by Scott Ely
As Jackson walked back through the jungle, it was like the first night he had gone out in the bush, his breath coming hard and fast, every tree and bush that rose up out of the clouds threatening to begin walking in the night. He counted it as pure luck when he made it back to the firebase.
CHAPTER
19
WHITE PATCHES OF FUNGUS began to grow on Jackson’s armpits and crotch. Every day he peeled away strips of dead skin. Boxes of new uniforms were brought in every few days, and the men exchanged their rotted ones. At one end of the TOC was a seepage, and water dripped from the overhead cover into a puddle. Labouf was worried about mildew getting into his money.
“Jesus, we’re setting the record for MIAs,” Labouf said from his seat on his footlocker. “The general climbed all over Hale on the radio last night.”
Jackson did not want to talk about MIAs and tried to change the subject.
“If we had a heat lamp, you could dry your money,” Jackson said.
“Nothing will dry in this fucking rain,” Labouf said.
They sat and listened to the drip. Jackson decided to let him talk.
“What’s Light doing out there?” Labouf asked.
“Don’t know,” Jackson said. “Wasting dinks, I guess.”
“The dinks don’t seem to be paying much attention to him,” Labouf said. “The slopes are kicking ass at the fence.”
Hale had stripped the firebase of every spare man to reinforce the platoons on duty at the fence. Jackson noticed the NVA fought just as hard as before for their dead.
“Guys get wasted and when our guys go to look for them they don’t find nothing,” Labouf continued. “Weird shit. What do you think happens to those bodies?”
“Major Hale thinks the dinks are taking them,” Jackson said.
“Fucking asshole,” Labouf said. “The guys on the fence say that Buddhist monk’s been taking them. But nobody has seen that fucker lately. Light say anything about that monk?”
“Light wasted him,” Jackson said.
“I knew it,” Labouf said. He laughed and continued, “That bastard won the pool. Probably don’t even want the money.”
“Light’s crazy,” Jackson said.
“Like a fucking fox. He’s not going to die.”
“I mean really crazy.”
“How?”
“He says he can raise the dead. Says the holy man was raising the dinks. When Light shot him, he got his power.”
Jackson stopped, breathing hard. After he calmed down enough to talk, he told Labouf about the pictures of the doomed men in the starlight.
Labouf said, “Goddamn, Alabama. Why didn’t you tell me? Just can’t recognize money staring you right in the face. Light’s really got something to sell. I’m going to make some fucking money out of this. You’ll see.”
“You believe I saw troops die in the scope? You think Light can raise the dead?” Jackson asked.
“I don’t believe nothing. But the men’ll believe. They’ll eat it up. Won’t be able to give me their money fast enough.”
“Light is fucking crazy,” Jackson said.
“He’s kept you alive, killed the Tiger, wasted the monk,” Labouf said and then laughed to let Jackson know he was not serious. “Don’t matter what we believe. It’s not the dinks or that monk taking the bodies, it’s Light. Everyone will believe he’s raising them. We’ll sell insurance to the troops. Say half their pay.”
So Labouf started what he called his “Life After ’Nam” program.
“It’s not right,” Jackson said.
“Light’s taking the bodies,” Labouf said. “Maybe he can raise them. Who can say he can’t?”
“That’s crazy. That’s what Light says.”
“I know it’s not the dinks who’re doing it. What would they want with American bodies? Shit, Alabama, I know Light’s crazy. I’m not dumb. Maybe he can’t raise the dead, but he’s kept you from becoming one of them. If any man could talk with the spooks, Tom Light would be the one.”
“You’re selling the men nothing.”
Labouf smiled and said, “I’m selling them what they want to buy. It makes them feel better. You could say they’re paying to keep the lines of communication open with Tom Light.” Then Labouf asked, “You would want him to keep everybody alive?”
“Yeah.”
“So nobody should complain. Light believes he’s raising the dead. Those that pay’ll believe it. Hey, won’t a single customer complain.”
