Night Work: A Novel of Vietnam (The Jim Hollister Trilogy Book 2)

by Dennis Foley

  “You’ll get your chance—when you get those oak leaves,” Sangean said.

  The thought of being a major had hardly crossed Hollister’s mind. He was just getting used to answering to the rank of captain. But major was an absurd thought. “Hell, I’ll be lucky to keep these captain’s tracks.”

  The gate at the front of the compound opened up, and a covered five-ton truck rolled in and headed for the motor pool.

  “Then here’s a way to keep ’em,” Sangean said. “Round up the other commissioned types and report to the Officers Club ASAP.”

  Confused, Hollister turned and started looking for the other officers.

  As Hollister found the last of the officers and headed to the club, he happened to glance over toward the motor pool, where one of the NCOs was unhooking the truck’s tailgate. The action looked suspicious enough for Hollister to stop at the steps and watch.

  As soon as the canvas drop was moved and the tailgate locked down, the NCO began helping Vietnamese bar girls and hookers out of the back of the truck, shushing them to try to stop their chatter and giggling.

  It all became clear. It was best that the officers didn’t know “unauthorized personnel” were in the compound after the curfew. Hollister stepped through the door to the club as the NCO hurried the women off to the team hooches for some partying.

  Inside the club the aviators were trying to teach the LRP officers how to drink flaming Mimis, an invention of the 145th Aviation Battalion. It was a simple initiation to demonstrate manhood and unquestioned courage.

  The drinker had to first select a beverage of his choice. There were only two requirements—it had to be booze, and it had to be flammable. Once the initiate had selected the booze, a shot glass was filled to the brim and the house lights were turned off. In the dark, the liquor was lit and the trial by fire began.

  When Hollister arrived, Lieutenant Patten was being initiated into the 145th Aviation Battalion by Captain Stanton: “Now, at your command, grasp the shot glass, drink the contents, and hold the empty glass away from your face. When the glass is empty and away from your face, slowly turn it upside down. Once it is inverted, the flame must still be flickering in the glass and no remaining fluid may drip from it. If you blow out the flame, or if any liquid drips from the glass, we refill, relight, and try again. Any questions?”

  “No, sir,” Patten said as Stanton lit the rotgut bourbon the lieutenant had selected.

  The lights went out, the room hushed, and Patten grabbed the glass.

  “You’ve got it!” Stanton said.

  Patten raised the glass, threw back the shot, pulled the still-burning glass from his lips, and inverted it. The crowd of officers watching started mumbling about his chances of doing it correctly when a single drop of burning booze leaped from the lip of the glass and hit the bar top.

  “No! You failed the test!” Stanton yelled.

  Patten hung his head as the others urged T.T. to refill the glass.

  Hollister drank a couple of Scotches while Patten made eleven more attempts. The more he drank, the drunker he got and the less likely he was to complete the ritual correctly.

  As he started to refill for his twelfth try, the phone rang. It was for Hollister.

  Vance stood inside the Orderly Room, his back to the door.

  “You really aren’t going to like this,” he said.

  “So?”

  “Sangean’s replacement’s been named.”

  “So? Who?” Hollister asked.

  “Fowler.”

  “This is some kind of a joke, isn’t it?”

  “Nope. He’s due in the day after tomorrow. And Sangean’s due out the following day.”

  “Does Sangean know?”

  “No, Sergeant Major Carey called me as soon as he saw the RFO come across his desk.”

  “Better tell Sangean. He’s going to have a shit fit!”

  “You can count on that.”

  Hollister dropped his head and stared at the scuffed plywood decking. He didn’t have the words to express his rage.

  The word got out immediately. Within a day it was all over the company, and the mood was down for everyone who knew Fowler’s reputation.

  As Hollister and Vance expected, Sangean went to Two Field to try to stop Fowler’s reassignment to Juliet Company. Colonel Schneider, Downing’s replacement, took offense at Sangean’s suggestion that his recommendation was in error.

