By What is Sure to Follow

by Donald Burton

  It was late in the afternoon when Luke’s tooth started acting up again. This time nothing he could do would make the pain subside. The aspirin he now took didn’t even phase it. “Hey, you think there is anything they can do for me and this fuckin’ tooth back in camp?” he said looking at Schmidt.

  “That bad, Eyes?”

  “Fuckin’ A. If they can do something, even pull the son-of-a- bitch, I’m open to it.” Pain registered heavily on his face as he spoke.

  “Well let’s find out,” said Waldo. With that he picked up the phone and began the slow process of finding out. “Guess what!” he said after a long pause. “You’re in luck, Eyes. They can take you to see a dentist this afternoon if you get your ass into the LZ within fifteen minutes. Think you can do that?”

  “Hell yes!” Eyes said as he picked up his gear. “Corporal Jarvis you’re in charge while I’m gone.”

  Jarvis gave an exaggerated salute. “Aye aye, sir.”

  With that he left, even before Waldo had a chance to finish telling the person on the phone that he was on his way. Eyes hurt too much to waste time. The pain came in waves now. Eyes had to stop walking at its height; it was almost crippling. It was all he could do to make it back to the LZ.

  Eyes was in luck. The chopper was just preparing to leave as he approached the helo pad. He boarded it and saw that he was riding on a out-bound mail run. Bags of mail were piled high toward the back of the large CH-46, the familiar twin bladed troop carrier.

  The chopper wasn’t fast enough to insert Recon patrols, but its larger size made it ideal for carrying troops and supplies in routine situations. Eyes sat in a webbed seat and ignored his surroundings.

  Trying to disregard the pain, Eyes realized he didn’t know where they were going. The chopper beaded out over water. Eyes smiled to himself. They were headed to a ship. He wondered which one. Listening to the poop, poop, poop of the engine’s noise blurred time together. Finally the sound changed and the chopper began to turn. Through one of the small porthole windows, Eyes saw an Amphibious Assault Carrier Group growing large off to the right. The aircraft carrier looked familiar. Upon closer examination he saw that it was not the Iwo Jima as he thought, but the Okinawa, a sister ship to the Iwo Jima. He smiled a smile that belied the pain he was in. He thought, “Maybe I can take a shower on her before heading back. Wow. A hot shower.” The thought passed quickly as another wave of pain consumed him.

  Eyes watched through the small window as the yellow-shirt directed the chopper in. Within moments the CH-46 was on deck and Eyes rapidly exited, using the lowered ramp at the back of the chopper. He was escorted aft of the rear plane elevator on the starboard side. The steps leading down took him to the ship’s hospital. The pain made him walk faster. He held his jaw with his right hand. It was all he could do to stand upright.

  A Navy Second Class medic met him at the foot of the ladder and took him to sickbay, walking through numerous empty berthing quarters as they went. “Hey, aren’t there supposed to be Marines here?” asked Luke, still holding his jaw.

  “There were until this morning. Don’t know where they went, though,” he replied off handedly.

  “Oh,” said Eyes as they kept walking briskly down the passageway.

  Now in the rear portion of the ship, Eyes noticed it looked somewhat like a hospital. Gurneys and other medical items were strategically placed along the passageways. He noticed the people he saw all wore hospital green gowns. The medic he followed entered a door and Eyes followed. What he saw looked like a normal waiting room at a dentist office.

  The medic turned to leave. “Someone will be with you shortly.” With that he disappeared. Eyes sat down. Several old magazines were on the chair next to him. Trying to keep his mind occupied, he glanced through them. He was in constant pain.

  Fifteen minutes passed. Finally, a door on the far bulkhead opened and a Navy enlisted man entered. He said, “You the Marine with the toothache?”

  Eyes nodded, now in too much pain to talk.

  “Come on in and let’s take a look at it.” Eyes followed him into a room that looked like a normal dentist’s operating room. It was complete with dentist chair, spotlight and other paraphernalia.

