"You will be," said Frank. "You gotta lose your virginity some time."
"Perhaps," said John. He took off his clothes, pulling his undershirt over his head. It hung there for a second like a white flag above his thin chest. Then it was over his head and off. He folded his clothes and put them neatly in his locker. Dressed just in his undershorts, he bent down, his knees on the gray cement floor, his hands folded in front of him, and his head bowed. Naked, vulnerable, surrounded by warriors, he prayed.
Patty gazed at him. He seemed so differed from the rest of the men. They were noisy and desperate and full of the jerky movements of death. He was quiet and graceful. They ran in lonely circles. He strolled on a straight path with an old friend. At that moment, Patty wanted to touch him, to hold him, to be him. John got up and slipped into bed. In a moment, he was still.
"Italy," said Patty. "Give me five dollars’ worth of those goddamn chips. God, I'm thirsty. I wish I had a goddamn beer."
"Attaway, Patty," said Italy as he counted out a stack of red and blue chips.
Frank stroked a bed post. "God, could I use a woman."
"Ante up," called Italy as he dealt another round.
The helicopter had dropped the men in the middle of nowhere. All morning and most of the afternoon, they'd walked through dry rice paddies without a trace of shade or life. In the late afternoon a wood line, shady and inviting, haunted the distance. First it was just a thin blur on the horizon. As they walked, it grew until huge trees loomed up in shades of green and brown, and a new breeze wafted the musky smell of life and decay from the woods.
"John, you're on point," Bryan called out.
Those were the only words spoken. Each man moved to his proper position. Patty flicked his rifle to automatic, holding it waist high with both hands ready, his finger an inch from the trigger. He slipped in behind John.
John stepped into the cool shade of the woods. The ground was dark and damp. A soft breeze carried the cool clean smell of flowers and dark earth. John breathed deeply and felt the day's sweat on his forehead, cooling and congealing. He listened for the forest sounds, but there were none. The birds and the squirrels were gone like the peasants who fled before battles. The soft breeze didn't even carry the swaying of the bushes. John felt tight and alone.
He held his rifle with one hand. With the other hand, he rubbed his cross as he walked. It doesn't shine in this shade, he thought. His hand slipped from his throat back to his rifle barrel.
John had been walking slowly, and his steps became even more cautious. The loud beat of his heart rang in his ears like a drum. He stopped and bent forward to peer into the shadows.
Patty signaled a halt to the men behind him and moved forward to see what was up. After hours in the bright sun, he still saw spots in front of his eyes, and the shade of the dense jungle looked like deep twilight.
As Patty got close to John, he could see over his shoulder. Framed in dark green a few yards away was a V.C. soldier facing John, staring at him as if hypnotized. Patty jumped sideways into the bush. A twig crackled. The Cong spun his rifle and fired. Another shot followed immediately.
Charlie fell down on his stomach. John stood still with his rifle in the air. A trace of smoke hung above him.
"Get down," Patty yelled. John dived into the bushes.
Patty crawled forward and touched his shoulder. "John, it's all right."
"He would've killed me."
"I know. I saw."
Incredulously, he looked at Patty. "He would've killed me."
"John, it's a war."
He stared at the dead body. "You, you, you . . . bastard. You would've killed me, wouldn't you? But you're dead now, and I killed you."
"John, stop it."
A smile lit his face. "I killed him."
Frank crawled up. "What's up? Italy's making book on the action."
"John just wiped out a V.C."
"Good news, man.” He patted John on the back. "Italy owes me a ten spot. I knew you could do it."
"We better get going," Patty said gruffly. "I'll take over the lead."
"I'm on point today," answered John.
"You got baptized today, huh?" said Frank.
"Yes," he said, slipping his cross inside his shirt. "Let's get going."
"I'll be right behind you," said Patty to his retreating back.
"Don't worry. I have things under control.” He walked stiffly away.
John set a fast pace, and they walked rapidly through the tree shadowed woods. The noise of the bullets seemed to have awakened the animals. Squirrels scampered in the trees. Birds screeched at the intrusion, and others sang freely and gaily, oblivious to the presence of outsiders. Small pink and white flowers grew along the edge of the trail. White light from the end of the wood line began to filter into the dark tunnel of the woods. Soon a little white spot shadowed by John's silhouette became visible and grew. Then the men were out into the open field, under the white, hot glare of the sun.
