Suddenly, like a marsh ghost, a quavering blue oblong appeared, moving fast, too fast, changing to a circle, changing too fucking fast, too fucking fast. Now, goddamn it. Now, Small yelled.
Now, Fitch shouted, and Pallack popped the spoon on the white phosphorous grenade and threw it into the zone. Sudden brilliant white light stabbed at the mens eyes. The huge whirling black mass crashed into the zone with an anguished screech of buckling metal. The front wheels gave way and the bird lurched sideways, nosing in, pivoting on the buckled wheels, twisted by the torque of its blades. Then it lurched sideways and came to a stop, its tailgate jammed.
The crew chief came crawling out over the barrel of a .50-caliber machine gun, shouting. The litter bearers hoisted Jackson in through the narrow opening, handing the plasma bottle to the side gunner. Fredrickson and Sheller, seeing Jackson safely inside, scrambled back and dropped to the mud as the blades of the chopper gained speed. Fredrickson picked up two bloody objects and threw them through the side opening: Jacksons boots, his feet still in them.
Then the mortar shells started homing in on the burning phosphorous. The helicopter skimmed across the landing zone and disappeared, falling downhill into the darkness. Get off the top of the fucking hill, Fitch shouted, unnecessarily. Everyone was running for cover. Conman tried to extinguish the burning phosphorous. It broke into smaller pieces and he screamed in pain when one of them burned a tiny hole into his leg. It went through the muscle and didnt stop until it reached the bone.
Mellas spent the rest of the night trying to understand why Jackson had lost both legs while he himself seemed to bounce from near miss to near miss. He felt that somehow he had cheated. Then he laughed softly. What was he supposed to do, stand up and get blown away to make things up to the dead and the maimed?
He thought of the jungle, already regrowing around him to cover the scars they had created. He thought of the tiger, killing to eat. Was that evil? And ants? They killed. No, the jungle wasnt evil. It was indifferent. So, too, was the world. Evil, then, must be the negation of something man had added to the world. Ultimately, it was caring about something that made the world liable to evil. Caring. And then the caring gets torn asunder. Everybody dies, but not everybody cares.
It occurred to Mellas that he could create the possibility of good or evil through caring. He could nullify the indifferent world. But in so doing he opened himself up to the pain of watching it get blown away. His killing that day would not have been evil if the dead soldiers hadnt been loved by mothers, sisters, friends, wives. Mellas understood that in destroying the fabric that linked those people, he had participated in evil, but this evil had hurt him as well. He also understood that his participation in evil, was a result of being human. Being human was the best he could do. Without man there would be no evil. But there was also no good, nothing moral built over the world of fact. Humans were responsible for it all. He laughed at the cosmic joke, but he felt heartsick.
The next morning Mellas crawled from his hole to make his round of the perimeter. He went from hole to hole, kidding, trying to lighten everyone up. He poked fun at Conman for trying to handle burning phosphorous with his bare hands. Conman flipped him the bird and looked pleased that Mellas was acknowledging his sacrifice. Some of the kids began to open C-rations with the tiny can openers that hung with their dog tags. Others brewed coffee. Several were digging a hole to shit in away from the lines.
All around Mellas the ridges and peaks stood clearly against the lightening sky. The jungle in the valley below him was no different from when hed first arrived: silent, gray-green, at once ancient and ageless. But it was no longer a mystery. It contained rivers that hed waded across and fought in. There were also hilltops whose approaches and slightest contours he knew intimately, and bamboo patches, beaten down and forced back, already starting to rise again. And there was a trail, now beginning to grow over, soon to disappear. It was another ordinary day in the world of fact. But it was different because the mystery had been slightly penetrated and Mellas saw things differently.
He stopped at the CP to find out about Jackson. Fitch said he was still alive.
Four Phantoms roared across the top of the hill, shattering the dawn with noise, just as artillery fire erupted in the valley to the northwest. Thats the prep for Speeding Home Kilo, Fitch murmured to no one in particular. Soon, four CH-46s circled into the valley to the north. Everyone in the CP group listened in on Kilos frequency as the lead platoon commander reported a cool zone.
Dgooks are making fucking hat, Pallack announced. Everyone smiled. Mellas guessed, however, that Kilos job would be to sit astride the escape routes. Theyd be busy soon enough.
Hawke joined them and Fitch passed his coffee around the circle. They decided to build a new LZ out of sight of the NVA observers, between Matterhorn and Helicopter Hill, to evacuate the walking wounded like Mellas. Mellas gave Conman the platoon and was helped down the hill to the new zone, where he collapsed.
He lay there semiconscious. Anne floated through his mind, and he awoke to feel the hidden sun on his face, or the cool mistand to an emptiness and a longing for her unlike any hed ever felt. But he knew it was useless to think of getting back together, and that was months in the future anyway. There were white girls in Sydney. Round-eyes. Maybe hed go to the outback. A quiet farm with sheep. Maybe hed fall in love there. Maybe hed save his eye. Everything seemed to be part of a cycle as he stared into the gray nothingness above him, hearing the wash of distant waves on a warm beach, feeling the sun pulling his body upward like evaporating rain.
