Like the rest of the men in his squad, Jason went through the food line and picked up a small box of cereal. He quickly put the cereal in his leg pocket. Later he would give it to “Fat Man” Miller to keep him from starving to death. Childs had already led Miller through the chow line and again had allowed him only meager rations.
Miller carried the footlocker on his shoulder and the food tray in his other hand. He sat by Jason and put the locker on his lap to use as a table.
“Don’t worry,” Jason said, looking at the little bit of egg on Miller’s plate. “The guys and me took care of you.”
Miller wolfed down the egg in one bite and shook his head in despair. “If I look at another box of Frosted Flakes I’ll puke. Jay, I need foooood.”
Jason smiled and slipped Miller a slice of toast. “Hang tough. Ya made the runs, so it’s all downhill. It couldn’t get any worse.”
“GOLDILOCKS, COME HERE, RAGBAG!”
Miller gave Jason a look of sympathy as he got up and walked over to the cadre table where Childs sat.
“Sergeant, Ranger Nance reports.”
Childs sipped coffee from a stained mug and raised his eyes. “Sit down, Goldilocks, and tell me if you saved any wimps.”
Jason quickly took a seat and stared straight ahead. “No, Sergeant, I didn’t save any of them. They quit or dropped out of the runs.”
Childs nodded his head with pleasure. “Didn’t I tell ya? What did you learn, Goldilocks?”
“Sergeant, I learned good men let their minds beat them.”
Childs sipped from his coffee mug again and lowered his voice. “Johnson, it might surprise you, but I talk to every man who quits and give him one more chance to go back to training. None do. You wanna know why? They really didn’t want it. Most of ’em swear they want the tab, but they don’t feel they’re cut out to be a Ranger. They’re right. They know in their hearts they can’t put up with all the bullshit. I’m telling you this because sometimes teamwork and helping people don’t do any good. This isn’t OCS, where you can ‘cooperate and graduate.’ Men who know they haven’t got it need a way out. We give it to them in the City Week. I wanted you to know how the system works so you wouldn’t think we didn’t give a shit. We do care. I care and it bothers me to see them drop out, but this is a leadership school like no other. I don’t think you’d want it any other way.”
Childs set his cup down and motioned his head toward Miller. “I saw you give that piece of toast to your buddy. You owe me fifty push-ups. I know; you got a box of cereal for him, too. You owe me another fifty push-ups. But Ranger Johnson, had you not tried to help him I’d have smoked your ass. Miller has proven he has what it takes. He is worth saving. You’d better have that squad of yours start getting two boxes of cereal a day.”
Jason looked into the expressionless eyes of the sergeant in disbelief. “Uh … yes, Sergeant, thank you for the … the … talk.”
“MOVE OUT, Goldilocks!”
Jason returned to his breakfast and noticed Childs leaving. Miller leaned over his footlocker. “What was all that about?”
Jason sighed and tossed another piece of toast to his friend. “You wouldn’t believe it if I told you.”
Ty took two cautious steps and froze. Despite the biting cold wind, he was sweating. One step in front of him was a piece of fishing line stretched over the trail. His eyes followed the line as he slowly crouched down to see if it was a trip wire. A branch snapped to his left, and he immediately fell back on his side and rolled into a firing position. Ten yards away a man rose up from a spider hold and looked toward the trail. Ty fired his M-14 twice and jumped to his feet at a dead run. “AMBUSH!”
Sergeant First Class Winters stepped onto the trail and blocked the path. Ty came to a halt in front of him and waited for his critique. Winters eyed the scar first, then the eyes. “You knew somebody was there, didn’t you?”
Ty looked behind him at the trail. “No, not really, but I had this feeling like … well, it just felt strange.”
Winters nodded in understanding and smiled. “You was in the groove. When you’re in the groove, you know. Remember that feeling and always listen to it. A point man lives on his senses and instincts. You have to be in the groove, or Charlie gonna light your ass in a heartbeat. Go on to Station 2, and remember to walk light and get the feel for the trail before you start movin’. Never think speed is important. It ain’t. Speed is the quickest way to die. Don’t ever push your luck or yourself when you in the groove.”
