By What is Sure to Follow

by Donald Burton

  “Dumb thing to do Mister Charlie,” Eyes said under his breath as he held the machine gun in both hands in front of him. Just then the figure rose and started running through the mine field. Eyes was so amazed at him not setting off a mine he almost forgot to fire his machine gun. Just as Eyes drew a bead on the dark figure, he noticed two other figures appear behind the first–all of them running pell- mell through the mine field without setting off mines. Eyes pulled the trigger, hitting the first figure with a short burst of bullets. He saw him fall. Almost seeming like slow motion, he saw a satchel charge being flung toward the compound by the falling figure. It only made it half way to Eyes’s position and exploded harmlessly. In short order, other Marines wasted the other two intruders, causing their explosives to explode outside the compound. At the end of his watch, Eyes turned in and slept well. He rose early the next morning, just at sunrise, and was one of the first Marines to investigate the still figures. The one he had shot was nearly cut in two by the .50-caliber jacketed bullets fired from the huge machine gun. The other two could only be found in pieces–the satchel charges had been detonated while still strapped to their backs. After a brief glance, Eyes turned around and walked back up the hill to breakfast.

  Two days later the Mad Dogs awaited a chopper ride for another mission. It was mid morning. The temperature was still bearable as the team relaxed near the helo pad. Because of the complexity of the mission, the Mad Dogs were flown out to the Iwo Jima for their briefing. It took just over an hour for the team to be fed all the information available, including the latest aerial reconnaissance photos of the area. Then immediately after the meeting, a CH-46 chopper whisk them back toward the coast. It was clear day.

  “A great day for flying,” Eyes spoke out loud. “Down on the ground it’s hot and sticky, but up here it’s cool and nice.” A slight smile creased his lips. Johan smiled in return.

  Eyes watched curiously as the chopper approached the coast. He could see a thin strip of barren beach separating the dense “bush” from the sparkling blue surf. It no longer looked beautiful to Eyes. Now it was simply part of his job.

  Just as the helo crossed the coast it started to sputter. Eyes could tell something was drastically wrong with the engine. Without warning the chopper started to descend steeply. The ride became very bumpy. With no prompting from the crew chief, everyone fastened their seat belts. The jarring increased as the chopper began to fall abruptly from the sky.

  Eyes felt a stinging pain in his butt. It felt like he had just gotten a sliver in the left cheek of his ass. He had more to worry about than the sliver, so he pushed it from his mind. His friends were hanging on just as he was. He looked around further. A light colored liquid was dripping from a spot in the padded-quilt overhead covering. To Eyes’s inexperienced gaze it looked like it was dripping from a bullet hole. Everyone held on tight as the ride got worse.

  The pilot tried furiously to regain control. Nothing worked; they were going down. The pilot, following the book, finally managed to get the ship to auto-rotate–to let the rotor blades free-spin. With the control it gave him, he guided the rapidly falling aircraft back toward the beach. The auto-rotating blades slowed their descent to a nearly manageable level. With a heavy bounce the chopper hit the soft sand. The right landing gear collapsed on impact and, as the chopper descended after the bounce, the huge blades hit the sand as the chopper rolled on its side. Sand flew everywhere. The blades snapped on impact, sending shudders throughout the aircraft.

  When the aircraft came to a rest, it was half way between the surf and the jungle, laying on its side pointed towards the jungle; it was amazing no one was hurt seriously. With caution the team released their seat belts and lowered themselves to the fuselage. Picking up their gear, they walked out of the back of the wrecked chopper, feeling bruised but okay. No one was seriously hurt in the crash. The two pilots emerged moments later shaken, but standing erect.

  Immediately the Recons set up a perimeter guard around the crippled bird. Ten minutes later a detachment of Marine grunts arrived by air. The perimeter was widened to set up a protective cover for the technicians who were working madly in the distressed chopper.

  As Eyes and the rest of his team watched, a Flying Crane, a version of the CH-53 helicopter, came and hovered over the crippled bird. Where the body of a CH-53 should have been, there was nothing. The Flying Crane was designed to carry heavy loads. In short order it picked up the ailing helo and disappeared out to sea.

