“When you are gone, when the elephants from the tall grass are gone, when the monkeys from the tree have gone, the mountain will still be there. And the spirit of the elephant, and the monkey, and of you will be there. And up there all the minutes count, every second is a second to be remembered.” The Kachin words were sonorous, spoken reverently.
“And that is where you want to go when you die,” Con said delicately. “That is where your father is?”
“Yes, my father is there, and it is there I wish to go,” the old man paused. “And the spirit is there, and in the spirit alone there is peace.” Nautaung turned to Con.
“Come soon, Dua, for we hunt early in the morning.” He left the Dua standing alone.
A few minutes later Con came abreast of Nautaung just below the skyline of the hill: “Thank you, old man,” he said as they began to walk down the hill. “I am beginning to think much differently of this world lately.”
And as they walked they could see the camp lights in the valley, looking like a city in the wilderness, and the drums grew louder.
There were twelve in Nautaung’s hunting party and eight mules, and two Mongolian pack ponies. They were three hours out of the camp now, bunched well together, and moving rapidly downhill towards the jungle. For the last hour Con had noted that the trail was becoming narrower, as the vegetation became thicker, and he knew that once they were in the true jungle it would grow dark where the lush overhanging foliage hovered over the top of the trail itself.
“Do you know exactly where we are going?” Con sided up next to Nautaung.
“There is a big monkey land near here,” Nautaung said. “First we come to a village. Beyond that, the hunting will be good. I was there once before. I will check my directions in the village,” Nautaung said in English.
“Let’s speak Kachin the rest of the hunt,” Con said. “I could stand to improve mine.”
“You speak very well, Dua,” Nautaung said sincerely in Kachin.
They passed through a village and Nautaung checked his direction with the elder. Now on the downhill side of the village the trail followed a stream, the growth was richly green and very heavy, the ground of the trail was softer and it was damp. At times now they could not see the stream even six or eight feet away through the tangled vegetation. Nautaung gave a hand signal and the column drew up silent listening for the sounds of the game.
“Come, Dua,” Nautaung whispered. “We will take the lead now.”
“Shouldn’t the Scouts have first shot?”
“No, it is my choice.” They stepped up their pace and took the lead. Nautaung signaled back and the column slowed.
The jungle all around them teemed with life. Con saw legions of lizards and toads. High in the upper stories of the jungle foliage monkeys chattered, and strange birds called wild, shimmering cries.
“Hold it,” Nautaung said. “There. He is yours, Dua. Quickly while you have his side.”
Con threw the carbine up expertly, shoved it set into the hollow of his shoulder, his left elbow under it directly, the right elbow out and parallel to the ground, the heavy highbrows squinting.
He fired.
The boar rolled over convulsively, screeching. Rapidly Con pumped three more shots into him, seeing the great tusked snout reaching high into the air, the lightning quick legs kicking up leaves and dirt, not knowing what hit him, having never heard the shot of a rifle before, dying without a chance to fight back, dying without even seeing what had killed it.
The boar lay still.
“Good shot, Dua,” the old man grinned.
“It should have been your shot first,” Con said. “But when I saw the size of the side of him I did not wish to take time to argue with you,” Con smiled.
The Scouts had come forward now and all together they walked towards the boar, the sound of frightened birds flapping their wings in the dark of above, and the monkeys screeching wildly, sensing danger.
They approached it cautiously. One of the Scouts fired one more shot into its heart, then he hollered: “Quick. He is by the ants. We must remove him quickly.”
Several of them grabbed the boar by the legs and back and shoved him quickly out on the trail, then gathered branches and brushed the dead animal that was already teeming with large red ants. Then they bled it.
“Those bastards,” Con said. “I got several in my sleeping bag a few months ago. They bite like they have teeth,” he said in Kachin.
“Well, Dua,” Nautaung said, “now we will have pork chops, anyhow. Just like Rangoon.”
They packed the boar to a mule and started off. They shot birds as they moved, peacock, dove, cock of the rock, and many other rare species of birds that Con had never seen before.