Bryan called out, "Take a break. The helicopters will pick us up right here."
Patty sat down next to John and lay back, cushioning his head on a dike. The sky was a deep beautiful blue. He looked at John. John sat cross-legged and thoughtful. He looked awkward.
"These fields look like they stretch on forever," Patty said.
"Yes. Just think of it, I killed a man today, and it felt wonderful.” He ran his fingers over his rifle. "Wonderful." He smiled happily. "I'm looking forward to the next mission."
Frank sauntered up. "Johnny, you know what I'm gonna do when we get back to the company area?"
"No. What are you going to do?"
"I'm taking you to the whorehouse in the village and you're gonna lose your virginity with the ten spot I just won from Italy. What do you say to that?"
"Okay.” He smiled.
CHAPTER 13: REACHING
Patty moaned softly and squeezed the pillow.
She descended the stairs, and the tap, tap of high heels faded. His fists pounded against the back of the crib. The summer sun was a yellow, black ball. The window was gray with dirt. Blue paint cracked, peeled from all the walls. In the middle of the room, a heater with a wavy orange glow radiated heat. He threw the cover from his crib, and the glow disappeared. It was replaced by a lick of orange flame crawling toward him, a little orange infant looking for its mother. Reaching, reaching out for the orange arms, he screamed for the arms, the open arms.
"Wake up," Jimmy whispered. "Wake up.” He shook Patty's shoulder. Patty kept his eyes closed and muzzled into the silk V.C. flag on his pillow.
"Come on. Wake up. Were you having a nightmare?"
"Don't remember," Patty mumbled.
"We gotta go. Something's up."
Patty's eyes blinked open, full of sand. He rubbed them. Jimmy bent over him, a gentle smile on his dark face. "You sure like that flag."
"Yeah," said Patty. "Thanks."
They had been out on a mission when Jimmy found two V.C. flags lying in the dirt. Patty was sure they were booby-trapped and warned Jimmy not to touch them. But Jimmy wanted them to send home to his mother and sister, so he just walked over and picked them up, and everything was fine. They were beautiful silk war trophies, and he didn't have to kill anyone to get them. Patty used to go over to Jimmy's bunk to feel how soft they were. They reminded him of the scarf his mother had given him one winter when he was a little boy.
"You didn't have to give it to me," said Patty. "You can still take it back if you want it."
Jimmy shook his head. "I only need one. And I like to see you rub it against your cheek."
Patty closed his eyes and leaned his head back on the flag.
"Come on, get up. Bryan says it's important."
"What time is it?" said Patty.
"Early."
Patty slipped out of bed. "What's going on?"
"I don't know. Bryan wants you. He's in the mess hall."
Patty slid on his crumpled, smelly greens and padded barefoot th
rough the long room and up to the mess hall.
Lieutenant Bryan sat at the first table drumming his fingers. He greeted Patty in his usual manner. "Where the hell you been? People are dying, and you're sleeping."
Patty frowned. "People are still dying, and I'm awake now."
"Cut the sarcasm."
"Yes, sir.” Patty gazed evenly down at him.
"Look," said Bryan. "Bravo Company got hit bad. There may be nobody left. We gotta go out and get them. Get everybody moving. We want to be on the helicopters in half an hour."
Patty turned and left without a word.
The lift of ten helicopters hovered a few inches off the ground in an open rice paddy, while a gunship circled overhead. In the lead chopper, Patty checked his gear, gave Camp thumbs up, and jumped into the windy field. Camp jumped behind him. They got up, raced to the nearest dike, and dived behind it. Patty looked up as the lead helicopter dipped a salute and flew away.
Camp frowned at Patty. "Just once I'm gonna get off that helicopter without skinning my knees.” He pulled up his pants leg. "Look at this."
Patty nodded without looking. He scanned the open field. It was bright, sunny, and empty. The land stretched a quarter mile to a large wood line. Patty remembered the faces of some of the guys in Bravo Company, and a chill slid down his spine as he gazed at the trees.
