ straight, bro. Now you’re stuck with us– like it or not.”
“Well sit down,” said Luke. “Tell me all about it. This calls for some serious drinking. Hardy, you go buy the first fuckin’ round. You both almost deserve to get shot for this,” continued Luke as he gazed at his two good friends. He was happy to hear his friends would remain close to him, but he was also sad that they had extended to do it.
Hardy returned minutes later with a tray full of beer cans. A comfortable big smile looked stamped on his rugged. face. “I fuckin’ figured we’re all goin’ to get fuckin’ drunk so this should get us fuckin’ started.”
As the drinking progressed, Luke found out the details. “By extending by six months, we qualify for the Early Out program, Eyes,” said Jarvis excitedly. “When we get back to the world, we’ll be civilians. Great, huh?” Their two-year enlistment obligation would be considered “served” in just over eighteen months.
Luke felt confused as he heard the details. He knew that their tours were soon to be over–both within thirty days, but this news shocked him.
“Don’t make no never mind,” offered Hardy. “It’s over now. Signed. Sealed. And dated. History.” With that he downed another beer in one chug.
Luke listened as they spoke and kept shaking his head. “I don’t know you guys. It sounds insane to me. Nobody in his right mind would be over here if he didn’t have to be.”
“You’re fuckin’ right,” Hardy’s said. “Who said we are sane anyway?” All three of them laughed.
“You know,” said Luke as he turned serious, “I think about this all the time. I don’t know what’s real anymore. I can’t remember the last time I smiled; I mean really smiled. Everything back home has no bearing on this shit over here. Nothing means anything to me but you guys. You know that. Nothing.” They sat silently in the noisy room, each staring at his last beer. “Come on. Drink
up. It’s my turn to buy,” said Luke as he tried to liven up the mood. “Are we having fun yet?”
“Fuckin’ A,” said Hardy as he paused for effect. “Vietnam is more fun than suckin’ greasy warts off a fat whore’s ass.”
“Gee wiz, Hardy,” laughed Jarvis loudly over the din of noise around them. “That’s pretty fuckin’ gross. And I don’t know if I agree with you either, you fuckin’ animal. I know how much you like suckin’ warts off fat whore’s asses!”
“Oh you do too agree. You like it over here, asshole. Admit it. It’s the fuckin’ country club atmosphere you like most.”
“How’d you know? I thought I hid it well.” Jarvis’s speech was now slurred.
“It’s your fuckin’ attitude. You’re beginning to sound like a lifer to me,” Hardy said with a smile.
“That’s my buddies for you. Arguing, “ said Luke. “I suggest we really get drunk. What do you say?”
“You fuckin’ buying?”
“Oh, why not.” Luke’s hand was already in his pocket, reaching for the strange currency known as MPC.
That night they got rip-roaring drunk, celebrating their friendship–and everything else for that matter. The next day they returned to their unit at Firebase Barker with terrific hangovers and warm feelings for one another.
****
Several nights later, just after Eyes took over the watch at 0200– performing routine guard duty, which involved manning a .50-caliber machine gun–something or somebody tripped a wire out in front of him. That set off one of the Marine’s claymore mines. Artillery was notified and immediately a star burst shell exploded directly overhead. Eyes watched the shell explode and saw the small parachute holding the light aloft. Then he studied the terrain in front of him. In the glaring light, Eyes saw a dark spot on the ground some sixty yards away on the lower slope. It was a man trying hard not to be noticed. He was lying just inside the mine field in front of Eyes’s position.
By What is Sure to Follow Page 25