A little after noon they ate cold curried chicken they had packed. Then Nautaung got himself a fine buck and one of the Scouts bagged a doe.
“We will be in the area of the big monkeys soon,” Nautaung said as they were packing the deer to the mules. He gave the order that there would be no more shooting except by his command.
They cut away from the stream on a side trail that rose very steeply, leading almost in the direction from which they had come, marching up the trail for over an hour until the jungle began to fall away, and suddenly they came into a large flat clearing. An old rice paddy, Con thought. Maybe a poppy field. Then on into a sparse forest of large red trees.
“We are here,” Nautaung said with the wide anxious expression of a boy about to see the Saturday afternoon cowboy movie.
He gave a sweeping hand signal and the men fanned out in a line and started into the forest, the big monkeys chattering high above them.
They went about twenty yards in off the trail: “Now,” Nautaung said in Kachin.
Everyone began to fire. Even the muleskinners, Con saw. As soon as a monkey would hit the ground a Scout would rush up to it, make sure it was dead, whip out his dah, slice the jugular vein and holding the two and a half to three foot animal by the top of the head and between its legs, would lift it up to their mouths and drink the warm hot blood. The blood spilled down their shirts, their bodies, gushing down warm all over them, and Con could hear the men slurping as they sucked on the vein. They all drank lustily of the blood and as soon as they had finished with one they would shoot down another.
Con stood staring for a while, then suddenly whipped the carbine to his shoulder, sighted high in the tree above him and brought one down. He gave him one more in the head on the ground, whipped out his trench knife, slit the vein.
He felt the still warm hairy testicles in his hand, and the coarse penis, then he began to swallow the gushing blood that tasted surprisingly, refreshingly hot. Then he killed another and drank of that, then the third.
It was then that Nautaung saw him. He watched the Dua proudly, and thought; he is certainly of us. Certainly more of us than he is of Du Danforth, American. Nautaung motioned to the others to watch. Then Con threw the monkey to the ground and turned to the staring men.
“Kachaeeee,” Con hollered. “But it is good,” he said in Kachin his goatee blood caked, his khaki shirt lined red, his hands dripping.
“Kachaeeee,” they hollered grinning proudly at the Dua.
They began to skin the monkeys while Con and Nautaung sat against a tree smoking a cigarette.
“From here I think we will go back to the village and camp there,” Nautaung was saying.
“As you wish,” Con answered.
“Then we will send the loaded mules back and from the village take the other trail. I know of some fine pineapple patches, and if they have not already been picked some tangerines. Tangerines as big as grapefruit, Dua,” he shaped his hands, “and very sweet. There are big catfish in the river there, a hundred, a hundred twentyfive pounds and easy to shoot for the river is clear and they swim near the top upstream.”
“Good,” Con replied. “This is a fine hunt. I am enjoying it. Do not send the peacock back. I wish to eat the peacock tonight.”
&nbs
p; That night they ate the peacock. Nautaung and several of the scouts sang old hill songs before the fire. They hunted all the second day and returned late that night to camp.
The morning before Con had gone on the hunt he had searched out Danforth and instructed him to return the Shan girl to Niven, then to consider himself under arrest, confined to his own CP, except during the execution of duties.
The morning after the hunt Con had called in all the Dus and issued his new order regarding their personal conduct in front of the men. He had thoughtfully considered what he would say to them, realizing the serious repercussions any further detrimental actions on the part of the Dus would have on morale. When he spoke to them he was so convincingly set in his own mind that not one of them had challenged his logic, nor denied his extreme exactments should they fail to comply. Con had ended it by saying: “There is no military manual on this kind of a war. There is no one for any of you to turn to above me. So I will put you straight. I am the law. The maker of it. The judge and executor of it. If you fail there is no second chance. You are dealing in lives. You are living again, so to speak, in a primitive age, so we will live again by a primitive law. God help any one of you that brings disgrace to himself or to any or all of us. Danforth, you are reinstated on the condition that you never take a drink, Lau’rel, you will take a patrol all the way to the road. Maybe it will stop you from sulking. Niven, I want a complete report on what you think we can do to improve the radio set-up. Island, fix up some amatol bombs. We’re going to start blowing things in a few days. Now get the hell out of here.”
