Cracker loved playing. And every time she worked for real, more and more guys petted her and gave her food. Sometimes she could tell this annoyed Rick. He would say, “I’m her handler,” which Cracker took to mean that he felt jealous, so then she would sit next to him or lick his hand to let him know she understood. But she still liked the treats.
During the evenings Rick would brush her and tell her she was the best dog in Nam. She would hear the exact same words coming from the mouths of Cody and Twenty as they brushed their dogs. She didn’t know what the words meant, but she took them to mean “good dog.”
Sometimes, even on the slow days, something would happen that would remind Rick that men were dying out there. Like once, he saw some guys gathered around a radioman. Rick heard shouting and screaming. The shouting, he realized, had come over the radio and from a different unit. He heard a man scream in pain. He looked around him. Here in his little section of the war everything was peaceful. But he was hearing someone over the radio, screaming, maybe dying. He listened soberly to the sounds of battle. He heard the screaming die out, and he wondered whether that meant the soldier was better … or worse.
Over the next few weeks Rick pulled some routine missions, or maybe Cracker was such a good dog that she made everything go smoothly. They cleared a couple of villages—where Cracker found some ammo and V.C. food caches—and they set up a few ambushes during which the most exciting thing that happened was that Rick got so many mosquito bites, it looked like he had a rash on his arms. Clearing villages was pretty routine. You just emptied the village of humans and animals and took your dog through looking for weapons or food caches. The first time was hard because Cracker got real interested in the chickens and other animals that the villagers kept, and Rick couldn’t keep her focused. She didn’t seem to understand that she wasn’t supposed to chase small animals. Rick remembered how much she’d drooled when she’d seen the chicken at Fort Benning. Still, he felt he’d been able to control her pretty well here in country. Some of the dogs were even worse.
Every time they’d cleared a village here in Vietnam, she’d managed to find a few tunnels, but none of them seemed like V.C. tunnels. They were just the same old tunnels all the villagers dug to hide out in whenever the need arose. Nearly all the homes had double walls or secret tunnels. There were American soldiers called “tunnel rats” who specialized in exploring the more elaborate tunnels, when they could find them. Charlie had dug an elaborate system of tunnels throughout some areas of Vietnam. Nobody was sure exactly how elaborate the tunnels were, but it was rumored that thousands of people, even kids, lived underground. They slept, cooked dinner, went to school, planned attacks, all in the tunnels. Some of them didn’t see daylight for months at a time, and some came out only at night to stage ambushes, or even to work the rice paddies. All this was utterly amazing to Rick. One guy in his neighborhood back home had built a bomb shelter in his backyard and had actually tried it out for a week. Rick’s grandmother had said the guy was nutty as popcorn. Rick smiled as he remembered thinking that “nutty as popcorn” made no sense at all. Kind of like Twenty’s “for all intensive purposes.” The memory made him ache for home. Even for working in the hardware store.
It was hard for Rick to imagine living in a bomb shelter for a week, let alone a tunnel for several months. He couldn’t imagine Cracker doing it either. Would probably drive her insane.
One day when things were especially quiet, one of the cooks declared that he could heat up an entire mess hall’s worth of food in five minutes. “Watch this,” said the cook. “I’m gonna revolutionize this army.” Rick and Cody hung around for the show.
The cook took a thirty-two-gallon galvanized trash can and set it on three big food cans. He filled the big trash can with hot water and placed a stick of C-4 explosive under the can and lit it. It burned with a very hot and intense orange flame.
Cody, ever the optimist, said, “Hey, this might really work.”
As the water boiled, the can started to shake violently. “It’s gonna blow!” shouted Rick. He and the other guys took off and hit the dirt about twenty yards away, turning to watch the shaking can fall off its perch. The whole thing exploded, sending the can, food, and water in all directions. A captain appeared about thirty seconds later to chew out the cook. Every fly from Three Corps already seemed to be invading the area. The captain glared at all the men, who were now at attention. “None of you will be eating lunch today unless you care to partake in that food with the flies.” Rick wanted to protestwhen something like that was going on, of course you were going to watch. But he wasn’t about to argue with a captain.
