“That ain’t negative. It’s only negative if you think you will die. You need to can that other stuff, man.”
“What if she can’t wait a year to see me?” asked Jacobs. “What if she finds someone other than her mother to comfort her on fearful lonely nights? A man. She is a beautiful girl and isn’t short of male attention. Male attention which will now grow in my absence.”
“From what you’ve told me, she doesn’t seem like the kinda girl to do anything wrong. Not the cheating type. You’ve gotta trust her. Think positive,” said Lynch. “You can’t be worrying about that stuff. You can’t control it anyway. So, there is no point worrying about something you can’t control. It doesn’t make sense to do so. What makes sense is the point I’m making. So listen to me, man. Keep the negativity away.”
A motorized cart pulled up to the right of Jacobs. The cart was full of body bags and had flies buzzing around them.
Jacobs swallowed back bile and had to look away. “I can’t even look at the dead with their faces hidden,” he said. “How am I going to face the dead in the field, with their lifeless eyes and devastated, distorted, and weapon-mutilated bodies? It will be gruesome. Gory. No doubt about it. And much worse than a body bag.”
“Yep, beaucoup for sure,” said Lynch. “You’ll learn to deal with it though. You’ll have too. You’d be surprised what it’s possible to do when you’re pushed.”
The driver of the cart and another soldier started to load the body bags onto the C-130 Jacobs and Lynch had just disembarked from.
“Vietnam’s conveyor belt of GIs,” said Jacobs. “The living brought in, the dead taken out.”
One of the body bags spilt and a dead man fell onto the airstrip.
“Damn it,” said the soldier.
Jacobs hurled.
“Get another bag,” said the driver.
The soldier ran off to get one.
Lynch went to look at the fallen body. “How did this one die?”
The driver shrugged. “The usual, I guess, enemy fire.”
Lynch rolled his eyes. “No, something looks odd about these wounds.”
“Lynch, leave the man alone. Let him do his job,” said Jacobs.
“I’m no doc,” continued Lynch, “but that looks like bite marks. I’ve seen the aftermath of a shark attack. It looks very similar. Do you got sharks in Vietnam?”
“I don’t know, sir.”
The soldier was back with the bag. They fixed the body in and loaded it on the plane.
“Jacobs, do they got sharks in Vietnam?”
“I don’t know … maybe.” Jacobs waved his hand for Lynch to stop.
“It looked like that guy had been attacked by one.”
“Perhaps he had been, then.” Jacobs held a finger to his lips and tried to stop Lynch from theorizing.
“If it wasn’t a shark, something else musta taken a chunk outta him. That body was very much FUBAR.”
Jacobs puked again.
“Maybe it was one of those flying demons. Perhaps the cowards and loonies might be on to something.” Lynch smiled.
• • • • •
A sergeant with white hair, a black frosted moustache, battle scars on his face, and a height of 6’5” escorted Jacobs, Lynch, and the other lieutenants towards their billets.
Jacobs’s eyes constantly were investigating the base trying to take in the magnitude of the setting he was now a small part of.
“You okay? You feeling better?” Lynch asked.
“I’m a bit better now, thanks. I’m just trying to organize a mental map in my mind of what I’ve seen so far … It isn’t working,” said Jacobs.
“I’m sure we’ll get a chance to get used to the base. Don’t worry about it for now. We’ll go for a look around later.” Lynch walked on ahead.
The imposing sergeant led the other officers into their billets.
The barracks were single story and stood in rows, like the barracks in Long Binh, with twenty of the new officers to each. The perimeter wire was only a stone’s throw away from their beds.
Jacobs stopped in the open air. It smelt of mortar fire. He looked beyond the wire.
The sergeant walked to stand next to him. “That’s the Green Line, beyond that is Charlie,” he said. “I bet you sure feel safe knowing all that’s between you and them is some wire.”
The trees had been cleared. All that was left was scrub. Jacobs could see mountains beyond.
“How did you know I was thinking about the comedy of only wire separating the enemy from me?” asked Jacobs.