No one said a word. Somehow they felt they were dealing with a stranger. There was a wild new fierceness in Con they had never seen and, faced with the unknown, they obeyed.
They took an airdrop the day after Christmas. The day after that three Kachin elders, carrying old muzzle loaders, came into camp. They had been carrying on their own personal war with the Japanese and one of them had seen the Shan girl near the headquarters and had identified her as being a collaborator. Subadar Major La Bung La, Nautaung, and several of the Jemadars questioned her. The report was verified. Con ordered Niven and Danforth to shoot her at once.
“But she is a girl,” Danforth had said. Niven had turned white.
Con looked at them. He spat once and walked away. Later, after he heard the shots, he went out and looked at her lying face down by the burial detail.
The men grew listless, irritated. Con held them back until they were over-ripe and spoiling from inactivity and then moved. They hit the road in six places the next day, hit it in four more the day after and cut the telephone wire in eighteen places, then blew the railroad tracks in two places. Then they had to make a run for it with three litter cases and seven walking wounded.
They raced two Japanese columns trying to cut them off to beat them to the security of the deep hills and hid in the jungle for three more days where one of the litter cases died. Then they made for the higher hills to build a strip.
“The plane will arrive in the morning,” Niven said. He was handing the message to Con on the edge of the airstrip. “And they are pulling you out tomorrow.”
Con grabbed at the message.
2 JAN 44
Hdqs.
PLANES FOR WOUNDED A.M. REYNOLDS OUT FOR CONFERENCE. SPECIAL PLANE A.M. AIRDROP P.M. CHANGE PANEL SIGNAL L. REPEAT L.
PEARSON
“Jim, go get the Subadar Major,” Con said. “No, tell him. Tell him to have all the Subadars and Jemadars here in half hour. You get all the Dus here in half hour. Have Billingsly come and take the monkey over to supply.”
“What do you think it means, boss?” Niven asked awkwardly.
“Just what it says. Conference, Jim,” Con smiled sardonically. “You know you can’t fight a war without conferences. I have conferences here all the time. La Bung La has conferences. Christ, the Colonel’s got to have a few conferences.”
“Sure, boss. I get it, I’ll have them all here in half hour.”
Con walked out of the CP up the hill. He listened to the clink of the canteens on his cartridge belt, felt the weight of the .38 against his hip, touched the Fairbairn knife on his other hip and stood on a large rock where he could see the green jungle valley. The sun was setting at the far end of the valley and he was suddenly acutely aware of the living silence of the hour.
Con turned and looked down at the camp. He remembered segments of battles, the smile on the face of a fifteen year old dying Scout; Nautaung, La Bung, Lau’rel, Danforth, Niven, Billingsly and the conscientious objector, Island. He lit a match and touched it to the message and dropped it on the rock watching it burn. A lone bird flew across the valley, tiny in the distance.
Then he started down the hill. He came into the CP and they were all there. He could tell by the expression on their faces that they didn’t know he was leaving. For once Niven had kept a message confidential. Junior was growing up finally, Con thought.
The Subadars came to attention. La Bung saluted.
“Sit down,” Con said, seating himself.
They sat down in a half circle about him.
“I am being called back to the base,” Con said simply, as if it were an everyday occurrence.
There was a quick, rushing murmur, then silence.
“There is no doubt something of a military nature in the wind,” Con smiled. “And you know how we leaders are. We like meetings.”
There were scattered laughs.
“I shouldn’t be gone long,” Con took a cigarette from the pack and motioned it around. He struck a match. Nautaung’s face said what comes, comes. The Subadar Major La Bung was bewildered. Lau’rel, oh Lau’rel was on outpost. Danforth was hiding a driving greed for command. Niven had a piece of grass in his mouth, looking up at the trees, with that I knew it all the time I took the message look, completely unconcerned.