"Not a cloud in the sky," said Camp. "And they got us out here so the V.C. can have target practice. I don't even get to shoot back."
Patty shrugged. "I thought you liked being a medic."
Bryan yelled out, "Shut up, you're in combat."
"Somebody ought to waste that dude," whispered Camp. "No experience and he's always giving dumb orders."
"Could happen," said Patty as he gazed out over the field.
"Okay, men," Bryan yelled. "We're moving to the wood line, and the Cong's in there for sure. So, on line and be ready for action. They probably wiped out all of Bravo. We'll rescue what we can find."
"That's what I like about Bryan," said Camp as he stood up. "Tells us to shut up, then yells out the obvious so everybody in five square miles knows we're here."
"Cozy," mumbled Patty. He got up and started walking over the stubble field. "Camp," said Patty. "Something feels wrong."
Camp smiled and looked up. "As long as we got that gunship overhead, I'm not worrying. By the way, how did you get that flag from Jimmy?"
"He gave it to me," Patty answered absently.
"He what?” Camp looked over at Jimmy. "Hey, you bastard, I offered you fifty dollars for that V.C. flag, and I hear you gave it to Patsin for nothing. Just don't yell medic today."
"I don't need you," said Jimmy. "I got my flag with me, and if they start shooting, I'll just hold it up."
"Cut the B.S.," said Patty. "Something's wrong. I can feel it."
His words were hardly out when the woods exploded. Fire came from everywhere, and in the first few seconds, the chopper overhead was hit. It nosedived to the ground and exploded. A fire ball leaped fifty feet into the air, and a wave of heat blew past Patty's face.
"Move it," he screamed.
The men surged toward the woods. As they reached the first trees, incoming mortar whistled around them and exploded. Men hit the ground at each whistle and jumped up again to run after each impact. Tree branches were falling everywhere.
Patty dropped to his knees when he reached the bank of a small brown stream. Camp dropped beside him.
"Guess you were right, buddy," Camp panted. "Something was wrong."
"Yeah," said Patty. His hand hurt and he looked down and saw a piece of shrapnel imbedded in his palm. He pulled his bayonet off his belt and held his hand to his face, looking at it from all angles, trying to recognize it. He took the knife, dug a deep hole in his hand, and scraped out the charred metal. The palm looked like hamburger, like somebody else's wound. He looked at it blankly. It didn't even hurt.
"Let's go," he yelled. He jumped up and ran knee deep through the brown water. It stank, and Patty wondered if his pants would retain the stench. He crossed to the other side and came to the front of the wood line.
Just as he dived in a ditch, mortars hit his position and he bounced a couple times on the ground. He looked up to see some men crying and confused, some wounded, and some dead. In his head, he pictured orange flames reaching out to hold him. He looked around and stared at the trees, looked at a blade of seared grass, listened for the wind of the bullets. He heard his voice from a deep tunnel. "'Yeah though I walk. . .' Don't let me die. ". . .Through the valley of the shadow. . .' Don't let me die. I'll do anything. '. . The shadow of death I will fear. . .' Anything. ". .No evil. . .'"
Camp yelled over. "You alright, Patty?"
Patty shook himself. The thunder of the mortar still rang in his ears, but his head cleared. "Yeah."
"Help me with Mac, will you? He's got a sucking chest wound."
Patty pulled himself back to the now and crawled over to Mac.
Mac smiled weakly. "I hear you're getting religious.” Laughter gurgled in his chest.
"Keep him quiet," Camp said.
"Shut up, Mac," Patty hissed.
Tears started from Mac's eyes. "Patty, don't do me that way."
"Mac, I'm sorry. You got to keep quiet.” Patty pulled the plastic cover off his first aid kit. He smoothed it over Mac's chest and held it tight while Camp wrapped the bandage around.
"You'll be alright," said Camp. "When the helicopters come in, we'll get you and the rest of the guys out. Just rest now, buddy."
"You have a million dollar wound," said Patty.
"I'll be back," mumbled Mac. Saliva slid down his chin.