  “You the dentist?” asked Eyes without moving his jaw much.

  “Oh no, just the dental assistant. The doctor will see you after I take some x-rays and get you ready. Just one tooth bothering you, right?” Without waiting for a reply he said, “Shouldn’t take long to fix you up.” Eyes sat in silence, just wanting the pain to end.

  As promised it didn’t take long to get the x-rays developed. A young, balding doctor came walking into the room holding the film and smiling. He switched on a light board and inserted the small x- rays. Humming, he studied them for a minute or two. As he turned around to face Luke, he said. “Hi, I’m Doctor Roberts. It looks like you should be in a lot of pain. Are you?”

  “Yeah. Before today I could take aspirin and then ignore it. But today nothing stops it.” He felt a sharp pain as he spoke.

  “It doesn’t surprise me. It’s a fairly good size hole you have there, deep too. I think there is a chance we can save it, judging from the x- ray. Let me take a look.”

  Within twenty minutes the doctor had Eyes’s tooth repaired, giving him a silver filling. He was told it would be the next morning before he could eat any solids and that it might be sensitive to hot and cold for a while.

  Forty-five minutes after his arrival, Luke was ready to leave. Slowly he backtracked his way to the operation’s boarding area, a staging area one flight down from the flight deck. It was deserted. He walked up to the flight deck. Four quiet CH-46s were parked toward the back of the flight deck.

  Eyes saw no one. Toward the superstructure he saw an open hatch. A naval officer emerged from the hatch just as Eyes got close. “What are you doing on the flight deck, Marine?”

  “Trying to catch a flight back to my unit, sir,” replied Eyes.

  “Maybe I can help.”

  After a quick phone call, the officer told him that it would be the next morning before he could be taken back to his unit. Eyes was then directed to an office that could fix him up with a bunk for the night. Eyes didn’t mind. Good food, a hot shower and a movie were now his. What luck.

  For dinner Luke ate peaches and ice cream. He turned down fried chicken and hot mashed potatoes. His tooth, he knew, couldn’t handle hot food.

  The next morning Eyes woke early, as usual. He found his way to the mess decks and grabbed a cup of coffee. The hot liquid caused him to jump as it touched the new filing. With a grimace he set the cup aside.

  It was 0430. Most of the crew was still asleep. As soon as the chow line opened at 0530, Eyes filled his plate, realizing he was starved. He ate two portions of scrambled eggs, keeping them away from the side of his mouth with the new filling. Finishing quickly, he grabbed his gear and headed to the staging area to await his flight.

  Shortly after 0600 a Huey gunship that had just come aboard for refueling agreed to take him in. It took only a fraction of the time to get back, a Huey being so much faster than a CH-46. The chopper touched down at Firebase Lima just at first light. Eyes was glad to be back. He missed the guys, but didn’t miss the foxhole.

  Deciding not to wait until it got fully light to rejoin his team, he slowly began crawling the hundred and fifty meters distance to the forward lookout, stopping often to listen and study the darkness. He didn’t expect trouble, but it was best to be safe.

  “No need to be dumb about it,” he thought as he hunched close to the ground, smiling as he remembered his first morning in Nam as he fell into his own piss.

  When he got within twenty yards of the foxhole he stopped and called out softly, “Hey, you guys. It’s me. Sims.”

  No sense getting shot by my own team, he thought. He waited for a reply. There was only silence. They should have heard him. Eyes went to full alert. His body tensed. His ears strained to catch any sound that might be a clue. Something must be wron
g. Was it possible they had moved the team after he left last night? His mind began racing. His breathing sped up as adrenaline pumped throughout his body. He could feel his legs tremble, slightly.

  In a blur of reflex, he checked his weapon. It was still fully loaded and locked. He switched the safety off, moved the lever to the full automatic fire position. Now he began his slow approach to the lookout post, his weapon out in front of him as he crawled. Ready for anything, he inched closer. Still ten yards off, he decided to call again, just in case the lookout was asleep. “Hey, Ski. Hey, Schmidt. It’s me, Eyes. Sims?” Again only silence. The hair on the back of his neck bristled. He felt like he couldn’t get enough air. Slowly he crawled forward.