  Another CH-46 chopper arrived shortly. Within minutes the Recons were back on the Iwo Jima. The doctors found that both Hardy and Waldo had received major concussions, though both claimed to be all right. Jarvis was only slightly bruised, but otherwise okay, except for a pulled leg muscle. Eyes had a minor gash on his forehead, not even requiring stitches, and a couple of cracked ribs. It wasn’t until the doctors were done with him that he remembered about the stinging he had felt in his ass. When he mentioned it, the doctors had him drop his pants. What they saw surprised everyone: he had been shot in the ass. The rifle round appeared to be lodged in the fatty tissue of his buttock, not too deeply.

  Eyes was escorted to the operating room, really a triage area. Operating rooms were reserved for more serious cases. Once in the open area outside the operating rooms, the medics stripped him and prepped him for surgery. When the doctor arrived, the medics already had Eyes laying on one of the moveable operating tables, face down. A shot of Novocaine numbed the area. Eyes couldn’t feel a thing in his butt. The doctor appeared to be in a great mood, Eyes noticed.

  “You don’t know how I’ve been needing this, Marine,” said the doctor as he examined the wound. By now there were several doctors in the area, standing off to the side with their arms crossed on their chests. They were simply watching. Before Eyes could ask what he meant, the doctor followed up with, “This could be serious.”

  Eyes rolled over slightly and looked at the doctors. Big grins covered all their faces. “What do you mean?” Eyes looked worried.

  One of the doctors in the back of the room spoke up. “It’s been so long for Mac, uh, Doctor MacGuire that is. Mac are you sure you can handle it?”

  A big grin covered his face. “You think I’m going to let one of you guys have it? It’s mine.” Now Eyes was totally confused.

  “What’s going on?” Eyes demanded.

  “Oh, “ said another doctor, his smile growing as he spoke. “Mac here is about to get his first piece of ass since he got in Nam.” Laughter exploded in the room. Eyes didn’t think it was funny.

  “Relax, Marine,” said Doctor Mac as he removed a small piece of flesh from the wounded area. “I’ll have that bullet out in just a second.” Eyes laid still. He could feel the doctor working on him but couldn’t tell what he was doing. In less than a minute, Eyes heard the sound of the bullet hitting a metal pan.

  “You should be as good as new in a couple of weeks. Give me a minute more and I’ll have the wound sutured. Guess you’ve got a purple heart coming. Kind of a hard spot to explain to folks back home, huh? Oh well, at least it’s not serious. Go get some rest now. Sleep on you stomach for the next few of days.”

  Eyes moved slightly to face the doctor and nodded. “Thanks, Doc. I appreciate it.”

  “Hey, don’t mention it. It’s I who should be thanking you. Round-eye pieces of ass are rare over here.” Even Eyes smiled this time. All of the doctors then left the room. Before long, Eyes was in the hospital ward with the rest of his team.

  Because of the crash, another team took the mission. The Mad Dogs spent the next two and a half weeks on board the carrier, convalescing.

  ****

  No one minded the routine of hot food, clean clothes, hot showers and evening movies. The great life ended three weeks later when the team returned to Firebase Barker. The doctor had certified them fit for duty.

  10

  THE FIRST THOUGHT THAT OCCURRED TO EYES as he awoke was it was hot and muggy, the usual. He wiped away the gritty sand that h
ad settled in his eyes during the night and looked around. Nothing had changed. He shook his head disapprovingly. Three days ago First Force Recon had moved to this their new base of operations, Firebase Lima, just outside Chu Lai. Eyes had hoped to see an improvement in their living conditions with the move, but hadn’t. The rumors of hot showers had been just that–rumors.

  “The same old shit,” he thought as he lay on his cot, enduring the sticky humidity as best he could. “Dirt everywhere, just like before,” he said silently to himself, scowling as the thought surfaced. But it wasn’t like before. No longer did he live in a cave; now his hooch was a spacious tent. Sand bags were piled high on all sides protected it, and the lighting was much better, not that it really made much difference to Eyes; seldom did he write letters anymore, or receive mail for that matter. Mostly he just used the hooch as a place of refuge.

  Pushing back the flap to the tent, he noticed the sun was barely above the horizon. Just another day in Vietnam, he thought without emotion. Moving slowly, he got coffee from the stainless steel container nearby and sat by himself. He was just going through the motions.

