the Hill (1995)

by Scott, Leonard B

  He looked around at the majestic beauty and walked back up the path to tell him his decision.

  Minutes later Ty knelt by his father’s grave and set a single honeysuckle rose beside the headstone. The flag popped in the breeze above Ty’s head as he shut his eyes and felt the arms of his father hugging him to his breast.

  Ty left the small recruiting office in El Reno and drove back to Meyers, thinking about his mother. He knew he had to make things right before he told her. She had made Duane move out of the house and boxed all his clothes. The bastard had finally gone too far … but he still loved Mea. He had pathetically begged her, but she had been strong and didn’t shed a tear, until he had left.

  Ty’s hands tightened on the steering wheel, remembering her crying. He had never wanted to believe his mother really loved Duane. They didn’t show their love outwardly, but he had always known in his heart it was there. The magic between them was just different. The fighting and bickering between him and Duane had only served to crush the woman they both cherished and had finally forced her to choose between them. The past days he had tried to comfort his mother and make her feel better, but he couldn’t stop the tears or put back the gleam in her eyes. The decision in choosing him was no victory in winning the battle for her love. They had all lost.

  The Black Widow rolled to the curb in front of the John Deere store. Ty stared at the front door, knowing deep inside he was responsible for his mother’s grief.

  Duane looked up and tensed. Ty strode directly to him and stopped in front of his desk. “It’s got to end, Duane. I’m sorry for everything. I want you to come home … Mom needs you.”

  Duane shook his head. “It’s too late for that.”

  Ty fought back his anger. “Mom needs you … and I need you. I joined up today. The Army is only for two years. The hill is forever, and I can’t destroy it. I could have waited and got drafted, but you and I don’t have the time. Mother needs us now.”

  Duane slumped in his chair. “Jesus, she’ll be heartbroken havin’ you go … that damn hill couldn’t be that important to you.”

  Ty kept his voice steady. “I can’t stand to see her cry anymore. She loves you. Come home and let’s be a family again. I can’t leave knowing she’s unhappy without you. We can both make her happy again by becoming a family. Jason and I need to come back to a real home.”

  Duane looked into Ty’s eyes. “She’s still gonna be heartbroken having you go.”

  “But she’ll have you … she’ll have both of us. Distance and time heal. Maybe with time, you and I can heal the scars.” Ty held out his hand toward his stepfather. “It’s got to end.”

  Duane lowered his head. The hate he had felt for the boy had eaten him up inside and caused him to lose the most precious thing in his life. He hadn’t realized how much Mea meant to him until she had forced him to walk away. And now, finally, he had come to realize what had driven his anger toward his stepson. He had been jealous all those years of Mea’s love for Ty.

  Duane stood and firmly grasped Ty’s hand. “Let’s go home.”

  Toni set a cup of coffee in front of Sheriff Hamby. “It’s good to hear Duane and Mea worked things out, but where’s Ty? I heard he wasn’t in school today.”

  Hamby tossed his hat on the counter. “I talked to Duane this morning. He’s up on his hill somewhere. He’s gotta catch the bus day after tomorrow.”

  “He’ll miss graduation!” blurted Toni, throwing down a spoon.

  “Damn, Toni, don’t get riled at me. I didn’t tell him to sign up for the goddamn Army.”

  Toni shifted her weight from foot to foot. “It’s not fair. It’s just not fair. He’s worked his butt off to get that diploma with what he’s been through.”

  Hamby picked up the spoon and stirred his coffee. “He brought a lot of that on his ownself, so settle down. I’ll take a hot roast beef sandwich and a … are you listening to me?”

  Ty sat on the log bench watching the sunrise, trying to absorb the beauty and serenity into his memory. He knew it would be the last he would see from his hill for a long time. Now he would go on the great hunt of his life. He had spent the night preparing, meditating in his cave.

  He lowered his eyes, knowing that trying to absorb his hill was wasted; it was already a part of him. His heart had been taken years before by its power.

  Standing, he looked at the cemetery one last time and lifted his hand in a farewell salute to the resting caretakers of the hill.