Even Cracker heard the explosion from her kennel. She could tell it was nearby, and she felt a surge of worry about Rick. She didn’t see him again until that evening, when he came to take her for a walk. He seemed relaxed and happy. That was good. Then the very next morning he showed up tense and worried. That was bad. He quickly fed her and hardly petted her at all. He didn’t seem to be mad at her, though, just distracted.
“I’ll be back after breakfast,” he said. “We pulled a special mission.” He hesitated, then walked back to the kennel and opened Cracker’s gate and laid his forehead on hers. She liked that. She stood as still as she possibly could so she could concentrate on what he was feeling. He was worried. He pulled back. “You remember what a hot zone is, Crack?” He rubbed behind her ears. “They asked for us specifically.” He lowered his voice. “It’s a secret mission. I don’t even know what it is.” Manning, Wisconsin, had not prepared Rick for this. His whole future had been laid out for him there. Not many surprises.
Cracker sniffed at his pocket. Wiener? Rick pulled it out and heaved her a piece. “Got this from the chef.” She gobbled it up. “I don’t know how you stay so skinny.”
He closed the gate, and she saw him heave a piece of wiener to Bruno. Hey, that wasn’t right … oh, well.
She sat by the gate and waited. He always came back a little while after he fed her. They were probably going to work today. She could tell by how tense he was.
Before Rick returned, she stood up and pushed the tip of her nose through the chain link. She knew he was coming because, well, she just knew. And there he was, with his rucksack on his back. Twenty-Twenty and Cody walked with him. Tristie slapped her paws on the ground and ran to the back of the kennel. Cracker did the same. Then they ran back to the gate and sat their best sit. Rick was almost here! Cracker began hopping in the kennel and pawing the gate.
She was surprised when the other guys walked off in one direction, and Rick heeled her in a different one. She and Tristie looked back at each other before walking off with their guys. Rick seemed nervous, so she felt a little nervous too. She looked up at him as they walked to the helicopter pad and climbed into a chopper. Even though nobody else was on board, Rick looked around anxiously. So Cracker looked around too but didn’t see anything unusual.
All Rick knew was that they were headed for Bien Hoa and that the mission involved Special Forces. Special Forces did a lot of secret stuff. Nobody would say exactly what that meant. The Special Forces were basically the roughest, toughest, fastest, smartest, best-trained American soldiers in Vietnam. They were like guys with engineering degrees and black belts at the same time. Superspecialists. In short, nothing like Rick. Rick had actually heard they ate the soles of their own feet when they were starving. That couldn’t possibly be true, Rick assured himself. Could it?
Cracker went to lie in the doorway next to Rick. She loved the windy choppers. Wind was her favorite thing … but then so were wieners. She wished Rick had a wiener, but if he did, she would be able to smell it. She glanced at him, but he didn’t even glance back. He was frowning.
When the helicopter landed, Rick and Cracker hopped off. Bien Hoa was huge compared to his little camp. He saw another handler with a dog and called out, “Hey, I’m with the 67th IPSD. I’m supposed to go to Special Forces headquarters.”
The other guy said, “Hey,
I hear you guys have some good dogs.” He pointed. “Special Forces is that way.”
“Thanks!” Rick said.
He was barely in the building before a man stopped him and said, “Rick Hanski?” Then before Rick could answer, the man said, “I’ll go get the Camel.” Rick wondered who or what “the Camel” was. He waited with Cracker. He was so nervous, he couldn’t tell if he really had to take a leak or if he only thought he had to take a leak. After about twenty minutes a man walked in and straight up to him, holding out his hand for a firm shake.
“I’m Camel. I’ll be leading our mission.” Camel was broad and didn’t look even slightly like a camel. Maybe he smoked them. Camel wore plain O.D. fatigues, no stripes, no dog tags, no distinguishing marks at all. Everything in the army was O.D.-olive drab. A scarf was tied around his neck, and his hands were heavily veined. He reminded Rick of a kid a few years older than him who’d lived on his block. The kid got in trouble a lot, especially at school, but then he’d gone on to become a cop. Rick remembered something his dad had told him once about being a cop: “It’s a thin line. It takes a bad boy to stop the bad boys. The best cops are bad guys who want to do good.” Dad the Philosopher. It was weird, though, that line—as thin as a hair, yet it still made all the difference in the world.
