Starlight

by Scott Ely

  “Hey, Marcus, your suits are fucked,” a soldier yelled from the tent.

  Marcus ran past Jackson. A few seconds later, Jackson saw Marcus and another soldier using a flashlight to look at the suits they had laid out on a cot. Jackson noticed Marcus was wearing a white dress shirt and a lavender tie.

  “Goddamn, ruined, all of them,” Marcus said. “I was going to be the best-dressed dude in D.C.”

  Marcus stuck his hand through a shrapnel hole.

  “Ruined, fucked, wasted,” Marcus continued.

  “Least you ain’t dead,” the other said. “I told you to leave ’em at Pleiku.”

  “It’s Light. He might as well have come in here himself with a shotgun and blowed ’em full of holes.” Marcus said.

  Jackson felt sick again, but when he knelt on the ground with his head down, he found nothing was left in his stomach.

  One man dead, he thought. Dinks blown to pieces out at the rock. Marcus worrying about this fucking suits. Tom Light in love with the war.

  “I’m going to be short,” Jackson muttered as he walked toward the bunker. “I’m going to be short.”

  CHAPTER

  13

  BY THE BIG ROCK at night, Jackson sat with Tom Light under a poncho they had thrown over themselves, the air rank with the scent of decaying leaves. While Light held a flashlight, Jackson wrote a letter. Jackson had walked out the gate again. Hale would be mad when he returned, but Jackson knew there was nothing the major could do.

  “Starlight is fucking up,” Light said after he signed the letter. “You saved my ass. Didn’t know they were coming. Keep seeing the weird shit in it. Don’t need to see the weird shit. I gotta know. You saw it, first day I was here.”

  “I didn’t see,” Jackson said.

  “I know what you saw,” Light said. “It’s that man the dinks brought in. They call him the Tiger. Works up in the fucking trees. Hard to pin down. He’s the one who blocked the trail. But he ain’t that good. Shit, I can kill him without the starlight.”

  “You’ll waste him,” Jackson said. “Easy.”

  “Easy?” Light asked.

  “Sure.” Jackson said.

  Light sighed, an ancient sound, and said, “With the Tiger out there nothing is gonna be easy.”

  “You’ll kill him,” Jackson said.

  “Maybe he’s like me. Maybe he’s not so easy to kill.”

  Jackson sucked in a deep breath at Light’s concern over the enemy sniper.

  “You can kill him anytime you want,” Jackson said, forgetting to whisper and listening to the sound of his words echo off the rock.

  Light held up his hand for silence.

  “I didn’t say I couldn’t do it,” Light said. “Won’t be easy is what I meant.”

  Now Jackson felt better, safe again.

  “They’re coming in to mortar the firebase tonight,” Light said. “I saw it in the scope. Cover for a probe. It’ll be good hunting. Maybe the Tiger’ll be there.”

  “We should tell the TOC,” Jackson said.

  “Fuck those base camp soldiers.”

  “Hale will have my ass.”

  It was scary Light could see the future in the starlight, Jackson thought to himself. But even more scary was that there were times when Light did not know. Tonight he knew, and Jackson felt safe.

  Jackson followed Light through the rain forest. They crossed a trail, and Jackson expected they would take it. Instead, Light led him through vegetation so thick Jackson could see only a few feet in front of him. Light disappeared and Jackson froze, feeling the dark jungle close in on him. Light might walk off and leave him. It could happen.

  But after what seemed to Jackson like a long time, Light walked back out of the tangle of trees and vines.

  “Grab hold of my sweater,” Light whispered. “Move when I do. Don’t make noise.”

  With the bottom of Light’s sweater wrapped around his fingers, Jackson followed him through the jungle. Light took a few steps, stood motionless for a time, and then moved forward again. He repeated this hunter’s pattern over and over.

  Jackson felt like he had dived into a lake at night. The jungle was not like scrub and small trees of the area around the firebase. Here the big trees shut out the light from the stars and moon. He felt smothered by the darkness and searched for a clear spot in the canopy where he could see the sky again. The leaves were wet from a rain storm earlier that day, the ground soggy under his feet.