Ty nodded and walked to the next station as the man he shot approached Sergeant Winters. Winters shook his head. “Willie, he kilt yo’ ass bigger than shit.”
Sergeant Alcord rolled his eyes. “I didn’t hear him. I thought for sure he was still up the trail messin’ with the false trip wires. Damn, he scared the crap outta me when he opened up.”
Winters threw a thumb over his shoulder. “Get him a dog.”
“But he ain’t one of the students. He don’t know nothin’ about handlin’.”
Winters grinned. “You killed all our students on this lane, remember? We got us a natural, Willie, a real live natural, and they don’t come around too often.”
Jason followed Miller, who was still carrying the footlocker on his shoulder. The company had arrived at Camp Darby four hours ago and had received their first series of classes on how to develop a warning order. The two men walked toward a large open area where the company was forming up, when an all too familiar voice rang out, “FAT MAN, REPORT TO ME!”
Miller growled and ran, carrying the footlocker toward Childs, who stood at the edge of the field. “Sergeant, Fat Man reports!”
“Fat Man, what is the maximum effective range of that one-each, OD, wood, government-issue footlocker?”
Miller looked perplexed. Childs stepped closer with a glint in his eye. “Fat Man, this is obviously a secret Ranger weapon. I want to know what the maximum effective range of it is.”
Miller shifted the footlocker to his powerful right arm and took two strides for momentum, then threw the box with all his might. It smashed on impact to the hoots and hollers of the assembled company. Miller paced off the distance to the footlocker and jogged back to Childs. “Sergeant, the maximum effective range of one-each, OD, wood, government-issue footlocker is twelve feet and six inches!”
Childs kept a straight face, despite the laughter from the company. “OUTSTANDING, FAT MAN. THAT WAS AN EXCELLENT DEMONSTRATION … NOW, MOVE OUT!”
* * *
Ty let Major lead him through the darkness toward the sound of men talking. The voices were muffled and there was no light. They had to be in a bunker or tent. A cold sleet beat at Ty’s face as he knelt down and whispered into the German shepherd’s ear, “Stay.”
The dog remained still as Ty crawled forward and pushed the safety off his rifle. The voices became familiar as he crept closer, but he still couldn’t see anything but blackness.
“I see your twenty-five cents and raise ya a dime.”
“You bluffin, Willie, you ain’t got nothin’. Here’s the dime and another quarter. Put up or shut up.”
Sergeant Alcord picked up a quarter and tossed it into the pot. “Ray, I figure I got two hours before the first of them finds us. You’re gonna run out of money before then. What you got?”
Winters held onto his cards. “Willie, my man, they been out for six hours, and the only team that hasn’t been spotted or killed is Nance and Major. I’d be willing to bet whatever’s in the pot that he makes it in without being detected.”
“They’re lost,” Alcord said. “Nobody has ever made it through my test without at least one screwup. The Nance kid is good, I admit, but he ain’t that good. He’s lost or that stupid-ass dog has ate his leg off. Major ain’t none too reliable. There ain’t no way my men could have missed them.”
Winters laid out his cards. “Three kings beats whatever you got.”
Alcord threw down his cards in disgust. “You cheatin’ son of …”
Winters burst out laughing, and Alcord rolled his eyes. “Don’t say it. I know; the groove kilt my ass bigger than shit.” He looked at Ty and broke into a smile. “What happened to your mutt? Major decide to go home and get out of the snow?”
Ty gave out a short whistle, and in seconds the shepherd was at his side. “Nope. The Major is in the groove, too.”
Winters hooted and began picking up his money.