  When Sangean tried to push it to General Stone, he was told that the reassignment of field-grade officers was a matter of the highest priority and that Fowler’s service record was in direct conflict with Sangean’s opinion. Still, Sangean promised Vance and Hollister that he would continue to work on the problem when the CG got back from a trip to CINCPAC for a conference.

  Sangean reluctantly conducted a small change-of-command ceremony at the LRP compound. Despite his disagreement with Fowler’s assignment, Sangean was professional enough not to make it a public issue at the risk of sabotaging the troops’ morale and Fowler’s chances to do a good job.

  Hollister knew he had to get over his anger at the decision. That was one of the first things he had learned in OCS: Argue the decision until it is made, and then support it as if you had been for it all along. He knew he had to learn to get along with Fowler or jeopardize the safety of the troops by feeding his own emotions.

  Fowler kept Vance and Hollister standing at attention in front of his desk while he hurled his opening remarks at them. It was all Hollister could do to keep from lashing out at him.

  “Since the day I got wind of how you folks operate, I have been looking for a chance to put a little regular army in this pathetic group of prima donnas. And … as I have come to know more about Juliet Company, I can see that Sangean has let you two turn this place into a club for misfits and undisciplined children!”

  “Major, I resent—”

  Fowler cut Hollister off. “I didn’t give you permission to speak. I’m doing the talking here, and I will decide when there is something I want to hear from you. And when that time comes, I will let you know. Have you got that?”

  Hollister stood ramrod straight and didn’t reply.

  “Things are going to be quite different around here. We will do them my way and not Mister Sangean’s way. He is gone, and I now command Juliet Company. And if either one of you has the slightest problem with that—you just speak up. I am sure I can find replacements for you within the hour.

  “As it is, I’m not too sure how long either of you will last now that I am here. Your vacation is over. And there are plenty of real officers around who would jump at the chance to be here.”

  Hollister could only guess what kind of replacements he meant—staff rats, like Fowler, probably men who had never been with troops in combat and were more likely to get them killed than not.

  “I will personally supervise all facets of Juliet Company’s operations and will accept nothing but excellence. If I find you two are not carrying your load—”

  “Major,” Vance began.

  “You can call me sir, Mister!”

  Vance didn’t stop to recognize the comment and sarcastically continued, “Just what is it you have trouble with? Is there something specific about Juliet Company you are unhappy with or are we going to have to guess?”

  Fowler jumped up out of his chair and leaned toward Vance. “Don’t press me, Mister Vance. ’Cause I’ll have you out of here before the day is out.”

  The lecture went on for twenty more minutes with Fowler both angering Vance and Hollister and showing his lack of leadership and management skills by his description of how things would change. To follow Fowler’s instructions, Juliet Company would have to turn itself into a perfect garrison unit. Formations, strict uniform regulations, Mickey Mouse procedures, and demeaning withdrawal of authority from the NCOs.

  Hollister didn’t have to look at Vance to know they wouldn’t let it happen that way.

  Team 1-5, headed by Sergeant Nessen, was due
to be inserted into a wide spot in a dry streambed. The team would then move toward an area where there had been a report of enemy radio transmissions. The ASA guys could say there were transmissions coming out of the general area, but nothing more specific than that they were from an area the size of two side-by-side football fields.

  Fowler insisted on supervising the insert himself. He declined Hollister’s offer to ride along, saying that he wanted to get used to Juliet Company SOP on his own. He told Hollister that Juliet Company had better get used to the way he did things.

  The morning of the insert, Hollister was in Operations when Fowler walked in. Kurzikowski was seated in Hollister’s view, but not Fowler’s. Hollister made a point of not making eye contact with Kurzikowski since the sergeant had already offered his unsolicited opinion, and Hollister was sure he would make faces of disapproval while Fowler talked.

  Fowler was dressed like a real headquarters rat. He had on his cammie fatigues, all new web gear, complete with flashlight and hunting knife. But the ensemble was really topped off by a pair of army-issue sunglasses. He looked as if he were going to Hawaii instead of War Zone D.