  Wet, wet, wet, he thought. Rotten with mold. Waiting to eat my body if Light makes a mistake and gets me killed.

  Gradually the land rose, and Light began to walk much faster. Jackson kept getting tangled in vines. Then the ground slanted almost straight up, and they pulled themselves up the slope on tree limbs and vines. At the top they crossed a trail, and this time Light took it. After walking on it a few feet, Jackson guessed the reason why. It was a trail made by animals, not men. At several places they crawled along it as the trail tunneled through the underbrush.

  When the trail disappeared in a thick stand of bamboo, they forced their way through the narrow places between the shoots. Light stopped and motioned for Jackson to crawl up beside him.

  “We wait here,” Light said. “Don’t move. Don’t go to sleep.”

  Jackson lay motionless on the soft carpet of dead bamboo leaves. The mosquitoes swarmed about him, his insect repellent long ago sweated off. He thought he could feel leeches crawling on his body under his fatigues.

  To Jackson it seemed they lay there for hours. The sounds of the night animals and the H&I fire from the firebase made keeping his eyes open easy. Finally Light tapped him on the shoulder.

  “Slow and careful now,” Light said. “Follow me.”

  Jackson looked at the luminescent dial of his watch. It was two o’clock. They crawled slowly, the bamboo thicket eventually thinning out. Jackson saw a place ahead where the darkness was not so thick.

  Not being afraid was a strange sensation. But what if something happened to Light, if the men Light was going to shoot killed him instead, if the Tiger won his battle with Tom Light? Jackson gulped air.

  Light motioned for him to stay. It was hard to see Light move at all, but gradually his dark shape was gone. In ten minutes by Jackson’s watch, Light returned.

  “Don’t move, be quiet,” Light again whispered in his ear.

  They lay still for a long time, Jackson not daring to raise his head to look at his watch.

  I should’ve stayed on my listening post, Jackson thought.

  “Move when I move,” Light whispered in his ear.

  Jackson kept pace with Light as they crawled across the open space. Light took his time doing it. It felt like they were crawling about a meter an hour. He turned his head and looked up at the stars, no longer feeling smothered by the jungle. Light stopped, motioning for Jackson to crawl up beside him. Then Light offered him the rifle, and Jackson took it.

  They were on a hill, the ground falling away before them to form a bowl-shaped depression full of elephant grass covered with patches of a thin, white mist. Jackson hesitated for a moment, afraid of what he might see, but then put his eye to the scope. Along the tree line he saw in the green glow of the starlight a squad of NVA carrying light mortars, some with the tubes and others with the baseplates and shells. Light took the rifle back.

  “Lay still, wait until they set up,” Light said.

  Jackson took a deep breath, worried about the noise he made as he did it. Sweat ran down his face, and his whole body tingled with fear. He wanted to shout, to jump up and charge the NVA, anything but lie on the ground and wait. Yet at the same time he wished he could burrow underground like a mole to hide. He felt envy for the NVA and their tunnels. Somewhere close by was surely a tunnel, a cave, a place to hide.

  Hide, he thought to himself. Hide deep down in the earth.

  But hiding was not all right. To run, to hide, was to break the rules. He decided he would lie very still with his face pressed to the ground w
hile Tom Light did the fighting. That was not running and not fighting but something in between. If Light needed him to fight, he would fight.

  I hope I fight good, he thought to himself.

  Jackson heard something move in the grass below. The sound came closer and breathing hard a soldier walked up the steep slope toward them. Jackson felt Light’s hand on the back of his head as the sniper slowly pressed Jackson’s face to the ground.

  Lie still and be like a patch of vines or a rotting log, Jackson thought.

  Closer and closer the sound came.

  He’s going to step on me, Jackson thought.

  Instead of being confused his head was clear, the possibility of the soldier stepping on the middle of his back occupying his entire attention.

  I’m not going to be able to move when he does, Jackson thought.

  The grass swished against the soldier’s uniform. He was right on top of them now. Jackson wanted to scream but doubted that he could get enough air into his lungs to yell. With teeth clenched, he tried to silently draw air into his burning lungs.

