Hammonds looked across the aisle at Caddy and Silk. “Sir, my squad is dead on their feet. The ol’ man using us as point all the time has frazzled us. You think we could get a few days off at the R and R center to mellow out? I’ve really had it, and I know the men need it.”
Jenkins smiled. “I’ve already got it arranged for the whole platoon. It’s a surprise once we get to Tuy Hoa. Oh yeah, before I forget, make sure Cat takes that damn pistol off when he lands. I saw him wearing it when he got on the plane.”
Hammonds leaned forward and looked down the aisle at Ty, who was sleeping. “He’s the one I’m worried about most. He’s nothing but skin and bones, and he’s gettin’ weird over the point job. I swear at times it seems as if he’s enjoying himself out there. He needs this break more than any of us.”
“It’s over now,” Jenkins said. “He can take it easy.” He relaxed and shut his eyes. “Dak To is just a bad memory.”
The major sat down behind the field table and looked up at Jason, who was standing in front of him. “Why do you insist on making trouble for me? The supply officer wants your head, and the adjutant wants you shot in front of the flagpole at dawn. Nobody in the rear likes you. I thought things might be different since we left Dak To, but we’ve been here two days and you’ve managed to piss off the entire camp staff. I’ve got four complaints in the past two hours. What the hell did you do?”
Jason was so angry that his hands were trembling. “Sir, those lousy sonofabitches wouldn’t change their precious mess hall hours for our arriving troops. They were going to issue C-rations instead of getting off their lazy asses and cooking a hot meal. I made them stay open and cook. Then the bastard that runs the shower point decided our men would use up all his water, and he puts it off limits. We had a very heated argument, and he decided to change his mind. And the club NCO shut down the club and wouldn’t serve our men and …”
The major held up his hand. “I know you changed his mind, too. I got news, Johnson—hitting an engineer second louie is not what I call a heated argument. It’s called beatin’ the shit out of people. And telling that club NCO you would gas his club every night we’re here is called blackmail. The old man is spending all his time putting out fires you start, and he has better things to do.”
Jason slammed his fist on the table. “These REMFs are supposed to support us, not hassle us! Sir, they oughta be given an M-16 and shipped to field for a week and see how it is for a change. They’re workin’ eight to five and have hooch maids. They think the war is rough when their goddamn ice machine breaks down.”
The major laughed and stood up. “Damn you, Jay, you won’t even accept an ass chewin’ without arguing.”
The battalion commander strode in the front door and immediately broke into a smile. “Johnson, you’ve done it again. You’ve made me the biggest asshole in Tuy Hoa. I had to see the colonel who runs this base and tell him you were my personal representative in charge of ensuring that my men were property cared for. He blew his top and called Corps.”
“I’m sorry, sir,” Jason said despondently.
“Don’t be sorry.” The lieutenant colonel patted Jay’s back. “It was great. They told that fat-ass leg to do his damn job and quit complaining. You won another one for the Second Batt. What the hell would I do without you? Keep up the good work.”
Jason shot a look at the major, who quickly shook his head. He kept silent until the commander had walked into his office and shut the door. “You didn’t talk to him, did you?”
“I can’t afford losing you,” Walker said. “You’re the best damn assistant operations officer I’ve had, and I can’t let you go to another platoon.”
“Sir, you promised once we left Dak To you’d talk to him and …”
“Look, Jay, the old man won’t let you go. We’ve got plenty of lieutenants for the field but don’t have enough good staff officers. You are his best L-tee and he needs you here to keep the rear straight. Somebody has got to take care of the men, and you’ve proven your heart is where it’s supposed to be—with them, the soldiers of the Second Batt. Do like he says and just keep up the good work.”
Jason’s shoulders sagged. He hated every minute of being a staff officer. He took out his frustrations on those who gave line soldiers a hard time or thought their job was more important than those who humped. He was hated by all the rear-area soldiers because he was unrelenting and unmerciful in demanding one hundred percent effort in support. He wanted another platoon, to be with real soldiers again. He looked at this operations officer who had become a friend. “Sir, you know I’m a duck out of water. I’m not a career officer. I’m just doing my time like most of them out there. I need to be with them.”