“Leave me out of it,” Jackson said, wishing he had not told Labouf about Light’s craziness.
Labouf accepted only money orders or American dollars. The chopper crew chiefs bought them for the men in exchange for a commission. To Jackson’s surprise most of the men signed up. Labouf told them they were to leave the dead out in the bush where Tom Light would find them after dark and raise them. The officers and some of the senior NCOs were the only ones who would have nothing to do with the scheme. And Leander, who said to Labouf, “Tom Light gets troops fucked. He don’t save nobody.” Then the engineers heard about it and Labouf did business with them. Soldiers continued to be reported as MIA. Labouf added more money to his footlocker.
The rains continued, the clouds often dropping down into the Cunt. And the rain gouged out gullies in the red clay which the enemy sappers used to approach the fence. The rain washed out the fence posts and flooded the underground bunkers so badly that on some days the men ended up perched up on top of them, exposed to fire from the enemy who remained hidden in the jungle.
Despite Labouf’s “Life after ’Nam” program men still died. The men blamed these deaths on the officers who refused to let them leave the dead out in the jungle. They were convinced Light would honor his contract and as soon as it grew dark raise the men out of the bush. No one was quite sure where the dead went after Light raised them. Some said they went home, but others claimed they went to one of the R&R countries like Australia or Singapore.
The platoons at the fence continued to take casualties. Finally a man refused to give up a dead soldier to graves registration.
“Get your radio,” Hale said to Jackson.
Jackson wondered if Light would also protect him from his own men. Luckily it was clear enough for the choppers to fly. The climb down the narrow trail to the Cunt was a difficult one. Jackson looked out past the door gunner and saw a group of men standing in a circle within a tangle of concertina wire.
When they reached the group, they found a man with an M-60 machine gun standing over a body bag.
“Pate won’t give up Fernandez,” a lieutenant said.
“Goddamn, Lieutenant, you’re supposed to be in command here,” Hale said. “You make that man put down his weapon.”
“He won’t, Sir. I already tried,” the lieutenant said.
“Try again,” Hale said.
The lieutenant walked over to Pate and said, “Soldier, put down that weapon.”
“They’re not putting Fernandez in the ground when he could live,” Pate said.
Pate was a big man, and Jackson thought the M-60 looked like some child’s Christmas toy in his hands.
“Soldier, your friend took a direct hit from a mortar,” the lieutenant said. “There’s just pieces of him in that body bag. Don’t you think his family would like to bury him?”
Pate said, “Tom Light can raise him.”
Jackson could barely hear the conversation because Hale had been gradually backing away from Pate and the lieutenant.
Hale looked up at the sky for a moment and then wiped the rain off his face. Jackson expected Hale might start screaming, but instead when the major spoke his voice was calm.
“Son, there’s nothing we can do for your friend except give him a soldier’s burial,” Hale said, having to raise his voice to make himself heard since a good twenty yards now separated him from Pate. Jackson wished it was more. “He’ll have an honor guard. He can be buried at Arlington if his family wishes. Put down that weapon. I won’t
court martial you. He was your friend. I understand.”
“No, Sir,” Pate said. “They’ll take all the blood out of him at graves registration. Shoot him full of poison. It’ll be too late for Light to save him then.”
Pate motioned with the barrel of the machine gun at two soldiers who were standing off by themselves. They looked nervous, Jackson thought. Probably afraid the weather would get bad and trap them at the fence.
“You let me put him out in the bush,” Pate said. “Tom Light will take care of him. Fernandez paid his money.”
“You men are goddamn stupid to give Labouf your money,” Hale yelled and took a couple of more steps backward.
Jackson began looking for cover.
Hale continued, “I can’t stop you. It’s your money.”
“Tom Light won’t let us die!” a man shouted.
“You show me one man he’s raised,” Hale said.
The men talked among themselves while Hale waited.
“He raises them out in the bush,” Pate said.