Cracker felt alert in all her muscles and her nose and ears and even all the hairs on her body. This man who shook Rick’s hand was strong, she could tell, though she figured she could take him if it came to that. She couldn’t tell from Rick’s response whether this man was Rick’s friend or enemy.
“This is Cracker?” the man said.
“Yes, sir.”
“Beautiful animal. May I pet her?”
“Of course, sir.”
“You don’t have to call me sir.” Camel softly petted Cracker’s head. “Magnificent.”
“Yes, sir. She sniffed out a sniper one day. Another day we saw a little action.”
“You can call me Camel. You know what I do?”
“Yes, sir, Camel, you’re Special Forces. You do … stuff we don’t know about.”
“That’s a good description of it.”
Rick had to ask. “So why me?”
“Your reputation. Your sergeant said you’re the best there is.”
“My sergeant?” U-Haul had recommended him? Rick felt a jolt of pleasure and shock at the same time. “Thank you, sir-I mean, Camel … sir!” Even Rick couldn’t help laughing at what an idiot he sounded like. Camel laughed as well.
Camel cocked his head toward the door, and Rick followed, thinking that there’d been a mistake. Could it really be U-Haul who had recommended him? Camel offered a cigarette as they walked outside. Nice guy! Rick reached for his lighter, but Camel had paused and was already holding out his. They walked quietly for a bit and then stood under the gray skies smoking. Rick felt like a new kid at school who’d just been befriended by the star of the football team. Camel squinted toward where the sun would be.
“We’re going to fly to Tay Ninh to practice for a special mission with your dog.”
“What’s the mission?” Rick asked. Rick waited.
A split second passed. You wouldn’t even have noticed under normal conditions. But Rick could tell Camel was formulating a response instead of speaking spontaneously. “We’re executing a rescue. I’m still finalizing the plan.”
“You get to make up the plan?”
“Oh, yes. In Special Forces you get the assignment, and then you have to put together a plan.”
Rick couldn’t help exclaiming, “Cool! We just follow orders.” He waited for more, but Camel didn’t say anything.
Two men were walking toward them. When the men arrived, one immediately put out his hand. “Vukovich,” he said. “You must be Rick and Cracker.” Like Camel, the two men wore nothing on their O.D. fatigues to indicate rank or affiliation.
The other man stuck out his hand. “You can call me Madman.” Madman spoke so softly, Rick needed to strain to hear him. Madman? Rick hesitated nearly imperceptibly before reaching out his hand and saying, “Nice to meet you, Madman.”
There was a silence, and Rick got the funny feeling the other three were evaluating him. He tried to stand taller, add an inch to his stature. Then Camel slapped his shoulder. “Let’s get going. We got a long day of practice today. We’re going to be rescuing some POWs. They’re okay, just a few bruises, a little malnutrition, but no broken bones. We’re lucky.” Rick felt his heart beat faster at the word “rescuing.” From where, he wondered.
They walked over to the helicopter pad. The chopper hadn’t arrived yet. Madman gently knelt down next to Cracker. Rick said, “Easy, girl,” but it wasn’t necessary.
Cracker immediately liked this man. He understood her, she could tell. He rubbed her ear. Oooh, mmmm. Maybe he could teach this new ear-rubbing method to Rick. Mmmm.
Rick felt a stab of jealousy as Cracker seemed almost to be smiling.
Madman stood up. “Very nice dog.”
Camel said, “Madman talks to the animals, I kid you not. He’s got a master’s in psychology, and I swear, sometimes I think he understands every living thing.”
Madman actually blushed. Rick asked, “So you work with animals for Special Forces?”
“Nah,” said Madman. “I’m a demolitions expert.”
Camel laughed, slapped Madman hard on the back. “He blows things up, don’t you, Madman?”
Madman just smiled.