  Covering the last few yards seemed to take forever. He held his weapon steady. All of his senses were focused on the mound just in front of him. Slowly he edged his way up the side of the mound. If he went any higher he would expose himself. He stopped and listened for a long time. Nothing. Almost whispering he said, “Hey fellahs. It’s me. Sims.” Again nothing. Hearing only the silence, he decided to chance a look into the bunker.

  “They must have been pulled out,” he spoke nervously to himself just before he began to move. Slowly he raised his head over the rim and gazed into the foxhole.

  What he saw didn’t seem real; so unreal that he didn’t believe what lay in front of him. The Mad Dogs were there, sitting almost as he had left them. Some seemed asleep and others looked awkward in their positions. Eyes froze, staring at the scene before him. His mind refused to work. What was wrong here? He couldn’t figure it out. He felt confused, suffocating.

  Without saying another word, Eyes slid into the hole. No one moved. Eyes sat in silence with his weapon, cradling it in his lap, not looking at anyone. He rested his elbows on his propped up knees. Sometime later the phone buzzed. Eyes reached for it.

  “This is Sergeant Sims,” he spoke dryly into the mouthpiece. “No, sir. I’m the only one left, sir. Charlie came in last night sometime and cut everyone’s throat.” It sounded to him as though someone else was saying it.

  With the words finally spoken, he felt the release. He dropped the phone and started crying. The more he cried, the harder he cried. Then came silence. When help arrived a few minutes later, they found Eyes still seated in the foxhole with his dead buddies. The tears had stopped. He didn’t notice their arrival. He was humming something as he rocked slowly forward and back, holding his knees to his chest and staring into space.

  No matter what they said, Eyes did not respond. He just remained in a fetal position. Finally he quit moving and lay on his side. He was conscious and breathing and that was about it. The other Marines sent to help left him alone and began their search of the area as it got lighter. The sweep turned up nothing. The sapper squad was long gone.

  Stretchers and body bags were brought out for the slain men. Eyes was carried back into camp on the first stretcher. The medics couldn’t get him to lay flat; he lay on his side, still clutching his legs as they carried him off.

  The gruesome details spread throughout the unit rapidly. Sometime between the 0500 phone check and when Eyes went out, a sapper squad of VC infiltrated the outpost and killed everyone. The team must have died at the same moment. It was obvious their assailants approached from all sides. They all must have been asleep as near as anyone could figure. They never knew what happened; there was no sign of a struggle.

  Off to the side of the LZ the five body bags were laid next to each other, awaiting a chopper to take them away. It was impossible to tell which was Hardy, Schmidt, Waldo, Ski or Corporal Jarvis–just five black body bags.

  Luke was taken to a nearby tent where he was sedated. They needed him flat. It worked. While he slept, he was transported to the hospital in Da Nang.

  After spending two days in Da Nang, Eyes was shipped to Pearl Harbor for continued observation and treatment. He hadn’t eaten or talked since they found him. The Boeing 707 that took him and other wounded to Hawaii had been converted into a special transport and was staffed by regular nurses.

  Eyes spent twenty days as a “vegetable” at the naval hospital in Pearl Harbor before he became cognizant of his surroundings. For the next week after that his eyes showed recognition, but he didn’t say anything; he just watched the doctors and nurses perform their duties without any expression.

  It was a turning point for Luke when they removed the IV and he began eating normal meals, but still he didn’t speak. The nurses and doctors constantly asked him questions that went unanswered. A perpetual blank look remained stamped on his face; his eyes clouded over. Another four days passed before he spoke.

  “Where am I? What am I doing here?” he asked a nurse who was busy writing something in his chart at the end of his bed.

  She looked at him quizzically and without saying a word ran from the room. Moments later the door flew open. Several doctors and the nurse entered.