“I’ve seen the look you’re wearing over your skull on the faces of countless other no-named lieutenants. All of them struggling with the same idea, the fact the NVA could be within only spitting distance from their nighttime slumber. I’ve seen countless numbers of your type arrive in Nam standing … and leave lying down.”
The hot Vietnam sun seemed to boil the sweat between the scar lines on the face of the sergeant as
he removed a tobacco pouch from his pocket, and placed some of its contents into his mouth. He chewed for a few seconds, then casually spat some of the dark brown gob to the ground by Jacobs’s boots.
“You have an unnerving ease in this alien environment, Sergeant,” Jacobs said.
“It ain’t alien if you call it home, sir.” The sergeant’s reply was muddled by a slushy chewing sound.
“I guess not.” Jacobs wet his lips with his tongue. He tasted salt. “It feels strange having a man senior in years call me sir. Especially one with so much more experience out there.”
The sergeant made no reply.
Jacobs looked beyond the scrub into the tree line. “It’s a menacing sight, that jungle.”
“Why?” asked the sergeant.
“Because of what it holds in its depths. The Vietcong. The NVA.”
“It holds more than just zipper-heads.”
“Nothing worse though?” asked Jacobs, frowning.
“A hell of a lot worse,” said the sergeant.
“You’re just trying to scare me,” Jacobs chuckled. He tried to laugh off his unease.
“No, sir.”
“What can be worse than the enemy then?”
“The animals,” said the sergeant.
“The snakes?” asked Jacobs.
“They can be bad. Snakes here ain’t like the ones back home.”
“What are they like?”
“Massive,” said the sergeant.
“How big is massive?” asked Jacobs.
“Enough to swallow a man.”
“Bull.” Jacobs snorted.
“No, sir. It’s true,” continued the sergeant. “I haven’t seen a snake of that size myself, but I have it on good authority.” He paused for a brief second and chewed the tobacco. “I have seen, though, rats as big as dogs.”
“I still don’t believe you,” said Jacobs. He didn’t even look at the sergeant now.
“I didn’t expect you would.” Soggy phlegm noises followed the sentence.
“And these animals are worse than the NVA?” asked Jacobs.
“In some ways. But the rats and the snakes are just the tip of the iceberg.” The sergeant narrowed his eyes.
“What else does the jungle hide?”
“Does it matter? You won’t believe me if I told you.”
“True, but tell me anyway,” said Jacobs.
“Demons. Flying demons,” was the sergeant’s answer.
Jacobs laughed. “Sorry, Sergeant. I shouldn’t keep laughing.”
“It’s okay. Laugh if you wanna.” He spat again.
“My friend—I guess I can call him that—my friend said that some of the men make up stories about seeing demons to get out of the war.”
“Some do, but some just speak the truth,” said the sergeant.
“Can I say something that is kind of strange?” asked Jacobs. He was sheepish now.
“Stranger than flying demons?”
“Good point.” Jacobs raised his eyebr
ows as he thought.
“Yes, you can say what you like, sir.”
“I can smell death on you, Sergeant. I can sense you’ve killed another human being. Not just at distance with a firearm, but up close, maybe with an entrenching tool, maybe with your bare bloodied hands.”
“I wouldn’t be much of a soldier if I hadn’t killed,” the sergeant said.
“I guess,” said Jacobs.
“Don’t worry, sir. You’ll have plenty a chance to smell of death soon enough.”
“You know, Sergeant, when I stop to think about it, this place isn’t as bad as I thought it would be. I heard some of the men talking in the distance, the accommodations seem comfortable enough.” Jacobs smiled.
“You’re not staying here, son,” said the sergeant. “This is what’s called a staging post. All you new guys, you FNGS, will be heading out into the boonies. The accommodations there ain’t so comfortable. No beds, no showers. You’re all gonna be platoon leaders. That translates as the army’s cannon fodder.” The sergeant smiled back. “Sir.”
Jacobs’s smile faded.