  Suddenly the sound stopped. At any moment he expected to feel a knife at his throat. Light might decide to lie still in the darkness and allow the enemy soldier to kill him. A series of rustling sounds came from just beyond his head, only a meter or so away. Then it was quiet. He gradually became conscious of Light moving past him, moving so slowly that as Jackson watched Light with his peripheral vision, he found it hard to be certain Light was moving. But when he saw Light’s foot slide past and disappear, he knew Tom Light was going to kill the enemy soldier.

  A faint popping sound came from directly in front of Jackson. The soldier had farted. He smelled the sour stink.

  What if the dink decides to take a break from his listening post to beat off, Jackson thought. And what if Light chooses that moment for the kill, lopping it off at the instant of his enemy’s pleasure? Jackson had to try hard to keep from laughing. Crazy, he told himself. You’re as crazy as Tom Light.

  Someone sighed like a man might as he sat down in an easy chair after a long day of work. Then there was a faint bubbling sound and the sweet smell of blood like in the mortar pits when the soldier had lost his legs. Light reappeared beside him.

  “They’re setting up below,” Light said. “They’ll be making noise and won’t notice us. If they see any movement up here, they’ll think it’s their own security.”

  Jackson lifted his head and saw close enough to reach out and touch the body of the NVA soldier. The man lay on his back with his mouth wide open. Even in the dark Jackson could see a dark stain of blood on the front of the man’s uniform.

  Had Light taken a trophy? Jackson thought. No way to tell, the man’s lower body hidden by the grass.

  Jackson did not want to look too close. He felt a great sense of calm. He was safe out in the bush with Light, safe as he would have been home in bed back in Alabama. Soon Light would teach him all the tricks. Maybe he could become as good as Tom Light.

  How would it have felt to have killed the soldier? he thought.

  Light had the rifle to his shoulder, lying prone on the ground. Jackson wondered if Light was going to begin killing NVA. Light lowered the rifle.

  “Here, look,” he whispered in Jackson’s ear.

  Through the scope Jackson watched the soldiers assembling tubes to the baseplates. Others were digging holes in a line along the edge of the field.

  “They’ll hide in the pits and then start dropping rounds,” Light whispered. “They’ll get twenty or thirty rounds in the air before the firebase has time to shoot back or send out gunships. Soon as they start dropping rounds down the tubes, I’ll start shooting.”

  Light took the rifle, leaving Jackson to stare into the darkness wondering how he was going to shoot what he couldn’t see.

  Thonk, thonk, thonk, thonk. Jackson heard the 82-millimeter mortar rounds begin to go out of the tubes. The firing continued, and he heard the crack of the impacts on the firebase. Light’s rifle boomed. Jackson raised his M-16.

  “No,” Light whispered. “Watch behind us.”

  Jackson stared at the dark mass of jungle while Light continued to shoot. The NVA shot too, and he listened to the pop of the AK-47s. They were firing wild, a burst of automatic fire ripping through the trees high above them.

  I’m not afraid, Jackson thought to himself.

  He smiled as he flattened himself against the ground. Light would kill them all. As long as no one saw the muzzle flashes of Light’s rifle, they would be all right.

  Light stopped shooting. Jackson had counted ten shots and guessed that ten enemy were dead. The mortaring had stopped.

  “Move slow,” Light whispered. “Don’t make noise.”

  He followed Light into the big trees, Light moving much faster than when they had approached the field. Once inside the canopy Light stopped.

  “You did good,” Light said.

  “Thanks,” Jackson said.

  “They ran.”

  “The probe?”

  “Finished. No cover for it now.”

  Light made a faint popping sound with his lips to show what little chance the probe had now.

  “Was the Tiger there?” Jackson asked.

  “No, but he’s close,” Light said. “I can feel him.”

  Jackson gulped air at the thought of the Tiger, who was almost as good as Light.

  Going back, they walked instead of crawling. When they crossed a trail, Light took it.

  Light knew, Jackson thought. Light was crazy, but he knew when it was safe and would keep him alive.