“And where do they go?” Hale asked.
Pate said, “I don’t know, but they live.”
“I got a letter from Morrison,” a soldier said.
“Yeah, show the major the letter,” another soldier said.
The soldier produced the letter and handed it to Hale.
“This has an Australian postmark,” Hale said. “This man is on R&R.”
“He was MIA,” Pate said. “How did he get to Australia.”
“Who saw him get shot?” Hale asked. “Who reported him MIA?”
The men talked among themselves but no one stepped forward.
Hale put the letter in the pocket of his fatigue jacket.
“I’ll find the real story on this man,” Hale said. “Never was killed. Took an R&R to Australia and deserted. He’s going to the stockade when the MPs find him. That man will be back doing his job on this fence.”
Hale then took the lieutenant aside and talked quietly with him. The lieutenant kept shaking his head. Then the lieutenant walked to where Pate still stood over the body bag. It had begun to rain harder, and thick gray clouds dropped down over the firebase. The two men from graves registration kept glancing up at the sky.
“Soldier, for the last time I’m ordering you to put down that weapon,” the lieutenant said.
Pate said, “I don’t want to have to shoot you, Sir.”
“But you could get that goddamn Tom Light to raise him from the dead if you did,” Hale shouted.
By now Hale had to shout because he had backed off a good thirty yards.
“Soldier, if you don’t put down that weapon, I’ll have you shot,” Hale shouted. “Lieutenant Sims will do the shooting. We’ll zip you up in a sloppy rubber bag. You’ll go on the chopper with your friend. The money you paid to Private Labouf won’t do you any good. Even fucking Jesus Christ won’t be able to do a thing for you once graves registration gets done with you.” Hale paused and yelled to Lieutenant Sims, “Lieutenant, are you locked and loaded?”
Lieutenant Sims looked at his M-16 as if he was seeing it for the first time.
Hale continued, “I’m counting to ten. If that man has not put down his weapon by the time I reach ten, shoot him.”
“One,” Hale said.
By the time he reached five, Hale had backed farther away until he stood next to a foxhole. Jackson and the rest of the men moved away, everyone looking for cover.
“Eight.”
Lieutenant Sims had still not raised his weapon. He appeared to have found something interesting on the receiver.
“Nine.”
A soldier stepped forward and walked directly toward Pate. The soldier reached out for the barrel of the M-60.
“Ten.”
Hale jumped into the foxhole, and Jackson stretched himself out in a puddle behind a pile of sandbags. When Jackson raised his head, Pate was sitting on the ground crying, and the soldier had the machine gun.
Jackson and Lieutenant Sims helped Hale out of the foxhole.
“What’s your name, soldier?” Hale asked the man with the machine gun.
“Morrison,” the soldier said.
Everyone laughed.
“You’re supposed to be dead,” Hale said. “You been writing letters from Australia?”
“Been right here,” Morrison said. “Attached to the engineers up on Little Tit for a few days. Just got off the chopper.”
Hale turned to the men. “You men want to believe a fucking hoax. Nothing’ll help you except killing the enemy.”
The graves registration team loaded the body bag on the chopper.
Hale took the machine gun from Morrison and raised it above his head and said, “This is the only thing that’s going to keep you men alive.”
Labouf became obsessed with signing up Leander in “Life after ‘Nam.” Jackson was sitting on a pile of sandbags by the TOC with Labouf when Leander walked by.
“It’s not too late to sign up, Leander,” Labouf said.
“Go talk your shit to somebody else,” Leander said.
“Tom Light’s been wondering why you haven’t signed,” Labouf continued.
Leander said, “I’ll kill that motherfucker next time I see him.”
Labouf laughed.
“No one can kill Tom Light,” Labouf said.
“He got Calvin killed,” Leander said. “Cost me a stripe.”
Leander was now a corporal instead of a sergeant because of the short round.
“You got all these men believing that shit about raising the dead,” Leander said. “I don’t believe none of it.”