The major put his hand on Jason’s shoulder. “Jay, I know what you’re feeling, but you’ve got to understand this part of the war is just as important. With a platoon, you’d be helping twenty-five or thirty men. Here you’re helping seven hundred. You’re doing more for the colonel and the battalion than you could do out there. We need you here.”
Jason looked at the major and felt trapped. He knew the man was right, but he knew he couldn’t take much more. His heart was breaking, seeing the cold stares of line soldiers when they came in. They thought he was a REMF—a rear-echelon motherfucker.
Colonel Kinh smiled broadly. “The last of the infantry has gone. Only a mechanized unit remains, and they can patrol only the lowlands.”
General Binh Ty Duc rose from his chair. “Begin the next phase of the construction immediately. Every unit must work day and night. The South is holding its elections soon, and the new so-called ‘president’ will be placed in office. Our plan must be ready to execute.”
Kinh pointed at the wall map. “We are almost complete except for clearing the flank approaches to our major defensive positions, as you ordered. Several of the commanders have questioned the need.”
“The Americans will attack our defensive positions exactly as they have always done,” General Duc said as he picked up a pen from the table. “They will find our first positions, then pull back and call in air and artillery support. This is when they are most vulnerable. We will keep ground units available and have them attack their rear and flanks while they are waiting. The Americans will think the ground to their flanks is too steep for us to maneuver, but if we clear and prepare hidden trails, they will be surprised and ill prepared. We can split their force as they are strung out along the ridges and defeat them in detail. They will have no choice but to call for more soldiers and help our diversion.”
Kinh shook his head, knowing what the cost would be. “I have grown to care for the men very much. How long must our soldiers defend for the diversion to be successful?”
The general sat down and stared at the pen in his hands. “General Giap has asked for twenty days. We have cached enough supplies and ammunition for that time. ”
Kinh shut his eyes. “Twenty days will be twenty years to our men.”
Duc nodded silently, knowing twenty days of fighting would finish his division. American intelligence would not underestimate his strength again. He had a plan to make sure of it. The Yankees would come in large numbers, and his men would do their duty and die for the grand plan. The thought of the pain and suffering his soldiers would endure caused him to clench his teeth. He would die also. Perhaps not in battle, but his heart would surely die as it had done thirteen years before on seeing his men lying on the battlefield at Dak To.
Lieutenant Salias heard the loud buzzing and knew he was close. Sergeant Hammonds walked out onto the trail in front of the new platoon leader and pointed to a nearby sugar plum. “They’re over here, sir.”
Salias swallowed the lump in his throat seeing the black cloud of flies and stepped closer. The two VC had been killed thirty minutes before and were already covered with insects. The flies were like pilot fish with a shark—they followed the platoon and waited for a kill so that they could reap the benefits. The flies had gotten grossly fat the past w
eek. His men had killed seven VC in ten days and had captured five more. The platoon was working independently in its own sector and had been searching some small hills adjacent to a huge valley covered with rice paddies. The platoon was having good luck in finding VC who were poorly trained and equipped. The local villagers were solid backers of the government and were reporting anything they saw that looked suspicious.
He waded through the swarm of flies and made a quick inspection of the bodies, wanting to get it over with. The head shots told him who did the killing and caused a shiver to run up his spine. Nance had killed six VC in the past week. The young soldier was a merciless killer of the worst kind. He seemed to live for it.
Hammonds handed him a small plastic bag. “This is all we found on them, just some notebooks and pictures, not much. Cat heard them talking and snuck up to within ten feet before opening up. One got away, and he’s tracking him now with Caddy and Book Man.”
Salias brushed flies from his face and felt sick, knowing what they had been feasting on. “I specifically told you to pull Nance off point. He’s killing them when he could be taking prisoners. And quit calling your men nicknames; it shows too much familiarity.”