Then he remembered Vancouvers sword, still in the CP bunker on Helicopter Hill. He got two of the walking wounded to come with him for security.
Stevens was on watch in the little bunker. A work party was just finishing a larger bunker for the CP group. Mellas could see the colonel and the Three talking with Bainford, looking at something off to the north, their maps out. He nodded to Stevens in the gloom, crawled over to the corner, and pulled out the sword.
That yours, Mellas? Stevens asked in amazement.
Mellas eyed him for a long moment. I dont know, he finally said. I really dont know.
Yeah. OK, Stevens said. You guys did a hell of a job yesterday.
Looking at Stevens with one eye made Mellas aware that he had taken seeing for granted. Now, this way, he saw Stevens differently from before. He couldnt get mad at Stevens for the comment. Stevens was just Stevens, a cog in the machinery, trying to be nice. And Mellas was just Mellas, another cog, deciding not to get angry. He didnt much like being a cog, but there it was. He smiled at his silent conversation. Thanks, Mellas said.
He returned to the new LZ and fell asleep with the sword beside him.
Someone was kicking his boot. Mellas opened his good eye. He was flooded with ugly anger at being disturbed.
It was McCarthy. Alpha Company was winding through the small landing zone. Wake up, you silly fucker, McCarthy said. It took me forever to find you with that goddamned bandage wrapped around your face.
Mellas, smiling, reached a hand up to McCarthy. McCarthys radio operator was smoking impatiently. Where the fuck you going? Mellas asked.
West. Two Twenty-Four set up a blocking position right on the Z at the Laos end of the valley. Well be the hammer. Charlie Companys kicking off to our north right now. Theyre pulling you guys out this afternoon. He paused. You guys had a rough time, didnt you?
Yeah, Mellas agreed. Nothing unusual, though. Light casualties I believe its called back in the world. All you have to do is report it as a battalion action and the percentage lost thins to nothing. Whos going to hold Matterhorn?
Why should you care? Youll be skating on board the Sanctuary, dazzling round-eyed nurses. Maybe well get in another mystery tour when this fucking ops over.
Whos holding fucking Matterhorn? Mellas demanded, rising to
his elbows, his good eye beginning to spasm.
McCarthy shrugged. No one, he said.
Mellas sank back to the ground and lay looking at the sky. No one. Finally he spoke. Be careful, Mac.
Dont worry about me, McCarthy said.
Mellas looked at him. They both knew McCarthy was going into a fight that afternoon, the same day Mellas was leaving it all. It was another cycle, another wearying, convulsive rhythm, and if it wasnt Mellas it was McCarthy, and if not McCarthy someone like McCarthy, forever and forever, like an image in facing mirrors in a barbershop, deeper and deeper, smaller and smaller, curving with time and distance away into the unknown, but always repeating, always the same. Mellas thought that if he could smash one of those mirrors, then this agony would stop and hed be left alone to dream. But the mirrors were only thoughts, illusions. Reality was McCarthy, standing above him, a friendly face, his radioman impatient to get going because theyd have to hump extra fast to catch up with the rest of the platoon.
Good luck, Mellas said.
McCarthy waved and trudged after his radio operator. He turned and waved again. Mellas kept thinking, Dont get killed, damn you, dont let yourself get killed.
CHAPTER TWENTY
The medevac helicopter flew eastward. It flashed across a white beach and then out over the South China Sea. Eventually a white ship with large red crosses on its superstructure and hull appeared below. The chopper tilted back, its blades pounding the air, and set down on the deck. Corpsmen ran inside and hauled the wounded out on stretchers. A nurse in fatigues was holding a clipboard, looking at medevac tags and wounds. She was rapidly sorting the wounded into groups. The most severely wounded were being shoved to the side as the less wounded were stripped of weapons, boots, and clothes and rushed into the interior of the ship.
The nurse grabbed for Mellass tag, not really looking at him. Im all right, he said. Those guys over there are a lot worse off than I am.
You let me run triage, Marine. She looked up at his bandages. She had a coarse, red face, small eyes that seemed sleep-deprived, and heavy eyebrows. She wore her hair in two short stiff pigtails. Most likely to survive go first, she said. Mellas realized that the idea was to maximize the number of men who could return to combat.
Whats this? she asked, pointing at Vancouvers sword.
Its a friend of mines.
All weapons, Marine, she said, motioning for the sword.
Im a lieutenant.
Sor-ry, came the sarcastic reply. Look, Lieutenant. Im busy. All weaponseven stupid souvenirs.
The fuck its a souvenir.
What did you say, Marine? You know youre talking to a lieutenant in the United States Navy, dont you? That rank was the equivalent of a Marine captain.
Yes, maam. Mellas gave her a sloppy nonregulation salute, his hand curved over limply. How do I know Ill get it back? he asked, still holding the salute, waiting for her to return it.
The nurse glared at him. Then she shouted over her shoulder, Bell, take this mans weapon.