“Just to be safe—” Labouf began.
“You go talk your shit to somebody else,” Leander said. “Troops are still getting wasted. How come your protection didn’t do them no good.”
“You get a refund if you get killed,” Labouf said. “Your family gets it. Like GI insurance. And the only reason anyone has to die is because the fucking asshole officers won’t leave the dead out in the bush for Light.”
“If I get wasted, it’s only because it’s my turn,” Leander said.
He turned his back on Labouf and walked away.
Jackson tried to keep track of Light. During the day the tower guard reported that Light spent his time either in the hut or sitting in front of it in the rain. Jackson did not know what to believe. He did not want to go home crazy. Not end up like Light. Wandering through the jungle babbling to himself about the dead men he had raised. Now he was more afraid of Light than he had ever been, yet he knew he still needed Light’s protection to survive the war.
Then Light called Jackson on the radio and asked him to come out. As Jackson walked through the jungle, he wondered if this would be the night when Light would decide to stop protecting him. The rain was falling very hard, and Jackson could see only a few feet ahead of him. As he came out of the jungle and onto the rocky outcropping, he saw a figure standing in the rain. At first he thought it was Light but realized the man was too big for Light, too big for a dink.
Jackson stopped and pushed the lever that put his M-16 on automatic. The man raised one hand, palm out. Jackson could see he did not have a weapon. Perhaps it was one of the listening posts who had gotten lost. The man motioned for him to come closer. Jackson walked farther out onto the outcropping.
It’s Pate, he thought. No one at the firebase was as big as Pate. But Pate was dead, killed three days ago in a firefight which had wiped out his entire squad.
“Jackson, you tell the major,” the figure said.
Jackson was very close now, so close he could reach out and touch the man.
He’s not real, Jackson thought.
“No one has to die,” the figure said.
Jackson said, “You got lost. I’ll show you how to get back to the firebase.”
“I’m not coming back. I don’t have to fight anymore. No one has to die.”
Pate put out one of his big hands and placed it on Jackson’s shoulder. The h
and felt heavy and warm through Jackson’s wet, cold fatigue jacket.
“You tell the major,” Pate said. “You tell them all.”
Pate turned and walked off, disappearing into the night.
Jackson found Light in the hut.
“Are you doing it?”
“What?”
“Raising them.”
“Yes.”
“I saw a man in the jungle. Did you raise him?”
“The big man? Yes.”
“And the dinks?”
“Yes, them too.”
“Where do they go?”
“Up into Laos. To the city. Where there is no war.”
Jackson looked at the dark figure of Light and smelled that jungle stink. Like a skunk, Jackson thought. None of it made sense, but there it was. He had talked with Pate, touched him.
“We’re both crazy, howling at the moon crazy,” Jackson said.
Light laughed and said, “The war is crazy. We’re not. Don’t worry, I’ll keep you safe.”
Jackson wanted to watch Light do it, watch him touch a man whose guts had been shot out, watch that man get up and walk. But Jackson was afraid to ask.
“Come in, show Hale,” Jackson said. “Men are dying everyday. Show him you can stop it.”
“Tell Hale to leave them in the bush,” Light said. “I’ll raise them.”
“What are you?” Jackson asked.
“Tom Light. Same as always. Son of a fisherman. Born poor, probably’ll die poor.”
“You’re not Him come again?”
Jackson gulped air and waited for Light to reply.
“Why would He want to come back to this?” Light paused before he continued, “The power was in the holy man. Now it’s in me. I don’t know how. You come up to Laos with me.”
“I want to see. There’s no city,” Jackson said.
Light turned on the scope. The big end began to glow with greenish light. There was the smell of electricity in the air. An image took form and Jackson crouched close to the screen. It was the city. Stone temples covered with vines. Soldiers, NVA and American, walking in a grassy parklike place. Women, children, playing on the grass.
I’m hallucinating, Jackson thought to himself. I’m going crazy.