They lay down and waited while the scattered remnants of the platoon caught up. The radio crackled casualty reports, and the wounded cried as they heard. One man kept moaning over and over again, "They got us trapped and they'll get us tonight after dark. They got us trapped and they'll get us tonight after dark.” Patty wanted to bust him in the mouth.
Jimmy crawled up. "I'm scared, Patty. What are we gonna do? How we gonna get out of it?"
Patty smiled at him. "Beats hell out of me. Anyway, we got branches overhead."
"And Doc is right beside you," said Camp.
"If you can't take care of us, nobody can. Right, Doc?” Patty said.
"Right," said Camp.
They lay in the dense underbrush of the river bank, protected from the thunder of the mortars and the tattoo of the bullets. A stillness amid the rattle of action settled over them.
Patty thought of the poor bastards in Bravo Company. Bryan had told the story on the way in. It was something to think about, mused Patty, as he waited for orders. They'd come down in an open field and had been hit immediately by fire on three sides. Eight helicopters had blown up practically on the ground. The ninth had been wiped out as it tried to make it to the treetops, and the last had blown up as it landed at home base, just after they radioed the story.
"Only a small mistake in the selection of a landing site," Patty mumbled to himself. It was a hot afternoon, but Patty felt damp and chilled. He shook himself, and his teeth chattered.
Bryan crawled up.
"Welcome home, lieutenant," said Camp. "Glad you could join us. Care for some tea and crumpets?"
"Shut up," said Bryan. "This is no time for jokes."
"Are you kidding? This little mission is one of the best jokes of the year."
"Cut it, Camp.” Bryan turned to Jimmy and motioned him forward. "Jimmy, listen up. I want you to crawl up to the front of the wood line. Take your grenade launcher and lob a couple grenades as probing fire across that open field."
"What?" said Camp. "You trying to kill him?"
Patty grabbed Bryan's arm. "Bryan, you're crazy. Soon as he shows his head, they'll blow it off. You know they will."
Bryan pulled his arm free. "I'm giving the orders around here."
"Look," said Patty. "You don't need any probing fire. We know they're there. They've been firing at
us for hours."
"Don't tell me my business. I'm an officer."
Patty grabbed Bryan's shirt and pulled him close. "Look, officer, you stupid, twenty-year-old son of a bitch. You're gonna get Jimmy killed."
Bryan pulled free and turned to Jimmy. "Jimmy, I'm giving you a direct order. You don't do it, you'll be court-martialed when we get back."
"Jimmy, I'm your squad leader," said Patty. "You don't have to go. I'll take the responsibility."
"That'll just get you both court-martialed," yelled Bryan.
Patty grabbed Jimmy's wrist. "He's bluffing, Jimmy. Don't you do it."
Jimmy looked confused and sad. Then a quiet determination settled on his gentle face. He pictured his mother dressed in black, sobs wracking her small frame. "Look, Patty. I got to do it. Tell Mac I hope he gets better soon."
Patty squeezed Jimmy's wrist. "Don't do it. It's suicide."
"Shut up, Patsin," said Bryan. "Jimmy, get out there. I want probing fire now."
Jimmy shook off Patty's hand and crawled away.
Camp looked at Bryan. "You know, I think I'm gonna start carrying a rifle, lieutenant, because I'm beginning to think I got a use for one."
"What's that supposed to mean, Camp?"
"You figure it out, lieutenant."
Patty leaned over and spoke in a low, husky voice. "If Jimmy gets killed, Bryan, you're one dead son of a bitch."
Jimmy crawled the few yards to the front of the wood line. He cracked his grenade launcher and loaded it. He got up to his knees so he could get the angle to fire above the bushes, to lob the grenades to the other side of the field. Slowly he took aim, and then he fell, and didn't move.
Camp and Patty crawled out of the ditch and up to him. He lay still on the ground. A gust of wind blew, and light brown dust speckled his dark face. His right fist gripped his crumpled Cong flag. His grenade launcher lay beside him in the dust.
Patty felt cold. He wanted to kiss Jimmy's thick lips, to hold him warm in his arms.
Camp rested his head on Jimmy's chest. Then he looked up sadly at Patty. "He's just barely breathing."
"Do something, Doc."
"I can't. I'm just a medic.” He pulled the flag out of Jimmy's fist and slid it under his head.
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