Hammond’s jaw muscles tightened. He found the new lieutenant a jerk who didn’t know the first thing about leading a platoon. He’d come to the platoon and immediately screwed up by saying Lieutenant Jenkins obviously wasn’t any good as their past leader and he’d “correct the situation.” He came on like a little general with by-the-book lectures on warfare, which would have made sense if he’d been talking about brigades and divisions, but none of his lectures applied to squad and platoon level. He had neither common sense nor tact in talking to the men, and he was already known as “Shitty Salias.”
Hammonds tried not to show his disdain as he spoke. “Sir, Cat, I mean Specialist Nance, is the best there is. He doesn’t take any chances when it comes to dinks. We lost some men trying to take prisoners. It’s too damn dangerous for a point man. The third squad got lucky the other day capturing those men in the river. The dinks didn’t have security posted, or it would have been body-bag-fillin’ time.”
Salias strode back to the trail to get away from the horrible, incessant buzzing. “Sergeant, don’t tell me what is dangerous and what isn’t. War is a dangerous business and risks must be taken. Specialist Nance is nothing more than a murderer. He doesn’t obey my orders, and he still insists on wearing that grungy uniform and unauthorized flop hat, not to mention the NVA pistol. ”
“Shit, sir, he’s the best point man in the brigade,” Hammonds said. “He knows what he’s doing. He doesn’t wear a steel pot because he can hear better without it. He doesn’t miss a thing. If there are dinks in the area, he knows and finds them. I thought that was what we were here for … to kill them before they killed us?”
Salias raised his chin indignantly. Nance was undisciplined, as was the entire first squad. The scar-faced soldier was obviously thought of as irreplaceable and beyond the rules of authority.
Silk stood up from his position and pointed. “They got the fucker.”
Salias looked down the trail and his stomach quivered. The men they called Caddy and Book Man were dragging a body by the feet. Nance followed carrying a small pack and Russian rifle over his shoulder. All three men had a sickening, nonchalant look on their faces, although they’d just erased a human life.
He glanced at the body and his face screwed into a grimace. “Did you have to kill him? He was wounded, for Christ sake. ”
Caddy tossed down the man’s leg and sat down tiredly as the flies attacked the still form. “We didn’t shoot him again. We found him this way. He bled to death.”
Salias spun around before getting sick and walked down the trail. He had to do something. The troops of the first squad were nothing more than animals.
Hammonds approached the center of the perimeter, already knowing something was wrong by the sympathetic looks that the medic and RTO gave him. Salias stood up but averted his gaze.
“Sergeant, have Specialist Nance report to me with all of his equipment. He’s being picked up in a few minutes and taken to the rear. The recon detachment needs men, and he’s been selected. I’ll have a replacement for him in a couple of days.”
Hammonds looked at the ground and stepped on an ant before looking up with a defiant glare. “You selected him, so let’s cut the bullshit. Why? Does he bother your conscience?”
“He makes me sick!” Salias yelled. “You and your whole squad make me want to throw up! You’re not soldiers anymore, you’re animals. It’s going to stop. I won’t tolerate it any longer. He’s first, and you’re next.”
Hammonds spun around to keep from knocking the pompous officer on his ass. He took two steps and spoke over his shoulder. “We’re not animals! We’re the best goddamn soldiers you’ve got!”
Salias heard the sound of the approaching helicopter and smiled. “Not anymore you’re not.”
Ty got off the chopper and was met by a sergeant in pressed fatigues. “You Nance?”
He nodded. He already missed his friends. The sergeant smiled and put out his hand. “I’m Chigger from the Thirty-ninth Scout dog detachment. My buddy called me from the Long Range Recon platoon and said you were coming in. He said your records show you went to the Scout dog school.”
“I didn’t graduate. I just attended for …”
“Doesn’t matter,” the sergeant interrupted. “The letter in your file said you would have been an honor graduate if you’d had the time. We’re short of people and you’ve got the credentials; a letter from Sergeant First Class Winters is a diploma in any Scout’s book. He’s the guru of us handlers. We have priority over the recon unit, so you’re going to us instead of them.”