  “I’m going out and inspect the team before it loads the chopper,” Fowler announced.

  Hollister knew Fowler’s attitude would not come across to Sergeant Nessen as a gesture of support but of oversupervision and distrust. He started to object, but Fowler cut him off. “Don’t you have something to do, Captain?” Fowler said.

  “I’ll come along and see if I can be of any help out there.”

  “You will stay here and supervise this staff section.” Fowler turned and left Operations, trying to juggle his map and his brand-new floppy LRP hat.

  “His fucking oak leaf’s in the back,” Kurzikowski said as soon as Fowler was out of earshot.

  “What?” Hollister asked.

  “Got his fucking hat on backwards,” Kurzikowski replied.

  “You just don’t know which way he’s headed,” Lieutenant Potter said.

  Hollister glared at Kurzikowski and then at Potter.

  Potter raised his hands in surrender. “I know. I’m sorry. That was disrespectful.”

  Hollister didn’t respond. He had made his point. He walked through the light trap to the outside of the Operations bunker.

  Hollister watched Fowler chewing out Sergeant Nessen for some infraction. Hollister couldn’t hear his words, but he knew the major was making a fool of himself and committing one of the unforgivable sins—dressing down an NCO in front of his troops.

  Nessen looked across the compound and caught Hollister’s eye. There was no doubt that Nessen was as angry as Hollister had ever seen him. His complexion flared red.

  As Fowler stepped into the C&C, Hollister noticed that Bui was getting in with him. Bui looked across the compound toward the officers’ billets. Hollister’s guess was that he was looking for T.T., who should have been at work by then.

  Chapter 28

  “SIX, THIS IS THREE. I noticed you took a senior member of little folks with you. I don’t remember us going over that in any of the briefings,” Hollister said.

  “Remind me when I get back to explain to you that I do not have to check out everything I do with you. Out!”

  Hollister put the pork-chop mike down and looked at Kurzikowski, who shook his head and mumbled, “You’re right, Captain. I shouldn’t be findin’ fault with the new CO.”

  Hollister wanted to make a crack but realized there were six LRPs out there in the insert ship getting ready to be put into War Zone D. He had to focus on that and not his anger at Fowler or they would surely suffer while the officers squabbled like children.

  Fowler did not stop talking from the moment he got into the chopper. He called in unnecessary reports, asked for commo checks, gabbed with the pilots, and issued long lists of instructions that should have been covered in or were contradictions to the instructions given at the briefback.

  Each time Fowler’s voice came up on the speaker on top of the radio bench, Kurzikowski groaned or made some comment.

  “Not gonna make things better,” Hollister said without trying to sound angry with Kurzikowski.

  “Sir, if the captain wouldn’t mind me saying so, I think the man’s a friggin’ idiot.”

  “Guess I didn’t get a chance to object. Did I?”

  The insert went well in spite of Fowler’s oversupervision and constant radio traffic. The chopper pilots had worked together for so long that they knew how it should be done and just did it.

  Inside Operations Hollister could tell that the pilots and the FAC were also very put off by Fowler’s style. Their lack of chatter and light cross talk was evidence of that.

  Out in War Zone D, Nessen got his team off the insert ship and into the thick bamboo margin of the streambed with no delays. No sooner had he moved them into the trees than Fowler started on him.

  “One-five, this is Six. What is your situation?”

  “One-five. Stand by, One,” Nessen replied in hushed but strained tones.

  “Don’t give me that ‘stand by’ shit. When I ask you for a report, I expect it immediately!”

  Hollister picked up the mike again and broke in.

  “Six. This is Three. Procedure is for the inserted element to size up the situation and make a SITREP as soon as it is safe for him to do. It takes a little time to get a feel for the area and let the chopper noises die down.”

  “This is Six! Get off this net—now! When I want your opinion, I will damn well ask for it Out!”

  Kurzikowski stood, pushed his metal chair back, pulled his floppy cap out of his pocket, and said, “Think we need some coffee around here.”

