Perfume River Nights

by Michael P. Maurer

  “Kill that fucker!” Singer said and heard the noise on the wall directly below them just before a second AK opened up, shooting straight up the wall.

  He pulled the last of two grenades from his web gear and dropped them over the wall. After the explosions he held his M16 out and fired straight down until the magazine was empty.

  Both AKs went silent, and then only California and he were firing.

  On impulse he turned quickly and sprayed two magazines of rounds up the wide trail behind them. The trail was black and quiet, a dark void. Still breathing heavily, he held his fire and tried to see into the blackness of the trail that ran behind them, feeling the edge of fear just begin to creep in and replace the exhilaration. California stopped firing, too, and the eerie post-battle quiet descended. A mix of excitement and sadness settled over Singer, the same as with every deer he’d ever killed. He pushed it away, working to stay focused on the threat that remained. From the east, he heard distant loud sloshing of water that might have been anything and turned back to face the berm, trying to determine if it was moving toward them or away. Much closer below him came a low, muffled moan, and he emptied a magazine at the sound. The sound and feel of his rifle invigorating.

  “We got to get out of here,” Singer said.

  The Cherry on his right started to stand.

  “Stay down. California?” Singer reached across the Cherry on his left. “California?” The Cherry between him and California lay unmoving with his face against the berm.

  “Yeah,” California said.

  Singer pushed on the Cherry’s shoulder and rolled him over. He saw the dark flow that started just below his helmet and spread down his face in a wide rivulet. Vacant eyes that registered no hint of surprise stared out at the darkness. Singer felt at the hole where the bullet had entered.

  “Fuck,” Singer said.

  “Is he dead?” the other Cherry asked.

  “California?”

  “Yeah, I’m right here.”

  Singer looked up to see California leaning in on the other side of the body.

  “I’ve got to find the Shake and Bake and get us out of here.” Singer wiped the blood off his hand onto his pants leg and gripped his rifle. “Watch the trail. Have the Cherry watch over the berm. Don’t get jumpy and shoot me coming back.”

  “Be quick. I don’t want to sit out here too long on this fucking trail with my dick in my hand.”

  Singer was already gone. He ran across the trail to the far side and then toward the river in a running crouch, uncertain where the other position was exactly. He cursed his lack of a radio and the split positions as he ran. Things were fucked up and they needed to get out of here. He had to find the Shake and Bake’s position fast. After the shooting, everyone would be jumpy, and he hoped the Shake and Bake could control the New Guy and the Cherries. He flashed back on the New Guy’s rifle in his face and rounds exploding over his head.

  “Don’t shoot,” Singer said, still uncertain where they were set up. “Coming in, don’t shoot.”

  “Hold your fire.” The Shake and Bake’s voice. “Over here.”

  “Don’t shoot, coming in.” Singer moved toward the voice, more cautiously now, slowing when he left the trail. “Don’t shoot. Don’t shoot.”

  “Over here.”

  Singer dropped in beside the voice hidden in tall brush on level ground. The river had to be close, as the sound of water flowing over rocks was much louder here. It was disconcerting how it masked other sounds. Singer tried to see the river or the trail, but the darkness remained impenetrable. His feet were against a man, but he couldn’t see him, only feel that he was there. His chest was heaving and he struggled to catch his breath to speak. The run had been farther than he’d imagined, the positions too far apart in the darkness. He was thinking about California and the Cherry who he left at the berm.

  The Shake and Bake shifted over tight against him. “What happened?”

  “We fired-up a patrol behind us, below the trail.” Singer gulped air. “Our position’s blown, we got to get out of here.”

  “How many?”

  “Not sure, a couple squads, maybe a platoon or more. We killed some, but some got away and there could be more coming. It’s fucked-up over there, drops off steeply and you can’t tell shit. We got one KIA. It’s really fucked up.”

  “Who?”

  “I don’t know his name, one of the Cherries.”

  “Shit. The others okay?”

  “Yeah, but we’re sitting with our asses on the trail with no cover. We’re fucked if more of them come down the trail. We need to move now.”

  “Okay, hold on a sec.” The Shake and Bake relayed the information on the radio. He listened, giving terse acknowledgements before signing off.

  “The lieutenant wants you to search for bodies.”

  “You’re kidding me, right? We should be moving already. We got an exposed position, an enemy patrol somewhere around, and one KIA already. Let’s get the hell out of here.”

  “See what you got for bodies first.”

  “Fuck. It’s not enough to kill them, we got to count them, too. Let the goddamn lieutenant come down here and count them.”

  “Just send someone out and get a count.”

  “Yeah, right. You can’t see your hand in front of your face and we’re supposed to find bodies. ”

  Singer pushed himself up and in a step was back alone in the darkness. He ran a few careful steps, struggling to stay oriented, and was relieved to feel the trail that he could follow back north toward the guys. The Shake and Bake had his orders. There was no point in arguing, but none of them knew how screwed-up the position was, with a slope that even if they got down it okay, they might not be able to get back up. Even if they knew, none of them would care. It was all about the body counts.