  The leather stirrups creaked as Ty threw his leg over the saddle and reigned his old friend toward home for the most difficult goodbye. His mother would be waiting.

  15

  Beneath the towering teak trees Private Bui Ngoc Duong shook the water from his soaked flop hat and squatted, shaking, by a small fire. A senior sergeant glanced at him. “Be thankful for the rain. The Yankee planes cannot drop their bombs in this weather.”

  Bui Duong only nodded, he was too cold to speak. His uniform was soaking wet, and he felt as if the rain had permeated his bones. He had been on the trail for two weeks, and each day was more miserable than the last. He felt hungry, cold, and sick. The rest stop had not come any too soon.

  Two more replacements squatted by the fire and held out their hands to the warmth. One of them, who had gone through training with Duong, looked at the sergeant and spoke through chattering teeth.

  “Sa … Sergeant, how much farther to the sanctuary? I am ill, as well as many of the men.”

  The sergeant snickered. “You are weak. This march is nothing. Be thankful you are not there yet and have not joined a unit.”

  “How … how much farther?”

  The sergeant looked up at the canopy one hundred feet above him and glanced back at the soldier. “A week’s march, if we are not bombed or detailed to repair road damage. A week and then you will pray to Buddha to be back on the trail as a replacement. We are joining the First Division. General Binh Duc needs your frail bodies to fill his ranks. Soon you will know why.”

  Bui Duong spoke with anticipation. “But we are engineers. We were told we would be digging tunnels in the base camp and not be fighting.”

  The sergeant studied the young soldier’s face a moment before speaking. “When you are with the First Division, everyone fights. I was in the Sixty-sixth Regiment in the battle of Ia Drang. Nine of us engineers are all that is left of a company. General Duc was the regimental commander then, and I saw him cry. His regiment was almost wiped out by the helicopter soldiers. He lost all of his battalion commanders and almost all of the infantry units. He is a great soldier, but where he goes, so does death. Our leaders know if they give him a mission he will carry out the orders, no matter the cost, and the cost will be you and me. Be thankful you are on the trail.”

  The replacements exchanged looks of worry. Even more depressed, Bui Duong took off his pack and sat on top of the canvas bag. He had been an irrigation dam builder with his father and brothers prior to being called into the engineers of the People’s Army. Two months before he had been happy in his home in Tuyen Quang province, working with his family in the builders’ co-op. Now he was miserable and would soon be building fighting positions. He knew the reunification was important, but he could not help but wonder if building dams for future rice was not more important.

  The sergeant stood and hefted his pack to his shoulders. “Put out the fires. Our general is waiting.”

  16

  The young captain stood under the shade of an oak tree, watching his new platoon of officer candidates stand in formation under the hot Georgia sun. The prospects had just been inprocessed to the company and been given platoon assignments. Their instructions had been to form up in a military formation in front of the barracks and await further orders. The captain glanced at his watch.

  Jason stood in the second rank, hoping someone would appear and take charge of the platoon. The sticky heat was oppressive and had already soaked his starched khaki uniform. He thought about the letter in his shirt pock
et, hoping the ink didn’t run and ruin his shirt. The words themselves had upset him enough already. The letter from his mother had said that Ty had joined the Army. It was good hearing that Duane and Ty had made peace, but he couldn’t help but worry at the cost. His brother’s temper was not suited for the Army’s dehumanizing discipline. Ty would strike back, as he’d done all his life.

  One of the soldiers standing in front of him began swaying, snapping Jason back from his thoughts. He knew he was in the best shape of his life after sixteen weeks of little food and too much PT, but the hot sun would soon take its toll on all of them unless someone soon moved them into the shade. He looked around and saw no one but a captain behind the formation, who didn’t seem interested in them.

  Jason didn’t see the sense of it any longer. He stepped through the first rank and positioned himself in front of the platoon. “My name is Jason Johnson. I don’t see anybody around to take charge of us, so for the time being, I will. Pick up your duffle bags and I’ll move you into the shade of the barracks.”