Jason was tired. He was past tired, he was dead on his feet. The company had moved to the mountain phase in Dalongeha, Georgia, and had broken up into small patrols. Jason’s patrol had been moving for days without rest. It was just turning light and he didn’t think he could take another step. So far, thirty-four men had been dropped because of frostbite and various other injuries. Jason would see a tree twenty feet ahead and shut his eyes for what seemed like only a second, and when he opened them again he’d be at the tree. He was sleeping while walking. It was an unreal feeling, like watching an old movie that had been spliced.
The patrol stopped to his front. He offered thanks to his maker and fell to the side of the trail to rest. He closed his eyes but jerked his head up to see if the patrol was moving again. They weren’t. The man to his front was kneeling only ten feet away. Jason dropped his head again.
Miller was behind Jason and saw him dozing off again. He crawled over and tapped his leg. “Hang tough, it can’t get any worse.”
Jason lifted his head, too tired to smile. “Screw you, Fat Man.”
Miller looked over Jason’s shoulder. “Where is the rest of the patrol?”
Jason looked up and glanced at the man in front of him. “There, right … aw shit!” The man wasn’t a man. It was a stump that his mind had tricked him into believing was something else. Jason got to his feet and listened for a moment. He could hear the others in the distance. “Come on. We gotta catch up before they find out there’s been a break in contact.”
He forced his body to move under the weight of the seventy-pound rucksack and took off in the direction of the sound he’d heard. In only minutes he saw the patrol ahead and breathed easier. He and Miller had no sooner caught up when the patrol halted. Both men fell in the snow beside the trail to rest when a voice barked out, “Patrol leader, you’re dead. Ranger Johnson, come here.”
Jason felt his stomach crawl up his throat and do a tap dance. The instructor was going to say the six worst words a Ranger student could ever hear: “You are now the patrol leader.”
Jason stood over the seated instructor. “Sergeant, I’m Ranger Johnson.”
The sergeant pointed his finger at Jason and said the six dreaded words. Then he said, “Your objective is five klicks away. What is our location?”
Jason knelt in the snow, having no idea where he was located. They’d moved all night, and it had been so dark he couldn’t even see his hands, let alone read a map and follow along. The sergeant saw his expression and pointed to his map. “You’re right here. What are you gonna do now, Patrol Leader?”
Jason reached down inside himself for the last reserve he possessed. The twenty-two-hour training days had drained his mind as well as his body. He weighed twenty pounds less than he had on the day they started. He was reduced to satisfying the basic needs for sleep and food, and nothing else. He would have killed for a peanut butter sandwich and a chance to rest for thirty minutes.
“Well, Patrol Leader, what are you gonna do?”
Jason struggled and fought through the fog in his brain and concentrated on the past miserable weeks of training. He raised his head and looked the sergeant directly in the eyes. “I’m gonna take charge of this patrol and accomplish the mission.” He stood and motioned the assistant patrol leader forward and the team leaders. “Crazies, I’m now in charge. You have three minutes to disseminate the information to your men and get a status of weapons, equipment, and personnel, and report back to me. Send me the compassman and the paceman to go over the route, and make sure your men are alert and on one knee, not lyin’ down. I’ll be checking in two minutes. Do it.”
The sergeant smiled to himself. His job was going to be easy. He had himself a patrol leader who knew how to lead.
Ty set his bags by the curb and faced the master sergeant. “Coach, thanks for everything. I really appreciate you settin’ up the training for me.”
Cherry put his arm around Ty’s shoulder. “Ty, the way Winters talked it sounded like you taught them a few things. I’m proud of you. I want you to write me and let me know what unit you get assigned to. I got friends everywhere that can pull a few strings. You keep your butt down and don’t play hero. I kinda got used to you and wouldn’t want to hear any bad news.”
The cab pulled up to the curb, and Ty reached into his pocket and pulled out an envelope. “Coach, there’s one favor I want to ask of you.”
“Sure, what is it?”
“My brother is gonna be coming through Airborne School the first of March. In this envelope is his name and what class he’ll be in. I’d appreciate it if …”
Winter’s took the envelope. “Consider it done.”