  In this disorienting blackness a body search was madness, even on level ground. He wasn’t sending someone out to get lost or killed just so someone else could put numbers in a daily report and advance their career or make some fat-assed general happy. In the end someone would make up their own numbers, anyway. No one seemed concerned that they were sitting here, eight guys—seven now—exposed without a decent defensive position and an enemy patrol wandering around. Fuck counting the bodies. They could do it in the daylight when they could see what they were dealing with. Right now he needed to get them out of here. He had been stupid to think the Shake and Bake would immediately follow him back to pick up California, the Cherry, and the KIA and they would retire to the firebase, their work done. He should have moved them before looking for the Shake and Bake. What chance would two guys have if the NVA attacked? He figured he knew about where California and the Cherry were and that he was halfway there, but he was moving blindly, using the trail edge for orientation. He could kill the fucking Cherry Lieutenant whose order it was to split up the position and the weasel platoon sergeant who was likely behind it all. He stopped and knelt and listened. Only the murmur of the river. Still he couldn’t help feeling they weren’t alone.

  “Hey,” Singer said softly, waiting. “Hey.”

  “Here.” California’s voice was farther away and not as far to the right as he’d estimated.

  “Coming in, coming in,” Singer said as he crouched and ran hard toward the voice.

  There was a whump of impact when Singer bowled into California after tripping over the Cherry’s body. Their rifles clattered together and California fell backwards with Singer on top of him. Singer rolled over and lay there, waiting for what the noise would bring, but there was no enemy response.

  “Jesus, what took you so long?” California asked.

  “Why didn’t you warn me?” Singer asked, pushing himself up away from the body. “Anything move out there?”

  “How would I know?” California asked, sitting up. “I can’t see shit. Let’s get out of here before they come back. Where are the others? We need help carrying him.”

  “Are we leaving?” the Cherry asked.
>
  “They’re holding their position. The Cherry Lieutenant wants a body search.”

  “Fuck him. I’m not going out there. Send the Cherry,” California said.

  “What?” the Cherry asked.

  “Don’t worry. I already did it,” Singer said.

  “Really?” the Cherry asked with an audible release of breath.

  “It’s done,” Singer said.

  “Right, right, he made the search already,” California said. “Now let’s get out of here.”

  “Jesus, you should have told us. I could have killed you,” the Cherry said.

  “There wasn’t any chance of that,” California said.

  Singer bent down, groped for the dead Cherry’s rifle, and slung it over his shoulder. He took hold of the dead man under one arm.

  “Grab him,” Singer said.

  When California picked up the other side, the Cherry’s head flopped and his helmet fell off, hitting the ground with a dull thump that caused a moment’s pause.

  “Bring his helmet.” Singer said. He and California fast-shuffled across the trail, dragging the Cherry’s body. They worked their way back into the vegetation on the other side of the wide trail, stopping once when the dead man’s feet became tangled in brush and a second time to lug the body over a downed limb.

  “We should be okay here,” Singer said, lowering the dead man’s head and shoulders.

  California dropped his side heavily. “Now what?”

  “We need to wait a while. It won’t look right if I report too quickly. We got decent cover and we’re far enough back that a patrol could go down the trail and never see us.”

  “Shit, I can’t see you from here.”

  “Where’s the Cherry?”

  “He was right behind us.”

  “Fuck.” Singer listened, but there was nothing, just the constant flow of the river and the suffocating darkness. Could things get any worse? “Hey?” Singer said. “Hey?” Slightly louder, when there was no response. “Fuck, I’m going to kill that fucking Cherry Lieutenant and New Platoon Sergeant.”

  “You want all the fun,” California said.

  “Stay here. Don’t fucking move. One lost guy is enough.”

  “Where am I going to go on my own, dragging a dead guy?”

  Singer started carefully back down their drag trail, surprised then worried at how easy it was to follow. He moved slowly and quietly, stopping frequently to listen. He could sense a looming disaster. If the Cherry wandered south, the other ambush position would probably kill him. Going any other way, the Cherry risked wandering into the enemy. Singer took a deep breath. His best hope was that the Cherry would sit tight wherever he was. Even if he did, there was still the danger that the Cherry would fire on Singer or that Singer might shoot the Cherry before they could ID each other. Calling out to locate each other, the enemy might kill them both. He didn’t like the odds and shuddered at the prospects. The advantage of being able to just fire at the slightest sound was lost now. Even with an enemy patrol in the area, he’d have to restrain himself and ID any target. That hesitation could cost him his life.