• • • • •
That night, Jacobs sat in the Officers’ Club with Lynch. They had a table to themselves. Jacobs and Lynch had positioned their chairs to look out at An Khe, which nighttime had now fallen on.
A few other new arrivals were propping up the bar. The noise of conversation in the club was not at a rowdy level. It was but a murmur.
“I think any jovial spirit the alcohol is mustering up for the new arrivals is quickly being subdued by nervousness,” said Jacobs. “Anxiety is hanging in the air. It’s almost palpable.”
“As long as they keep their negativity away from me, I’m happy,” said Lynch.
Jacobs drank some beer then looked into the sky. “I’ve never seen so many stars.”
“Yeah, it’s pretty impressive.”
“I didn’t think I’d make a friend in the army. I told myself I shouldn’t let it happen. Just in case,” said Jacobs.
“In case of what?” asked Lynch.
“In case they got killed. Not making friends is an easy way to protect against the impact of that,” said Jacobs.
“I’m not sure what to say. It’s good to know you consider me a friend … but it’s worrying that you still think I might snuff it.”
Jacobs laughed. “You’re not going to let that go, are you?”
“No.” Lynch chuckled.
“So, both our fathers were soldiers before us?” asked Jacobs bringing their conversation back on track.
“Yeah,” answered Lynch.
“That creates a massive responsibility and shows our reason, or at least one of our reasons, for enlisting.” Jacobs tried to count some of the stars. He mouthed the numbers as he did.
Lynch saw the movement of his lips. “What you doing?”
“Oh, just counting the stars. It’s something I often do. Count objects. I’m not sure why. For example, if I find myself in a waiting room, I might count the magazines that have been laid out, or I might count the tiles on the floor.” Jacobs thought for a moment then continued, “I like the objects I count to be of an even number, for some reason odd numbers just don’t sit right with me. I even have a favorite even number.” He paused again. “That is a difficult sentence to say.”
“Say it five times as fast as you can.” Lynch smiled.
“I even have a favorite even number. I even have a favorite even number. I even have an even favorite …”
They both laughed.
“That is hard to say,” said Jacobs.
“Saying it five times fast would be difficult enough but you’ve had a few beers, Jacobs. Being pissed makes number counting difficult. Well, I find it difficult even if I ain’t intoxicated.”
“Yeah, I don’t think the drink helped any,” he agreed.
“So what’s your favorite even number?” asked Lynch.
“Eight. It’s the perfect number. I approve of its curves … and if you turn it sideways, it’s the symbol for eternity … or infinity … one or the other.” Both of Jacobs’s eyes looked upwards. He searched his brain for the correct answer. The bottle of beer tilted in his hand and the liquid glopped. “I forget which it is now.”
Jacobs shook his head and continued, “I’ve wondered if these little details of my psyche are some sort of condition, but I don’t want to follow up on the idea. It seems pointless to invest time in finding out. If I did have a condition that had a name, knowing the name wouldn’t change anything much. The unnamed, or named, condition … didn’t … or wouldn’t … cause me any harm, or get in the way of everyday life. It’s just one of those incidental facets of my character makeup, I guess.”
“Wow,” Lynch was shocked. His mouth open, eyebrows raised.
“What?” asked Jacobs.
“I do the same thing and have wondered the same stuff,” Lynch said, very eager.
“You do? You have?” Jacobs leaned nearer.
“No. I ain’t as crazy as you are, Ethan.” He snickered.
So did Jacobs as he moved back into his seat.
Once they’d got themselves under control, they each took another sip of Bud.
“I think a member of each of our families might have fought in every conflict the United States Army has ever been involved in,” said Jacobs.
“I wonder how much legend and myth has been mixed into the stories we’ve heard from relatives? Everyone embellishes details and makes things more exciting when reporting an event. I’ve done it myself when telling my friends of a few fights I’ve had in bars.”