I told you
You obey orders, Lieutenant, or Ill have your ass on report. She moved off to the next man, reading his medevac tag, writing on her clipboard.
Bell, a hospital corpsman, came over and took the sword. He looked at it appraisingly.
How do I know Ill get it back? Mellas asked again.
You pick it up when you get orders back ashore, sir.
I want a receipt.
Sir, youre holding up the process. We got Twenty-Fourth Marines in the shit and
Im in the Twenty-Fourth Marines. I want a fucking receipt.
We dont have any receipt forms for swords, Lieutenant. Itll go with the rifles. Itll be all right.
Ive had three of my men pay for their goddamn rifles because some fucker in the Navy sold them to the gooks. I want a receipt and I want it now.
Bell looked around for help. He spotted the nurse and went over to her. Mellas saw her set her lips tight, then say something to Bell. Bell returned. Youll have to wait, sir. The lieutenant says shes busy.
When the last stretcher disappeared inside the ship, the nurse walked over toward Mellas, holding herself rigid. Now whats the problem, Lieutenant?
Maam, the lieutenant would like a receipt for the lieutenants weapon, maam.
A receipt. I see. She looked down at her clipboard. Mellas, Second Lieutenant, Bravo Company, First Battalion Twenty-Fourth Marine Regiment. Correct?
Yes, maam, Mellas replied.
Im going to issue you a direct order, Second Lieutenant Mellas, with HM-1 Bell as a witness. If the order isnt obeyed, Im going to place you under arrest for disobeying a direct order. Is that perfectly clear?
Yes, maam, Mellas said tightly.
Lieutenant Mellas, give your weapon, that sword, to HM-1 Bell and get your ass down to the officers ward. If youre not moving in ten seconds Im placing you under arrest. As it is, Im putting you on report for disrupting triage.
Mellas knew when the machinery had him. He gave Bell the sword.
In the officers ward another corpsman collected Mellass reeking uniform, but Mellas wouldnt let him take the boots. He tied them to the end of the bed and glared at the corpsman. When he felt the boots were safe, he found a basin, filled it with warm water, and with a deep sigh put both feet into it. Sometime later he was brought back to reality by the voice of another corpsman. Debriding, Lieutenant, he said. Mellas reluctantly removed his feet from the basin.
They put him on a gurney and wheeled him deeper inside the ship. There they gave him a local anesthetic and he watched them pick metal, dirt, and cloth from his legs, snip off dead flesh, then clean and rebandage the shrapnel wounds. The rest will come out on its own, the surgeon said, already looking at the next problem on the list, wiping his hands. A corpsman wheeled Mellas back to his bed. He had to wake Mellas up to get him into it.
He jerked awake, his heart pounding, upon hearing his name. He took a gulp of air and searched frantically for danger with his good eye. A nurse with red hair whose name tag read Elsked, K. E. was standing over him. Like the triage nurse, she wore the twin bars of a Navy lieutenant. She was curt. Youre due in the operating room in five minutes, Lieutenant. She looked at his bandaged legs. Can you walk or do you need help?
Whatevers efficient, Mellas answered. He crawled out of the bed and walked, his legs stiff. She led the way down the passage, turning occasionally to see how far behind he was.
Mellas watched her every move, noticing her hips and the outline of her bra strap beneath the crisp white synthetic material of her dress. He longed to catch up to her and touch her, make contact with someone soft, someone who smelled clean and fresh, someone warm. He wanted to talk to someone who knew how he felt, who could talk to the lost, lonely part of him. He wanted a woman.
The nurse directed two corpsmen to arrange Mellas on an operating table. She wouldnt look him in the eye. Mellas regretted being sent to this place, where his sudden flood of longing had no possibility of fulfillment. She thinks all I want to do is stick it in her, he thought bitterly. Of course I do, but theres so much more. He laughed aloud.
Whats so funny? one of the corpsmen asked, moving a huge machine that hung from a track overhead. He positioned it carefully over Mellass face.
Between the emotion and the response, the desire and the spasm, falls the shadow, Mellas said. He attempted a smile.
The red-haired nurse turned to look at him intently.
They held him down by the shoulders and an older doctor came in. He peered into Mellass eye and injected a local anesthetic next to it. The nurse washed the eye, cleaning out the dirt and powder that had mixed with the ointment that Fredrickson had shoved into it. A piece of shrapnel had laid open Mellass eyelid. Another
piece had gone into the skin just above the bridge of his nose, stopping against the skull. Mellas was tense with fear of what was coming. He looked up at a large black machine on tracks above him. It had large thick glass lenses and a stainless steel needle about six inches long that narrowed to a very fine point. The machine started to glow through the lenses, which magnified the doctors eyes, peering back at him. Then the lenses covered the brilliant light, and the light seemed to penetrate Mellass brain. The steel needle came out of the haze of light, and the doctor moved dials that moved the needle. The redheaded nurses hands pressed down on Mellass forehead and chest. The needle went into Mellass eye. He held on to the gurney and tried not to scream.
Matterhorn: a novel of the Vietnam War Page 59