  He cursed the Cherry and the darkness, the Cherry Lieutenant, the New Platoon Sergeant, the Shake and Bake, and everyone else he thought responsible for his predicament. He cursed Rhymes, Bear, Doc Odum, Trip, and even her for leaving him. Mostly he cursed the NVA and vowed again to kill them all. He felt the power and the release his M16 had offered and would offer again and took another step, ready for anything. At the trail’s edge, he stopped and knelt a long time. The night was like a black cloak, isolating and disorientating. If the Cherry was out there, he couldn’t hear him. It was too dangerous to be calling out in the darkness with the enemy patrol nearby. His best chance was to hear the Cherry. The thought of returning and hunkering down with California and looking for the Cherry in the morning was appealing, and he nearly gave in to it.

  Eventually he crept north, away from the other ambush position, staying next to the trail edge, counting his steps. He would stop at fifty, cross over, then come fifty back and cross back, which should put him back at the drag trail into the spot where he left California with the body. A systematic block search was the best he could do. If he found nothing, then he’d have to go back and report the Cherry missing and they could get flares and maybe a reaction force to help search. He hoped it wouldn’t come to that, but it looked like it might.

  Each step carried the dread that the enemy or the Cherry would hear him and fire without warning. Right now the Cherry, lost and frightened, ready to fire at anything, was probably a greater threat than the NVA. He set his foot down in stages, slowly adding his weight, then listened before taking the next step. He hoped he wouldn’t hear distant AK fire or M16 fire from the other position, which would mean he didn’t need to search anymore. They would have to carry in two bodies. While listening after the thirty-seventh step, he heard it. Scratching in the trail. Shuffling feet. He didn’t like doing it, but he had to risk it.

  “Hey?” he said and immediately took three steps back to change his position in case they fired at his voice. There was no response and the scuffing sound continued.

  He purposely fired high, a short burst that would provoke a response. Then he quickly changed positions, going prone next to the trail, ready to fire again.

  “It’s me! It’s me!” the Cherry said. “Don’t shoot, it’s me!”

  “Jesus,” Singer said and wiped his face with his hand.

  Singer talked the Cherry to him, a slow process. Though certain it was the Cherry, he remained ready to fire and didn’t let off until the Cherry was next to him and he was sure they were alone.

  “What the fuck are you doing? Are you trying to get killed?” Singer asked.

  “I couldn’t find the helmet, then you were gone.”

  “Couldn’t you hear us and follow?”

  “I could hear something, but I wasn’t sure it was you or—”

  “Jesus Christ, how’d you get down here?”

  “I don’t know. I didn’t know what to do.”

  “Okay, okay, we got to get out of here. Hang on to my belt. Don’t let go.”

  Singer counted thirty-four steps heading south, the Cherry holding tight to his back, found the drag trail, then worked his way back to California, calling softly until he was beside him.

  “Get that rifle out of my face.” Singer pushed the muzzle of California’s rifle aside.

  “Can’t be too careful with so many gooks around,” California said. “You found the lost sheep?”

  “Yeah, let’s try to stay together now. We’ve been damn lucky so far.”

  “Not him.”

  “Yeah, well . . .” Singer didn’t know what else to say.

  “Why’s it always the big guys who get killed? I’d like to carry a light guy for once,” California said.

  “I got to go report back to the Shake and Bake and see if we can finally get our asses out of here.”

  “About time. This whole night’s been a circle jerk. I’m tired of this waiting alone shit.”

  “You got the Cherry.”

  “Great. If he doesn’t wander off again,” California said.

  “I didn’t wander off,” the Cherry said. “You guys left me.”

  “I voted not to look for you. Keep up or die.”

  “Okay, enough. If anyone asks, you both know I did the body search already, right?” Singer asked.

  “Right, you’re covered,” California said.

  “Why would anyone ask?” the Cherry asked.

  “Jesus,” California said.

  “Just confirm I did it and you don’t need to mention your being lost.”

  “Well, you did do it, didn’t you?” the Cherry asked.

  “You want to do another by yourself?” Singer asked.

  “No, no, I know you did it already, I was just—”

  “California, keep an eye on the Cherry and remember I’m out there.”

  “Which one, the dead
one or the live one?”

  “Both. Stay alert. I’ll be back as quick as I can.”

  “You keep saying that. If you’re not back soon, maybe we’ll head in by ourselves,” California said.

  “Just stay put. We’ll be out of here soon enough.”

  “Not soon enough for me,” California said.

  Singer worked his way back to the second ambush position vowing to never let anyone separate the positions again, no matter who ordered it. This was beyond crazy. It would be easier if it weren’t so fucking black, but it had undoubtedly saved them when they were lying on the slope with their backs to the enemy. He’d only seen such impenetrable blackness a couple times in his life, and on those other occasions he’d been able to use a light. This was like nothing he’d ever done before. He was relieved when he heard the Shake and Bake’s voice and finally slid in beside him without the New Guy or the Cherries firing him up.

  “This is fucking nuts.” Singer said.

  Nearby, the river flowed with a constant low murmur like a garbled con versation.

  “What took you so long?” the Shake and Bake asked.

  “I’m getting tired of that question. It’s fucking dark out there and tough to move around.”