“Not all my father told me was of daring do.” Jacobs went serious now. “He has told me some real terrifying stories about the horrors of war. But I’m trying to not think about those ones. I’m trying to do what you said. Trying to get rid of the negativity from my thoughts. If I were to think about some of the dreadful stuff he said he’d witnessed, I’d have to try and retrieve my heart from a sunken state. It would be a Titanic deep sunken state too …” Jacobs slurred his words, his seriousness gone, “which is pretty deep.”
“Yeah, we can do without gruesome detail,” said Lynch.
“Those body bags, and the mutilated soldier that fell from one, were enough of a gruesome detail. They were a proper wake-up call for me,” Jacobs said, back in contemplative mode.
“I mentioned that dead body to a guy who has just got out the bush. I asked him about sharks,” said Lynch.
“What did he say?”
“He said sharks ain’t indigenous to the jungle. They can’t climb trees.”
Jacobs paused for a second and looked Lynch in the eye. It was like a Mexican-Stand-Off from a Spaghetti Western, but with blurred vision and instead of Ennio Morricone playing, the Rolling Stones could be heard through the tinny and crackling speaker of a radio caked in mud.
The corner of Lynch’s mouth began to twitch and they couldn’t hold the laughter back anymore. They both wailed until their sides hurt. Jacobs spilt some beer on his lap as they did. They both paused and took a breath then laughed some more.
Once they had gotten a grip and after another officer in the bar had shouted for them to shush, Jacobs asked, “So what did he really say?”
“He didn’t think much of the shark idea.”
“What was his theory?”
“He said there are creatures in the jungle that attack men. Men from both sides of the conflict,” Lynch answered.
“The sergeant that led us to the billets told me some tall tales about large animals.”
“Did he mention a thunderbird?”
“No, what’s a thunderbird?” asked Jacobs.
“Apparently something very big and very dangerous.” Lynched emphasized the word big and the word dangerous.
“He did mention flying demons though,” Jacobs said.
They shared another silent look before they burst into laughter again.
“My face aches,” said Jacobs. He breathed slow and calmed himself.
<
br /> Lynch copied, and they both took another drink through smiles.
“Changing the subject,” said Lynch. “You’ve got a good memory, don’t you? Like me, you remember the little things. Parts of stories people forget.”
“I’m proud of my good memory. It’s been very useful all through training, I can tell you that.” Jacobs took a sip from his bottle. “My brothers used to tease me about my ability to remember the smallest of details about our childhood, like little incidental details about vacations with grandparents. Trivial moments I remembered and seemed to be able to keep as clear moving images in my mind, but moments that were misty and blurred to my brothers. Or just invisible, forgotten, only my memory to remind them of them. But my good memory worries me some.”
“Why?” asked Lynch.
“I’m going to see heaps of things in this war that people should never have to see. I don’t like the fact I might never be able to forget the horrors of war,” said Jacobs.
He started to count the stars again.
• • • • •
Jacobs settled down in his bed and he heard the sound of heavy US artillery fire. It came in thundered, muffled thumps in the distance.
“What’s that?” came from the dark.
“That’s H&I, Harassment and Interdiction, Lynch,” said Jacobs. “They basically blast at areas Charlie might be in, just in case they get lucky and hit something.”
“Doesn’t seem very scientific,” said Lynch.
“Maybe sometimes science has nothing to do with it,” said Jacobs. “Maybe an NVA soldier will get lucky and avoid one of the blasts, or maybe he will be unlucky and get hit … Maybe fate says he will die in tonight’s random artillery, or maybe fate says he will live.”
“Fate? More like Sin Loi.”
“Sin Loi?
“Tough luck, you know, hard shit.”
“Oh … Fate isn’t something I’ve considered before when thinking about my probability of surviving in Nam … Maybe it’s in my plan to die. My war tale could have already been written. It could be my destiny to die a hero in a blaze of gunfire, or as a coward, running away, shot in the back by my sergeant. There is, however, the possibility I’m ordained to live through all the madness, to raise a family with Samantha.”
THERE BE DRAGONS Page 2