“The Du Niven will take command,” Con said, as if it were an honor and a pleasure to be able to say it.
Everyone turned and looked at the young Du. Niven was staring at Con. He swallowed deeply, then threw his head back and looked around: “Yes, Dua,” he said militarily, then got up and walked over and sat down next to him.
Of course, Nautaung thought, it had to be the Du Niven. Danforth would not do because of what had already happened. Lau’rel was sealed within himself and looked like he could go wrong, and beside he was new at this business. Island would not carry a rifle, and a man could not command fighting men who would not fight himself.
“Subadar Major La Bung La,” Con said. “You will remain by the Du Niven’s side. And work with him as you have for me.”
“Yes, Dua,” the Subadar Major threw his shoulders back.
“The Du Niven will see you all at his command post in the morning after I have left,” Con said as if it were his last command, as if Niven were taking over right then. “I am sure you will find the young Du very capable,” Con grinned. “After all he has learned everything he knows from me.”
And from the way they laughed at that Con knew that it had been more his outfit than he had before realized, and for one fleeting, sentimental second he felt like a great anchor was twisting in his stomach.
He stayed with Niven all that evening. He explained carefully to Niven that he must rely on La Bung completely, to stay away from Nautaung, because if La Bung felt slighted he could make trouble for him, and the best way to slight La Bung was to be near Nautaung. He made Niven promise to shoot Danforth if he made any trouble.
“I think I have him, boss,” Niven had said. “I have already gone to him and told him I didn’t know why I was placed in command above him,” Niven winked. “And told him he was my second in command.”
“I don’t know what the hell I’m telling you anything for,” Con replied laughingly.
And then the morning came, and from the back seat of the small plane Con saw them waving to him, far below, as the plane circled the field once before turning north to Ledo.
CHAPTER XII
/> Out of the thick grey clouds, nose pointed downward, came the light plane. Past the pilot’s young red head, dead straight ahead, Con saw the wire mesh of the runways. The small plane bounced and strained in the windy low air of the early morning. Lower and lower they came, a minnow of a plane in the giant sea of arriving and departing D-C3s at Ledo.
Then Con felt his weight suddenly heavier as they bounced to the ground, hearing the raw rubber squeaking of the wheels to the runway. For the first time in six months Con was out from behind the enemy lines. He leaned forward slightly as the pilot applied the brakes heavily; and they slowed, turned, and began to taxi toward the jeep. He felt the back of his legs go all weak and rubbery, his stomach empty drained. What in the hell am I doing here, he thought, then straightened in the small plane seat, sitting head back, erect and immobile.
That which is going away, that which makes you feel lighter than air, he said to himself, is the weight you did not know you carried. The weight you have packed so long that it has become a part of you, so much a part that only its absence has made you aware that it was ever there at all. Say, so long for now, Con fellow, to your spirit of survival.
The plane spun around and stopped. Con leaned forward and gripped the pilot firmly on the shoulder gesturing his thanks. He opened the small door of the plane and stepped down feeling the cold sting of the damp wind to his face and stood motionless for a few seconds, his legs spread, his feet solidly planted, seeing the massive Colonel Pearson lift himself from the jeepseat, then the young vigorously built driver slide contrastingly lightly from under the steering wheel. Con walked forward.
“Con,” the Colonel said affectionately, fatherly, taking Con’s hand, placing his other on the young officer’s shoulder. “Come along and we’ll get you out of this wind.” The Colonel turned. “Ringa. Take Captain Reynolds’ things, please.”
The driver stepped forward. Con unslung his pack and handed it to him, eyeing him for an instant. Ringa stared back unwavering. Con nodded.
They all got into the jeep. The driver started the motor, then turned and glanced quickly at Con in the rear seat. So that’s the fairhaired boy, Ringa thought. Captain Con, the 20th Century soldier’s Lochinvar. Well he looks the part, goddamn if he don’t. If everything he had heard about Con was sheer bullshit, he still looked the part. Goddamn if it wasn’t time for a change that somebody looked the part they played in this here war, he thought accelerating the jeep forward.
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