  Hollister let him leave without commenting. He knew it was Kurzikowski’s way of letting him know he didn’t want to be there while Fowler was jumping on him.

  Several more minutes of silence went by.

  “One-five, this is Six. I am still waiting!” Fowler yelled over the radio.

  Hollister reached for the mike again and raised it to his lips. But before he could speak, Sergeant Nessen’s voice cracked over the speaker in Operations: “Six. This is One-five. If you want to know the situation down here you are going to have to quit circling my position. I can’t hear anything and where I am I can’t see anything.”

  “Well, Mister, you better figure out a better spot than the inadequate one you selected.”

  Hollister raised the microphone again just as Kurzikowski entered with two cups and a mess-hall pitcher of coffee. “I wouldn’t do that,” he said.

  “Oh? Just what would you do, Sergeant Kurzikowski?”

  “Sir, this here is a rope thing.”

  “A rope thing?”

  “Yeah. You give this new major just enough rope, and he is going to hang himself. No doubt about it.”

  “Well, what happens to Sergeant Nessen’s people while all this is happening?”

  “You won’t have to worry about that. That’s my guess. You jus’ watch.”

  Fowler’s voice boomed over the speaker again. “One-five? I’m still waiting for an answer.”

  “This is One-five. And I’m still waiting for you to move your orbit to somebody else’s AO,” Nessen responded.

  “Don’t get smart with me! Now I want you to get your element moving ASAP,” Fowler screamed.

  “Negative!” Nessen said. “That is not the routine.”

  “It is today,” Fowler yelled back.

  Hollister looked at Kurzikowski as he poured coffee, sat down, and put his feet up on the radio bench as if he were listening to a ball game.

  “Yeah, that’s gonna do it all right.”

  “What’s gonna do what?”

  “That’s gonna make sure Nessen gets real serious about noise discipline.”

  Hollister knew what Kurzikowski was getting at. Both men looked at the radios for a long moment. They remained silent, even the aviation frequencies. The pilots, the FAC, and everyone else on the LRP frequency were waiting to see what Fowl
er’s next move was going to be.

  Finally, Fowler broke the silence. “One-five. This is Six. Over.”

  There was no answer.

  He tried again, more forcefully and dripping with sarcasm. “One-five. This—is—Six. Over.”

  Still no answer.

  Hollister and Kurzikowski exchanged glances.

  “Yep,” Kurzikowski said. “That’s one terrific LRP out there. Ain’t gonna get him to give away his team’s location for some extra-ai-neous traffic that ain’t SOP.”

  Fowler broke the silence again. This time his voice was more strained and his volume considerably louder. “One-five. Can you hear me? Over.”

  There was a long pause; then Nessen broke squelch twice.

  Kurzikowski shook his head and grunted in approval. “Good man, that Nessen.”

  Hollister let it pass without comment.

  Fowler’s voice broke in again. “One-five. Is there some reason why you can’t transmit voice?”

  Nessen broke squelch two more times.

  “Oh, Lordy. Shit’s gonna happen. That sergeant’s got some humongous gonads,” Kurzikowski observed.

  It was beginning to sound to Hollister as if Fowler were trying to cover his awkward situation when he broke squelch again and said, “Okay, One-five. I will assume you are concerned with security and that is the reason you cannot speak. I understand. So I want you to continue the mission and keep me advised. Out.” He then shifted his tone and called Hollister. “Three. This is Six. We have completed the insert of One-five and are headed back to your location for the next element scheduled this morning.”

  Kurzikowski interrupted Hollister before he could reply: “Ask him if One-five had a cold LZ.”

  Hollister knew Kurzikowski wanted to screw with Fowler. He waved for him to be quiet and answered with a simple “Roger.”

  “I’m guessin’ that at least a half-dozen prick 77s are monitoring the net out in the team hooches,” Kurzikowski said after Hollister dropped the mike onto the bench.

  “And?”

  “And the new CO’s style is not going to go over big.”

  Hollister didn’t reply. He just let Kurzikowski’s words sink in while he reached for a cigarette.