Ty hefted his rucksack to his shoulder. “I need to talk to my company XO, Lieutenant Jenkins, and get it cleared.”
The sergeant shook his head. “Nance, you don’t understand. A major is in charge of all us special units, and he already talked to Jenkins. I gotta tell ya, your XO was one pissed-off L-tee when he found out your platoon leader went around him and canned your ass. The major worked out a deal with Jenkins. You’re going to be trained by us a few weeks to get refreshed and let your dog get used to you, then you’ll be attached to Fourth Batt. You’re going to be attached back to your old outfit.”
Ty grinned. “I guess I’m lucky to get to work with you guys … my first name is Ty.”
The sergeant chuckled and began walking down the dusty road. “No, we’ve already heard all about the ‘Cat.’ We’re the ones that are lucky.”
Jason felt something wet on his cheek, then he felt the hot breath. He’d been asleep for only a few minutes and knew it couldn’t be a nightmare. He very slowly opened his eyes and looked into the face of a wolf … no, a wolf didn’t have one ear up and the other down. He heard a chuckle and looked up to see Ty’s strange, sad smile. “Damn you!”
Ty pulled him up and hugged him tightly. “God, you look so much better than the last time I saw ya. Damn, I worried about you.” He fought the tears back and gently pushed Jason away. “And you came back to this hellhole? Why, Jay? You shoulda went home.”
“I told ya in the letter why. I didn’t have a choice. But forget about me, I’m just a REMF now. Damn, if you don’t look shitty. You’re skin and bones. Have you been sick?”
“Naw, the humpin’ took the weight off,” Ty said. He patted the dog and sat on the cot. “I feel the best I’ve ever felt.”
Jason smiled and sat beside Ty, putting his arm over his shoulder. He motioned to the dog. “What the hell is that?”
“ ‘That, Jay, is a half-shepherd, half-labrador, totally crazy Scout dog named Saber. He ain’t your typical combat tracker dog, and that’s why I picked him. He doesn’t know how to attack, heel, stay, or freeze, but he sure likes to play. He’s strictly a tracker, like me.”
Jason’s eyes narrowed. “You volunteered for the Scouts?”
“Well, not exact
ly. I had a little run-in with a new L-tee who thought I needed a change of scenery. Enough about me. How about you? How’s your shoulder?”
Jason raised his arm. “Good as new. I’m the best pencil-pusher in the battalion.”
His brother was unhappy, but Ty was thankful that Jay was out of harm’s way. “Somebody’s got to do it,” Ty said, shrugging. “Relax and enjoy it. Mom won’t have to worry as much. ”
“You’re one to be talking about relax,” Jason said and grinned. “You coming out of a line unit to the Scout’s is like going from the frying pan into the fire.” His smile faded. “Take it easy out there, brother. The dinks are better than most people think. When they want to fight, they know exactly what they’re doin’.”
Ty could see the pain in his eyes. “What happened out there, Jay? I wanna know.”
Jason lowered his head, not wanting to remember, but the images were already in his head. He could smell the napalm and hear the screams again. He leaned back, shut his eyes, and was there.
As he listened to Jason tell what happened, Ty felt his brother’s fear and helplessness. The enemy he was describing was still out there and capable of doing the same thing again. They were not like the VC. The enemy who had almost killed his brother on that narrow ridge was only warming up, testing his strength for another day. As Jason described the attacks of that horror-filled night, Ty could see the bodies and hear the pleas as the NVA killed the survivors one by one.
When Jason had finished, he looked at his brother with a distant stare that made Ty’s skin crawl. “My men are still calling for me.”
“You’ve done enough,” Ty said softly. He put his arm around Jason’s shoulders. “You’ve seen enough of this war for a lifetime.”
29
General Duc stood at the head of a large table and motioned the assembled officers to take their seats. He waited until all eyes were on him before speaking. “Comrades, on the thirty-first of this month, the South Vietnamese government will inaugurate the first so-called president of their second republic. Today, General Giap has answered this hypocrisy with the orders we have been waiting for. We are to begin phase one of the master plan immediately.”
the Hill (1995) Page 30