  Several men sat in an open area off to his right. Their mood, slow and purposeful, was nothing to be excited about. He nodded to himself and then ignored them.

  It wasn’t until Ski sat next to him that Eyes talked at all. Eyes liked Ski. He was the newest member of Luke’s Recon Team, having been in-country just two months, and only four weeks of that with Eyes’s team. His real name was Anthony Milinsky. He was the radio operator now and also a qualified interpreter like Luke. Ski was the shortest member of the team–just 5' 5." His broad shoulders and developed muscles showed through the poor fitting fatigues. Eyes liked him. He wasn’t sure why exactly. Eyes sometimes joined in when other team members, usually Waldo or Jarvis, harassed Ski about his greasy black, curly hair. Two days without a shower and grease dripped from his head. The boy-faced Ski took their remarks good-naturedly, as if he had a choice. Around Ski, Eyes felt relaxed, just like with the rest o f the team.

  It wasn’t that way at first. Hearing that Sikes’s replacement was going to be a cherry, Eyes had gotten mad. He stormed to Knots and complained, almost coming to blows over it. He left Knots’s tent still feeling rage. He also felt the familiar suffocating sensation again.

  As he stomped away, he heard Knots say “You’re going to have to learn to live with it–besides you need the man.” Eyes had returned to the hooch still moody and upset. Finally, Luke had figured out what was bothering him: he didn’t want Ski’s death on his hands. He also didn’t want an outsider in his group.

  “Ski may be a cherry, but he is one bad-ass dude,” Waldo had told Eyes after Ski’s first mission with the Mad Dogs.

  “I think I agree,” Eyes had responded hesitatingly, still harboring a slight doubt about the new man, but feeling much better about him.

  In his first mission Ski had proven he was equal to his task. Ski could keep up the strenuous pace set by Jarvis without any visible effects. As point man he found several hard to find trip wires. It was apparent Ski knew how to handle himself in the bush. Now, several missions later, Eyes felt that Ski was unquestionably part of the team.

  “What’s goin’ on today, Ski?” Eyes asked rhetorically. He wondered why he had even bothered to ask. But Eyes felt a need to talk. He turned his head and waited for Ski’s reply.

  “Not much that I know of, Eyes. I heard a rumor down at the latrine that we’re going to dig in here for a while. It seems this must be prime real estate, or something,” replied Ski, trying to sound like an old salt.

  “Shit. That means they’ll be bringing up even more grunts. I wonder what they’ll have us doin’ then?”

  “Beats me, Sarge. I’m sure that they’ll find something original to do with us. You know. Like ship us to Vietnam, or something,” Ski sneered.

  Eyes was quiet for a minute. “You’re probably right,” he finally said. “Won’t surprise me if they pull all of us out of here when the grunts arrive and send us back further into the bush.” There was a hopeful tone in his voice, as though he would prefer to be in the bush.

  “Here comes Knots now. He probably has our orders, judging from the look on his face,” Ski offered a little louder.

  “Hey, Gunny,” Eyes said. “What’s in store for us?”

  Sergeant Knots remained silent, seemingly ignoring the question, as he slowly finished filling his coffee cup. Then he came over and sat near them. He studied Eyes for a moment before replying. “Well, Eyes,” he said, looking directly into Eyes’s blank expression, “our orders are to be forward observers once reinforcements get here.” He took a drink of his coffee and waited a few more moments. “A new battalion should be arriving around 1400. That means we get to do some digging later this afternoon. Alpha and Bravo Companies of the Third will be to the southwest of us doing the same thing. So get plenty of rest while you can. It looks like you all are going to be in a fox hole most of tonight at least.” With that Knots got up, paused at the coffee pot while he refilled his cup, then headed to the command bunker a dozen yards away.

  “Sounds like another exciting baby sitting assignment, Eyes,” Ski said, sounding much saltier than he was.

  “Yeah, guess so,” Eyes said. “At least things should be calm around here for a change. Should be a piece of cake. We already chased Charlie out of here a while back. We bought this fuckin’ real estate.”

  “Well, I’m not looking forward to digging another big foxhole today. Much less having to sleep in it afterwards. We definitely gotta get out of this place.”