  “I understand you want to know where you are and what you’re doing here,” one of the gray haired doctors said. “Before we answer that, could you tell me your name and how you feel?”

  “I’m Luke Sims, sergeant, USMC.” After a slight pause, he continued “l feel okay, I think. A little tired and drained, but okay. What the fuck am I doin’ here?” A strained tone was evident in his voice as he ignored the fact he was talking to an officer and using profanity.

  “We had to bring you here for observation. You suffered a tremendous shock. We brought you here to help you. What do you remember?”

  “Well, the last thing I remember I was on my way back to my Recon team’s position. I don’t remember anything after that. What happened? A mortar concussion or something?” He scanned the room with a confused gaze.

  The doctors looked at each other. One made a notation in Luke’s chart.

  “That’s what you are here for. So we can find out what happened. How is your tooth?”

  “Fine. I don’t feel it at all. Say, is this the hospital in Saigon? I always heard it was nice.”

  “No, you’re in Pearl Harbor,” replied the doctor nearest him.

  “You’re shittin’ me! Shit. I mean, sir. I mean I don’t even remember the trip. Now that I’m okay, when can I go back with my unit?”

  “Soon. We need to do some tests first. Find out how you are doing.” The doctor purposefully didn’t mention to Eyes what he had gone through or the testing that lay ahead. “Should be a few more days at least.” The doctor made several more notations and replaced the chart at the end of the bed. “You had best get some rest now. The nurse will give you something to make you sleep, if you want. Rest will do you good.” With that everyone left his room. Luke felt exhausted. It didn’t take long for him to fall asleep.

  During the next few days, Eyes underwent a complete examination, both physical and mental. Physically he was in fine shape, nothing that a few good meals couldn’t cure. Mentally, however, was another story. The doctors found that he had absolutely no recollection of the massacre. To Eyes, his buddies were waiting for him. He would be failing them if he didn’t get back soon.

  After several doctors completed their analysis, it was decided that the best treatment was to hypnotize Luke. They had to find out exactly how he perceived the event that caused his loss of time and memory. This would tell them how to proceed.

  Several days passed as they delved into his mind, inching their way toward the truth. It was the consensus of the doctors that it was safe to make him remember what happened, but only if done in a controlled way.

  Under hypnosis he could remember it all. At least for a transitory period; sometimes he remembered for a few hours, sometimes for a day or two. Then the memories would disappear.

  All the while Luke was rational and acting normally. He just couldn’t remember the massacre for very long. And when he did remember, he was emotionally detached, the doctors observed. He didn’t smile or laugh about it, but it didn’t sadden him either. Agreeing this was not normal, the doctors continued treatment.
He was refusing to face the tragedy. Until he did face it and allow the grieving process to occur, he wasn’t going to heal. Most importantly, he wasn’t going to be fit for active duty again, if ever, until he did.

  Several more weeks of painstaking therapy passed before Luke accepted the truth that his friends were really dead. When he did, he broke down and cried unabated for hours. The doctors felt it best to let him cry. They offered no sedatives. Painful hurting could be heard in his cries. Everyone in his wing of the hospital heard the sorrowful sounds and recognized their meaning. The sobbing continued off and on for several days.

  He mourned the loss of his dearest friends. Even after more than a month, there were times when Luke still refused to admit that his friends were dead. It took careful coaxing at these moments to bring reality back. The doctors guided him through the grieving process slowly over several more weeks.

  He spent hours talking to the psychiatrists about the special things his buddies and he had done together, and about their special friendship. Finally, after another month of treatment, the doctors agreed that Luke was well enough to be released from the hospital. He still hadn’t gone through the complete grieving process, they all agreed, but they felt he had made enough progress to function. The rest would just take time, they conceded, time they could no longer afford to spend with him.

  Daily Medivac flights from Vietnam brought new casualties to the large naval hospital for treatment. The hospital had reached capacity in all areas; psychiatric and medical wards were full. The doctors were under strict new orders from Washington to expedite release of marginal patients so they could spend the time with the more serious cases flooding in daily.