  The men picked up their bags with no complaint and took Jason’s commands as he marched the platoon into the shade and had them stand at ease. Jason kept his position in the front of the formation to keep a lookout for someone with authority. He didn’t have long to wait. The captain who stood behind them strolled down the sidewalk in their direction.

  Jason barked, “Platoon, a-tench-hut!” and brought his hand up in a rigid salute.

  The captain, a short, wiry man, returned the salute and kept walking. Jason had noted that the officer was a veteran, by the ribbons on his chest, and a ranger, by the black and gold tab sewn on his left shoulder. Jason executed an about-face and gave the men an at ease.

  The captain stopped and spun around. “WHAT ARE YOU CANDIDATES DOING?”

  Jason turned around in shock, realizing it was the captain who’d done the yelling. It didn’t seem possible that such a loud voice could come from that small body.

  The captain set his narrow shoulders and strode straight for the staring men. “I said, WHAT ARE YOU DOING?”

  Jason snapped to attention. “Sir, we are waiting on instructions.”

  The captain stopped only inches in front of Jason. “WHO GAVE YOU INSTRUCTIONS TO MOVE THIS PLATOON, CANDIDATE?”

  Jason didn’t flinch or blink an eye at the blast of words so close to his face. He spoke, staring straight ahead. “No one, sir.”

  The officer eyed Jason from head to black, low quarter shoes with a look of disdain. “You … you decided on your own to take charge of this mob? You have the audacity to step forward and lead?… Just who do you think you are?”

  Jason kept his distant stare. “Sir, I am Candidate Johnson, infantryman.”

  The captain’s eyes narrowed into slits as if about to explode when suddenly he stepped back and pointed a finger directly toward Jason’s face and bellowed, “OUTSTANDING!”

  He immediately dropped his hand and began pacing in front of the platoon. “Candidates, my name is Captain John Willis. I am your platoon tactical officer. This is the Officer Candidate School. For a while I was beginning to wonder if all of you had caught the wrong bus, no one wanted to take charge. WRONG! WRONG! WRONG! You will from this day forward. Always look for the opportunity to LEAD! You have one candidate among you who was willing to take the responsibility for your welfare and move you into the shade. He did, however, make a mistake. He said he was Candidate Johnson, Infantryman. Wrong! He is Candidate Johnson, infantryman and newly appointed platoon leader.”

  Willis stepped back in front of his new platoon leader and came to attention. “Candidate Johnson, you will appoint a chain of command, move this mob to the second floor of this barracks, and assign bunks. You will make a roster of all your men and give it to me and be ready for inspection in ten minutes. If you do not perform your duties in accordance with my instructions, you will be fired. Do you have any questions? Good. Take charge.”

  Jason saluted smartly and executed an about-face. “Anybody from Oklahoma?”

  One rawboned redhead in the third rank raised his hand. Jason smiled. “You’re my platoon sergeant. Get me four squad leaders and move ’em into the barracks.”

  Willis walked toward the company headquarters and pulled out a notepad from his pocket. He wanted to remind himself to watch the big, blond-haired candidate. He looked like a leader, but looks didn’t count for much. He was the first to pass his little test, but there were plenty more. Maybe he had it, maybe he didn’t.

  Willis stopped and wrote “Johnson” in his book and placed a question mark by his name. In ten minutes he would know if he could erase the question mark.

  “YOU TRAINNEES HAVE TEN SECONDS TO GET OFF MY BUS!” Ty looked out the window of the large green reception station bus at a big-armed, barrel-chested drill sergeant, wondering if the sergeant actually thought he owned the vehicle.

  The sergeant raised his wrist and looked at his watch. He began counting. “ONE … TWO … THREE …”

  Ty joined the scramble, picking up his two heavy duffle bags and trying to meet the impossible time limit.