Ty extended his hand. “Good-bye, Sergeant Airborne.”
Cherry shook his head. “Paratroopers never say ‘good-bye.’ They just say ‘see ya.’ ”
22
Private Bui Duong strained with all his might and felt the log finally move. He, along with forty infantrymen from his assigned company, was dragging an ironwood tree up the ridge toward the hilltop. Thirty minutes later, he was standing on that hilltop, covered in sweat, and feeling elated. Never had he seen such a view. The trees were even bigger and more beautiful than those in the base camp. He had been working a week on the hill, and every day he had grown to love it more. The trees were ancient, and the construction work had not destroyed a single one of them. The trees they had cut were from the valley.
A corporal motioned down the ridge. “Look! Now they bring the water buffalo? Why could they not have arrived an hour ago?”
Duong smiled and squatted down by the soldier. “How is your bunker coming along?”
The corporal looked disdainfully at the closest tree. “The soil is soft, but the damn roots make digging impossible.”
“Be thankful of the roots. They provide strength to the soil and make the bunkers and tunnels even more bombproof. Use an axe to cut them.”
“I am a fighter, not a digger like you engineers,” the corporal said disgustedly. “You like this work, I hate it!”
Duong sighed and stood up, knowing he had to go back to work. The hill had a command bunker under the hilltop that had been used in the first revolution and was still usable. The ironwood they had cut down would finish replacing the one rotten support beam. The hill would become a fortress in time. The plan called for three defense lines all tied in with underground tunnels leading to the command bunker. The buffalo would ease the burden of dragging the trees needed for the bunkers.
Duong picked up a saw but stopped and took one more look at the view. Somehow he seemed to gain strength from the beauty.
Jason leaned forward and dug his paddle into the black water. The small rubber boat held ten men, all of whom were on the verge of collapsing. The class had completed the mountain phase the week before, but they had found only more misery in the flatlands of Florida. The Florida swamps were just as bad as the Georgia mountains, if not worse. There were only ten days left in the course, but he wasn’t sure if he could make it. He had nothing left. He was totally drained, physically and mentally. Just making it the next ten minutes would be a miracle.
The late night quiet was broken by an ominous splash from the dark bank, startling Jason and the others. The instructor sitting in the center of the boat whispered a quick warning. “Gator. Keep your feet and hands out of the water.”<
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The tired men came instantly awake and paddled harder. Ten minutes later, the river made a wide bend to the right, and the Ranger students knew it was time for the unthinkable. Under the light of the half moon they paddled the boat toward the far shore. They were to cache the boat and march five miles through the swamp to raid an enemy base camp. The boat reached the trees of the bank, but to their horror there was no bank, no sand dune, no dry ground.
The instructor pointed at the smallest man in the boat. “Get out and check how deep it is. Watch out for water moccasins.”
Jason knew the instructor had to be insane. Get out of the boat, at night, in alligator- and snake-infested waters, in fifty-degree temperatures, and wearing seventy pounds of equipment? No way.
The instructor whispered again, but with command in his voice, “Do it.”
Jason felt sorry for the other Ranger but didn’t dare volunteer himself. Suddenly, the man behind him slid off the raft into the water. Jason turned around just as his big friend disappeared under the surface. Fat Man Miller was the last one he would have expected to display such bravery. Miller was deathly afraid of the water and had been staying as close to Jason as possible since the operation began.
Miller reappeared like a whale breaking the surface, spouting a huge geyser of water. He choaked and spit and choked again as he frantically grabbed for the boat.
The instructor leaned over the side and tossed a rope out. “Pull us in closer and let me know when you touch bottom.”
In the moonlight Jason could see Miller’s panicked expression and prepared to jump in to help, but Miller suddenly rose two feet out of the water as if by magic. He’d finally relaxed and reached for the bottom. The water was only four feet deep. The sergeant pointed to a nearby cypress tree. “Tie us off. Good job, Ranger.”
the Hill (1995) Page 18