  Jackson felt excited watching Light kill the NVA. It was almost as if he had been pulling the trigger himself, the kills his as much as Light’s.

  Suddenly the jungle around them was torn apart by a huge sound. Jackson felt a pressure wave roll over him and things small and hissing rushed past his head. A machine gun began firing at them off to Jackson’s right, the muzzle flashes barely visible through the thick cover, the bullets popping and snapping as they hit leaves and branches. Jackson felt himself falling, not really conscious that he had willed himself to fall, and pressed his body close to the wet clay of the trail, listening to the whine of bullets over his head. Boom, click, click; boom, click, click. He heard Light shooting the rifle and working the action to chamber another round. Jackson raised his head and through the smoke left from the explosions saw Light, who was still standing on the trail, fire one final shot into the jungle. A man screamed. In return there was a single shot that went between Jackson and Light, making a ripping sound in the air as it passed. Jackson knew it was one of the heavy steel-jacketed bullets like the ones Light used. Then it was quiet. Jackson wondered if he had been hit somewhere, hit so bad that there was no pain for the present. Sometimes that happened to soldiers.

  “They’re running,” Light said, kneeling beside him. “You, OK?”

  Jackson felt his body carefully, first his balls, then head and stomach and arms and legs.

  “I’m alive,” Jackson said. “What was it?”

  “Claymores,” Light said. “Two or three. Rigged up with trip wires. Starlight didn’t fuck up. It was me. My fault for walking the trail. I know better.”

  Jackson remembered about claymore mines from infantry training and tried to recall just how many steel pellets each mine contained. Six or seven hundred he thought, maybe a thousand.

  My rifle, Jackson thought.

  His rifle was gone, and he remembered that something had torn it out of his hands when the claymores went off. Down on his hands and knees, he searched for it in the darkness until with relief he felt the barrel with his fingertips. But when he picked it up, he discovered that the claymore pellets had shredded the plastic stock. Jackson began to shake, his whole body trembling. Light was alive and he was alive. How?

  “I hit three of them,” Light said. “Did you hear the Tiger’s big gun?”

  “What?” Jackson said, not hearing all of Light’s words, still running
his shaking fingers over the place where the stock had been joined to the receiver.

  “His big gun.”

  “The Tiger?”

  “Yeah. Maybe he’s using a Chinese night scope or a captured starlight. Only way he could’ve pinned me down at the rock that night. Only way he could have come so close tonight. But tonight I knew he was there. Had his chance and missed. I’ll kill him soon.”

  “How did the claymores miss?” Jackson asked, forcing the words out with difficulty and choking as he spoke. “How did the machine gun miss?”

  Light said, “I was here.”

  “We should be dead,” Jackson said, hoping Light would not notice the shaking. At any moment he expected his teeth to start chattering.

  Then Light’s hand was on his arm, the fingers strong and steady. Jackson stopped shaking as Light pulled him to his feet.

  “No dink ambush is ever going to kill me,” Light said.

  For the first time since he had arrived in country, Jackson was certain he was going to survive the war.

  Light can do fucking anything, he thought to himself. I’m going to live.

  CHAPTER

  14

  LIGHT BEGAN KILLING NVA. Patrols found the bodies out in the bush, not mutilated this time, all with a single bullet hole in the head. Soon attacks on the fence almost stopped. Wire was being strung, and Hale was in a good mood. Jackson no longer saw him working at the map tripod, plotting his attack on the Holiday Inn.

  Jackson was in the TOC. Labouf had just come on duty for his shift on the big radio, and Hale was talking with II Corps about progress on the fence.

  “Goddamn, but Tom Light is one fine sniper,” Hale said switching off the mike.

  “I’d be charging Two Corps a hundred dollars a head if I was Light,” Labouf said.

  “He going to stay out there until he’s run every one of them back over into Laos,” Hale said.

  Labouf leaned far back in his chair and said, “Yeah, in a few weeks it’ll be just like stateside.”

  During the days that followed Light continued to kill the enemy and the engineers strung wire in the Cunt. For Jackson it was a good time. He lounged about on the sandbags during the day and thought of boarding the plane that was going to take him home to Loretta.