  “NINE … NINE AND A HALF … TEN, FREEZE! You people have pissed off Sergeant McCoy. Sergeant McCoy tells you get off the fucking bus, he means get off the FUCKING BUS! You now have ten seconds to get back on the bus and try it again. ONE … TWO …”

  Ty had opened the back safety door and made it off the bus in time and was about to get back on, but he saw that the sergeant wasn’t watching him. He stepped to the other side of the bus and stood by the tire so the sergeant couldn’t see his feet. It was ridiculous to order forty men to get off a bus in ten seconds—just about like everything else the Army had wanted him to do the past few weeks. The reception station was nothing but staying awake for twenty hours a day, taking tests, undergoing inspections, formations, shots, eating slop, and undergoing more stupid inspections that no one could pass. Making a bed so tightly you could bounce a quarter on it was hardly what he’d expected. Nothing was what he’d expected. Sergeants didn’t talk, they screamed. He’d heard his share of profanity in Meyers, but the Army didn’t seem to know anything else. The whole thing had been a mistake. He should have joined the Air Force.

  “NOW, YOU GOT TEN SECONDS TO GET OFF THE BUS AND IMPRESS ME!… ONE … TWO … THREE …”

  Ty waited until “four” before stepping around the bus, only to look directly into the face of McCoy, who halted his count with “FREEZE!”

  Ty sighed as the sergeant strode directly toward him like a hungry shark. “Scarface, did my eyes see you cheatin’ on me?”

  Ty shrugged. “Guess so, Sergeant.”

  McCoy smiled for an instant but suddenly grabbed Ty’s fatigue shirt and yanked him to within an inch of his face. “You fucked up. You pissed off Sergeant McCoy. He got something for you. You cheated Sergeant McCoy and Sergeant McCoy don’t like cheaters, cee-vilians, troublemakers, and attitude problems!”

  Ty leaned his head back to put some distance between his nose and McCoy’s foul breath. He tried to get his feet back under him, but the sergeant’s grip was like a steel vise and held him just off the ground. Ty realized this man’s strength was as incredible as his temper and spoke apologetically.

  “Sorry … Sarge.”

  McCoy yanked Ty further up, causing him to choke. “Sergeant McCoy is not ‘SARGE.’ He is DRILL Sergeant McCoy to you, Mister Scarface Attitude Problem.” McCoy tossed Ty back into the side of the bus like a sack of potatoes. “FIVE … SIX … SEVEN …”

  Jason stood at attention as Captain Willis inspected his platoon. They’d been up most of the night polishing, shining, cleaning, and praying, trying to get ready for the equipment lay-out inspection of all their uniforms, field equipment, and wall lockers.

  Willis picked up an entrenching tool and opened the blade. It was spotless and had been freshly painted. Damn, he hadn’t found a single gig and only had four men left to inspect. This was a first. The second week’s big inspection was always an opportun
ity to point out shortcomings and show his candidates they had a long way to go. OCS was a twenty-four-week course designed to take his men through progressive steps until they became certified leaders. The inspection was supposed to be a teaching vehicle. He was supposed to find countless gigs and chew them out because they hadn’t become a team and weren’t working together.

  Willis sighed and tossed the small shovel to the candidate’s bunk. There was no use looking further. He was wasting his time. This platoon was not like the last one he’d had. This platoon was a team. He could jump ahead of schedule and begin making them technically and tactically proficient. Vietnam was where they would all be going, and spit and polish would save none of them. Learning to be combat leaders was what was really important.

  He turned around and strode toward the reason the platoon had jelled. He stopped in front of Jason and shook his head. “Candidate Johnson, your mob is undoubtedly the most squared-away platoon I have seen. You should be congratulated … but you won’t be. You will fall your mob out in twenty minutes with full combat load for a road march. Today we begin REAL training!”

  Jason couldn’t help but crack a small smile. Weird Willis was living up to his nickname. The platoon had named him “Weird” because he constantly did weird things to the published training schedule. The schedule was supposed to be the gospel, but it was obvious Willis had his own religion.

  Jason saluted smartly, knowing his platoon would march the pip-squeak into the ground. “Yes, sir, we’ll be ready.”

  Jason swore and quickened his stride to keep up with Willis ahead of him. The “pip-squeak” was killing them with a blistering pace. Four men had already fallen out, and two more had dropped back.

  Jason came alongside Willis and tried to speak between heaving breaths. “Si … Sir, we gotta … take a break … or we’re gonna … lose the whole … the whole platoon.”