  “Just thirty-eight days mothafucker,” responded Eyes, “and I’ll be on the big white freedom bird heading Stateside. Eat your heart out.”

  “Hey, my time will come, asshole. You’ll probably re-up anyway and have your ass shipped right back over here. I know your type. Career material if I ever saw it,” said Ski sarcastically.

  With that they both got up and went over to chow line and got their morning portion of runny eggs and stone biscuits. They returned to their spots and began eating in silence.

  “Ouch,” said Eyes as he took a bite out of a biscuit. “This damn tooth of mine is acting up again. Fuck. It feels like someone just exploded a mortar round in it.” He stopped eating and tried to rinse out the tooth with coffee. The pain subsided somewhat, but was still there. He ate the soft food, leaving the hard biscuits alone. One of the cooks offered him a couple of aspirin, which he took immediately, dissolving them in his mouth next to the tooth. That helped most of all. If he tried, he could now ignore the pain.

  Eyes entered his tent. Johan was sitting on his cot. Eyes noticed a strange look on his face. Looking closer at Johan, Eyes saw that his writing materials were balanced in his lap. Johan glanced at Eyes. To Eyes it was obvious Johan was hurting. Pausing briefly as he leaned his weapon against his cot, Luke went to his friend “What’s up? You look bad.”

  Johan’s lip quivered as he answered. “I don’t know what to write. I’ve always been able to write. I don’t know what to say to them anymore. Any of them. I can’t write my parents, nor Jenny.” Tears ran down his face as he spoke. His face was ashen colored.

  “Sure you can,” said Luke encouragingly. “You always have things to say.”

  “Not any more. I’m tired. I feel that I’ve been over here all my life. I can’t remember anything else.”

  “Hey before you know it you’ll be back on the farm. You’ll be married to Jenny and you’ll forget that this ever happened.”

  “I tried to think of it that way. But, hey, this is who I am. I’m not that farmer that arrived here a year ago. I don’t know what I am anymore.”

  “Let me assure you, you’re the same guy that came over here with me. Now don’t worry about it,” said Luke trying to him cheer up.

  Tears still clouded Johan’s eyes as Luke returned to his cot. As Luke watched, Johan put away his writing materials and walked outside. He looked beaten.

  It wasn’t long
before the reinforcements Knots had spoken of started arriving. Tents and bunkers sprang up forty yards to the south of the Recon’s crusty area. By noon the Battalion was in place. Shortly after lunch, which Eyes skipped because his tooth was still acting up, his team got their assignment. They were to dig-in about a hundred and fifty meters to the northwest. A number of forward observation posts were to be manned by Recons. All of them were to be located around the perimeter of the expanded compound.

  These posts weren’t new to the team; they had manned many of them in the past. Nothing exciting.

  Hearing the orders, complaints from Eyes’s team filled the air for a solid five minutes. Then the Mad Dogs assembled their gear for the move. Ignoring their nasty comments, Eyes lead them out of camp. It wasn’t dense jungle like what they were used to. This area had a number of rice patties and plowed fields, and most importantly, the dense vegetation had been removed by the locals. The farmers had been so afraid VC would use small hedgerows to sneak up on them that without prompting they stripped the ground of brush. Casually the team walked across the open field to their assigned position some distance away.

  It wasn’t long until Eyes said, “Okay you guys, we are to dig-in here. This gives us a good two hundred yards of open area in front of us. Get those packs off, grab those E-tools and start digging.”

  Almost in unison everyone replied, “Yes, Master.” And then they laughed. Johan was the first to remove his rucksack and start digging. It didn’t take long to dig a good size hole, banking it properly and all. Rectangular shaped, like a potato, it would hold them all. They decided because it was relatively “friendly” territory that they wouldn’t burrow down too far and make a really secure position. They reasoned the fresh air would help them survive the heat and keep the smell of sweat down.

  A signal corpsman with Marine bodyguard approached their foxhole just after they finished digging it. The technician dragged a roll of wire behind him. “Here you go, gents. Just don’t try to call home on it,” he said as he hooked up the phone he brought with him. Within minutes of his arrival he had tested the line and disappeared. Most grunts didn’t like to be this far ahead of the lines. Engineer types loathed it most of all. Settled in now, the Recons busied themselves making their hole as comfortable as possible.