The chopper arrived, the noise preventing any further normal conversation.
They all climbed aboard. Camel sure was a nice guy. Rick had never thought much about Special Forces, but so far they weren’t what he expected. He’d assumed they’d act more superior, like they were better than you.
At Tay Ninh they got off and approached the Special Forces compound, a fenced area within the larger base. A sign said CLASSIFIED AREA. Rick hesitated before walking farther. “Camel?”
“Yup.”
“I’m just a grunt, man. I don’t have clearance.”
“We’ve taken care of all that.” Camel kept going, so Rick followed. It dawned on him that if they had clearance for him, they probably knew everything about him. They must have checked him out already, and he hadn’t even known it was being done.
Camel, Madman, and Vukovich stopped to talk to a couple of other guys. “Hey, how’d it go?” Camel asked one of them.
The man took on a peculiar expression. “Ah. We found him.”
Camel seemed to understand immediately. “I’m sorry,” he said, and then Rick got it: The man they were talking about had been found dead.
“Yeah,” said the other man.
“Did you talk to his parents?”
“Yeah, yeah.” The other man looked away. “Yeah,” he said again.
There was a long silence. Vukovich spoke first. “We’d better get started.”
The other men walked on.
Camel, Vukovich, and Madman all turned to Rick at the same time. The suddenness of their attention made Rick catch his breath. Then Camel smiled. “Let’s have ourselves a good time today. We’re going to practice weapons firing, demolition, helicopter insert of the team, movement on the ground, helicopter extraction with STABO rig—a lot of fun stuff. Special Forces uses the STABO for extractions. It’s a great harness—never let me down. Cracker’s going to love it!” Rick had one overwhelming feeling: He wanted to do good. No. No. He wanted to do great.
The other guys acted as if Rick were one of them. Two Montagnards also practiced with them. Montagnards were the indigenous people of Vietnam, like the American Indians, and they worked closely and loyally with the Special Forces. The “Yards,” as Camel affectionately called them, knew the terrain intimately.
So for the rest of the day the six of them fired CAR-15s—a shortened version of the M-16 Rick usually carried-and ran, crept, hid, and jumped. Cracker occasionally sniffed traps that had been set up to test her. Camel had her move faster than she was used to, but she still caugh
t every trap. They also attached the special harnesses Camel had talked about-the STABOs-to themselves and Cracker, and then they were lifted off into the sky as they hung beneath the chopper. Camel had been right. It was just about the most fun day Rick had ever experienced.
As they worked, Rick thought he had never sweated so much in his life. Then, at the end of the day, the other three were suddenly slapping Rick on the back and saying, “Good job.” And they petted Cracker and said over and over, “Good dog!” They had a celebratory air about them, and that’s when Rick realized that he had not been one of them all day, but he was now.
They ate in the mess together that night, not talking about much except sports and dogs and their girls—everything except this damn war. At Camel’s insistence, Cracker lay in the mess hall next to them. With Camel doing most of the talking, Rick and the other guys ate the way the guys all ate, basically shoveling food into their mouths in a way Rick’s mother would call “bad manners.” Rick’s mind flitted briefly to home, then back again. “That’s the whole point,” Camel was saying to Rick. “Six men and a dog, but we’re like one creature.” But then all of a sudden Rick wanted to know something. “Say, Camel?”
“Yeah?”
“What’s the worst thing you’ve ever seen?”
Camel didn’t answer at first. He slowly finished chewing. He swallowed. Then he finally said, “You gotta move on from that kind of stuff. That’s the nature of the work, man. You move on from what haunts you. Otherwise, you become like Tommy.”
“Who’s Tommy?”
Camel paused again, then said, “Lost his nerve. Had to quit.” There was a silence while they ate. Then Camel said, almost gently, “Hey, I hear your sister went undergrad to MIT.”
Rick said, “Yeah, she’s a brain.” Then he thought about that. “What, you guys know everything about me?”
Camel smiled. “For some jobs I got higher clearance than the members of Congress. We gotta know who we’re dealing with.”
Cracker!: The Best Dog in Vietnam Page 11